“Assist?” An amused smirk touches her lips, her eyes drifting over my frame again but in a different way now. An inquisitive way.
In my peripheral vision, I see Cain’s lips curl in as he inhales sharply and I wonder what that’s about. Thankfully, the server comes with our meal, breaking up the awkwardness. “I’m here until Monday, Cain, so if you’d like to give me a call we can catch up. My assistant’s in town, as well. I’m sure she’d love to see you.” That’s an inside joke with sexual undertones if I’ve ever heard one.
Forget Cain being annoyed. I’m damn annoyed now. She’s taking up my precious time with him. Without even thinking, I reach forward to clasp Cain’s hand and lock eyes with him. To my pleasant surprise, Cain doesn’t waste a moment, rolling my hand within his to drag his thumb down my palm, sending sparks through my body. “I imagine I’ll be keeping him extremely busy until Monday and well beyond, Larissa. Now if you’ll excuse us, we need to eat so we can get home.”
There’s a long pause. I dare cast a glance up to see Larissa’s mouth twisted with displeasure. “Well, best of luck to you.” She holds her head high as she walks away at a brisk pace. When she disappears around the corner, I make a move to slide my hand out of Cain’s but he traps it within his for a moment, studying it, before finally letting go.
“Sorry if I was being presumptuous, but she got under my nerves and I could tell you were annoyed. I figured pretending we were dating was the best way to get rid of her.”
His brow spikes with curiosity. “How did you know I was annoyed?”
I hesitate for a moment, stabbing a chunk of steak from my salad. Should I tell him? Will he think I’m crazy? His expectant eyes on me make me finally cave. I gesture at his mouth with my free hand and explain, “You lick your top lip when you’re annoyed.”
“Have you been investigating me?” he asks playfully.
“Maybe,” I admit, hoping he doesn’t notice my ears reddening. “On my own, though. No hired help.” A sheepish look flashes over his features, and I have to giggle. “I have a thing for body language and facial expressions. I used to do a lot of theater, and people-watching is a good way to learn how to play different roles.”
“Drama . . . hmm.” Cutting into his steak, he casually asks, “What else do I do?”
“Not much, to be honest. You’re pretty guarded.” Stabbing the air with my fork, I gesture toward his neck. “You rub your neck over that tattoo when you’re anxious.”
Cain nods. After a moment, “What else?”
“You clear your voice when you’re uncomfortable.”
“What else?”
“You ball your fists when you’re really mad. I saw you do it that day at my old apartment.” And last night, with Bob. “Sometimes I see you do it when Ben’s around.”
That earns a loud burst of laughter. “I know I do that. It’s an old habit from my fighting days.”
A little bread crumb, a little trace of info into the history of Cain. I greedily latch on. “Fighting . . . like boxing?”
He gives an almost imperceptible shake. “Fighting like the kind that you don’t ever talk about. The kind that makes you a lot of money.”
My eyes roam his face, as perfect as it is, and settle on the small scar above his left brow. And I wonder what kind of damage has been done to that beautiful body of his. “Were you ever badly hurt?”
“A few broken ribs, bruised knuckles, some cuts. That’s all. So . . . no.”
I glance down at his hands, which iced my cheek just twenty-four hours ago. Now I wonder what kind of damage they’ve also done. “Did you ever hurt anyone badly?”
Dark eyes lock on me as he admits, “Yes, I have, Charlie. Very badly. One of them never got up.”
I’m not sure what reaction he’s expecting from me, but that won’t make me shy away. “Is that where you made this money you’re talking about?”
“Who’s being direct now?” By his tone, he doesn’t seem annoyed. “Yes. I made most of my money fighting.”
I clear my throat, deciding to steer the conversation in another direction. “How do you know Larissa?” Even her name makes my chest burn with jealousy. A startled look flashes across his face and I shrug. “You said you don’t do small talk.”
“I got to know Larissa during her last business trip to Miami and had no plans to connect with her again. Ever.” He curls his lip in that playful way as he pushes my plate slightly, a reminder that I need to keep eating. “You saved me.”
