“What’s your name?” he asked. “Why do you come here so much?”
“What’s your name, and why do you come here so much?”
“I asked first.”
She stared into his eyes, saw the corners of his lips quirk. Then he totally caved.
“Okay. My name is Ryan.” He held out his hand and she shook it. He was a big man. It was so much more apparent close up than when he was standing beside an equally large bouncer at the bottom of the stairs. His hand completely engulfed hers. “And I am here a lot because I do training for the bouncers now and again.”
“What kind of training?”
“Martial arts. Safe takedown. Things like that.” “Safe takedown.” Why did that sound so sexy when he said it? She pictured him rolling on a condom before he pulled her to the floor. Probably not what he meant by safe takedown. She ran her gaze up and down his body. He was fit all right. Maybe early thirties. God, his eyes… They were killing her. They were such a rich, deep brown, fringed by dark lashes, but that wasn’t what really captivated her. It was the alert intelligence in his gaze. It was ten times more seductive than his biceps. And ten times more threatening to her. She rolled the lollipop around on her tongue, pretending polite indifference.
“So you’re like, one of those karate sensei guys?”
He laughed. “No. I’m a brain surgeon, but I do karate too.”
She rolled her eyes. “A brain surgeon. Right.”
His crooked, easy smile unnerved her. He was so damn…healthy. So solid and nonrandom. She didn’t really know how to relate to that or how to deal with the feelings he aroused in her. No. No bouncers. Or bouncer trainers.
“So I told you my name and why I’m here so much,” he said. “Your turn.”
“My name is Kat and I come here to watch people.” She threw him a flirty glance and smacked suggestively on the lollipop, only to receive another one of those reproachful looks.
Whatever. She decided to head back to the dance floor. She didn’t come to Masquerade to get the third degree from a fine man who didn’t approve of her. Where was that fucking idiot earnest-faced pretty boy when she needed him? Stupid brain-surgeon-bullshitter with his huge warm hands and his creepy stare. She infused as much flounce as she possibly could into her “well, bye” and started down the steps before he could say anything else.
“Hey, baby.” A gruff voice and clammy hand stopped her near the bottom. Arms fastened around her waist, pulling her against a pudgy torso. She pushed away, rolling her eyes at the drunk guy, but he didn’t take the hint. He tightened his arms.
“Hey, gorgeous. I’ve been watching you all night. Come dance with me.”
“No. I don’t want to dance. Let go of me. I was just leaving.”
“You don’t have to leave here all alone.”
“Believe me, I want to.”
“Oh, baby, come on. Don’t be like that. I can put a smile on those lips. I’ll give you something really sweet to suck on.”
Then he leaned in so fast that she didn’t have time to stop him, otherwise she would have punched him in the face. He laid a kiss on her, stabbing his tongue between her lips. She pushed him away with all the strength she had.
“Ewww!” she said in a voice loud enough to shame him. She put the lollipop back in her mouth to take the sour alcohol taste of his kiss away. Blech, no kissing. No. She didn’t even kiss the ones she liked. She wouldn’t even have kissed tall, dark and handsome karate guy, staring down at her from the top of the stairs. Okay? his expression seemed to ask. Everything okay?
No, everything’s not okay. Everything’s so fucking sucky I can barely stand it.
She wiped off her lips and pushed past the kiss-stealer. She was done for the night. “Just fucking leave me alone,” she yelled back over her shoulder. She didn’t know if she yelled it at dark eyes or icky lips.
As she stormed off, she wondered if Ryan was watching her go.
Ryan watched her walk out the door, all tight skirt and beautiful ass. Gorgeous, shapely legs in black patent shoes. Kat. So early for her to be gone. He’d wanted to ask her if she was okay but she’d flown without a backward glance.
Anyway, she wasn’t okay, not at all. Now that he’d talked to her, he was sure of that. She was just generally not okay. He’d seen enough of her shenanigans to know she was confused, troubled and too beautiful for her own good. He never should have talked to her. She was more fun to watch from afar. Close up, the sadness rolled off her in waves.
