Covet
Chapter 11
Marie-Terese saw the man first.
As she stood by the bar closest to the Iron Mask's front door, she was inspecting the crowd when he walked into the club. It was, as they say, right out of the movies: Everyone else disappeared the instant he came in, the other people fading into dim, blurry shadows while she focused on him and him alone.
Six-three-ish in height. Dark hair and pale eyes. Suit like something out of a Fifth Avenue window display.
On his arm was a woman in a red dress and a white fur coat, and beside him was a taller guy with a brush cut and a military manner. None of them fit in among the crowd of leathered and laced and chained, but that wasn't why she stared.
No, the staring thing was all about the man himself. He was eye-catching in the same sharp, hard way her ex had been: a wealthy man with a shot of gangster in him, a guy who was used to being in charge of whatever was going on around him...and someone who was probably about as warm and caring as a meat locker.
Fortunately, shutting down her instant attraction was easy: She'd already made the mistake of assuming wealth and power made guys like that some kind of modern-day dragon slayer.
Very bad assumption. Sometimes dragon slayers...were just slayers.
Gina, another one of the working girls, came up to the bar. "Who is that by the door?"
"A customer."
"Of mine, I hope."
Marie-Terese wasn't so sure of that. Going by the looks of that brunette with him, he had no reason to buy sexual companionship - wait...that woman...she'd been here the night before, hadn't she, and so had the other guy. Marie-Terese remembered them for the same reason they stood out tonight - they didn't belong here.
As the trio sat down in a dark corner, Gina adjusted her wing-and-a-prayer bustier and pushed at her now-red hair. Last month it had been white and pink. Month before that jet-black. She kept this up and she was going to be sporting a Telly Savalas, thanks to all the chemical warfare on her roots.
"I think I'll just go over and introduce myself. Laters."
Gina sauntered off, her black latex skirt and stiletto boots the kind of thing she wore with pride. Unlike Marie-Terese, she got off on what she did for a living and even had ambitions to become what she referred to as a "major multimedia erotica star" along the lines of Janine Lindemulder or Jenna Jameson. Whoever they were. Marie-Terese knew their names only because Gina talked about them like they were the Bill Gates of porn.
Marie-Terese hung back and watched the drive-by. As Gina sauntered up, the woman in the white fur took one look at what was so obviously for sale and her stare went blade sharp. Which was unnecessary. Her businessman boyfriend didn't give Gina a glance - he was too busy talking to his buddy. And all the back-off-that's-my-man did was encourage the come-on: Gina positively preened in front of that territorial hatred, lingering until the man finally looked up.
He didn't focus on what was in front of him, though. He gaze shifted past Gina's latex buffet and trained on Marie-Terese.
Instant. Cosmic. Attraction. The kind you couldn't hide from other people and you couldn't bottle up and you couldn't turn off if you ever got the chance to act on it. With their stares locked, they were both naked and in each other's arms, not for hours, but for days.
Which meant she wasn't going anywhere near him and not because he had a possessive girlfriend. If what she'd felt at first around her ex had been trouble, this moment between her and that stranger had the potential for catastrophe.
Marie-Terese turned away and wound through the crowd, seeing nothing in front of her or around her. Those steel gray eyes of that man consumed her, and though she knew he couldn't see her anymore, she could have sworn she felt him staring at her still.
"Hey, honey."
Marie-Terese glanced over her shoulder. A pair of college boys dressed in hip-riding jeans, Affliction T-shirts, and skulled-out accessories - i.e., the bell-bottoms of the twenty-first century - had come up behind her and were once-overing her body. Given the sly way they looked at her, it was pretty clear they had pockets full of their daddies' money and heads vacant of everything but the confidence typical of big, dumb football players.
She also got the impression they were on something: Their eyelids twitched rather than blinked, and both had lines of sweat over their upper lips. Great. Just what she needed.
"How much for me and my friend?" the one who'd spoken up said.
"I think you'd better go see someone else." Gina had no problems with threesomes, for instance. Or video cameras. Or camera phones. Or other women. Hopefully she drew the line at the Catherine the Great equine stuff, but you couldn't be sure - it was entirely possible that a lusty whinny meant "suck harder" to her.
Mr. Talker got in close. "We don't want anyone else. We want you."
Taking a step back, she looked them both right in the eye. "Find someone else."
"We have money."
"I'm a dancer. That's all I get paid to do."
"Then why haven't you been up in any of the cages?" He leaned in again and she got a whiff of his cologne: eau de beer. "We've been watching you."
"I'm not for sale."
"Bullshit, baby doll."