“I hardly think you were in danger with her.”
His left brows arches drastically. “No, trust me. I was. That one is . . .” He shakes his head. When he catches me watching him—all kinds of awful lewd images flying through my thoughts, trying as I can to keep a straight face—his forehead furrows deeply. I think I see a hint of blush under that stubble but I can’t be sure. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.” I pause and then dare add in a mock-sultry voice, “Mr. Investment Banker.”
Cain’s face brightens with a chuckle. “Women don’t typically understand my choice in profession, so I’m not open about it.”
He said women. Plural. Dammit. I was hoping she was it. “No, I suppose they wouldn’t.” I didn’t understand his choice of profession, either. I still don’t. He’s so much different from any other club owner—and anyone else I’ve ever met. He almost doesn’t seem real.
A morose look flashes across his face. “None of them know much about me at all. But that doesn’t seem to bother them.”
I feel a twinge of sadness in my heart. Plenty of women are loved and paid attention to only for their enticing exterior. But what about men like Cain? I’m no better than Larissa. I have used him in the same regard, while on the stage. That face, that body; they are distracting enough to not see the man that may lie beneath.
Ironically, I’m beginning to think that what is beneath that outer surface may be even more beautiful.
“Maybe you’re dating the wrong type of woman,” I say softly, my eyes holding his gaze.
“I don’t date, Charlie. I’ve never done this. I told you that, yesterday.”
“You also don’t watch your dancers strip, right?”
I hear the light scratching sound of his hand rubbing over that stubble as he covers his mouth, hiding a tiny smile as he watches me with eyes that are suddenly sparkling playfully. “Only one.”
Heat floods through my body. I wonder if he knows that he can do that with just a look.
By the time the waiter comes to clear the plates, my meal is only half-eaten, but I’ve polished off two-thirds of the wine and I feel it tingle through my thighs. Or maybe it’s Cain’s continued gaze causing that.
I let Cain lead me—slowly, reluctantly—to his Navigator. Opening the passenger-side door for me like a gentleman, he hesitates. His hand finds its way to the small of my back and the simple touch steals my breath away, as aware as my body is of him right now. “Do you want me to take you back to your apartment, or Penny’s, or . . .” He lets the question hang, as if giving me the chance to decide if this night is ending or not. I have no interest in saying good night—and goodbye—to Cain yet. I know exactly what I want. By the way he’s staring at my mouth, I think Cain does, too.
Swallowing against the explosion of excitement inside me, I settle a firm, unguarded gaze on him and slowly shake my head.
chapter twenty-three
■ ■ ■
CAIN
I keep my arm coiled around Charlie’s taut waist as we pick our steps along the old pier. I could argue that I’m holding her so closely because it’s dark, she’s a bit tipsy, and the planks are uneven. But the full moon casts a healthy glow overhead, Charlie seems to have sobered up, and the planks are perfectly fine.
I was so close to driving us back to my condo.
So. Very. Close.
My u
ncomfortable erection reminds me of what I could be doing now, had I made a left turn instead of going straight.
But I can’t. Not yet.
Not if I want to do this right. And dammit, I want to do something right. Driving Charlie home tonight so I can fuck her until the sun rises—when she knows nothing about the man I am—does not feel right. That’s the kind of thing I do with Vicki and Rebecka. I won’t treat Charlie like those other women.
I want more.
“So security just let us on here?” Her arm waves out around us, her heels dangling from her fingers.
“Sure. I’m a member here.” The security guards at this private club all know me. I toss them money to look the other way when I come out to the pier in the middle of the night. I’ve been doing it for years. It’s my secret sanctuary. It’s the only reason I joined in the first place.
I’ve never brought someone with me, though. I’ve never wanted to. And tonight, I tossed them extra to keep anyone, including themselves, off the pier.
When the server came to collect our plates tonight, I panicked. I wasn’t ready to let Charlie go yet. I was enjoying myself too much. And that’s despite Larissa showing up. Of all people to run into . . . Fuck! Thank God that woman had the decency not to bring up the explicit details of our time together. That weekend began with an innocent drink by the bar at the same restaurant we were at tonight and ended with Larissa, her very attractive twenty-three-year-old female assistant, and a bag full of toys.
