“That had to be Harmon Wilhelm.”
Nicolai almost felt sorry for the guy. With a name like that, his mother must’ve wanted him to get an ass beating every day at school. “How long have they been dating?”
“Desiree dating Harmon?” Erik’s obvious shock turned the uneasy feeling into a nervous lump. “Harmon would be the perfect match for Desiree if she’d just say yes. My mother has been trying to put that marriage together for months. Instead, my sister lost her damn mind, starting sleeping with you, and moved off the estate.”
“Desiree moved out?”
“She found her own place this morning. The deal closes in three weeks. I’m hoping to talk her out of it before then. I told her she should just move in with you.”
Erik’s mood swings were giving Nicolai whiplash. “Hang on. You suggested she move in with me? I thought I was standing in the way of her life’s dreams. You were so convinced of it you told me I couldn’t have both Desiree and my bar.”
“I owe you an apology for that.” Erik slumped forward, leaning on the bar. “You gave me a speech that night about Desiree and how I didn’t really understand what she wanted in life.”
“You didn’t.”
“I was just stuck on the idea of my sister being someone’s one-night stand.”
Nicolai picked up a towel and started wiping the bar just to give his hands something to do. “She isn’t a one-night stand. I don’t think she ever was. Not to me.”
“Talia was supposed to be my one-night stand too.”
Nicolai thought back to the first night Erik had brought Talia into the bar. He’d known then that the two of them were made for each other, even if they hadn’t.
“So the bar is yours. No strings attached.” Erik held out his hand, and they shook. “And if you’d like my sister to move in with you, I’m open to that too. At least then I’d know someone was keeping her out of trouble.”
Understanding hit him so hard Nicolai had to brace both his palms on the bar for support.
Erik leaned over. “You look like you’re going to be sick.”
“I just realized I’m the world’s biggest dumbass.”
“There’s probably still time for her to get out of the real estate deal. Just talk some sense into her.”
A wave of anger toward his friend left Nicolai fighting for control. “I don’t need to talk some sense into her. She knows she’s welcome here anytime, but she needs her own space. It’s practically all she’s ever wanted, Erik. She just wants to be independent and make her own choices.”
Erik opened his mouth to argue and then snapped it closed.
“She accepted me from the beginning, past and all, and I’ve treated her like a kid who couldn’t take care of herself. How many times has she supported your decisions or backed your choices?”
“Every time.”
“I need to see her.” Nicolai grabbed his keys from the peg behind the counter. “Is she still at the Minutemen Bar, or at your place?”
“Neither. She left with her friend Chelsea to hit some club called Asylum.”
“Fuck.”
“You know the place?”
Nicolai met Erik’s gaze head-on. “It’s down in Dorchester, belongs to Dante Torres.”
“Fuck.”
Just once, Nicolai wished karma would quit screwing with him. But maybe it was apropos that Desiree was dancing with the devil in the club where Nicolai had lost his soul to the gambling tables ten years ago.
* * * *
“You are such a sexy woman.” Brown-haired and preppy slid his hand up her bare thigh, inching it beneath the short skirt of her cocktail dress. “I can’t wait to undress you and lick every inch of your skin like a lollipop.”
He was cute enough, and he seemed to think she was attractive. They were two consenting adults. So why did Desiree have to bite back a giggle every time he fed her another one of his obviously practiced lines?
Preppy Guy kissed her neck, trailing his lips down the column of her throat to her neckline. Instead of chills, her skin actually crawled at the contact. Squeezing her eyes shut, she focused on how good it should feel. She should be turned on. She liked sex.
Except the thought of good sex brought Nicolai to mind. His brutally masculine body wrapped around hers, pressing into her, sending her to oblivion with his lips, teeth, and tongue. Feeling as though she were at his mercy and yet knowing she held him in thrall to her body. That was sexy. That was a turn-on. And that was what she really wanted.
“What’s the matter?”
She pulled her leg out of Preppy Guy’s grasp. “I’m sorry. I’m just not really into this.”