He’d only worked a few months or so with the bouncers, a fun sideline from his rather stressful day job and an outlet for the martial arts training he’d practiced for years. The first time he saw her was his second week there and he’d noticed her nearly every weekend since. There was something about her that fascinated him. It was probably the fact that she was the only person in the bar who didn’t seem to be having fun. He hadn’t seen her smile once—not when she danced, not when she talked to the various beefcake guys she hooked up with. His gut feeling was that she needed a good hard spanking. His hand twitched to give her one. That wasn’t the only thing that twitched when she was around.
But she wasn’t exactly girlfriend material and he wasn’t going to keep up the club gig much longer. It was easy money, but he didn’t need money. He was getting too old for the club life. He had a career as a neurosurgeon to concentrate on. He was closer to forty than he cared to think about and his best friend had recently married and become dad to an adorable baby son. Ryan had bounced the little critter on his knee over the holidays and been astounded at the changes in Dave and his wife. The three of them used to play kinky sex games together. They still did, but now Sophie and Dave were coupled up, their own family unit.
Ryan discovered to his shock that he wanted that too. Very much. So getting involved with a flighty club girl probably wasn’t the best move at the moment. He didn’t know why he’d even talked to her. It was just that she was almost painfully attractive to him. She was so much his type that she was the prototype for him, everything he liked in a girl. Big boobs but not too big. Little waist, tight abs, curvy little hips. An ass that was criminally tempting. What he wouldn’t give to have that ass in his hands. Her face was exotic, memorable. He had never seen her smile but even her frown was attractive, even the ambivalent absentia that usually resided on her face.
Now she had a name. Kat. Something about her actually brought a cat to mind. A kitten, a Persian, a pussy… Okay. But she had this feline appeal. Something about the slow, graceful way she moved and her green, almond-shaped eyes. Like a cat, she exuded an air of mystery, along with an air of fuck you. But at the same time, she possessed a vulnerability that made him ache for her, that made him want to care for her. Whether she intended it or not, she set off his Dom radar like an alarm. He’d played around in BDSM circles for years and dated tons of beautiful, submissive girls with smiling eyes and lovely bodies he could bury himself in. He’d learned how to handle them, how to thrill them and perhaps most importantly, how to pick them out of a crowd. He could spot a submissive girl a mile away and there were tons of them out there. Some aware, some not so aware, but all predictably compliant once they were in his hands.
But her… Well… He just didn’t know.
She seemed to almost revile men, the same men she constantly left with at last call. It was clear to Ryan that none of the men she left with fulfilled her. He’d see her the following weekend avoiding them like the plague. She was a wanton, a siren—but she was angry. Angry and slutty were never a good mix. He was pretty sure she also had a nihilistic, self-destructive streak. The Dominant side of him wanted to attain her and then tame her, but another part of him knew that would be difficult if not impossible. I want to fix you. I want your submission, your obedience, your body. You’ll like it. What would she do if he approached her that way?
He didn’t want her as a one-night stand. He didn’t want to be one more notch on her hook-up belt, although he was certain he could have accom
plished it easily. That held no interest for him. He wanted her as his submissive or not at all. He wanted her, from the start, kneeling at his feet. Unfortunately, she seemed more apt to kick him in the nuts.
Well, no matter. There were plenty of fish in the sea and plenty of submissive women looking for a Dominant. He would be a fool to get mixed up with her, as tempting as the fantasy was. He wasn’t going after her. Not now, not ever. No.
* * * * *
Kat hit the pavement and started walking. She was so wrought-up that she chose to walk the few blocks to her house, even though a cab would have been safer at this time of night. She didn’t know why she was so unhinged tonight. Guys at the club accosted her all the time. She supposed it was because he’d watched the whole thing, he of the knowing eyes and judgmental smile. He’d seen that guy force his kiss on her, seen her push him away, seen her wipe her mouth and yell at the jerk like a child. He had talked to her like she was a child, like he knew better than her. Or maybe it was just her thinking that.