That woman is into some weird shit.
I went along with it, but the guilt ate away at me later and I promised myself that I’d never hook up with her again. Larissa is a female version of what I hate, taking advantage of her power. Yes, she’s beautiful and charming but she can be a coiled viper, like tonight, with Charlie. For a second there, I was sure she was going to proposition us for a foursome.
Something tells me Charlie has no interest in sharing me.
I grin, thinking about the smug smile touching Charlie’s beautiful, full lips as she reached across the table and claimed me. It may all have been for show, but in that moment, there was nothing I wanted more than to be hers.
Tonight, the way she handled Larissa with class and grace and an edge of bitch was beautiful. Unexpected.
It made me rock hard.
Which is why I had to take her somewhere other than my home. Even now, I can’t help but take note of how quiet and private this pier is. How dark it is. How easy it would be for me to get under that dress, something I’ve been fantasizing about doing for weeks.
We walk in silence, Charlie pressing further into me until we reach the park bench at the end of the pier.
“Do you come here a lot?”
“Every Sunday night, after Penny’s closes. Always alone . . .” I guide her to the bench at the end and sit down next to her, stretching my arm out along the back to get as close to her as possible without pulling her onto my lap. Waves of her creamy floral perfume keep hitting me, making me inhale deeply.
“It’s really pretty out here,” she murmurs, tipping her head back to rest on my arm, her lips curled into a peaceful smile. “Serene.” The moonlight shines over that pretty white neck of hers, exposed, and I find myself leaning in, fighting the urge to trail my tongue along it, all the way down along the full length of her body.
“Thank you for the flowers,” she offers suddenly, adding more softly, “I never thanked you earlier. They’re beautiful. The color is stunning.”
I guide her face toward me with a finger at her chin. “Brown eyes are pretty, but violet eyes . . . I can’t stop thinking about them.” It’s true. I haven’t. I’ve been dying to see them again, since the day I hired her. “Why do you hide them?”
She pulls in her bottom lip, no doubt deciding whether she’s going to tell me the truth or not. With a sigh, she says, “Because I need to be forgettable.” The pain in her tone is unmistakable and it tightens my chest. Is this because of that douchebag Ronald? Or another guy like him?
I can’t think about that guy right now. It’ll make my fists curl, and Charlie will notice. I drove by his apartment building earlier tonight and almost stopped. Almost.
But I didn’t. By the mediocre building, I’m guessing he wasn’t showering her with money and gifts in exchange for sex at any point. I don’t want to cause her more trouble and until I know what’s going on, stalking the guy might not go over well. “You’re a lot of things, Charlie Rourke, but forgettable is not one of them, violet irises or not.”
When she opens her eyes again, there’s a sad smile touching her lips. “Why do you come out here to think?”
Bittersweet nostalgia washes over me. “It reminds me of my childhood, back in L.A. My grandmother used to take my sister and me to the pier on Sunday afternoons when we were young.” Despite raising the despicable man my father turned out to be, I remember my nan being a kind, soft-spoken lady who hugged us a lot. I think she did the best she could as a single parent, holding down two waitressing jobs to provide for them. I never met my grandfather. He went to jail for armed robbery years before I was born, where he eventually died of a heart attack. From the few comments that my dad made about his temper and how he “taught” my dad to fight, the apple didn’t fall far from the tree.
On those afternoons, she’d treat my sister and me to hot dogs and an ice-cream cone each. We’d sit side-by-side on a bench much like this one while we ate, my sister’s feet not even touching the ground, she was so young. I don’t know that my nan could afford to treat us every week. But when I was young, I didn’t think about things like that; I just took what was given to me. I don’t remember ever saying thank you to her. To this day, I don’t know if she ever knew how much I looked forward to those afternoons.
I wish I had told her when I had the chance.
