by S. E. Dosher
He releases my hand and steps around me toward the limo. “The lady and I have decided on other plans for this evening but thank you for your assistance,” he says solemnly.
“Niko, wait,” I call after him, taking his hand and pulling him out of earshot of the driver. “I’m sorry, I’m being a bitch. I’m just nervous about this. I haven’t actually been out with anyone in a very long time. I think I’m a little rusty.” I offer him a weak smile.
“No, you’re honest, Brook, and I’d never ask for you to be any other way. I want the chance to thank you for helping me when most people would have run the other direction. But I obviously don’t know you well enough to know how to do that.”
“You’re not an entitled jackass,” I mumble, relieved.
His head dips away from me, but the creases on his temple tell me he’s smiling.
“I’m sorry, this is my fault. You’ve been nothing but nice. This is just a little weird, right?” I question, my tone pleading for his agreement.
“Yes, I guess it is,” he agrees, laughing. “But I don’t think it has to be. I have the whole night planned. Join me, and if, at any time, we do something you don’t like, just say the word, and I’ll bring you back home. Deal?”
“Deal,” I confirm, surprised, yet content, with his eagerness to please me.
Chapter 7
The back of the enormous limo is incredibly spacious, yet Niko is sitting so close I can feel the pounding of his heart against my arm, and smell the delicious cologne he’s torturing me with. Niko fills the limo, consumes every inch, but even if he weren’t sitting right next to me, I would feel his presence. I’m starting to think I’ll never unfeel him.
“So where exactly are we headed?” I ask, trying to calm the butterflies inside me.
“Do you like French cuisine?” he asks in his best French accent, adding a couple hand gestures to complete the effect.
I laugh, “Of course. Though, I’ve only had it a couple times.”
“Well, there’s this new French place not far from my friend’s club. I thought we would try it.”
“Sounds great,” I say, although some stuffy French restaurant is the last place I’d choose to go.
With the dinner portion of the evening decided, we fall silent, the obvious sexual tension pulsating around us. His arm brushes mine a couple times, but neither of us dare to move beyond that small contact.
Several minutes tick by before I gather enough courage to shift my eyes to the left to peek at him. Apparently having the same thought, Niko glances at me and our eyes meet. Shit! I look past him and out the window, trying to play it off.
After a few moments, I turn my head slightly, adjusting the way my hair is hanging over my shoulder, and shift my eyes to him. Once again, his eyes move perfectly in sync with mine.
He smiles.
I smile.
He laughs.
I laugh.
“Why is this awkward?” I ask between chuckles.
His laugh subsides and his smile fades.
“We both want the same thing, but we’re afraid of it,” he says, his voice thick with desire. His hand moves from the seat between us and skims across my cheek then down my neck. A flurry of tingles come alive and follow in his wake.
He has stolen my ability to form words.
“Every inch of your body is screaming out to me, begging to be consumed by mine. I know you can feel it, too. It can seem frightening, but it doesn’t have to be.” His mouth is so close to my ear, the warmth of his words flows down to my pussy.
His hand takes another drag down my cheek and my eyes close, overwhelmed at the sensations stemming from his touch.
“N…” I start to speak, but his finger presses gently against my lips.
“You’ve already made your intentions, or lack thereof, for this evening clear, I just want you to know, you don’t have to hide your desires from me. I feel them, too. You can just be you, that’s all I want…you.”
He leans forward and trails the tip of his nose down my cheek; his warm lips lightly graze across my skin. The brief touch of his lips to my skin effectively shatters any resolve I have left and years of pent up Niko sexual frustrations break loose.
My head whips toward him, and my lips land roughly against his. My hands cup his face, holding him securely to me as his arms encircle me and draw me flush with his body. Our mouths open in perfect harmony as our tongues glide and twist as one. A satisfied whimper echoes from my throat and an untamed growl resonates from him.
A knock on the window startles us apart. He leans in one last time and softly grazes his lips across mine before pulling back to let his eyes connect with mine.
“Still not going to sleep with me?” he asks with a wicked smile.
My head is full of him - his soft lips, his smell, his arms wrapped around me tightly, the rough whiskers on his face, the taste of him on my tongue…I can’t answer.
His hand cups my chin as his thumb swipes across my kiss-swollen lips.
“You think on that, and we’ll come back to it later.”
My legs are weak and wobbly at the knees as I try to navigate my exit from the back of a limo, keeping my skirt in place, while my girly parts are on fire. Fuck! If I had known one little kiss could twist me up inside like this, I would have kissed him a long time ago. Not that it’s a surprise; I figured he was good. He wouldn’t have so many girls bending over nightly for him if he wasn’t, but I never knew something as harmless as a little tongue action could make my panties practically jump right off me.
The French restaurant is not what I expected. It’s still fancy - candles and crystal vases of flowers on fine linen-covered tables with the subtle, but soothing sounds of violins wafting through the dining room - but it also has a touch of edgy modern that is just enough to set it apart.
“Bonjour,” the plump, yet perfectly lovely hostess says once we reach her podium. “Combien?”
We both look blankly at each other. Niko’s eyebrows furrow and his mouth pulls into a tight line.
