“Care to take a turn?” An honest-to-God Irish accent broke his train of thought. He eyed a Rubenesque woman with flaming crimson hair, a sharp contrast to Rebecca’s more golden-rose tone.
“You’re gonna break it if you keep chair dancing like that.” She nodded her head toward his seat.
Was there anything more humiliating than to be caught chair dancing at forty-eight years old?
“I’m a terrible dancer,” he said.
“With a face like yours, who cares?” She grasped his arm and, holy mother, she righted him with no effort at all. A few seconds later, he was in the middle of a sweaty crowd being pushed and pulled by the enthusiastic woman in some semblance of a dance.
“You’re pretty good, Eric,” Rebecca called as Alexander expertly unwound her in a twirl.
“Oh, yeah, I’m Nureyev.”
“Who’s that?” his dance partner asked.
To demonstrate, he spun her—right into a red-faced man with remnants of a bow tie hanging around his neck.
“Oh, look, it’s a woman.” He lifted her up into a bear hug.
By the way she laughed, he wasn’t going to have to morph into Superman and rescue her. He was better off at the bar anyway.
After dodging other dancers, he crammed himself into a space between guys whose butts looked as if they’d molded to the stools. His hands curled around the sticky brass bar and raised his hand to catch the bartender’s attention. “You got a Macallan?”
“You’ll have to do with Johnnie Walker.”
Of course, he would. “Fine.”
Despite his better judgment, he leaned against the tacky bar top and let his attention drift back to the dance floor. Alexander had some moves and was using all of them on Rebecca, who was no slouch in the dance department. They likely grew up with cotillions and private dance lessons. The music transitioned to a lively jig. Yep. Alexander could dance that, too. The man would look stunning in a kilt.
Two men holding hands raised them into the air and moved their feet as if attempting to channel Michael Flatley. One of them laughed, leaned over and smacked the other on the lips. To think there was as a time when that couldn’t have happened. As that thought crossed his mind, the guy who’d taken over his redheaded dance partner tumbled against the bar next to him, jostling one of the stool jockeys.
“Beer. Anything that’s wet.” From the way his words slurred, the man didn’t need any more alcohol. “That girl’s going to be the death of some guy.” He jutted his chin toward the redhead who had found another victim—actually two—as she joined two, openly gay, men.
“She’s enthusiastic.” He lifted his Johnnie Walker to his lips.
The man slouched further against the bar. “Well, at least it’s better than those two. Jesus, I fucking hate the North. It’s why our country’s going to pot.”
Whatever. Eric proceeded to ignore the man. He didn’t have time for homophobic assholes.
“Faggots.”
Maybe he did have time. “What did you say?” Eric squared himself to the man.
“Those guys.” He lifted his beer to his lips. “That’s what’s wrong with today’s world. Girls turning into boys. Boys turning into girls.” He took a long swallow.
“The Greyhound station is down the street. Hop on one.”
The guy had the audacity to appear injured. “What’s your problem, man?”
He should not do this. He should not but he was so tired of this whole homophobic game. Fuck, he was tired of watching Alexander dance with Rebecca without him. He placed his hand on the drunk’s shoulder and squeezed. “You don’t know what you’re missing.”
The guy at first froze as if not understanding, but then lurched backward as if burned. He had his fist up and out next, which was Eric’s fault for taunting him but, whatever … He easily blocked the guy’s wimpy-ass half-punch. The would-be brawler staggered into one of the servers, who upended an oval tray filled with glasses, sending the shattered pieces toward the bartender. Eric grasped the collar of the drunk’s jacket and yanked him upright.
The guy tried to spin and landed right against Alexander, whose large hands curled around the man’s lapels. Alexander’s eyes, as cold and hard as he’d ever seen them, jerked the man to standing. By the look on his face, Eric expected a feral growl to rumble in Alexander’s throat, but instead, he spoke slowly and quietly. “You didn’t mean to offend my friend, did you?”
