“Oh, I suppose she’s around here somewhere. Last I saw, she was having a few words with the minister about the ceremony.”
Feeling a touch of apprehension, Desiree left her mother and her slimy brother-in-law-to-be in favor of finding her sister. Hopefully Selena wouldn’t be stupid enough to offend the minister or fire him for some imagined offense.
Heading away from the foyer into the maze of hallways, Desiree quickly found what had once been a Grand Salon in the old days. It still held a touch of the old-world glamour with high, arched windows draped in brocade curtains, and imported rugs to soften the hardwood floors. Selena and the good reverend were deep in conversation. To Desiree’s relief, the wedding planner was hovering nearby. Hopefully that meant Selena had called Isabel to apologize.
Isabel waved her over. “I was going to call if I didn’t see you tonight. I wanted to say thanks.”
“Since you’re here, I’m assuming Selena got her act together.”
The relief on Isabel’s face was palpable. “Something you said must’ve hit home. It’s like dealing with an entirely new woman.”
It didn’t feel as if she’d said or done much of anything. In fact, it was almost the opposite. Desiree had walked out and left Selena to clean up her own mess. “Whatever happened, I’m glad it worked out. Are we on track for tomorrow?”
“Everything is going smoothly. I’m on my way to get the wedding party so we can run through the ceremony. I’ll be back in just a moment.”
Isabel left, and Desiree hung back, letting Selena finish her conversation. Without her sister’s hostility filling the room, it was possible to see the truly beautiful woman who hid behind the caustic attitude and biting words. Despite everything, Desiree was proud of her baby sister. Selena was a stunning woman, always had been. Even though she’d stopped dancing years ago, she still moved with the natural grace that had been her strength in ballet.
Until that moment, Desiree hadn’t ever considered her sister’s abrupt decision to stop dancing. Why had she quit? Selena had started ballet as a tiny tot in a pink tutu that had almost swallowed her whole. At one time, she’d been taking classes five or six days a week. Why stop?
“So you decided to show up, did you?”
There was the hostility Desiree had been missing. It didn’t cut the way it would have only a few days ago. Instead, she could look past the aggressive words and see the hurt behind them. “Selena, no matter how mad I was, I’d never miss your big day.”
Something inside Selena seemed to melt at Desiree’s words, but before they could get past it, the rest of the wedding party wandered into the Salon.
One of the groomsmen strode through the door as if he owned the world. “Let’s get this show on the road. I’m starving.”
“Hey, Chicken Little, you look fantastic! How have you been since you ditched me at the club this past weekend?” Chelsea nudged her from behind.
“I’m fine, but what are you doing here?” Suspicion crept over Desiree. “Did you spontaneously start dating one of the groomsmen?”
The smile slid right off Chelsea’s face. “Uh, no. Selena said you were okay with me taking your place in the wedding party.”
She’d known it was coming, but the stab of betrayal was hard to stomach. Desiree slapped her best smile on her face and pretended to be right on board with her sister’s new game plan. “Whatever Selena wants is fine. I picked up the dress earlier today. I’ll make sure Talia brings it to you tomorrow, and the seamstress can take it in when she puts the finishing touches on Selena’s hem. Your pale hair will look fabulous with the color.”
“Desiree, I’m so sorry! Selena said the two of you had a major fight yesterday.”
“We did. I suppose I wasn’t completely certain she was serious when she fired me from the wedding party.”
“Wow, what did you fight about?”
She really didn’t want to go into it with Chelsea, so she pulled out the one item sure to distract. “I’m moving into my own condo in a few weeks.”
Chelsea squealed and gave Desiree a quick, hard hug. “That’s fantastic! We should celebrate! Hey, when we’re done with this practice wedding, we should hook up and hit a new club I found.”
“New club?” Instant skepticism was the only way to prepare for one of Chelsea’s clubs.