What made Kat most angry was that he didn’t come save her, didn’t come bounding down the stairs to her defense. Didn’t level the guy with one well-placed punch to the windpipe and drag his sorry ass outside. And now there was no earnest-faced boy to go home with, only her own empty bed in her family’s house near Brighton.
When she got home, she climbed the stairs to the porch heavily. She could hear a crying baby even from outside. Her sister Olga’s one-month-old. Darling during the day, devil all night. Kat brushed past her, suddenly bone-tired.
“Kat, rock the baby for me, please,” Olga begged. “Just for an hour. You’re always up at night.”
She didn’t even stop. “He’s not my baby. I’m tired. I smell like smoke.”
“I’m tired too. I’ve been up for hours. Please. Pozhalu-sta, Katya.”
“No,” Kat said again, hating herself. She tumbled into bed, pulling the pillow over her head so she didn’t have to hear the baby wailing. It didn’t help.
She lay awake a long time thinking about Mr. Dark Eyes, thinking about the way he would have looked at her for not helping her sister. He knew she was a bad, selfish person. He knew.
Chapter Two
She came back again the following night, of course. Clockwork. Ryan wanted to talk to her again now that he’d made her acquaintance, even if it was just another awkward, defensive exchange. No. Too difficult. Not worth it. He finally convinced himself to leave her alone but he couldn’t stop watching her. Why did she fascinate him so much?
She danced for a while when it got busier, when the bodies were pressed together on the dance floor. He watched her from behind the bar, which wasn’t difficult because she jumped up on the platform below the DJ booth. It was like the music possessed her, like the beats lived inside her. He liked house music as much as the next clubgoer, but she seemed to really know the music, feel it deeply. Her hips moved, her feet stomped, her hands reached up in the air and then everyone was jumping, riled up by the beat. For some, it was joy and release. But for her, it seemed an opportunity to lose herself. He felt his cock rising in response to her sexy movements, her curvy body and lovely legs.
By the time she retired to her favored spot up on the balcony, he knew—against his better judgment—that he was going to go talk to her again. One last chat, he told himself. This is the absolute last time you talk to this girl. She ignored him as he approached and leaned beside her on the rail.
“Hi there, Kat. Back again, I see.”
A corner of her lip turned down. “Just like you.”
God, the pull was excruciating. Her little black dress fit her so well it was criminal.
“My name’s Ryan, in case you don’t remember.”
She shot him a look. “I remember. I just don’t feel like talking, Ryan. No offense.”
“I’m not offended. But why don’t you feel like talking?”
“The music is too loud. It’s too hard to hear.”
He leaned closer and spoke next to her ear. “Can you hear me better now?”
She drew away and looked at him. For the first time Ryan saw a spark of the real girl, not the mannequin, before her face rearranged itself into apathy. “What do you want from me?”
“I want to know why you never smile.”
She looked away again. “I smile when I feel like it.”
The timeless dance of flirtation and rebuttal. She looked like she would gladly toss him over the balcony if she could.
“You know what, Kat? I think you’re a very pretty girl.”
She snorted. “That’s the greatest line I’ve ever heard. Seriously. Only a brain surgeon could come up with something so original.”
“You don’t believe I’m really a brain surgeon?”
“Let me put it this way. I wouldn’t have a lot of respect for a brain surgeon who hung out in a crap club like this every weekend.”
“You hang out here.”
“Don’t remind me.”
He could have pulled out his medical ID and showed it to her, but he was so used to girls going all weak at the knees because of his career that he kind of enjoyed the novelty of her disregard.
“So I guess the next question is obvious,” he said. “Why do you hang out here if you hate it so much?”
She crossed her arms over her chest. “I would love to answer that question for you but I don’t really know.”