"If you continue to harass me, you're going to get banned from this club. All it takes is one word from me to management. Now back the hell off."
Marie-Terese walked away, knowing damn well they were pissed and not caring in the slightest - thank you very much, Trez. As much as she hated asking for help from the man, she would in a heartbeat if it meant keeping herself safe.
Over at the bar in the back, she ordered a Coke with extra ice and regrouped. It was still early, only about ten thirty, which meant she had another four or so hours.
"Those two steakheads giving you trouble?"
She looked up at Trez and smiled. "Nothing I couldn't handle." She eyed the leather coat in his hand. "You off?"
"Just over to my brother's for a meeting. Listen, the bouncers are all tight and I should be back in about an hour, two at the most. But you call me if you and the girls need anything, 'kay? Phone's going to be on the whole time. I can be back in the blink of an eye."
"Will do. Drive carefully."
He gave her hand a squeeze and strode through the crowd, his height dwarfing everyone in the club.
"That your pimp? Maybe we should just talk to him."
Marie-Terese glared over her shoulder at the college guys. "He's my boss, and his name's Trez. Why don't you go and introduce yourselves to him?"
"You think you're too good for us?"
She turned and faced them. "Do yourself a favor and leave me alone. Unless you want to be taken out of here in an ambulance."
The one who had been doing all the talking smiled, revealing sharp white teeth. "Do us a favor and stop thinking that whores like you have the right to an opinion."
Marie-Terese recoiled - but only on the inside. "Does your mother know you talk to women like this?"
"You are not a woman."
Marie-Terese's throat closed up hard. "Leave me alone," she said hoarsely.
"Make us."
Vin scanned the crowd for the dark-haired woman and got frustrated when he couldn't find her. They'd made eye contact for one electric moment and then she'd disappeared into the sea of bodies like a ghost.
He'd seen her before. He couldn't place where...but he'd definitely seen her before. "Who are you looking for?" Devina said in a low voice.
"No one." Vin nodded at a waitress, who came over quickly. After drinks had been ordered, Devina edged closer and eased in, her breasts pushing against Vin's biceps. "Let's go back."
"Back where?"
"To the private bathrooms."
Vin frowned as a dark-haired woman in the far corner turned...No, it wasn't the one. Maybe...no, not her either.
Black hair, blue eyes, heart-shaped face that he wanted to take into his hands. Who was she?
"Vin?" Devina pressed her lips behind his ear. "Let's go...I'm hungry."
Unlike the night before, this do-me-now stuff annoyed more than tempted him. He knew damn well that the seduction routine was less about sex between the two of them, and more about that prostitute coming over and pulling a whole lot of how-about-some-of-this. The thing was, Devina didn't mind including other women as long as it was on her terms - and evidently those didn't include half-dressed ladies of the night making like they wanted to mount him and ride him off to an orgasm in public.
Nope, the women had to be more attracted to Devina than him for her to be cool with it. "I want some privacy," she purred.
"We have a guest."
"It won't take long." Her tongue licked up the side of his neck, making him feel like he was a fence post getting pissed on. "I promise you that. I'm hungry, Vin."
"Sorry." His eyes searched the crowd. "I'm full at the moment."
Devina dropped the act and sat back in the seat. "Then I want to go home."
At just that moment, the waitress came over with a beer for Jim, a shot of Patron for Vin, and a Cosmo for Devina.
"We can't leave now," Vin murmured as he gave the woman a hundred and told her to keep the change.
"But I want to go home." Devina crossed her arms over her chest and pegged him right in the eye with the demand. "Now."
"Come on, Devina. Enjoy your drink - "
Before he could tell her there'd be plenty of privacy as soon as they got back to the duplex, Devina cut him off with, "Maybe I'll just go buy that red head for myself then, since you're not going to take care of me."
Right, okay. Wrong thing to say. Absolutely wrong button to hit.
Easing to the side, Vin took the keys to the M6 out of his pocket. "Do you want me to walk you to the car? Or do you need cash for the prostitute?"
Devina's eyes flashed black in the silence that erupted between them. But she should have known not to play hardball with him.
After a moment, she snatched the key out of his hand. "Oh, I wouldn't dream of troubling you. Jim will walk me out. That way you can stay and enjoy the view some more."
With a small nod, Vin glanced at the other man. "Jim, would you mind doing the honors?"
The guy slowly lowered his beer. "Look, if she wants to go - "
"Then she's free to. And she wants you to escort her to the car."
The poor bastard looked as if he'd rather have his fingers filed into stubs than get in the middle of things, and Vin didn't blame him.
