him.
´What the hell kind of game are you playing with me, lady? One minute, you·re hot, burning for me.
Now you have plans you forgot about? Who? Who do you have plans with?µ
´Damn it, that·s none of your business! I don·t owe you any explanations. You don·t own me.
It was
just sex³µ
Ít was a hell of a lot more than just sex! Or do you need a reminder of how much more it was«than
just sex?µ He yanked her close, rasping the last words against her neck.
Sienna struggled against Mac, trying to shove him away from her.
He didn·t budge.
Instead, he buried his face in her neck, rubbing his face against hers. He pulled away enough to grasp
her by the head, angling her face and slamming his mouth over hers.
Sienna forced her moans of pleasure to stay clamped behind her clenched teeth. He gentled his kiss,
licking at the seam of her lips, stroking her, his touch begging her to open for him. With a helpless little
moan, she obeyed his silent demand, wrapping her arms around him, as he crushed her body to his.
The message on her cell phone flashed in her mind, and her eyes snapped open.
Dear God, what was wrong with her?
Her brother could be hurt, and here she was, like a cat in heat, rubbing her body against a man she·d
just met, forgetting all about her fear of what could be happening to Jacob.
She pulled her mouth away from his and shoved, with every ounce of strength she
possessed, at his
hard, unyielding chest.
She caught him off-guard and he stumbled, giving her enough room to maneuver out of his arms.
Í said, I need to go!µ She ran the back of her hand over her swollen mouth, heart racing in her
chest, as she watched him coldly assess her.
´Fine. You want to go? Go! I·m not begging you to stay. I·ll take you back to the club,µ he said, his
gray eyes darkening. The tic in the corner of his mouth was the only giveaway to how angry he was.
They stared at one another for long moments, both of their breaths coming in harsh gasps, before he
spun away from her. He strode over to the round table in the corner of the room, picked up the keys, and,
with a grim look, motioned for her to follow.
She followed him out the door, and felt like crying in protest.
But she had no choice.
She had to get away, out of his presence while she could. Her brother·s life could depend on it.
And
as much as she wanted to stay with Mac, as much as it hurt like hell that she couldn·t³if only for one more
day³her brother came first.
He always had, and he always would.
Mac turned to face her.
Śo I was only a good fuck for you, huh?µ he asked, his face set, unreadable.
Ńo. I³µ Sienna stopped,
looking away from the angry glower on his face.
´Well, I hope you enjoyed the screw. Next time I·m in the club, we can just go upstairs, use one of
the rooms. At least, you·ll be on the clock. May as well get paid for what you do so well.µ
The minute the words left his mouth, Sienna hauled back and slapped his face as hard as she could.
When she went to slap him again, Mac grabbed her hand.
They stared at each other for long, tense moments. Sienna held back the tears stinging the backs of
her eyes with grim
determination as he held her hand in a punishing grip.
His face softened, and his hold on her eased. He allowed her to withdraw her arm. She let it drop to
her sides, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of seeing her rub the circulation back into her wrist from
his simple hold.
Ĺet·s go.µ He didn·t have to say any more. The disgust, the anger, was all there in his eyes for her to
see.
She swallowed bitter tears and followed him out the door.
17
A s soon as Mac drove up to the near empty lot of the Sweet Kitty lounge, he unlocked the passenger
side on his console.
´Mac, I³µ
´Just go.µ He stared ahead, refusing to look at her. He simply wanted her to get out so he could get
the hell out of there.
´Please.µ
´Please what?µ He turned to face her and waited for her to tell him to turn around. To take her away
from the lounge.
She remained silent. The
tension was thick, palpable, as he waited for her to say
something, anything,
that would give him a reason to ask her to go back home with him.
He gritted his teeth and forced himself not to reach out to her; with a sorrowful, yet resigned, look in
her dark eyes, she turned away from him and lifted the door handle. He forced himself not to beg her to
stay when she stepped out of his SUV, and closed the door, not looking back at him.
He forced himself not to demand she tell him what the hell happened. One minute, she was willing to
stay with him; the next, she was demanding he take her back here, pretending³and he damn well knew
she was pretending³as though she felt nothing. As though their night, morning, and damn near most of
the afternoon of lovemaking hadn·t meant more to her than a good lay.
When she got out of the car and, without a look over her
shoulder, walked toward her car«he forced
himself not to spin out of the parking lot like some rejected, love-struck high-school fool. He was a grown
man, not some immature young punk who·d gotten dumped.
He put the SUV in reverse, yanked down on the gearshift, floored the accelerator, and peeled out of
the lot.
Fuck maturity.
Sienna resisted the urge to rub her hands over her arms in response to the chilled look in Mac·s
stainless-steel²colored eyes.