Drunk, homophobic asshole shook his head, eyes wide with alarm.
“Good.” He handed the man off to the bartender who’d rounded the bar in no time, spitting out apologies.
Alexander straightened to his full height and fixed that hard gaze on Eric. “You all right?”
Eric swiped his hand through his hair. “They all want to cop a feel.”
He laughed and slapped him on the shoulder. “Come on, let’s get drunk.”
“I didn’t know you did that kind of thing.”
“When an Irish band is playing, it’s mandatory.” He jerked his head in the direction of their table. “Come on. I’m buying.”
Two hours later, Eric wasn’t sure Alexander could be considered “drunk” given he’d switched to ice water a while ago, but his loose smile and tapping foot showed something was happening inside the man. He, however, floated pleasantly on a cloud of beer, and music, and dance, and the pride that Alexander had broken up a fight for him. It had been unnecessary, but felt good as hell that Alexander threw some of his white knight chivalry his way. Since then, they had fallen into an easy comradery, like two regular guys, watching his woman dance circles around the other people on the dance floor.
“I love watching her move. Always have.” Alexander leaned his elbows on the table and peered over at him. “We used to frequent this little burlesque club in San Francisco. Rebecca even took the stage once or twice.”
“I can see it.”
“She was spectacular.”
“She is.”
He turned his body to face his. “You like her.”
“She’s hard not to like.”
Alexander returned his attention to the dance floor where Rebecca had her arm hooked into another woman’s and was spinning her. “You’ve been a calming force here. I appreciate it.”
His chest swelled a little at that. Maybe he had done something right after all. “I’m here for whatever you need.” Work, play or the need to flog something or someone—he was one hundred percent available.
“I’m taking Rebecca to Washington with me. If she’ll go.”
Hell, yeah, he’d called that one.
He faced Eric again. “I haven’t told her the extent of what she’ll find there yet, but I plan on showing her everything.”
He sobered instantly and his belly responded with a stupid fluttering. This was his chance, wasn’t it? “Want some help?”
Alexander’s blue eyes bored into him. “Interested in women?”
“I’ve been known to appreciate the stronger sex.” He glanced at Rebecca, who showed no signs of leaving the dance floor.
Alexander took a sip of his water. “You know about her, Charles, and me, and the way I live my life.”
“I appreciate the way you live your life.”
Alexander smiled, tapped his finger against the glass. “How much have you had to drink?”
“Not much. Two beers. A few sips of Johnnie Walker until … ” He cocked his head toward the bar.
Alexander smiled. “Good. Care to help me with something tonight?”
“What do you need me to do?”
“Follow my lead. The second you want to stop, you do.”
Alexander rose, and the screech of the wood chair legs sent a thrill of anticipation through Eric’s gut. Was Alexander suggesting what he thought? If helping involved sex …
“The second I think Rebecca is a ‘no’, it’s a hard no.”
“Of course.”
“Beyond what you’ve already submitted, any details about you I need to know?”
>
Submitted? Oooh. He’d completed reams of questionnaires about limits, preferences, health conditions, and a multi-page NDA, merely to step foot inside Alexander’s home-slash-club, Accendos. Fuck, yeah, he might be right about Alexander’s intentions.
“Nothing new,” Eric said. “I’m a bi-switch.” He wasn’t someone who had to be on top or the bottom. He just needed to be where he needed to be. Right now? Tell him when and where.
“Let’s go back. Start a fire.” Alexander moved to Rebecca, Eric’s new friend, who might be a whole lot more, because please let Alexander’s words be a metaphor. Eric was good at starting fires. No burning of priceless antiques required.
Alexander circled her waist and spoke into her ear. Her lashes flicked up, and she turned her head and smiled at Eric. Dare he believe his imagination could be right for one fricking night? Dare he think Alexander wanted him to join them? His cock was going to make it hard to walk to the car.