Uncrossing his legs, Vin stood up. "Ah, hell, man, you just relax here and I'll - "
Devina shot to her feet. "Jim, please take me to his car. Now."
Vin shook his head. "No, I'm going to - "
"The hell you are," Devina snapped. "I don't want you taking me anywhere."
"It's cool," Jim muttered. "I'll do it."
The man got up, but he left his leather jacket, as if he were not expecting to be gone long. "I'm just taking her to the car. We clear on that?"
"Thanks, man." Vin sat down again and swallowed his Patron on a oner. "I'll be here waiting."
Jim indicated the way to the door, and Devina walked off, her chin up and her shoulders back, her fur in her arms.
As Vin watched them go, it was times like this that made him question the ring thing. He'd done nothing to encourage the prostitute - he hadn't even looked at her. But you had been staring at someone, an inner voice pointed out.
Vin resumed scanning the crowd, all of whom seemed to have black clothes and dark hair. Damn it...why did she have to be in a club like this, where everyone was a brunette?
Except...well, the why had been pretty obvious: She hadn't been dressed as a customer.
With a curse, he glanced up at one of the cages, where a woman was aglow in blue light, writhing as if she'd lost a cold penny down the front of her thong and wasn't allowed to use her hands to get it out. Was his dark-haired woman a dancer...or what that first female had been?
Oh, who the hell was he kidding. No doubt you could buy what was in the cages as well.
Still, prostitute or not, that had been some kind of moment when they'd locked eyes - the pull had been undeniable, even though it made no sense. It wasn't that he'd ever judge a woman for being a professional, but he couldn't imagine being with one who'd done that for a living. Was doing it for a living.
Nope. No way. Even if she were as safe as she could be, even if she chose to do it because she liked it, his mind was not hard-wired to share. There's was too much of his father in him, and the paranoia would kill him.
Cursing, Vin wondered how in the hell he'd gone from taking one look at the woman across a club to trying her on for a relationship. When he was already in one. And had a diamond the size of a grape waiting at home for his -
Abruptly, his dark-haired woman burst through the crowd in the back. She was walking fast, her shoulders knocking into people as she went, her face grim and tight. And right on her tail were a pair of guys who had necks larger than their heads and nasty expressions.
Like they were ten-year-olds about to pick the wings off a butterfly.
Vin frowned...and got to his feet.
As she stood by the bar closest to the Iron Mask's front door, she was inspecting the crowd when he walked into the club. It was, as they say, right out of the movies: Everyone else disappeared the instant he came in, the other people fading into dim, blurry shadows while she focused on him and him alone.
Six-three-ish in height. Dark hair and pale eyes. Suit like something out of a Fifth Avenue window display.
On his arm was a woman in a red dress and a white fur coat, and beside him was a taller guy with a brush cut and a military manner. None of them fit in among the crowd of leathered and laced and chained, but that wasn't why she stared.
No, the staring thing was all about the man himself. He was eye-catching in the same sharp, hard way her ex had been: a wealthy man with a shot of gangster in him, a guy who was used to being in charge of whatever was going on around him...and someone who was probably about as warm and caring as a meat locker.
Fortunately, shutting down her instant attraction was easy: She'd already made the mistake of assuming wealth and power made guys like that some kind of modern-day dragon slayer.
Very bad assumption. Sometimes dragon slayers...were just slayers.
Gina, another one of the working girls, came up to the bar. "Who is that by the door?"
"A customer."
"Of mine, I hope."
Marie-Terese wasn't so sure of that. Going by the looks of that brunette with him, he had no reason to buy sexual companionship - wait...that woman...she'd been here the night before, hadn't she, and so had the other guy. Marie-Terese remembered them for the same reason they stood out tonight - they didn't belong here.
As the trio sat down in a dark corner, Gina adjusted her wing-and-a-prayer bustier and pushed at her now-red hair. Last month it had been white and pink. Month before that jet-black. She kept this up and she was going to be sporting a Telly Savalas, thanks to all the chemical warfare on her roots.
"I think I'll just go over and introduce myself. Laters."
Gina sauntered off, her black latex skirt and stiletto boots the kind of thing she wore with pride. Unlike Marie-Terese, she got off on what she did for a living and even had ambitions to become what she referred to as a "major multimedia erotica star" along the lines of Janine Lindemulder or Jenna Jameson. Whoever they were. Marie-Terese knew their names only because Gina talked about them like they were the Bill Gates of porn.
