by Gia Dawn
What would it hurt to let them take her to the corner grocery store? Twenty minutes tops and she would be safely back inside with enough food to last for a week. There couldn’t possibly be that many people out on a Monday afternoon, and no one who could guess her identity. She found her biggest pair of sunglasses and shoved them over her nose, along with a scarf she tied over her hair and wrapped around her neck. In the end she looked less like Audrey Hepburn than a bag lady, but at least no one could tell what she looked like behind the disguise.
And she didn’t have to worry that anyone would follow her home…not with Jason and Marco by her side.
Still, she sat on the edge of the bed as memories tried to drag her down. The blow to her head that felled her to her knees. The agony of the blade as it sliced through her arm. The fire and the smoke and the blood and the—
“You coming out or are we coming come in?”
Kiera jumped when Marco yelled through the bedroom door, his voice jerking her back to the present.
“Out,” she said, struggling to her feet. She opened the door to find them leaning on either side of the jamb, and the expressions on their faces would have been comical if she wasn’t so shocked by seeing them so close to her unmade bed.
She left the room and slammed the door shut behind her.
“You know it’s a hundred degrees outside?” Marco’s brows drew together. “You’re gonna burn up in that outfit.”
“I’ll be just fine. Now let’s go before I change my mind.” She wiggled past them in the narrow hall and flew down the stairs, grabbing her purse and keys. “Come on, boys.” She deliberately held the door open.
Jason was the first outside. “You heard the lady, Marco, get with the program.”
Marco gave her a wink as he followed. “Not good to rush things, tesoro. Haste and pleasure never mix.”
“This isn’t pleasure—this is necessity.” Kiera slid into the backseat even though Marco was holding open the passenger-side door.
He got in and closed it with a click. “This is pleasure,” he stated with another wink. “You are gonna enjoy every second in our company.”
“You wish.” But her smile was genuine as they pulled out of the drive and Jason drove them down the tree-lined street.
It was hot, steamy hot, but the air-conditioner in the car was divine and Kiera leaned back in contentment as the cool blast of air hit her face.
Then she sat up in shock as she saw them drive right past the corner store.
“Stop. There’s a Bi-Lo right there. Where in the hell are you taking me?” She watched the store pass by as a prisoner watches their last hope of escape.
“Charleston City Market.” Jason studied her in the rearview mirror. “Best place to shop in town.”
Chapter Four
No, it was not.
Kiera huddled deeper into her seat. Charleston City Market was over four blocks of food, shops and assorted vendors along with half the population of the city at any given time and twice as many tourists. The very thought made her stomach churn, the wonderful quiche she’d had before now a lump of acid in her gut.
“We can’t go there. Take me home.”
“To do what?” Marco turned his head around. “Have you seen anything of the city since you moved in?”
“I don’t want to,” she replied, feeling like a child arguing with two very determined guardians. “It’s a city. So what? I’ve seen cities before.”
“Not like Charleston.” Jason turned down a road Kiera had never seen before. “Relax and enjoy the view. We promise to protect you.”
Could they do that? Protect her forever? Not likely. But it had been ages since she’d done anything remotely fun, and the sun was shining in a clear blue sky and she decided they could protect her for a single afternoon. And they couldn’t make her get out of the car. If they insisted on shopping they could go without her.
“A touch of sunshine is just what we need,” Marco observed cryptically.
“It is indeed,” Jason replied as they turned another corner and the ocean came into view.
Not exactly agreeing, Kiera laid her head against the window and let the light caress her face. The water shone like diamonds beneath the strong summer sun, a silvery blue that shimmered with a blinding sparkle of light. Kiera studied every lap of wave the wind caressed, her artistic side soaking in this new experience with a glee that made her realize her creative well had long run dry.
