The Complete Tempest World Box Set

by Mankin, Michelle

  “Stop busting my balls, Annie.”

  “Stop living a life of denial, Miriam.”

  “It’s how I roll,” I returned airily. The land of denial might have been my residence when it came to Juaquin but at least I had a serious relationship. My mother had never dated anyone after my dad broke her heart.

  “You ready, MJ?” Mike rapped on the door, his eyes widening as he took me in. I wasn’t close to ready. I covered the receiver. “I’m done with Trinity. She’s on the last part of her pony thing. You need to hurry. Get your costume on.”

  I nodded to him, then spoke to my sister. “Annie, I’ll talk to you later ok?”

  “Sure. But what part are you doing? It’s only September. You didn’t tell me you were in another play. It sounds like a western.”

  Hardly. I cast my gaze around the room hoping to find a source of inspiration for another lie when suddenly it came to me. “Oklahoma. The musical. It’s a student interpretation. For fun. I’ll tell you more when I’m not so pressed for time.”

  I hung up and pulled in a breath as I exited the dressing room into the hall. It felt like the only full one I got before I skidded to a stop just off stage. My music had already started. I had to let everything go to become one with the rhythm and the dance. Disappointment, guilt, trepidation. I imagined them floating away from my fingertips as I drifted out to the center of the stage and lifted my arms above my head.

  When I danced I went to a place that was only for me. No, not the land of denial. A place where I called the shots. A place where I often pretended that Juaquin was out there watching and that his attention was riveted solely upon me.

  Spinning, my back to the audience, I knew in reality that the club was practically empty. That it contained only two men. Mike had told me they were seated at a small table in the middle of the room. I swayed my body slowly. I rolled my hips. Tonight I pretended Juaquin was one of those two men. That his heated gaze followed the side to side motion of my hips and the sexy upper body shimmy that it had taken me months of belly dancing lessons to perfect.

  Strategic lighting made the white halter dress I wore nearly transparent. With only a tiny G-string beneath, it tantalized. The music and my movements did the rest.

  My hair long and loose, I gathered it in my fist. I wrapped it around my wrist and turned slightly to reveal the large bow that secured the flimsy garment at my nape. It and the tub on the other side of me set the intimate scene… a woman getting ready to take her bath. Even with only two in attendance I could feel their anticipation, their focus and their desire for me to unclothe. Imagining one of the men was Juaquin drew my nerve endings taut, caused my skin to prickle with awareness and made me want to rush it.

  But not yet. More buildup. More movement. More tease.

  I circled my hips. I touched myself, tracing my tits, pouting my lips, sliding my hands back and forth across my pussy before I turned my back to the men and lifted my hair exposing my delicate neck and the tempting bow. Statue still I allowed several beats to pass. I pretended Juaquin scooted to the edge of his chair. I imagined that his long talented fingers tightened around his tumbler but that he hadn’t touched a drop of his Maestro Dobel. That he had forgotten everything and every woman he had ever had but me and the desire to see more of me.

  I heard him groan. I was so far into my fantasy that I believed it. Believed he was here. Believed he was watching me and that he wanted me to undo the tie. A shiver rolled through me. My heart sped up. My mouth went dry. I tugged the bow. My top released.

  The soft cotton slid over my nipples. I wished it were a sheet. Wished I were in a bed with him. That he would reach for me and that his fingertips would skim over me next. My lips parted to accommodate my rapid breaths. But I somehow managed to remember the routine and caught the bodice before it could slide past my waist. I lifted it over my chest holding it up with one hand while tilting to show a tantalizing side view.

  I heard a curse. In Spanish. My heart skipped over the next beat.

  Could it be?

  Was it possible?

  Was it truly Juaquin out there?

  I stole a sideways glance trying to make out the faces of the men. Bright stage lights blinded me to their features. Could one of them be the sexy Tempest drummer? Surely not. I was imaging things. Better than usual tonight because I knew Juaquin was in town. I could almost feel his hot gaze sliding over my near-naked body like a caress. I knew I was wishing for things that couldn’t be because here on this stage I ruled, and deep down I wanted to believe that if he ever saw me here he wouldn’t be able to resist me.