“You’re not?”
The utter shock on his face would’ve been amusing had she not been sandwiched into a booth with him on one side and Chelsea and her “date” on the other. “I’ll just excuse myself.” She clambered awkwardly over his body, apologizing when she sideswiped his head in the climb. Finally making it to solid ground, she turned around to get Chelsea’s attention. Unfortunately her compatriot was too busy exploring her new “date’s” tonsils.
“Desiree, Desiree, Desiree. I knew I spotted you down here, just waiting for someone with a strong hand to come along and claim you. This is just too good to be true.”
If Preppy Guy’s touch made her skin crawl, the sound of Jackson’s voice made her want to projectile vomit. But that would have been showing a weakness she just couldn’t afford. “I wish I could say I’m surprised to see you here, Jackson, except that it doesn’t surprise me at all.”
He spread his arms to encompass the room. “It’s my bachelor party. I’m entitled.”
“Uh-huh.”
“And now I’m entitled to you.”
She crossed her arms and started edging away. “In what fantasy world would that happen?”
“This one.” He snapped his fingers in a gesture she would’ve found highly amusing had it not brought two steroid-abusing staff members running over. “Bring her to my table on Level Four.”
Walking away should not have been difficult. They were not in the Middle Ages, and she wasn’t property to be carted around at the whim of some barbaric man who’d bought her like a cow at market. Unfortunately the two lumps of muscle that picked her up by the elbows and carried her toward the second set of stairs hadn’t gotten the memo.
“Excuse me, I’m perfectly capable of walking.” She felt ridiculous with her legs dangling, but she’d been hardwired from birth not to make a scene by screaming or something equally ridiculous. “Hello? Can we talk about this like rational human beings?”
The guy on her left grunted, but neither responded to her suggestion. She craned her neck around to look for Chelsea, but her friend was useless.
“Enjoy Level Four, you lucky bitch!” Chelsea called out. She even had the nerve to give Desiree a thumbs-up before going back to her make-out session.
The fourth level looked a lot like the third, except there were fewer people and more bodyguards. The motif screamed harem, with delicately tooled screens, colorful silk drapes, and live plants. She even spotted a few live birds as she was toted past some of the more private sections.
Her captors let her down in front of a large common area. They hung on to her arms to keep her from dashing away as Jackson settled into a chair like a king on a throne.
Something about the configuration of tables and chairs clustered about a central bar reminded Desiree of a meet-and-greet lounge. Women of every shape and ethnicity vied for the attention of the male patrons. This was obviously the place where high rollers came to pick their flavor of the month—or in this case, evening.
A cluster of men and women danced to techno music with a thrumming beat. They gyrated in erotic patterns, grinding against each other with a promise of sex. Smaller groups had broken away, gathering at intervals on the padded bench that snaked its way around the perimeter of the room. Two women exchanged heated kisses, their male companion fondling their breasts through their sheer
tops as they took turns stroking the erection that tented the front of his slacks. Another couple was deeply involved in their own heated exchange, his hand buried beneath her short skirt while she gave him an enthusiastic blowjob.
The concepts of exhibitionism and voyeurism were both fascinating and intimidating to Desiree. Having Jackson involved pushed her past intimidation into horror. In a place like this, there was no telling what he could get away with.
He gestured to one of the flunkies. “Tell Dante I’m exercising my right to choose.”
Right to choose? What the hell was that? Desiree had a sinking feeling she should’ve read all the fine print on that stupid waiver. It was starting to look as if she’d signed away some pretty important stuff. “Who’s Dante?”
“I am.”
The man who sauntered in their direction moved with an innate sensuality that would have made any woman sit up and take notice. He stood just less than six feet tall, and his body was packed with lean muscle. He had a dark complexion and shoulder-length dark brown hair that he kept tucked behind his ears. A scar bisected both the top and bottom lip on the right side of his face, but it served to give him a hint of danger that only increased his sex appeal.