She rolled down her window and stuck out her head, the smell of the sea like the finest perfume. Flowers bloomed in every window and shadowed sliver of courtyard, their brilliant blossoms floating in the soft summer breeze. And the people who thronged the well-kept streets were as varied and interesting as the blooms. It was high tourist season and travelers from every part of the globe mingled in the afternoon, Indian saris and French couture rubbing shoulders with cut-off jeans and flip-flops and bikinis.
The market itself was a wonder in variation with everything from cheap Chinese imports to elegantly wrought jewelry on display. Kiera stopped by a booth that sold multimedia artwork to gaze at a portrait of a fairy whose wings and clothing were made of material attached to the painting beneath, with sequins and gems and glitter tossed haphazardly over the entire picture.
She whirled to point out her find to Jason and Marco, only to find them helping a very pregnant woman maneuver her stroller around the crowd while her little girl happily licked a mostly melted ice cream cone.
She had a sudden vision of them as fathers making certain their mate and children were kept safe and cared for. It would make a perfect painting, she thought, digging in her purse for paper and pen. A fairy queen with her two immortal consorts whose sole function was to see to her every wish and give her children to inherit the kingdom. Kiera tried not to be jealous as the woman laughed and bent to wipe her daughter’s face—jealous of the family she’d never had.
When a herd of teenagers rushed between Kiera and her picture, she elbowed her way through the throng, not thinking of anything but getting her companions back into view. It was only when she saw the approving look on their faces that she realized she had done something completely out of her comfort zone.
“See, it’s not so bad.” Jason took her elbow and steered her to the side.
“You knocked your way through that crowd like a pro,” Marco added with a grin. “We should sign you up for the roller derby.”
She laughed at the unexpected compliment, more relaxed than she would have ever imagined. The next few hours passed quickly. Marco and Jason piled fruit and salad and freshly baked bread in bags that they hauled in shifts back to the car. At her insistence they bought ice cream and ate it as they finished their shopping for the day, Kiera fully appreciating why the little girl in the stroller had so enjoyed her messy cone.
She grew drowsy on the ride back home, barely hearing her cell phone ring.
“You gonna get that?” Marco quirked an eyebrow at her purse.
With a discontented sigh Kiera pulled it out and glanced at the number. Why was Manette calling her today? She answered out of sheer curiosity alone. “They did what?” she squealed after she’d heard what the other woman had to say, her eyes darting from Jason to Marco and back again. She held the phone so close to her ear it hurt, but she had no intention of letting either of them hear what Manette was saying. “They have invited you to do a portrait of them at the Red Mask, ma cherie.” Kiera had never heard such amusement in Manette’s voice. “And I accepted on your behalf.”
“You did what?” Kiera cupped her hand over her mouth. She knew she sounded like a broken record, but she couldn’t help it. “Oh no! No, no, no, no, no. You call them back and tell them I couldn’t possibly do that.”
She braved another glance to the front seat and studied her companions with a rising panic. Were they smirking? Were they? Did they know she was Kitty Sunshine? How could they have possibly made the connection?
“Non.” Manette’s voice turned cold. �
�You promised them a painting, and you will deliver. Or else you will decline on your own behalf. Tomorrow night, Kiera. Eight o’clock. I will have everything ready.”
Before Kiera could mouth another word in protest, Manette hung up, leaving her to face the men who looked decidedly self-satisfied.
“Bad news?” Marco asked, his eyes glittering like two black diamonds.
“Or good?” Jason asked, his eyes the color of polished emeralds where they met her gaze in the mirror.
Luckily Kiera’s sunglasses hid her expression, although they didn’t do a thing to calm the flutter of her treacherous heart. She would go, she knew with a certainty, anticipation edging out her fear. No matter how long she protested or how much she wanted to refuse, she would take the men up on their offer. It was only a painting, after all. And she’d seen them naked a dozen times before. What would it hurt to get her hands a little dirty? She was a professional and had worked with nude models many times in the past. And they were all adults, she reasoned, no need to panic, no need to get so excited.