Marie-Terese hung back and watched the drive-by. As Gina sauntered up, the woman in the white fur took one look at what was so obviously for sale and her stare went blade sharp. Which was unnecessary. Her businessman boyfriend didn't give Gina a glance - he was too busy talking to his buddy. And all the back-off-that's-my-man did was encourage the come-on: Gina positively preened in front of that territorial hatred, lingering until the man finally looked up.
He didn't focus on what was in front of him, though. He gaze shifted past Gina's latex buffet and trained on Marie-Terese.
Instant. Cosmic. Attraction. The kind you couldn't hide from other people and you couldn't bottle up and you couldn't turn off if you ever got the chance to act on it. With their stares locked, they were both naked and in each other's arms, not for hours, but for days.
Which meant she wasn't going anywhere near him and not because he had a possessive girlfriend. If what she'd felt at first around her ex had been trouble, this moment between her and that stranger had the potential for catastrophe.
Marie-Terese turned away and wound through the crowd, seeing nothing in front of her or around her. Those steel gray eyes of that man consumed her, and though she knew he couldn't see her anymore, she could have sworn she felt him staring at her still.
"Hey, honey."
Marie-Terese glanced over her shoulder. A pair of college boys dressed in hip-riding jeans, Affliction T-shirts, and skulled-out accessories - i.e., the bell-bottoms of the twenty-first century - had come up behind her and were once-overing her body. Given the sly way they looked at her, it was pretty clear they had pockets full of their daddies' money and heads vacant of everything but the confidence typical of big, dumb football players.
She also got the impression they were on something: Their eyelids twitched rather than blinked, and both had lines of sweat over their upper lips. Great. Just what she needed.
"How much for me and my friend?" the one who'd spoken up said.
"I think you'd better go see someone else." Gina had no problems with threesomes, for instance. Or video cameras. Or camera phones. Or other women. Hopefully she drew the line at the Catherine the Great equine stuff, but you couldn't be sure - it was entirely possible that a lusty whinny meant "suck harder" to her.
Mr. Talker got in close. "We don't want anyone else. We want you."
Taking a step back, she looked them both right in the eye. "Find someone else."
"We have money."
"I'm a dancer. That's all I get paid to do."
"Then why haven't you been up in any of the cages?" He leaned in again and she got a whiff of his cologne: eau de beer. "We've been watching you."
"I'm not for sale."
"Bullshit, baby doll."
"If you continue to harass me, you're going to get banned from this club. All it takes is one word from me to management. Now back the hell off."
Marie-Terese walked away, knowing damn well they were pissed and not caring in the slightest - thank you very much, Trez. As much as she hated asking for help from the man, she would in a heartbeat if it meant keeping herself safe.
Over at the bar in the back, she ordered a Coke with extra ice and regrouped. It was still early, only about ten thirty, which meant she had another four or so hours.
"Those two steakheads giving you trouble?"
She looked up at Trez and smiled. "Nothing I couldn't handle." She eyed the leather coat in his hand. "You off?"
"Just over to my brother's for a meeting. Listen, the bouncers are all tight and I should be back in about an hour, two at the most. But you call me if you and the girls need anything, 'kay? Phone's going to be on the whole time. I can be back in the blink of an eye."
"Will do. Drive carefully."
He gave her hand a squeeze and strode through the crowd, his height dwarfing everyone in the club.
"That your pimp? Maybe we should just talk to him."
Marie-Terese glared over her shoulder at the college guys. "He's my boss, and his name's Trez. Why don't you go and introduce yourselves to him?"
"You think you're too good for us?"
She turned and faced them. "Do yourself a favor and leave me alone. Unless you want to be taken out of here in an ambulance."
The one who had been doing all the talking smiled, revealing sharp white teeth. "Do us a favor and stop thinking that whores like you have the right to an opinion."
Marie-Terese recoiled - but only on the inside. "Does your mother know you talk to women like this?"
"You are not a woman."
Marie-Terese's throat closed up hard. "Leave me alone," she said hoarsely.
"Make us."
Vin scanned the crowd for the dark-haired woman and got frustrated when he couldn't find her. They'd made eye contact for one electric moment and then she'd disappeared into the sea of bodies like a ghost.
He'd seen her before. He couldn't place where...but he'd definitely seen her before. "Who are you looking for?" Devina said in a low voice.
"No one." Vin nodded at a waitress, who came over quickly. After drinks had been ordered, Devina edged closer and eased in, her breasts pushing against Vin's biceps. "Let's go back."
"Back where?"
"To the private bathrooms."
Vin frowned as a dark-haired woman in the far corner turned...No, it wasn't the one. Maybe...no, not her either.
Black hair, blue eyes, heart-shaped face that he wanted to take into his hands. Who was she?