“No, really, this place is amazing. The selection process is a little more balanced. Women get a say in who picks them, and anything goes.” Chelsea’s eyes gleamed with excitement. “I mean anything, Desiree. This place is hot. It doesn’t matter how wound up you are when you walk through that door. You’ll be satisfied when you leave.”
How could any club ever compare to a night spent with Nicolai? In fact, how could anything compare to Nicolai? He was gravel and velvet, light and dark, dangerously protective and drop-dead sexy all rolled into one. In short, Desiree was spoiled for life.
Chelsea’s offer brought reality crashing in. Desiree thought about the one thing she’d been missing since that morning when she’d stolen his keys and let herself out of his apartment without waking him. She hadn’t returned his calls or texts, and she hadn’t let herself think about him. There was so much left to say. But how was she supposed to convince the man that she wasn’t a walking disaster? She didn’t want to be with him because she couldn’t take care of herself. She wanted to be his equal, in and out of the bedroom. The man didn’t want labels? Fine. Actions spoke louder than words anyway.
“So, Desiree, how about it?” Chelsea prodded.
“You know, I’ll have to think about that one. I’m not sure the sex club scene is right for me.”
“There’s my Chicken Little. Baby, you need to get laid!”
“And you need to get your ass in front of the altar and pay attention.” Desiree nudged her friend toward the group. “Don’t screw up my baby sister’s wedding.”
It hurt to see the group lining up, Talia included, and be so conspicuously left out. On the other hand, she’d made her choice when she’d told her sister to “handle it” before walking out. Selena had handled it. This was probably for the best.
Desiree abruptly missed Nicolai to the point of pain. She needed his calm presence and clear thinking. He had a way of looking at things that was circumspect. He could take petty emotion right out of it and dive into the heart of anything. He made her look at things differently. He made her feel strong and sure.
She left the Salon, retracing her steps through the maze of corridors to the foyer. From there she could see into the Minutemen Bar. She wondered if Nicolai had really called his friend and demanded the poor guy play babysitter while she was there.
“I’m so glad to see you here this evening, Desiree. You look fabulous.”
She smiled down at Harmon. The poor guy was really harmless. It wasn’t his fault she was attracted to large men with piercings. Hell, she hadn’t even planned on that little twist of events. “Hello, Harmon. How have you been? Did your business acquisition come out well?”
“As a matter of fact, it did. Thank you so much for asking.” Harmon chattered on about the recent events at his firm.
“Would you like to go into the bar and have a drink while we wait for them to finish the rehearsal?” Desiree was more tired of standing than she was eager to hear any more about his latest corporate conquest, but Harmon was delighted.
“That is a fantastic idea!” Ever the gentleman, he took her elbow and escorted her into the Minutemen Bar.
The place was old enough that there had been a time in the not-too-distant past when Desiree would’ve needed Harmon’s patronage to enter the bar at all. The paneling was well oiled and dark. The walls were covered in a mixture of early foxhunting meets Revolutionary War. Cigarette smoke swirled around the ceiling beams, and bluesy piano music played somewhere in the background. It had a masculine feel that no amount of feminine presence would ever change.
Harmon chose a table out of the main thoroughfare, not too far from the piano. Desiree settled into her
seat and placed her small handbag on an adjacent chair. At least this was Harmon and not Jackson, so the chances of her needing the mace she’d stashed in her bag were fairly low.
“Can I get you a drink at the bar?”
“I’ll have a Cosmo, with lime.”
“Be right back.”
Harmon had only just stepped away when the piano music abruptly stopped.
“That drink requires a lemon, since you’re playing by the rules.”
For the briefest moment, Desiree was afraid her heart had stopped beating altogether. There was no mistaking Nicolai’s smooth baritone. Her body came instantly awake, her nipples puckering into little points and her crotch growing warm and damp. She didn’t know whether to laugh or scream. Standing up, she turned to face the piano.