“Combien?” she repeats.
“Yes?” Niko tries.
“Aucun, aucun. Combien?” she asks while shaking her head.
I lean into Niko and whisper, “You picked a fabulous place.”
“Deux?” the hostess asks, holding up two fingers.
“Deux,” I say with a nod, guessing from the two fingers she’s asking us how many in our party.
“Tres bon, ainsi,” she says, even though it’s obvious we don’t have a clue what she means. She gestures for us to follow, and blindly we do.
She leads us to a private table in the back near a huge water fountain. A frosted glass wall surrounds our table, completely cutting us off from the other diners. The table is charming and has exactly two chairs.
“Deux,” I say to Niko and point to the chairs.
“Ahh, deux.”
I laugh, he smiles nervously.
We sit and look over the menus, which are written solely in French, without a single picture to give us a hint of what we might be ordering.
“So…here’s the thing. I didn’t know we’d need Google Translator to eat here,” he says on a long slow exhale as little beads of sweat form on his forehead.
“We don’t; we’ll just point to something and let it be a surprise,” I offer as a simple, yet ingenious, solution.
The waiter swiftly appears at our table, and he is the quintessential Frenchman, even down to the permanent scowl on his face. When he speaks, the gorgeous, flowing language is mesmerizing, even if I don’t understand a word of it.
“Alcohol,” Niko says plainly.
“Alcool?” the waiter asks.
“Si,” I say with a laugh, but when the waiter frowns I ditch my laugh and simply nod my head.
“Deux,” Niko hold his menu up and points to something in the middle of the long list of options.
The waiter nods then disappears as quickly as he arrived.
“See how easy that was?” I t
ease.
“Yeah, easy,” Niko retorts.
The clanging of dishes and the low murmur of voices easily cuts through the silence that follows. The wine we’re sipping is sharp and dry, leaving my mouth to remember the kiss we just shared. My fingers linger over lips that are no longer swollen from the feel of his lips roughly impacting with mine; coarse whiskers no longer dragging across my supple skin.
“So there’s something I’ve been wondering,” Niko begins then pauses, “...but I don’t know if getting personal is allowed.”
“I didn’t know anything wasn’t allowed,” I offer calmly, even though the thought of his questions makes my mouth run dry.
“Modeling?” His one word question serves to calm my nerves, albeit only slightly.
“Modeling, yeah. That was a while ago,” I shrug, offering as little as I think I can get away with.
“Kiki acted like you were pretty big time,” he presses.
“I guess at one point, maybe, but that was years ago.”
“Why don’t you still model? There’s no way it’s because you’ve lost your looks,” he smirks and I smile at his flirtation.
“I just couldn’t do it anymore. I guess at one point I loved it, but I lost that somewhere along the way. The passion was gone,” I admit and hope that’ll be the end of his questions.
“How long ago did you quit?” He continues to torture me.
“Not long before you came to L.A.” I say without thinking, and a shock runs through me at my admission.
“So you’ve kept track of me from day one?” he jokes, having no clue just how right he is.
“I think everyone knows your movements, don’t they?”
He nods in agreement. “That’s just one of the many reasons why I want to go behind the camera; be in charge of what my name and face is on, not do what everyone else commands me to do.”
“Less visible, less of a target,” I add.
“Exactly,” he says as a reverent look touches his face.
“I got tired of being the poster child for something I didn’t even agree with instead of being able to throw myself into a passion I once loved.”
“Sounds like you’ve been down the exact road I’m traveling?”
I nod, “I have. You want to know what I did?”
“Of course.”
“I walked away. During the middle of a shoot. I washed their shitty makeup off my face and never looked back. The supposed fame and notoriety was never what I wanted, anyway.”
“It comes with the territory, but it also steals the appetite for the craft,” he agrees and completely understands.
“The camera, that’s what got me started modeling. I wanted to be the photographer, but everyone kept sticking me in front of the lens instead of behind it.”
“The story and the creation of entertainment, that’s what I want. To develop the escape for the people’s enjoyment.”
“Is that why you met with Brock?”
“Yes, I have a screenplay I’m hoping he can help get off the ground,” he pauses and a small smile touches his lips. “I think it’s good.”
“I know he will if he can, Niko. You’re definitely set up nicely to have some pull. Even if you don’t love how you got there, at least you got there, right?”
The waiter silently reappears with two square white plates. He lowers them one by one, revealing a bed of greens with a roasted leg belonging to some animal surrounded by what appear to be pineapples and mushrooms, but I’m hoping I’m wrong.
Niko makes a high pitched choking sound in his throat, I look up at him and we both burst into laughter.
Chapter 8
The club is overcrowded and already smells like wanton sex. I walked through the rear entrance with Niko over an hour ago, but haven’t seen him since. As promised, I’m securely tucked away, upstairs in the back corner of the VIP section. With a row of empty “Lounge Rooms” just behind me. I cringe at the thought of what will be occurring in them as the night wears on.
I can see the crowd below, but they can’t see me. I watch intently as they bump and sway their bodies to the music. Some connecting with other sweaty, eager dancers and some content to merely feel the vibrations of the music against their bodies.
