by Kenya Wright
I grabbed my case and rose. “I’m not complaining. I’m nervous.”
“You should be.” She walked with me off the stage. “They call him, Le Boucher.”
“The Butcher?” I stopped and stared at her. “Now, you tell me?”
“I thought I did.”
“No, you said he was an accountant for scary people.”
“Scary people hire scary accountants, and it’s not like he carries around a calculator. He’s the sort of accountant that. . .I don’t know. . .kills you if you’re low on your pay.”
“What?”
She laughed.
“I don’t think that’s funny.”
“Okay. I’m playing with you.” She shrugged. “I don’t know if he’s ever killed anyone.”
Well, I do. He definitely killed his ex-wife’s lover, although it wasn’t intentional. And his ex-wife is dead, so. . .there’s that.
She checked her watch. “We should get you to him and talk about this more later.”
“To him?”
Instead of leading me to the exit, she gestured for me to go to the back. “He’s going to pay a high amount for you to play for a private party tomorrow in his suite upstairs.”
I followed her. “Okay, but can we get back to you being certain he doesn’t kill people?”
“I’m sure he has killed someone, but I don’t know anyone he’s killed.”
“What about why Aunt Celina forbade him—”
“That’s something else.” She waved that comment away. “You won’t have that problem.”
“Why not?” I asked.
“No disrespect, but I don’t think you’re his type.”
“Because?”
She opened the door and stared at me. “Do you want to be his type?”
“What? I mean. . .no.” I rushed to switch the topic. “What’s the deal? How much is he paying?”
“Ten thousand for three hours.”
I almost dropped the case. “Say what?”
I was about to make more money than I knew what to do with. It took a few moments for the meaning of her words to sink in. Ten thousand dollars? For one night of work? There was a catch of some sort—I was sure of it.
“What kind of party?”
Shalimar pressed her lips together. “He typically brings a handful of men in. Big names. They discuss deals. I wouldn’t listen in on them, if I were you. I’m sure they’re illegal.”
“So, they’re business meetings?”
“With adult entertainment. Usually there are women at the center of the room, touching each other. No one ever has sex with them.”
“Not even Jean-Pierre?”
“Not even him. It should be safe and not get me in trouble with your aunt.”
Relief hit me. It didn’t sound like too bad of a deal.
“So, he wants you to play for his business meeting tomorrow night. That’s nine thousand for you, after my ten percent commission.” She signaled for me to walk through. “There’s only two catches.”
I looked around. “Where are we going?”
“That’s where the first catch comes in. He wants to have dinner with you. He’s cerebral.”
“Meaning?”
“He’s into mind-fucking and opening up people’s heads. The dinner is a formality. He has trust issues.”
I’m sure he does.
"Should I take the mask off?" I asked.
"No, he wants to watch you take it off."
O-kay.
We walked down a hallway but passed the elevator.
Good. We’re not going to the fourth level.
“I told him to make this a quick dinner,” Shalimar said. "You’re probably exhausted.”
I stopped. “The dinner is right now?”
“Yes.”
But I look like I’ve been playing a violin for eight hours. I could’ve freshened up, did a quick sniff-check of my arm pits. What kind of pimp are you?
“What are you doing?” Shalimar eyed me.
“I’m cursing you out in my mind.”
“It looks like that. Don’t worry. It’ll be quick. You don’t even have to eat.”
“And this is only dinner?”
She laughed. “Yes. Trust me. He is not trying to have sex with you, but just in case, I have a plan.”
“What’s the plan?”
“I’m going to send a little show in the room to distract him.”
One of Jean-Pierre’s men opened the door before I could ask her more.
Another armed man guided me inside.
In the space, the lighting was dim. He sat at the table alone. His intense gaze followed me as I entered. Rising from the table, Jean-Pierre’s blue eyes assessed me.
Even closer, I got a better look of him.
And he was gorgeous. Just staring at him jolted me with attraction and lust.
Thick, dark hair teased his broad forehead. His wide mouth curled up with an expression that looked half smile, half challenge. His eyes captured me. Accented by a sweep of black brows. He watched me, as if he could see deep inside my mind. As if he knew all my secrets. And he stood about six feet tall, with broad shoulders and a body of muscle. It was evident under that tight, white-buttoned shirt.
Thank goodness we wouldn’t be alone for too long. My body was unable to deal with how gorgeous he was.
Shalimar glared at him. “Jean-Pierre, she’s tired. Don’t make this dinner too long.”
His attention never left me. “I won’t.”
Shalimar left the room.
That French accent rode his words. "Do me a favor and take the mask off."
My nerves flared. This mask had served as protection. Of course, anyone could see me, but I felt hidden with it on. I relished in it. I'd found safety behind the lace.
Now Jean-Pierre wanted to strip me of my thin armor.
I took my time taking the mask off. The ribbons unbound. While he'd probably seen flashes of my face under the lace, now there would be no mask to hide under.
Cool air brushed against my face.
He studied me. "I knew you were beautiful."