No need to squeeze her legs together in an effort to ease the want that made her sex clench tight in wicked anticipation.
No need for any lascivious thoughts at all.
Chapter Five
Marco and Jason hadn’t known what to expect when they were given permission to meet Kitty Sunshine at the Red Mask Club, that part of the Gaston Plantation not open to the general public. They gave their names to the guard on duty who let them through a fancy iron gate and directed them to a small road that ran around to the back of the beautiful antebellum building. They parked Jason’s battered Ford Ranger next to a line of BMWs and Mercedes Benzes the likes of which they’d never seen before.
“We’re way out of our league here, bro,” Marco stated as they made their way to an ornately carved door.
“Nah.” Jason wasn’t fazed in the least. “They put their pants on just like the rest of us.”
“Yeah, but those pants would cost us an entire month’s salary.”
“Your point?” Jason was starting to look annoyed.
“Just don’t want Kiera to be disappointed.”
Jason grabbed Marco by the shoulder. “Have you ever, ever known a woman to be less than satisfied with our performances?”
Marco managed to smile. “Not once. Not even that Greek billionaire’s daughter—what was her name, Lysteria?
“Lysia. Listeria is a disease, you idiot.” Jason raised his hand to knock. “Ready?” When Marco nodded, he rapped his fist against the wood. The door was opened instantly by the stern-faced man they had seen at the exhibition who had driven Kiera home that night.
The three appraised each other for several long minutes before the man held out his hand. “Ty Brisson, Madame Manette’s brother.”
“Jason Samuels.”
“Marco Cavelli.”
“Welcome to the Red Mask.” Brisson stepped aside and gave Jason and Marco their first glimpse of the notorious club.
They were instantly impressed. From the antebellum architecture to the polished wood floors to the crystal chandeliers that hung from every ceiling, the club was a study in elegant opulence. They followed as Ty led them into the ballroom where masked patrons danced and chatted and whispered from darkly shadowed corners.
“The rules here are usually iron-clad,” Brisson said as he motioned them to the bar, “but they have been amended for your participation. Mademoiselle Sunshine is an old friend of the family and my sister is eager to see her well pleased. Your drinks and food are on the house, and you are under no obligation to sign a long-term contract with the club. But,” he added in a voice that would have sent lesser men running, “if Kitty is unsatisfied…or harmed in any way, I will personally bash both your heads together, oui?”
If Ty expected a fight he didn’t get one. Jason and Marco both held out their hands again taking no offense whatsoever.
Marco spoke first. “If we fail to give Kier—er—Miss Kitty pleasure, or do anything at all to cause her harm—”
“You have our permission to shoot us on the spot,” Jason finished in all seriousness. “And we would deserve every bullet.”
“Bon.” Ty dug a key from his pocket. “Your room is on the second floor, third door on the left. The walls are not as thick upstairs as they are in the dungeon, so I suggest you take that into consideration.” He finally managed the briefest of smiles. “Au revoir, my friends. Good hunting.”
* * * * *
Manette watched the exchange between the men before joining Thibaut at the bar, placing her hands around his neck and kissing him on both cheeks. “Did you make certain they were investigated?”
“Oui Do not worry, little sister, they are as wholesome as they seem. Our little artiste could not be in better hands. They are perfect for her.”
“And you, mon frère? Who can we find that’s perfect for you?” She had worried incessantly about her brother since he’d returned from a tour of duty in Afghanistan with the French Foreign Legion. He’d been severely injured in an attack that had left him with minimal use of his hands, a shattered leg that would never function fully, and massive scars on both his body and his spirit.
While he had taken some small interest in the female members of the club, he’d drawn the line at any true sexual encounters, preferring to give instructions in the art of bondage or helping to train new submissives when he wasn’t tending bar or doing paperwork and background checks.