18
Rebecca pulled her coat tighter around her. When they reached the estate, they’d paused outside Alexander’s Mercedes, stopped by the clarity of the night sky. The three of them had halted their progress across the drive at the same time. Alexander pulled her so her back leaned against him. His large fingers were entwined in hers, and together they traced an invisible outline in the sky.
“Which one is that?” he asked.
“Cassiopeia,” Her breath, a tiny puff of vapor, clouded her vision for a second.
“You’ve always loved the stars.”
“It’s how I know everything is going to be all right.”
Eric looked over at her. His eyes glinted with ambient light from the house. “In the Mojave desert, there appear to be more stars than darkness. It made me think of a Longfellow poem. ‘Silently, one by one, in the infinite meadows of heaven, Blossomed the lovely stars, the forget-me-nots of the angels’.”
“That’s beautiful.”
She took in the man’s profile, the strong jaw, the stubble along his chin. He was quite handsome in a casual, elegant way. She guessed him in his forties, where maturity had settled in but not age. How could he still be single? Then again, tonight, when Eric had watched them dance, those hazel green eyes tracked Alexander’s every movement. What had Eric said earlier? “Once you’ve had magic—or perhaps even the thought of it—it’s hard to settle for less.” She, more than most, understood that once introduced to Alexander, it was hard to see anyone else.
Alexander’s arm’s tightened around her. “I’m afraid there aren’t many stars to be found in D.C., but there are other things to see. Eric knows all about them.”
Eric turned his face up to the night sky. “Oh, yes.”
She leaned against the strong man whose arms banded her tightly to him. A shiver moved through her body when she felt him harden against the small of her back. The thought her proximity caused that reaction soothed her ego a bit—something she’d not had much of lately.
“You’re cold.” Alexander’s voice rumbled through her torso.
More like turned on. “A little.” She gazed up at his eyes, still so blue even under moonlight.
“I promised you a fire. Let’s go inside.”
Alexander sprawled in an armchair he’d pulled in front of the snapping fire. Rebecca knelt on the floor by him, her arms draped over his knees. She’d grown woozy from the warmth of the fire, his fingers playing with her hair, the one Guinness she managed to consume tonight, the feeling that everything was right with the world. She could not remember the last time her muscles had relaxed this much and all seemed right with the world, and in the Wynter house of all places? She shouldn’t even be here.
Eric stomped in, an arm full of logs. Alexander’s fingers, which had been wound in her hair, tightened when she tried to rise to help him.
“Let him,” he whispered. “I rather like him handling wood.”
Oh. Her pussy clenched a little at the blatant innuendo. She stared at Eric’s broad back and muscular ass. Yes, handsome indeed. She shifted on her legs as if that would ease the ache Alexander started in the car. Being this close to him, feeling his hard muscles, smelling him, awoke her latent sex drive with a vengeance.
Eric threw a log on the two already consumed by flames. Men and their need to play with fire. After poking at the logs, he lowered himself to the chair nearest them. His hair had fallen across his forehead and his eyelids drooped ever so slightly, giving him that rogue pirate look.
The hand Alexander had threaded in her hair stilled. “How do you feel about a foot massage?”
“I’d be happy to.” She reached for his boot but his hold on her hair tightened.
“No, Eric will give you one.”
Her gaze shot up to Eric’s face. His lips twitched upward. “Which one first?” He’d posed the question to Alexander.
“The right.”
Eric scooted down to the floor and held out his palm, his lips inched up in a half smile. She placed her foot in his hand. He rid her of the sock immediately. Oh crap. She hadn’t had a pedicure in ages, that thought immediately cast aside because, oh, his fingers knew their way around. He cradled her foot in one hand while the thumb of his other pressed into her arch. When his fingers moved to her toes, pulling gently and kneading the tiny joints, she sighed and let her head fall back. Alexander’s fingers combed through her hair, the pulls on the individual strands making her scalp tingle.