"Thank you."
When he extended his hand to mine, he didn’t shake it. Too simple. Tangling his gaze with mine, he brought my hand to his mouth and placed a kiss on my fingers. “Thank you for having dinner with me.”
Mmmm.
I cleared my throat. "Thank you for inviting me."
And then he kissed my fingers again. Fire raced up my arm, turning my heartbeat into staccato. He lingered. His warm breath caressed the back of my hand. His fingertips teased my palm. Tingles raced across my body. The impact of his presence dove deep inside me. It caused an ache between my thighs.
He let go of my hand. I found my breath as he pulled out my chair. Jean-Pierre sat across from me. Waiters came in and poured wine. The whole time Jean-Pierre's face held an amused expression.
The glasses were crystal. The plates high china. The food was high-priced and savory smoke rose from the dishes. Expensive art hung on the wall and silence hung in the air.
There was a surreal feeling to this moment, and I found myself unable to catch my breath.
Somehow, I found the will to eat. I took a few bites and then put the fork down.
When I look up from my plate, Jean-Pierre’s eyes were on me. “You’re not hungry?”
“Only a little bit.” I tried some of my salmon, enjoying the taste, but hungrier to learn about the man in front of me.
Jean-Pierre ripped off a piece of bread from the loaf on the table. “How long do you plan on playing at the Candy Shop?”
“Until I get a new position.”
“Where?”
“Anywhere.”
“You’re desperate to play?”
“I am, but I’m even more desperate to pay my bills.”
“So, you’re open to being paid for other positions.”
It was something about the way he worded that. It brought warmth to the center of my thighs.
“You didn’t have that feeling for a long time. You were already beyond my skills at twelve.”
“You’ve looked me up?” He didn’t appear mad, only amused. “What did you find, petit chat curieux?”
“You used to play violin. Well…that’s an understatement. You were a virtuoso.”
“Hmm.” Jean-Pierre sipped wine. “And now what am I, Eden?”
There was something tantalizing about the way he said my name.
“Now?” I blinked. “Now. . .you’re an accountant.”
He grinned. “Why did you choose the violin?”
“I started as a kid. I wanted to be a genius. I read once that Einstein played the violin.”
“Einstein said that music helped him when he was thinking about his theories.”
“Yes, I read that too.”
Jean-Pierre placed his glass of wine down. “And what theories have you come up with about life?”
“I have none. I’m just trying to survive.”
“Bach and Mozart. Their music has clarity. Simplicity. An architectural perfection that even Einstein sought in his theories. But then you have life.” He looked at me. “And life is complex and at times dark, and beautifully chaotic.”
The door opened.
A blond man pushed a young red-headed woman on a cart as if she was a part of the meal.
Jean-Pierre frowned. “What is this?”
The man bowed. “Shalimar requested entertainment for your dinner.”
“I didn’t ask for it.”
The man and woman exchanged glances.
This must be the distraction.
“Maybe…” I had no idea, if I should say anything or not, but I went with it. “Maybe, the entertainment will be fun.”
Jean-Pierre’s face softened, and he nodded at the man and woman to continue. But instead of focusing on the couple, he turned back to me. “Tomorrow night, I want you to play for me. Has Shalimar covered the details with you?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll send your outfit to your address on Bourbon Street.”
“You know where I live?”
“I do.” His gaze told me that there was nothing I could do about it.
I turned back to the couple, nervous about staring into that intense gaze.
The woman lay on the table, face up, with a black satin sash over her naked breasts and pelvis. A large, shirtless, gorgeous man stood over her with a crimson red wand in his hand. I leaned in closer and realized that the wand was attached to a machine.
Shalimar, what type of distraction is this?
The woman groaned, “Please. Do it.”
The man touched her with the wand. It buzzed. She jumped as if shocked.
What the hell is this?
Jean-Pierre watched my stunned reaction. “You’ve never seen this before?”
“No. What is it?”
“Electro play,” he said.
Electro what?
I turned my attention back to the woman, unable to focus on anything else. She writhed and moaned on the table.
“Are you okay, baby?” The man leaned down and murmured in her ear.
She trembled and smiled. “Yes, shock me again.”
You don’t have to shock her.
I gritted my teeth, completely turned off by this entertainment.
The man slid the crimson red wand over her pale breasts, making her pink nipples pucker. Slowly, he slipped it further down her stomach and then between her thighs. The wand buzzed. I jumped. And the woman screamed as she orgasmed.
“Holy shit,” I muttered.
Jean-Pierre grabbed my attention. “Why do you think Shalimar sent them into this room?”
Nervous, I didn’t want to say it, but I did. “Maybe…that’s what you like.”
“No.”
The man turned the machine off. It beeped. After pressing another button, he pulled the woman into his arms and petted her as she panted in lust. He kissed her lips. “Are you okay?”
“Yes,” she whispered back.
Watching them together, so intimate, so loving, made my chest warm.
Jean-Pierre turned back to me. “That was supposed to be a distraction.”