“I’ve made my choice for the evening, Dante.” Jackson leaped to his feet and stepped toward Desiree.
She took a step back, crowding up against her captors. Better them than Jackson.
“You know the rules, Mr. Wilhelm.” Dante’s smooth voice raised the hair on the back of her neck. This guy was not the kind you messed with. He’d probably grown up in a family with connections to the Mafia.
A smile of satisfaction twisted Jackson’s face into an ugly mask. “She hasn’t made another choice. Therefore she’s open to my claim.”
Desiree found her voice. “Okay, hold on. I’m open to his claim? What does that even mean?”
“Didn’t anyone ever tell you to read the fine print?” Dante chided.
“Apparently not. How about I call my lawyer and we’ll rectify that?” Something in his chuckle reduced Desiree to a naive schoolgirl. She was obviously in way over her head.
“We deal with the cream of the crop here at Asylum. They know they can count on us to keep a secret. And we know they will follow our rules. If not”—he took two steps closer, and Desiree felt as though she were being cornered like prey about to be slaughtered—“we have the ability to take your little social world and turn it upside down. You’ll be a pariah before noon tomorrow, and before I’m finished your family will be reduced to the laughingstock of the Eastern Seaboard.”
Desiree thought of Selena, of her mother, of Erik and Talia, and how right Nicolai had been about their stupid society rules. There was nothing to do but play Dante’s game. “So how about I accept that I have to play by your rules, and you just tell me what they are. I was led to believe that both men and women could pick a partner.”
“That is true.”
“Well, then, I pick anyone but him.”
Dante spread his arms to encompass the whole room. “Anyone?”
“Well, not anyone.” She realized they’d drawn the attention of several groups in the reception area.
“It must be somebody. If you don’t exercise your right to choose, then you’ll be forced to accept Jackson’s claim.” Dante’s voice grew harsh. “You agreed to abide by the rules and remain in the club for the duration of the night. What happens here stays here. Partners are chosen by one party or the other, and what those partners choose to do during their time together is completely up to them.”
Desiree felt as if she were trying to balance on a precipice. “So if he”—she used air quotes—“claims me, I have to spend the rest of the night with him?”
“Yes.”
“Doing what exactly?”
Dante’s gaze raked her body from breasts to ass. “If he wants to spend the rest of the night attempting to seduce you, that’s his prerogative.”
She’d have to be brain-dead to think Jackson would try and seduce her. He’d tried to rape her once. Here there’d be ample time for him to complete the deed. Her palms began to sweat. There had to be a way out of this. She’d just choose someone else, explain the situation, and then hide for the rest of the night.
A small group had already gathered to watch the drama unfold. If the lewd stares were anything to go on, Jackson was not the only depraved lunatic in the Boston area. She was even getting some interested stares from the women. Not everyone looked like a creeper. There were a few trust-fund babies who looked like they’d just cut the apron strings. Over half the men in the room fit the description of cold, calculating businessmen looking to blow off some steam. And then there were the sugar daddies.
How could she choose one of these people? There was a time and a place for hedonistic behavior. This was definitely the place, but it wasn’t the time for her. How had she ever thought she could find what she was looking for in a place like this?
“Time is running out,” Dante murmured. “Make your choice.”
It was like a bad dream, the kind where you were naked in a room full of strangers waiting for you to dazzle them. It was starting to look as if her best bet was to choose Jackson and then try out Nicolai’s self-defense techniques. She spun slowly in a circle to buy time. Trying to see everything and everyone at once, she almost missed a man standing a clean-shaven head taller than everyone else.
Nicolai?
Every nerve in her body sang with relief. She didn’t care how or why he was there, only that he was. It looked like he’d come straight from Jack’s. He was in the jeans and black T-shirt he wore while tending bar, and he’d exchanged the gold hoops in his ears for thicker silver ones.
He stood silent and expressionless, leaning against the balustrade. With his arms crossed, his shoulders looked even broader and more intimidating. The plain T-shirt outlined the rugged muscles in his belly, and his snug jeans reminded her that he was packing serious heat in his crotch.