She sighed as Thibaut pulled her hands away and gave her a brief kiss in return. This was not the virile man she had known her entire life. But there was nothing she could do to heal him. She was just about to return to work when she saw the glance he gave to a sleek redhead sipping coffee by the door—a look filled with such intensity it sent a shiver across her skin. So her brother wasn’t as immune to everyone as he claimed.
Manette’s elation grew when she saw the woman give her brother a smoldering look of her own. She studied the other woman with greater interest, before giving complete approval of her brother’s unspoken choice. Grace Heathcastle. Zayne Saladar’s personal chauffeur, Grace also spent several nights a week driving Red Mask club members home. She had garnered a reputation as being polite, efficient and impeccably discreet.
From the top of the sleek red sweep of her hair to the bottom of her shiny spike-heeled leather boots, the woman was a study in poise and control. Her eyes swept constantly over the crowd looking for anyone who had reached their limit, and making certain they were ferried home with minimal fuss. Manette had even seen her step into an escalating situation and break up the conflict with a single word of command.
Grace was a dominant, of that Manette was certain. But given Thibaut’s current state of mind a dominant woman might be just what he needed—if she could match his strength of will, and if she could eventually learn to submit.
Bon. It would be done.
Now, however, Manette had to convince a very special friend that two men were always better than one, and that it was time to let go of the past so she could enjoy the wonderful delights the present had to offer.
* * * * *
“This is without a doubt the most idiotic thing I’ve ever done.” Kiera sat hunched over on the couch, one elbow propped on her knee with her chin resting on her palm. Her other hand stroked a great black cat who purred noisily beside her. “What do you think, Rasputin?”
She had become friends with the finicky feline when she first moved to Charleston. Manette had let her stay at the Gaston Plantation until she could find a permanent place to live.
The cat yawned and butted his head against her thigh. Kiera smiled and scratched behind his ears. “I mean, one man is work enough…but two?”
“Two makes for twice the pleasure.”
Kiera looked up to see Manette standing over her, a gold and red mask dangling from one hand. She took it reluctantly, eying the mask with distaste. “How am I supposed to paint in this?”
“Then do not wear it,
ma cherie.” Manette sat down and rapped her fingernails on the arm of the couch, a sure sign she was irritated. “Show them who you really are. Be honest. Be brave.”
“Be stupid.” Kiera held the mask up to her face. Bright golden lace covered a ruby background. Tiny red roses graced one side of the mask while delicate gold chains dangled beneath. It was simple and functional, she had to admit, noting its slim design. The eyeholes were actually large and elongated so she could work with minimal disruption, and it even had a headband on the back so she could tuck it over her head and pull it back down again if she needed to see her work more clearly. Manette had taken everything into consideration.
“It is beautiful,” she admitted grudgingly.
“But?”
“But this all seems so…so…porny.”
“Porny?” Manette’s mouth turned down. “Mon Dieu. You are about to be gifted with not just one, but two of the most handsome men in the city, and all you can say is it seems porny.”
Kiera slumped deeper into the couch, watching Rasputin desert her as if even he thought she was out of her mind. “I should never have agreed in the first place,” she muttered glumly, wondering how she was going to manage to get through the next couple of hours without having a full-blown panic attack.
Manette crossed her legs and swung one impatiently. “You owe them. Put on your big-girl stockings and deal with the situation.” Then her expression softened as she reached out to take Kiera’s hand, tracing her fingers along the jagged scar. “I understand you have been hurt. Badly hurt. But you cannot live in the past forever. And you cannot hide from the present. There is a world of pleasure waiting just beyond that door, and you will give these men a chance to make you shatter in delight.”
“I’m just painting them, Manette.”
The other woman chuckled. “Oui, so you say. Then go and paint. But use your fingers like you did as a child.”
Kiera snorted. “I have no intention of actually touching either one of them.” Why then did her fingers tingle at the thought of skimming across muscle and flesh and bone? And why did her body pulse with an excitement that burned away every rational thought?