“Your hands are magic.” If men only knew how much giving a decent foot rub or hair brushing would buy them. She sighed. “Mmm, you two could open a spa.”
Alexander chuckled. “Missed being doted on by two men?”
“Yes, actually.”
“Then I have a proposal for you.” Alexander released her hair and the slight creak of the chair made her lift her head from his thigh. He’d leaned back, placed his hands on each armrest. “Two actually. One involves Eric.”
“A proposal?” She’d been half kidding, but she knew better than to kid this man, even if she hadn’t spent much time with him over the last four decades. She twisted, careful not to pull her foot free, to peer up at his blue eyes. “You have my attention.”
“Proposal one.” He gathered her face in his hands. “Come back to Washington with me. See my life. See what I can offer you.”
Offer her? Eric had been right, and she wasn’t quite sure what to do with that. “Washington?”
“Tomorrow.”
“That soon?” It would be good to leave this place, but not return to Philadelphia? She had deadlines on two articles, an apartment with one aloe plant, and eventually, she’d run out of clothes given how few she’d brought with her. The practicalities of life stacked up in her mind like those burning logs in the fireplace.
“Do you have anything urgent you need to attend to? You’ve been away for a few days yet you haven’t made any calls.”
No, she hadn’t. She was pitiful, wasn’t she? It was embarrassing really, how she could never keep friends for long, how she never let herself stay in one place too long. Like Eric.
“And the other proposal?” She might as well learn of his other plans.
He resettled both his hands on the armchair, his face firming with intention. “As for the other. Rise and move up here.”
She swallowed, but smiled at Eric as she withdrew her foot. There was no question where “up here” meant. She should be embarrassed, hesitate, do something, but her body moved her as if invisible hands guided her to straddle Alexander’s lap. His familiar hardness filled the space between her legs, and didn’t that turn her warm, everything’s-all-right mood, to full-on sexual need? Slow it down, girl.
His eyes softened and his hands moved to her waist. “I have so much I want to show you, starting with how much my life has to offer.”
Her impatience with his teasing and half information about his life grew. “Like what?”
“There’s much to tell you, but here are the cliff notes. I run an international BDSM network. My house is both a h
ome to me and a private membership club, called Accendos. It’s an extended family, open 24 -7 to anyone who needs it.”
Her spine snapped straight. Wait. What did he say? “Back up. A BDSM club?” She glanced at Eric who had scooted closer. He slowly nodded, all signs of a smirk gone.
She turned back to stare in Alexander’s blue eyes, half expecting them to crinkle with amusement as if this was all a joke. They were as hard and icy as ever. “Oh. You really do. That’s definitely … different.” What else would she say?
“Shocked?”
Was she? “Not at all.” She took a deep breath. “I should have guessed you were still active. You command a room, always have. Washington, D.C. would fit you.”
“It’s a place of great power, supposedly the seat of justice, but they get it so wrong sometimes. I took on steering things behind the scenes.”
“Are you CIA, too?”
He and Eric laughed at the same time, which annoyed her. “No. I’m an ordinary citizen with a great deal of money and patience. I’m not interested in politics, international affairs, or war games. I’m interested in giving people the freedom to live the life they wish with clearly spelled out do-no-harm principles.”
She swallowed. “Oh. So, it’s like a club … only a home where everyone plays.” This news should make her heart hammer in her chest, instead all the remaining blood supply in her body pooled in one heated spot—very far south of her chest.
She could see him in a BDSM club. Alexander standing tall in a room lit only with red lights. He’d be in all black, those icy blue eyes glittering with intention as he pulled back a flogger. She’d had the privilege of seeing him like that.
His gaze locked on her face. “It doesn’t matter whether they play or read the Encyclopedia Britannica. It’s there for people who don’t feel accepted anywhere else.”
Her eyes misted with some unnamed emotion. Pride, she supposed. “I knew you’d do it. I knew you’d use your life better than anyone.”
Invincible (Elite Doms of Washington Book 6) Page 8