“Time’s up, Desiree.”
“I choose Nicolai.”
A fleeting look of surprise touched Dante’s expression before he smoothed it away. “Nicolai Anastas, it’s been years. Welcome back.”
Nicolai acknowledged the greeting, but his poker face didn’t slip when she walked boldly to his side.
Desiree didn’t care. She recognized the expression for what it was. This was the face he showed the world when he had to be the biggest badass on the block. It wasn’t the face he wore in the bedroom. It wasn’t the expression of the man who touched her with such gentleness. And right now that was perfectly okay. She needed the badass.
Behind her, Jackson made a strangled noise of outrage.
Nicolai moved to stand between her and everyone else. “Are you all right?” He tilted his head just enough to see her over his shoulder.
She gave a brief nod. His words had been pitched for her ears only. Until he said otherwise, she was keeping quiet. She didn’t know how he’d come to be on Asylum’s Level Four, and she wasn’t about to do anything to screw it up.
“This is bullshit, Dante! I want her, and I’ll pay whatever it costs to have the bitch.”
Jackson’s singled-minded pursuit might have been flattering had it not carried a whiff of the slightly psychotic. She edged closer to Nicolai’s back. It was starting to look as if Jackson was gearing up for a tantrum.
Chapter Nineteen
Being back inside Asylum was almost surrealistic. The sound of slot machines jangled in the background, laced here and there by the shouts and groans from the baccarat and roulette tables. The faint scent of spices from the kitchen mingled with the odor of money being well spent. Nicolai’s stomach was in knots, his psyche reliving every moment of his last visit to this hellhole. He’d have never come back—never—but he had an all-consuming need to make things right with Desiree.
Dante was having an intense conversation with the man who had tried to claim Desiree. Watching that whole process unfold without stepping in
and staking his own claim had taken every ounce of self-control he possessed. His muscles were just starting to relax.
She’d chosen him. Again.
The thought filled him with the utterly male desire to mark her as his. They were stuck at Asylum for the rest of the night. He might as well make good use of the amenities to show Desiree over and over again that he wholeheartedly endorsed her choice.
He could smell her there beside him, the light feminine fragrance that sent a jolt right to his groin. The only thing more intoxicating was the scent of their lovemaking. His cock stiffened, pushing against the fly of his jeans. When was Dante going to shut this little prick up and let everyone move on?
The other patrons had already lost interest in the drama. They began to disperse, regrouping to continue their night’s revelry. Dante was still dealing with Desiree’s errant admirer. Nicolai kept one eye on them, but his thoughts were focused on the sexy woman by his side.
“Your odds aren’t good if you issue a challenge, Jackson.” Dante’s face grew harsh. “I suggest you drop it.”
Jackson? As in Jackson Wilhelm, the sleazebag groom-to-be? Nicolai leaned down so he could whisper in Desiree’s ear. “Is this asshole your sister’s fiancé?”
“In all his splendor. Please don’t go over there and do something rash. He’s not worth the trouble.”
The hurt was there beneath the nonchalance, and he wanted to make it right. “I was wrong, you know.”
“I’m sorry, are you actually admitting that you’re overprotective?”
“Wild girl, you could take that man in one round with a hand tied behind your back.” Her giggle warmed his heart. “You don’t need me to fight your battles.”
“I needed you tonight.”
He lifted her chin with his thumb so he could meet her bright green gaze. “I hope you need me just as much as I need you, but you didn’t need me to bail you out. You were doing just fine on your own. You’d have figured a way out. I’m just glad you chose me.”
“How did you know where to find this place? How’d you even know I was here?”
He took a breath to answer and was cut off by Jackson’s hand on his arm. “I don’t know who the fuck you think you are, but this means nothing. Tonight might be yours, but I’ll have her a dozen times by the end of the week.”
Boston Avant-Garde: Impetuous Page 16