“I don’t remember my grandparents,” Charlie says softly. “My mom said they used to care for me when I was really small. My mom had me when she was fifteen, so they helped while she was finishing high school. In my head, I see this older blond woman with blond hair and a red-checkered apron, standing on a big white porch, waving at me.” She frowns. “But I’m not sure if it was real or not.” Leaning in toward my body, her head nests itself in the crook of my arm. “What’s your sister’s name?”
“Lizzy.” The painful lump that used to come with uttering that name has long since vanished, leaving only faint bitterness.
“Lizzy,” Charlie repeats in a whisper. There’s a pause, a slight hesitation, and then she confesses, “I would have had a brother, but he died during childbirth. My mom was going to name him Harrison. She said she always wanted a son named Harrison.”
Wrapping my fingers around a strand of her hair, I start playing with it, marveling at its silkiness. “Harrison and Charlie?”
Her chest rises with a sharp inhale. “Where is your sister now?”
I pause to watch a ship sail by in the distance as I decide just how much I want to share with Charlie tonight. So far, she hasn’t seemed at all put off by what she’s learned. I can’t help but want to just off-load everything and find out quickly whether she’s going to reject me. Other than Penny, Storm, and Nate—and John, of course, who was the first officer at the scene that night ten years ago—I’ve never talked to anyone about my past. And no one but Nate knows the entire story. But do I really want to air all my shit in one night? I could end tonight’s conversation very quickly by leaning in and kissing her. That would end all talking. I’m sure of it.
I feel Charlie’s questioning eyes on my face and that’s all it takes for me to relent. “She died ten years ago, with my parents, in a drug-related murder. The cops were never able to nail anyone for it.”
Charlie’s body tenses up next to me and that makes me hold my breath. Is this the part where she starts wondering if she really wants to get involved with a guy like me?
“What
do you remember about your sister?”
Air hisses through my teeth. I’d expected her to ask how they were involved with drugs, if they were guilty. If I miss them. This is one question I didn’t anticipate, and it somehow feels all the more invasive.
Charlie’s hand loops around mine settled on my lap. She pulls it to her, letting it rest halfway up her thigh, just below where her dress ends. Having my hand against her soft bare skin is definitely distracting.
My hard swallow fills the air. “At sixteen, Lizzy had a chip on her shoulder and an attitude that made you want to throttle her. She’d already been expelled from two schools, and suspended for fighting from another. She was into drinking and smoking pot. Older guys . . .” I shake my head.
Charlie’s manicured thumbs work small circles around the back of my knuckles as she asks, “Did you get along?”
“Honestly . . . I couldn’t stand her.” It’s painful even now to admit that, but it’s the truth. “She wasn’t the kid I grew up with. She changed. About three months before she died, I found out she was working for some douchebag strip club owner, giving blow jobs and God knows what else. She was working under the table and using the ID of a twenty-six-year-old Latina girl named Blanca who looked nothing like her. She was sixteen! The owner didn’t care.”
Exhaling heavily as if that act will release the guilt that still lingers ten years later, I continue. “And neither did I. Not enough.” With trepidation, I glance down at that doll face and find . . . I don’t know what that look is. It’s unreadable. Not judgment, not disgust. None of the things I saw in Penny’s eyes when I admitted this same thing.
It spurs me on. “I wasn’t much better than her, believe me. I moved out when I was seventeen and spent a year crashing on friends’ couches. I barely graduated high school. Then I started getting into the bigger fights. Making real money. Enough for my own car and an apartment. I let Lizzy come to live with me for a few months, but then I found out about the club and I kicked her out. She moved back in with our parents. I did nothing about the fact that she was selling herself. All because I couldn’t see past the tough, bitchy exterior to the girl who was still somewhere in there, needing someone to watch out for her. I doubt she was so tough when they . . .” My teeth crack against the clench. “I’m sure she was more like the little girl I knew growing up, those last few moments of her life.” At least, she always is in my nightmares, when the brutal and explicit details from the police reports come alive and I hear her screaming for me, for my help. For me to return the money that I’d stolen in the first place.