"Vin?" Devina pressed her lips behind his ear. "Let's go...I'm hungry."
Unlike the night before, this do-me-now stuff annoyed more than tempted him. He knew damn well that the seduction routine was less about sex between the two of them, and more about that prostitute coming over and pulling a whole lot of how-about-some-of-this. The thing was, Devina didn't mind including other women as long as it was on her terms - and evidently those didn't include half-dressed ladies of the night making like they wanted to mount him and ride him off to an orgasm in public.
Nope, the women had to be more attracted to Devina than him for her to be cool with it. "I want some privacy," she purred.
"We have a guest."
"It won't take long." Her tongue licked up the side of his neck, making him feel like he was a fence post getting pissed on. "I promise you that. I'm hungry, Vin."
"Sorry." His eyes searched the crowd. "I'm full at the moment."
Devina dropped the act and sat back in the seat. "Then I want to go home."
At just that moment, the waitress came over with a beer for Jim, a shot of Patron for Vin, and a Cosmo for Devina.
"We can't leave now," Vin murmured as he gave the woman a hundred and told her to keep the change.
"But I want to go home." Devina crossed her arms over her chest and pegged him right in the eye with the demand. "Now."
"Come on, Devina. Enjoy your drink - "
Before he could tell her there'd be plenty of privacy as soon as they got back to the duplex, Devina cut him off with, "Maybe I'll just go buy that red head for myself then, since you're not going to take care of me."
Right, okay. Wrong thing to say. Absolutely wrong button to hit.
Easing to the side, Vin took the keys to the M6 out of his pocket. "Do you want me to walk you to the car? Or do you need cash for the prostitute?"
Devina's eyes flashed black in the silence that erupted between them. But she should have known not to play hardball with him.
After a moment, she snatched the key out of his hand. "Oh, I wouldn't dream of troubling you. Jim will walk me out. That way you can stay and enjoy the view some more."
With a small nod, Vin glanced at the other man. "Jim, would you mind doing the honors?"
The guy slowly lowered his beer. "Look, if she wants to go - "
"Then she's free to. And she wants you to escort her to the car."
The poor bastard looked as if he'd rather have his fingers filed into stubs than get in the middle of things, and Vin didn't blame him.
Uncrossing his legs, Vin stood up. "Ah, hell, man, you just relax here and I'll - "
Devina shot to her feet. "Jim, please take me to his car. Now."
Vin shook his head. "No, I'm going to - "
"The hell you are," Devina snapped. "I don't want you taking me anywhere."
"It's cool," Jim muttered. "I'll do it."
The man got up, but he left his leather jacket, as if he were not expecting to be gone long. "I'm just taking her to the car. We clear on that?"
"Thanks, man." Vin sat down again and swallowed his Patron on a oner. "I'll be here waiting."
Jim indicated the way to the door, and Devina walked off, her chin up and her shoulders back, her fur in her arms.
As Vin watched them go, it was times like this that made him question the ring thing. He'd done nothing to encourage the prostitute - he hadn't even looked at her. But you had been staring at someone, an inner voice pointed out.
Vin resumed scanning the crowd, all of whom seemed to have black clothes and dark hair. Damn it...why did she have to be in a club like this, where everyone was a brunette?
Except...well, the why had been pretty obvious: She hadn't been dressed as a customer.
With a curse, he glanced up at one of the cages, where a woman was aglow in blue light, writhing as if she'd lost a cold penny down the front of her thong and wasn't allowed to use her hands to get it out. Was his dark-haired woman a dancer...or what that first female had been?
Oh, who the hell was he kidding. No doubt you could buy what was in the cages as well.
Still, prostitute or not, that had been some kind of moment when they'd locked eyes - the pull had been undeniable, even though it made no sense. It wasn't that he'd ever judge a woman for being a professional, but he couldn't imagine being with one who'd done that for a living. Was doing it for a living.
Nope. No way. Even if she were as safe as she could be, even if she chose to do it because she liked it, his mind was not hard-wired to share. There's was too much of his father in him, and the paranoia would kill him.
Cursing, Vin wondered how in the hell he'd gone from taking one look at the woman across a club to trying her on for a relationship. When he was already in one. And had a diamond the size of a grape waiting at home for his -
Abruptly, his dark-haired woman burst through the crowd in the back. She was walking fast, her shoulders knocking into people as she went, her face grim and tight. And right on her tail were a pair of guys who had necks larger than their heads and nasty expressions.
Like they were ten-year-olds about to pick the wings off a butterfly.
Vin frowned...and got to his feet.