She·d made herself turn away, knowing that she was seconds away from
begging him to take her back to his town house and help her forget all her problems. Wanting, needing,
his lovemaking to help her forget.
She sighed when he roared out of the parking lot and seconds later raced down the street, nothing
left but the dust the wheels of his car had kicked up in its wake.
Swallowing, she turned to face the deserted Sweet Kitty. She searched the lot, turning toward Damian
Marks·s reserved parking spot, near the entry. Her gut clenched in fear, bile rising in her throat.
His car was
there.
She knew Damian was behind the cryptic message left on her cell phone. The minute she·d received
the text message, she·d called the home where her brother lived. She·d asked, her nerves stretched taut in
fear, if he was okay, if he·d been harmed.
The on-duty nurse had assured her he was okay, but he had suffered a small accident.
They·d been
going to call her soon. Sienna·s heart sank at the news, and she·d begged to speak to
Melanie, his personal
caregiver. The nurse had tried to reassure her that Jacob was fine, but Sienna couldn·t relax until she·d
heard from the woman who
cared for her brother daily.
When Melanie had finally gotten on the phone, Sienna didn·t know whether to cry or laugh in nervous
relief when Melanie had assured her that Jacob was fine.
Śienna, he·s fine! You know I would have called you right away if he had been involved in anything
serious!µ
Í know, Mel, it·s just that I got this strange message³µ
Á message about Jacob? I
didn·
t send a message. No one from here had. I did plan on calling you
later, to tell you that he·d fallen, but that was minor. He wasn·t hurt at all!µ
´He fell? How? What happened?µ
The pause on the other end of the phone was just long enough that Sienna knew she wasn·t mistaken. Something was going on.
Ńo, it wasn·t major, Sienna.
Please believe me when I say that.µ Melanie sighed and Sienna waited,
with bated breath, god-awful dread pooling in her stomach. Ít was a bit strange, how it happened. Jacob
was playing the piano, as he normally does for the residents.
He plays so beautifully,µ Melanie said, and
Sienna smiled, despite the fear weighing down on her chest.
Jacob was autistic. Although he rarely spoke,
he loved playing the piano and was extremely gifted.
At the request of the residents and staff, he would play during their weekly Friday-night party.
Sienna
hated that she rarely got to hear him play on Fridays, as she was at the Sweet Kitty working. She made up
for it by coming on Sundays.
Jacob would play for hours for her as she curled up in one of the lounge
chairs in the rec room.
Áfter he finished playing,µ
Melanie continued, óne of our new residents got up and went over to him
and hugged him. When we tried to stop him, the resident wouldn·t let go, no matter how much Jacob
screamed. It took two of us to get the resident off Jacob.µ
Óh God,µ Sienna murmured.
Jacob couldn·t stand for anyone to touch him. Besides herself and Melanie, no one was able to come
close to him or he·d start screaming, and it would take a very long time for him to calm down. And for
someone to actually hug him, Sienna could only imagine how her brother had protested.
Ín the struggle, Jacob fell, bumped his head on the piano. It only dazed him a bit, no real physical
damage,µ she quickly assured Sienna.
Ńo physical, what about³µ
´He·s fine, Sienna. Trust me.
Actually, I was surprised at how well he recuperated. I think maybe the
bump on the head helped him calm down sooner. I think his attention was on the pain to the noggin and
he forgot about his indignation over being touched!µ
´Thank God!µ Sienna laughed in relief. Í·ll be in tomorrow, as usual, to check on him. I·ll call him later
today, Melanie.µ
She got off the phone, partially relieved. She trusted Melanie, and if she said her brother was okay, he
was.
But the text message was
another question. Without a shadow of a doubt, she knew that Damian had
something to do with sending the message to her, and that·s what scared her most.
She·d never told Damian the name of the expensive home where her brother lived. The bills were sent
directly to her, and Damian had given her the money, initially, to have the care set up.
Once she·d begun making good money at the club, minus the sizable reductions to pay off her debt to
Damian, she·d been able to take care of the payments herself.
So the question was how did Damian know where her brother lived, and who did he have working at
the home that kept him abreast of her brother·s activities?
Why did he have someone
watching her brother?
She took a deep breath and quickened her steps, hastily walking inside the club.
She·d taken only a few steps inside when she was met by the man she had come to not only fear, but
to deeply loathe.
´Well, well, well. Look what the cat dragged in,µ he jeered, lighting a cigar, the light from the match
illuminating his pale-colored skin.