He was watching her like a predator stalking prey. Still and silent, he sat at the instrument, hands resting on his thighs. He was dressed in a neatly buttoned blue and black-striped dress shirt, black slacks, and dress shoes. Twin gold hoops glinted in his ears, and the intensity of his dark eyes was leveled right at her.
The man was the personification of sex. The dark wood of the piano set off his bold good looks and made her think of the Steinway in the back of Jack’s. She’d never look at a piano again without remembering what it felt like to lean against it, waiting for him to play her body as he did the keyboard.
To their left, Desiree could hear two women whispering about the handsome musician. Their blunt comments left her with a twisted sense of jealousy and possessiveness that bordered on homicidal. She knew he looked good. More than that, she knew his touch, his scent, and his taste were just as good as his looks.
He lifted an eyebrow, mocking her obvious perusal of him.
The gesture set her temper on fire. “You’ve got some admirers. Want me to give them your number, or should I just send them right up the back stairs to your place?”
“I don’t think I stopped to make the bed before breaking out of my own apartment after someone stole my keys.”
She had that one coming, but she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing it. “So just your number, then.”
“Don’t push me, wild girl. You won’t like the results.” He stood, shoving the piano bench backward with such force it almost flipped over.
“You show up because you think I need a babysitter, and you have the nerve to accuse me of pushing you?”
They were suddenly toe-to-toe in the bar, glaring at each other. To her horror, Harmon arrived at the table with drinks in hand. She wanted to crawl into a hole and hide until it was all over.
“Desiree, is this man bothering you?”
Nicolai’s expression darkened as he turned the full force of his gaze on Harmon. “I suggest you step off, prep boy.”
“Nicolai…”
“Do you have any idea how worried I’ve been all day? All fucking day! You didn’t pick up your damn phone once. Not even to tell me things were fine and I’d see you later.”
“I don’t owe you any kind of explanation for where I go or what I do.”
“The hell you don’t!” His voice reverberated around the bar like a sonic boom.
The two ogling women weren’t the only ones staring at Nicolai anymore. Half the bar was staring at him as though he were about to start breathing fire and eating villagers.
“If you don’t stop yelling at the lady, I’m going to have you thrown out of this establishment.” Harmon stuck his narrow chest out like a sparrow facing down a hawk.
She touched her self-appointed champion on the arm. “It’s okay, Harmon. Please just let me handle this.”
Considering the angry haze that descended over Nicolai’s countenance, Desiree might as well have given Harmon a big, welcoming kiss. “Is this what you want?”
“What are you talking about?”
“This.” He gestured to Harmon. “Is this what you want?”
His insinuation was like a slap in the face. How many times had she shown him what it was she wanted? How many times had she said it? She’d told him how she’d chosen, and still he treated her like a brainless bit of fluff that would go home with the first guy who bought her a drink.
“Well?” His demand rattled her bones and her composure.
She fished around in her bag for his keys before slapping them onto his chest. “If you have to ask, then I suppose it’s the only option left open to me.”
Chapter Eighteen
“Why do I let you talk me into these things, Chelsea?” Desiree craned her neck to take in the elaborate chandeliers hung in a row down the center of the massive room.
“Would you quit? You would think there was an eighty-year-old woman in your body instead of a sexy thirty-six-year-old.”
“No eighty-year-old woman would ever find this place.”
It was a true statement. Asylum was located in a derelict-looking warehouse in the industrial section of Dorchester. From the outside it looked like an abandoned building. Inside there were uniformed guards at every exit. The question was whether the guards were there to keep the riffraff out or to keep the wealthy patrons from wandering outside into the unsavory neighborhood.
The interior of the club looked like a posh casino split into four tiers. On the main floor, packed card tables lined one wall opposite the longest bar Desiree had ever seen. The second tier wrapped around the first. Booths were scattered around the perimeter. Most were covered with food that looked as though it had come from all over the world. Groups of diners sat in clusters, sharing cozy moments over a meal in a romantic setting.