  I continued with my routine. Using the dance moves I had fine-tuned with countless hours of practice, I floated gracefully on my bare tiptoes across the floorboards. Then I climbed into the tub, dipping my body in and out of the basin pretending a lover lay beneath me while purposefully keeping my breasts strategically hidden from view.

  I saved the reveal for the crescendo. My bestie had been a professional stripper for years. He had helped me get my start in the business. He had taught me that it is the tease that drives men wild more than anything.

  It was time. The music had reached the peak. I stood. I turned full front to face the audience. I let my bodice drop. It fluttered to my hips. My tits were the only part of me I bared, but it was enough.

  I faked a gasp, as if I only now realized that anyone had been watching me. My eyes wide I brought one hand to my mouth. I snapped the gauzy shower curtain closed with the other. The lights went out. The heavy velvet stage curtain dropped. The whoosh of air from it as it hit the floor lifted my hair. The lights came back on. Retying the bodice, I climbed out of the tub.

  On a regular night the men usually went nuts, their cat calls and suggestive innuendos pursuing me as returned to the dressing room. Only this time it went differently. This time there was a voice I recognized. This time I heard my name. The real one. The one I never used here.

  CHAPTER THREE

  King

  I stared at the stage trying to reorient myself in a world that had suddenly turned upside down. Over the years, I had imagined being with her. Dreamed of it. Jacked off to thoughts of her, more than once. But the reality of what I had just witnessed eclipsed any fantasy. Her performance brought me to the edge, balls drawn, cock hard, totally primed. Ready to fucking explode.

  To touch her.

  To take her.

  To finally make her my own.

  Those thoughts rippled through me like an earthquake.

  “Tell me that isn’t who I think it is. Jackson’s hermanita?” Jorge asked.

  I nodded, though there was nothing little about Miriam. Ample tits to overflow in my hands, hips curvy enough to take it however I gave it. She was a real woman, a mamasota in a world of mamacitas who didn’t even rank remembering. But the fact that Jorge had just shared what I had seen drove me crazy.

  So have countless others. Logic shoved its way to the front through the crowd of emotions inside my head. Miriam’s routine was well rehearsed. She was no novice. She had been doing it for some time. I had heard the hype regarding the Queen and her bathtub number. Miriam had more than lived up to it. The promise of what lay beneath that dress of hers beguiled me. It had since she had started developing all those enticing curves. Well, she wasn’t underage anymore. And she wasn’t the least bit timid. She owned her womanhood. So sexy, she had set me on fire with the first smoldering glance over her shoulder.

  Madre de Dios I wanted her. I wanted to slide my hands under that skirt and unveil her like a bride. I wanted to take her six or seven ways, all hard and fast before I thought about slowing down to explore. With her I had years of fantasies to catch up on.

  Get it together, pendejo, I chided myself on the heels of those thoughts. You couldn’t have her back in New York during the Brutal Strength tour. You couldn’t have her in Southside on her eighteenth birthday. You couldn’t even have her the last time you saw her backstage in New Orleans when she made you a no strings
offer that about made you lose your mind. And you can’t have her now here in Sin City, either.

  She’s Bryan’s sister. She’s off limits. Nothing’s changed.

  Or had it?

  I thought she was in school in LA, studying to be an actress. No way would I have imagined that she was the queen of the Vegas strip circuit.

  Why was she here?

  And what happened to the dream she had been pursuing?

  I needed answers.

  I wanted them now.

  And I fucking would get them.

  But first I had to have another drink. I wasn’t in any shape to approach her in my present state of arousal. Somehow I’d always managed to do the right thing by her in the past. But now that I had seen her half naked I wondered if that were even possible anymore.

  “Don’t know why I never noticed before, but Miriam is prime firme.” Jorge raised his hand and snapped his fingers. A waitress instantly appeared. Tits bared, pasties barely covering her nipples, her beaded short skirt revealed more of her ass cheeks than it concealed. “Another round,” he ordered.