The VIP section is mostly bare, only a few scantily clad sex pots to keep me company. Unlike me, they don’t care if anyone sees them here with whomever brought them. One of them is next to the stairs, flashing the crowd down below with her surgically enhanced breasts, and the louder they cheer to see her flesh, the more she appeases them.
Another is too busy snorting whatever she can find up her nose to probably even know where she is. The last girl is glued to her phone in a zombified state, I’m just waiting for drool to dribble down her chin. Then there’s me. My back is to the rest of them as I people watch. I already watched them long enough to have my fill, and have moved on to the main crowd that far out numbers us.
My eyes search for Niko, but he’s nowhere to be found. I can’t take this anymore. I came because he asked me to, but I didn’t realize wanting to avoid the spotlight meant he’d avoid me all night, as well.
The burly security guard in charge of the sacred VIP velvet rope is not pleased about letting me venture down with the regular people. I’m assuming Niko instructed him not to let me out of his sight. I nail him with my best I’ll be a pain in your ass look and he begrudgingly lifts the rope.
There are several bars in the club scattered strategically throughout the single large room. I was able to pinpoint the one with the least traffic during my stint in the VIP section. I make a huge circle around the outside of the sweaty, grinding bodies and see my destination.
“Martini, dry, extra dirty,” I yell at the first bartender I lay eyes on.
“Some people never change,” a deep, familiar voice rumbles behind me.
Well-known hands circle my waist and a memorable scent fills my senses. My eyes flash closed and I’m immediately taken back to a young, insecure girl that had just turned eighteen.
“Stephen Ami,” I exhale his name on a contradicting breath of shock and solace.
“Brook Beckham,” He breathes my name with a matching sense of relief.
His strong arms twist me around to face him and I look into his deep green eyes as if no time has passed. He still looks exactly the same - shaggy, dirty blonde hair, sun-kissed skin, and a strong jawline just begging to be licked.
“To what do I owe the pleasure of your attendance at the grand opening of my little ol’ club? I thought Paul kept you locked inside Blasé every night,” he says, a tinge of jealousy in his eyes.
“This is your club? Oh, Stephen, I had no idea. It’s fabulous, truly fabulous,” I say, acutely aware my body is firmly pressed against his and how nicely we still fit.
“Oh, so then you’re not here because of me?” He raises his eyebrows and eases his hold on me.
“No, sorry. I didn’t realize this was your place, but I’m very happy to know that now. You’ve done a great job.” I pause, my mind returning to something he said, “How did you know I spend my time at Blasé?”
“I’m in the club business; therefore, it’s my business to know who spends their time where.” he says, skirting around answering the actual question.
I laugh nervously, “I see…I guess.”
“Who do I owe a thanks to for bringing you out tonight?” he asks, curiosity tinging his brow.
“That would be me,” Niko says as he slips his arm around my waist, effectively removing Stephen’s.
“Ah. So the lovely Brook is the date you left lonely in the VIP section.”
“That would be me,” I say, mimicking Niko’s answer in an attempt to lighten the encounter, but neither man’s eyes turn to me, they’re glued together in some sort of pissing contest. But I can tell by Stephen’s knowledge of Niko’s date that I’ve been discussed, even if it was vaguely.
“Here you go ma’am.” The bartender sets my drink on the bar, and I reach inside my
clutch to hand him cash.
“Your money’s no good here, Brook.” Stephen says, pushing my hand back to my side. “I’m pretty sure I owe you more drinks than I could ever repay.”
He smiles and nods his head once then turns to walk away.
“Stephen!” I call after him before he gets more than two steps. “I really am so very proud of you.”
I free myself from Niko’s hold and wrap my arms around Stephen’s neck in a friendly embrace. I feel his hands go to my back and he squeezes me lightly.
“Thank you, Brook, that means a lot. Come back sometime and we’ll catch up.”
I nod as he turns and disappears into the crowd.
“So Stephen, huh?” Niko asks.
“I had no idea you two were friends,” I admit honestly.
“We haven’t known each other long, but he supported me recently, so I felt I owed him.”
“He’s a good guy. I’ve known him for a long time.”
“I gathered,” he replies with a hard line to his jaw.
“His family helped me get into modeling. Well, helped me get a camera, and then pushed me into modeling,” I laugh, remembering how naïve I was to think such a rich, yet money-hungry, family would help me out of the goodness of their heart. “But I haven’t seen him in years; I was still modeling when he left for Hawaii to pursue the profession of beach bum.”
“Stephen? A beach bum?” Niko laughs, making his eyes sparkle. “Obviously, there’s a lot I don’t know about him.”
I take a sip of my martini and my eyes nearly roll back in my head, it’s so good. The perfect mix of strength and tart bitterness. I down the rest of the glass in one gulp.
“Thirsty?” Niko laughs.
“Coffee and martinis; nothing in the world is better.”
“Nothing?” he asks as he leans in and I feel his warmth caress my flesh.
“Almost nothing,” I admit.
“Dance?” he asks.
“A man who dances?” I ask, shocked because I have never once seen him dance. His usual MO is to sit lazily in the VIP section until a woman throws herself at him and his next conquest begins. I’ve never seen any variation from him.