“We’re going to Level Three.” Chelsea grabbed her hand and led the way.
Desiree let her friend drag her along as she took it all in. They ascended a wide set of steps until they were blocked by what looked like a check-in desk. The little podium would’ve seemed decorative if it weren’t for the two giant men with handguns strapped to their waists stationed on either side.
Completely undeterred, Chelsea stopped at the desk and eagerly waited for the clerk to acknowledge her. Desiree began to wonder if her friend wasn’t slightly nuts in a self-destructive way.
“Are the two of you wishing to check in for the evening?” The clerk’s name tag read RAY, and he at least knew how to smile. “I’ll need both your first names. And you’ll need to sign the confidentiality waivers.”
She thought her eyebrows might shoot off the top of her forehead at the mention of a confidentiality waiver. At least this guy’s manners were much better than the prick who’d worked the last club.
Desiree glanced over a double-sided sheet of paper that looked suspiciously like a contract. “What is this? Did you even read it?”
“Some of it.” Chelsea was already signing with a flourish.
Ray flashed a disarming smile. “It’s merely a document that absolves Asylum of any liability should you choose to indulge in rough sex.”
Five days ago, Desiree would’ve been signing on the dotted line without a second thought. Now she wasn’t so sure. Coming to the club with Chelsea had been an act of rebellion. Nicolai would have a fit if he knew she’d done it. Maybe she’d come just to prove to him that she could spend a night out on the town without getting herself into major trouble. That didn’t mean she intended to have sex at all, let alone rough sex.
“Come on, Desiree. Quit playing by all the rules and have fun for once. You’re not promising to do anything. You’re just agreeing to be responsible for your own choices.”
Chelsea made it sound so damn reasonable. Praying she wouldn’t regret it, Desiree signed the sheet and initialed the bottom. Ray the clerk reached out and took her fingers as she handed him the waiver. He leaned over and kissed her hand before sliding a wristband onto her arm.
“Wristbands?”
“We can drink for free up here on Level Three.” Chelsea adjusted hers, and Desiree noticed there were tiny rhinestones embedded in the plastic.
“Is there a Level Four?”
“Level Four i
s designed for our high rollers.” Ray glanced toward the next set of stairs. “You’re a beautiful woman. If you catch their eye you might be invited up for a bit of fun.”
“Meaning sex.”
“If that’s what you want.” His sensual grin made her belly do nervous somersaults.
What was she doing here? It was new and exciting, and any other time she’d be dragging Chelsea all over the place just to look at everything, but that was then. What had she really expected to find in a place like this? No-holds-barred sex? A partner for a casual fling? Something that would be so far outside her mother’s idea of acceptable it might render her life interesting? She was pretty certain it was possible to find all those things at Asylum, but why should she even look? She had all that and more in one sexy package that sported piercings and a clean-shaven head. She had Nicolai.
Or did she?
The angry expression on his face had shattered something inside her. He was always telling her to say what she wanted. Hadn’t she done that only to have him throw it back in her face? She’d picked him, but he still didn’t trust her. He thought of her as a child who couldn’t take care of herself.
The same repressed anger that had made her lob a lemon at Nicolai’s head that first night swelled inside her heart. “All right, Chelsea. Let’s go see what there is to drink in this place.”
* * * *
Nicolai smiled when Erik approached the bar, even though Desiree’s brother was the last guy he wanted to talk to at the moment.
“What the hell did you say to my sister?”
“Excuse me?”
“I asked what you said to Desiree.” Erik perched on a bar stool and stabbed his fingers through his dark hair. It was a familiar gesture that told Nicolai the man was seriously agitated about something. That wasn’t a good sign.
“I asked her if that guy she was with in the bar was really what she wanted.”
“What guy? Desiree was in the bar with a guy?”
An uneasy feeling settled in Nicolai’s gut. “Short guy, glasses, balding, geeky as hell.”
Boston Avant-Garde: Impetuous Page 15