  “Yes, Mr. Rodriguez.” She batted her glued-on lashes at him, adding a side glance at me. I knew her game. She was available to fuck for a price and would do both of us without hesitation. Not that I was opposed. She was fine and all, but she paled in comparison to Miriam. Every woman did. Each time I got off with one of them I was left feeling more dissatisfied than ever. Things had been that way since my Rock Fuck Club hookup with Raven.

  Sweet girls had a way of making you see stuff clearly that you would just as soon be blind to.

  “And one more thing.” Jorge snapped his fingers. “Tell your boss we want her sent to the Cosmopolitan. Room 1203. Hell, you better send every girl you’ve got.” He glanced over at me and made a grandiose gesture. “My buddy likes multiples.”

  “Queen doesn’t do private parties.” The brunette backed away nervously. I’m sure she probably had a reason to be. Most guys wouldn’t take no for an answer when they had been brought to the brink by a striptease like Miriam had performed.

  “She’ll make an exception for my friend.” Jorge stated confidently. His dark brown eyes glittered with anticipation in the pulsating lights. Yeah, he was a hanger on, an opportunist like Sager so often reminded me. But since my arrest I preferred to have a wingman. Although Jorge wasn’t a reliable one, he was the best I had. “Run along and let her know there’s an American Express card waiting and that it belongs to King Acenado from Tempest.”

  Eyes widening, the waitress nodded and scurried off. Jorge liked to name drop. I preferred anonymity since my recent trouble with the law. I opened my mouth to countermand him then snapped it shut. I needed to see Miriam. She needed someone to confront her about what she was doing here, and that was a conversation that needed to occur in private.

  • • •

  Miriam

  I stomped off the Cosmopolitan elevator alone. Barbie, the Sexxy club waitress, wasn’t with me. After I’d nearly taken off her head with my response to Juaquin’s missive, she and a bunch of the other girls had skittered off like sexed up kittens ready and willing to do whatever the Tempest drummer and his no limits credit card demanded. He had a lot of fucking nerve treating me that way. Ordering me around like he could own me.

  Mike had talked me down, tried to reason with me. He had wanted to come along, but I wouldn’t let him. This thing was between King and me. I was through with him fucking with my life. I was a grown up now. I had a boyfriend. I had the life I wanted. I didn’t need him. This thing I had for him? It was history. Old news. And it ended tonight.

  I smoothed my shorts, straightened the fringed vest and the shimmery silk blouse underneath. My silver and turquoise bracelets clanked together on my wrist as I rapped hard on the door. Only two doors on this floor made it pretty easy to find the right one. Trinity, the girl who did the pony skit with Mike, opened the door, her eyes red and heavy lidded. Her large naked boobs swayed, actually real unlike with most of the other girls. More than a bit tipsy, she sloshed the contents of her drink on the suede ties of my gladiator style sandals.

  “Oops. Sorry, Queen.” She giggled and waved me inside. “He’s been asking for you. He’s in the bedroom.”

  I stepped through the door she propped open with her ass and glanced around. Marble foyer in black. Floor to ceiling glass windows beyond the expansive living space done up in garish yellow and red. Typical over the top Vegas.

  “Come on.” Trinity tipped her black cowboy hat back with the rim of her glass before weaving on a meandering path past the writhing porno scene in the living area. The tableau might have once shocked me, but not anymore. A couple of groups of girls were going down on each other as Jorge watched them, his naked skinny hips rocking as Barbie, apparently fully recovered from my tirade, sucked him off. Expressions on their faces told the same story. Sex without emotion. Not that I was judging. I had given that a try after King had rejected me in New Orleans, until Mike had convinced me that I deserved better.

  I felt the weight of Jorge’s gaze on me as I followed Trinity. She turned, and we entered a narrow hallway. The soles of my sandals slapped my irritation against the dark hardwoods. Her naked feet barely registered a sound.

  “Hey, honey.” She rapped on the partially closed bedroom door pushing it open without waiting for a response. Seemed she was pretty familiar with the penthouse and its master already. My stomach churned. Not from jealousy. Or so I told myself. Just amazement at his audacity and the willingness of these girls to obey his rock-star-backed-by-wads-of-cash commands.