“Was it?”
“Yes. But nothing could distract me from you. Are you sure Shalimar is a good person to handle this?”
“Yes. This is a simple deal.” My voice trembled. “I’m playing for your party.”
“Is that it?”
“Yes.”
“And, if I want more?” A hint of humor curved his wide mouth to something nearing a smile.
“I’m not offering anything more.”
“But, you will, and you should know the price when you do.”
“What if I don’t want my body to have a price?”
“But it does.” The way he looked at me made me feel like those dark, knowing eyes could see every sinful secret in my soul.
The man and woman left.
“Are you afraid of me?” he asked.
“I…well…a little.”
“Because of my past?”
“Because of your present.”
“And what have you heard, Eden?”
“That your name is ‘The Butcher’.”
“It's a nickname.”
“So, there's no truth to it?”
“No. I'm not a butcher. I'm more of a ghost.”
“How?”
“This was a good dinner.” He rose and gestured for one of his men to come to me. “I have some. . .matters to handle this evening. If I’d had more time, then I would’ve made this dinner longer.”
I swallowed. “We’re done?”
“For tonight.” He walked over to me, raised my hand to his mouth, and kissed it. “Tomorrow you will play at my party. Everything will arrive at your apartment.”
He left before I could ask him what would be delivered.
I was shook after that. Unsure of what happened.
He’d electrified me. I was happy for the big payday from the performance, but he’d made it clear that he wanted more than my violin playing.
So, Shalimar was wrong. But what does that matter?
I was in a brothel, and I wasn’t a prostitute.
I didn’t want a money exchange for his body. I wanted his passion. Already, his past had intrigued me. Already, my heart bounced when I heard his album’s music. Already, his words and his touch triggered desire to linger and buzz through my flesh.
I craved him, and I knew that from this day on, each moment would be a tricky game.
He was, le Boucher.
That scared me.
He’d gone from musical virtuoso to an escaped inmate who worked for the French Mafia. This was no man to play with, especially with a nickname like that. He was above my level, and the sort of man that I’d never dealt with.
Aunt Celina knew the business and the games of these sorts of men, and she’d advised me to stay away from them.
I won’t do anything but play for him tomorrow night.
I kept that declaration in my head the whole ride home. I did my best to not think of the curve of his lips, or the way his sensual voice drummed through me.
Still, the more I thought about him, the more I became wet with desire.
That night, I touched myself.
I was at home, tucked underneath the covers, and imagining that his fingers strummed my clit.
And when I came hard, I moaned his name.
Chapter 5
Pussy Power
Eden
A limo pulled up at my apartment the next morning. I knew this from Leo waking me up and getting all excited. He wore no shirt. Tattoos covered almost all of his brown skin, but especially on his neck and slender arms. His dreadlocks hung past his shoulders. A few of the locs in the back were purple.
Throwing on my robe, I dragged myself to the window and looked outside the win
dow. V had already been on the windowsill and rolled over, purring as if I’d come to the window to love on her.
“What’s going on?” Leo asked. “Is that for you? I know it’s not for me. Everyone I’m fucking is broke right now. I should’ve took your aunt’s advice a long time ago and stopped fucking musicians.”
“Like attracts like.”
He pushed the curtain to the side. “That it does.”
The driver left the limo, went to the back, opened the door, and pulled a huge package out.
“Oh. This is the delivery.” I tied my robe closed and hurried to the door.
“No, you’re not going like that. You have a onesie on.”
“It’s under my robe.”
“A shitty robe with brown stains on your butt.”
“That’s coffee.”
“When you have to explain a stain due to its location, it’s time to wash the garment.”
“Oh, shut up. I haven’t had time for laundry.”
I opened the door.
The driver carried a long white box up the steps. It lay across his right arm. In his left hand, he held a vase filled with a dozen roses.
“Ms. Eden Michaels?”
“Yes. That’s me.” I grabbed the roses. “Thank you so much.”
Leo appeared out of nowhere and took the box. “Yes, thank you kind sir.”
I laughed.
Leo turned to him. “Should we tip you?”
“No.” The driver held up his hand. “I was asked to deliver these items.”
“Okay. Well. . .have a good day.” Leo waved goodbye, shut the door, and rushed the package over to the sofa. “Who the hell is giving you this stuff?”
“Give me my box.”
“Fuck that. I’m trying to see what’s going on. You have been hiding some secrets. I knew you were out with some sugar daddy.” He wagged his finger at me. “You’re trying to tell me that you had the rent for this month from playing a violin?”
“That’s the truth.” I set the vase on the table, hurried over, and sat down next to him. “I was asked to play for a private party this evening. The employer sent the outfit.”
Leo pointed to the flowers. “And roses?”
“Yeah. I wasn’t expecting the roses.”
“Yeah.” Leo nodded. “I don’t know this dude, but he’s interested in fucking you. Just in case you don’t know this.”
“I’m getting the message.” I pulled the ribbon off the box and yanked the top away. “Wow.”