Sienna straightened her back and faced him, no fear showing in her eyes. Í·m tired of playing games
with you. What the hell do you want from me, Damian?µ
18
Twenty-two months later
S ienna turned from the
blackboard and faced her small gathering of students, clapping her hands
together. She glanced at the white utilitarian clock on the wall, noting it was five minutes until the class, as
well as school, ended. She hid a smile. Ókay, guys, we have just enough time to do one final review!µ
The collective groans from her eighth-grade social studies class predictably greeted her and she
laughed out loud. Ókay, okay, just kidding. I think you all are ready for the T.A.S.K.,µ she said, referring to
the annual academic
assessment test. Ńo more
review, I promise! Class is dismissed. Go have fun and get started on your weekend.µ
When her announcement was met with loud cheers and chairs scraping against the floor in a mad
rush to gather backpacks and leave, she held up a hand. Ńow, if any of you really want more practice, I·ll
be here this weekend to go over any material you·d like to review, as well as this week.µ
´Man, Ms. Featherstone, don·t you guys have a life?µ one of her students, Daniel, groused, and Sienna
laughed.
´We do«and it usually centers around the students! We want to make sure you all receive the best
instruction you can. We want our students to shine!µ
´Well, these babies will be shining on the beach this weekend,µ Daniel chirped in a crackling,
preadolescent voice.
Sienna bit the inside of her cheek to prevent the laugh from escaping when the teen shoved back the
sleeve on his uniform polo shirt, exposing his thin arm. There was a barely discernible muscle housed
beneath his pale, blue-veined skin.
´We·re going to the Poconos. I need to start getting this hard body honed for the girls for spring
break.µ
Óh yeah, we·re all foaming at the mouth to see all that hard body revealed.µ Christina, one of the
girls, giggled. Daniel·s pale cheeks blushed crimson red.
Ókay, be nice!µ Sienna
automatically cautioned before turning back to her desk and gathering her
things. ´Have a great weekend, everyone,µ she said over her shoulder, ánd make sure you·ve handed in
your reports, please!µ The students who hadn·t handed in their book reports tossed them on her desk, with
a hearty chorus of return good-byes, before they stampeded out of the classroom.
With a chuckle, Sienna stacked the reports neatly in a corner on her desk.
Turning around, she saw that Daniel was slower in gathering his things, still hovering around his desk.
When the last student filed out, and he was still loading his backpack, she gave him her full attention.
Í thought you·d be the first one out the door, Daniel. I think you turned in your assignment at the beginning of class, right?µ she questioned, thumbing through the papers.
´Yes, Ms. Featherstone, I did.µ
Óh, okay, good.µ She smiled, adjusted her small, square-framed glasses, and perched on the desk,
careful that the hem of her skirt didn·t rise above her knees.
´Was there something else you wanted to talk
about?µ
Úmm, well, kinda. I did. I mean, I³I do,µ he stammered, his face flushing even more.
Sienna waited patiently for him to continue.
´Ms. Featherstone, I know I·m not doing so good.µ
´You·re doing a lot better since you started working after school with the student tutor. The improvement in your work
shows.µ
´Thanks. I guess I·m just worried about the exam and all.
The essay part of it. I know they kinda give
an idea of how well we·re doing, and deter
mine where we·ll be placed for high-school courses. I was hoping
to do well enough to try my hand at some of the advanced
courses they offer in creative writing. I like to
write poetry. Doubt that I·m good enough with my grammar, though. But I wanted to try,µ he mumbled,
kicking the toe on his high-tops against the linoleum floor.
´You·re doing great, Daniel. And you are definitely smart enough to try one of the advanced courses.
You are a wonderful writer. I·ve enjoyed the poems you·ve
written and shared with me. You have a
wonderful imagination. Grammar can be learned, that·s not a problem. Imagination and talent are things
that can·t be taught, and you have an abundance of that.µ
Although he slid his glance away from hers,
Sienna could see that he was flattered with her compliment.
Ánd if you want to try your hand at one of the advanced courses offered next year, I·ll recommend
you. And make sure you tell Ms.
Dotson, your home room
teacher, okay?µ She tilted her head to the side,
to try and see his face. ´The tests are not the only indicator of how well a student is doing, Daniel. You·re a
smart young man. You have great determination and your writing style is beautiful,µ she reassured him,
reaching a hand out to pat him on his thin shoulders.
When he blushed again, and nervously glanced around the empty room, as though checking to see if
one of his classmates had witnessed the exchange, Sienna withdrew her hand.
Although this was her second semester teaching, it was still something she had to get used to, the
way many of her students, particularly the male students, reacted to her touch.
She·d used her sexuality so casually in the past, had used her body as a weapon in order to survive.
Now she often had to remind herself that the population of men she worked with on a daily basis were not
only much younger, but also much less experienced with being around women.
Get Your Sexy On Page 9