  Brushing past her, I stomped into the room featuring the same clashing colors and floor to ceiling windows as the rest of the suite. Only here a huge bed dwarfed the space, and a larger than life Latino stood facing out toward the view of the Vegas strip, shirtless, his chiseled back a rippling wall of muscle above indigo jeans that fit his ass to perfection. I had a weakness for guys wearing only jeans. This one in particular. Inner voice was speaking major truth to me. Calling bullshit on my earlier protests.

  “Leave us,” I told Trinity, inclining my head to acknowledge her. I had arrived. I was ready. I could do this. He was in Queen’s court now.

  Juaquin turned around slowly. My breath caught. So freakin’ handsome. The slash of his imperial brows dipped for maximum arrogance. Golden come-to-me-when-you-are-called eyes. Sardonic lips that sliced like his rapier wit.

  While his gaze swept over me, I returned the favor. I might as well take in every single delectable inch from his glossy midnight hair to his notably large masculine feet.

  Juaquin was built like a MMA fighter now. No trace remained of the overweight, slightly unsure but thoughtful boy I had fallen so, so hard for. A restrained but palpable power lay beneath his imposing physique. I knew his body was sculpted due to his rigid adherence to a routine the boxers back home in a Southside gym had developed for him. Juaquin had embarked on the extreme regime of physical fitness after his father’s heart attack. My brother had told me that even when the band was on the road Juaquin worked the heavy and the speed bags and jumped rope incessantly. He needed endurance for the pounding he unleashed on his drums during Tempest’s ninety-minute sets. I didn’t allow myself to pursue the thought of what else he could do with all of that staying power. He certainly wasn’t interested in wasting any of it on me.

  “Miriam.” King raised a regal brow.

  How long had I stood silent staring at him? Seeing him again. Being in the same room with him. Being the center of his attention in his bedroom. My heart started doing weird somersaults inside my chest. I was a mijita all over again. I realized suddenly, much to my dismay, that I wasn’t the least bit immune to his charms.

  Don’t, I cautioned myself, but my brain went there anyway. Jetting off to that familiar island of fantasy wondering how it would feel to be on that bed with Juaquin, to have the strong hand he wrapped around his tumbler exploring me instead.

  “It’s been too long,”
he rumbled in his deep, deliciously accented timbre, and I found myself nearly fucking swooning. “You’re all grown up now.”

  “So are you, physically, anyway. I’ve been an adult for quite a while, yet you’ve never summoned me to a little fiesta in your hotel room before. Why now? If all I needed to do was strip for you I would’ve done it a long time ago.” I paused for effect. “Back when I was still interested that is.”

  “Oh you’re still interested, mi reina.” My queen. His eyes narrowed. He knocked back the remaining liquid in his glass before carefully setting it on a nearby nightstand. “You’re here, after all.”

  “Only because you pissed me off assuming I would be a sure thing because you saw me dance and threw around a bunch of money at my club.”

  “That wasn’t a dance, mamasota.” He ran his forefinger and thumb over the line of stubble that framed his jaw. “It was a masterpiece.” His full lips twisted lifting the soul patch beneath them. Something new since I had last seen him. Like the way his gaze fixed on me. How many times had I wished that he would look at me the way he was right now? His tawny eyes glittered. Knowingly. Confidently. Intimately. He reminded me of a lion casually regarding his prey.

  I wanted to take a step backward, but I lifted my chin and held my ground as he prowled closer. Surely the invisible partition that had always stood between us would halt him. Not that I was the weak link I had once been. Not that I needed protection. But who could know what was on his mind or what he might do. My pulse leapt as his focus dipped to my breasts and then returned to hold me captive once more. The heat rose in the arrogant glitter of those eyes. “The reality of you beats the hell outta any dream.”

  “Juaquin,” I warned. “Don’t.” He was toying with me, and my warning was as much for myself as it was for him.

  “If you didn’t want men to react the way I am you wouldn’t be doing what you’re doing,” he returned, and I saw the flash of challenge in his eyes. He wanted me to disagree. He was enjoying sparring with me.