“Which points at a rather alarming level of non-self-awareness.”
“Non-self-awareness? Is that even a word?”
“I know a lot of large and exotic words, being a brain surgeon.”
She rolled her eyes. “I think I’m going to go dance.”
He laughed as she pushed away from the railing and made her way through groups of people to the stairs. She was a little sassafras, that was for sure. He watched her squeeze between two gabbing club girls and extricate herself from a groping drunk guy. He was just thinking how disappointed he was that he wasn’t going to talk to her again when he saw her fall off balance. She teetered just a moment and then tumbled down the stairs.
It was like slow motion. He saw every contact with the hard concrete, calculating possible bodily damage. Ouch, her shoulder…her hip. She almost righted herself, but then flipped around and fell backward hard, her head hitting the metal edge of the last stair. He was already halfway down behind her, pushing people out of the way.
As he bent over her, she looked up at him, pained and confused. Behind her head, he could already see the blood. Head injuries bled copiously, he knew, so he tried not to panic. He attempted to check her limbs without moving her, wary of spinal damage, but she struggled to sit up.
“Just lie still,” he said. “Don’t try to move yet.” He pushed her back down as forcefully as he dared. Kevin, one of the bouncers, looked over his shoulder.
“She’s bleeding all over the place.”
“Yeah, that happens when people crack their heads open. Can’t you move these gawkers away from here?” Ryan asked, gesturing around.
The bouncers began cordoning off the stairs like some kind of crime scene. One of them handed him a pair of gloves. Ryan pressed his hand hard against the wound on the back of her scalp.
“Ouch,” she moaned.
“Just be still. What hurts?”
“Everything.” But she moved her arms and legs enough to reassure him her spine was okay. He scowled up at the ocean of drunk partygoers around them, noticing guys leering at her. Bloody chick, cool. Idiots. He pushed down her skirt so they couldn’t look up her dress. Stupid, worrying about them gawking at her panties at a time like this. He leaned over her, pressing on the gash, worrying about brain injuries and skull fractures.
“Let me up,” she muttered, pushing at his hands.
“I would prefer not to until I know the bleeding has stopped.”
“I’m still bleeding?”
“Like a fountain. Now be still until the ambulance gets here.”
“Who called an ambulance? I
can’t afford an ambulance.”
“The club will cover it. Head and neck injuries are nothing to take chances with. Now hush and lie still.”
“You know I… I really don’t do well with blood…and needles…”
“You’re going to need stitches for a start. And if there’s any cranial bleeding—”
She made a sound halfway between a protest and a plea and promptly passed out.
* * * * *
The first thing Kat saw when she came awake was the jumbled collection of origami figures on the tray beside her. At first she thought it was crumpled scraps of newspaper. Her eyes focused, her mind still fuzzy. Not scraps. Origami. That’s strange. She turned with a start to find a familiar set of dark eyes looking at her, then back down at her chart. The man from Masquerade was standing at the foot of her bed in a white lab coat. Shit.
“So you really are a doctor.”
“I don’t lie, Ekaterina. Ever. Yes, I am a doctor. A surgeon, actually, but let’s not quibble over terms.”
Ekaterina. He knew her full name now, and god knew what else and he was looking down at her in full asshole-doctor mode. What the hell was his name again? Brian? Ryan? She gestured to her chart. “Why are you looking at that? That’s my private information.”
“I’m the neuro specialist on call this morning, so for the moment you’re my patient. Dr. Ryan McCarthy,” he said, flashing his badge at her before sitting down on the edge of the bed. Kat was mortified to think how awful she probably looked. It was impossible to meet his eyes now, with his scrubs and the lanyard of medical IDs around his neck and that curt, bedside-manner way he spoke to her. “How are you feeling?” he asked. He reached out and she thought he meant to hold her hand but he took her wrist instead and pressed his forefinger to her pulse.
Fortune Page 2
