I’d pulled off my shirt, but she caught it in her fist before I could properly clean her off.
“Just rub it in,” she commanded. So I did—branding her with my seed.
“You’re going to be sticky.”
“We’ll shower later.”
“I didn’t mean… Sorry baby.” Was I really sorry? Maybe not.
She straightened and pulled her bikini top down, the netted cover-up falling into place. I tied up her bikini strings.
Then I pressed the button to move the elevator.
It started to move. Then stopped with an abrupt jolt.
As the doors slid open, we had a surprise.
Or perhaps my grandmother did.
“Damon…” she said in greeting. She smiled sweetly at Liz, who grinned back at her. They stared at each other for several seconds which for some reason, I found odd.
Without saying a word, Delia stepped into the elevator while we walked out. Without another word, she pushed the button and the doors slid shit.
Something told me there was a sort of conspiracy going on and I was the guinea pig. I didn’t ask questions. I had enough shit to deal with where my grandmother was concerned.
Chapter ELEVEN
Elizabeth
I was seated in the bake shop staring at the canvas with a brush in my hand, waiting for inspiration to take hold.
I picked up the blue, then decided it was too blue. Then, after washing the color off the brush, I tried a soft green shade, but decided that wasn’t right either. After I trying several other colors, I finally gave up. All I could think about was him and our elevator sex. Was that really me?
I grinned to myself. That was by far, the sexiest thing I’d ever done. The minute he kissed me, I thought the roof was going to blow the fuck off. And those lips! That tongue! It should be illegal for one man to be so fucking hot. His tongue felt like heaven. His lips like a volcano. And even though we hadn’t actually fucked, that orgasm had been amazing. More than amazing. The best I’d ever had.
Just thinking about his dick. That hard shaft against my ass, begging for entry had made me want him all over again. Like now. I fucking wanted him now.
Focus. Focus.
Delilah. I so wanted to do her image justice. Dipping my brush into Laguna yellow and dabbing off the excess, I held it up in the air, letting the light shine against its it. I wanted the color of sunshine, but not too bright, simmering in the shadows around Delilah’s face. Was it the right color though? I couldn’t seem to put the brush to canvas, so thought not.
My panties started to stick and I wriggled against the chair, hoping nobody would notice when I reached below my skirt and slid off my panties so I could chuck them in my bag. I looked around to see if anyone noticed, but the girls behind the bakeshop were off in the kitchen. As for the rest of the crowd in the library, they were too far away from the bakery for anyone to notice. I started to paint a sunset, but my heart wasn’t in it.
I still didn’t know a damn thing about Damon Donovan except…
His tongue was magic. Soft. Velvety. Incredibly strong the way it tortured my tender folds, then shot inside my core as he twirled and teased me into submission. I let him do things to me I’d never let any other man do. Not even once. But Damon... He made me feel things. Exquisite dirty sexual things I’d never experienced before. I didn’t just see stars. I saw planets. Constellations. Whole solar systems, while he skimmed my fevered flesh with his lips, his tongue, his rock hard cock. I flexed my fingers, remembering that gorgeous head of hair cradled between my legs.
My muses. That’s what Delilah called men. Her muses. Was Damon my muse? Was he more than that? Was he more than just a beautiful cock?
After, and when he came up to my room, I found I loved being with him. Talking to him. Getting to know him a bit more. He told me how he’d been married, that she was a lunatic and he’d had to pay her off with a lot of money, that his aversion to liquor came after seeing too many patrons of the Cub lose their entire fortunes—and sometimes their families—how they made stupid decisions both personal and economical while intoxicated. He worked hard, and he believed in second chance love, although he’d never experienced it himself. When I heard him talk about bringing those inner-city orphans and homeless kids to the Club, just so they could swim and have some good honest fun in their dark lonely lives, my heart melted. I realized there had to be much more to Mister—Body-Builder-of-the-year—Donovan.
I tried to believe less of Damon to protect my heart, but as each day passed, it became harder.
He was simply a nice guy and skilled lover, I told myself. He was good for my art. I started painting more. As the painting took shape so did I. A little deviltry of the flesh to make my art better? He made me feel better too. Or maybe I felt better about myself. Was I using him? And me? Was I just a woman trying to heal? To dull the pain of my past? I’d loved my husband once. Even loved having sex with him and it had blown up in my face. Would that happen again? Was I really doomed like Jason made me believe?
Our time at the Delaney Club was almost spent. Soon, I’d be home and my holiday would be over. I needed to get my shit together. And soon. To stop feeling sorry for myself and get on with my life. I would to do something with my art when I got back home. I knew that now. I knew I needed to be productive. Maybe write a book. Who knows what the future held. But first things first. I needed to face facts. Time to give up on the whole happily ever after thing, or HEA as they called it in the romance genre. It was just a myth.—a story told to little girls so they wouldn’t run screaming in the other direction. Still procreate the human race.
I made a swipe at the canvas, going for a partial sunlight in the right upper corner. The color melded perfectly with the bright Mediterranean Spice and Ultra Violet I painted the previous day. It made me think of erotica. Dark, yet vibrant. Electrifying. Just like Delilah in her youth.
It echoed my mood.
My dirty, delicious mood.
Determined to use the vision of Damon for just what it was…a dream of perfect erotic bliss, my hands flew in all directions as I caressed my enormous canvas with color. I wasn’t quite sure if I should paint Delilah with clothes on or off—in the prime of her youth or today as I saw her. One thing I did know, I wanted it to scream Delilah the minute anyone who knew her saw it. How I would do that still needed to be determined. I found myself worrying about it. More so than about any other subject I’d ever painted.
Standing back from the canvas, the handle of the brush poised on my front teeth, a single word popped into my head. The word was red. Just…red. I wasn’t sure what that meant, but I knew it had to be a sign.
I took out my sketch of Delilah. Unfolded it. I was about to pin it to the top of the canvas when I realized the canvas was still wet. “Better let that dry,” I said aloud. I still wasn’t happy with the background, so I gently placed the cloth over the canvas. I brought my wet brushes over to the lunch counter.
“Oh,” said the waitress. “Yes, Mrs. Delaney said we are to assist you in any way you need. Let me rinse those out back. In the pot skink.”
“Thank you. That’s very kind.”
“No trouble at all.” As she took my cups and brushes, I saw her glance at the canvas.
I smiled. “I’d show it to you but…”
“Oh no. I can wait. Really I can. I’m just glad someone around here is painting again. This used to be a grand place for painters you know.” She gestured in the distance to the library.
“Oh?” I said. “Were those painted right here in this building?”
“They were, and most by the same person. Well, except for the odd rare piece interspersed here and there.”
“Really?” I made a mental note to look at all the signatures on the paintings. There must have been a hundred or more.
She waved the brushes at me. “I’ll just take care of these for you. Be right back.”
I was going to tell her to place them on the table next to the easel becau
se I wanted to look at the paintings closer, but she disappeared into the back room before I had a chance.
Deciding not to wait, I strolled across the floor, stopping at one painting, and then the other. While half of the paintings belonged to very famous painters, about fifty were actually from a local artist. Or so I assumed if he or she painted them in the Club however long ago.
I peered closer, careful not to touch a particularly abstract one of a beautiful blonde. The waitress was right. Hand scribbled in the lower right corner of every painting were the initials, DD.
Delilah Delaney.
Of course.
I moved around the room. Each painting seemed to tell a story. While one was absolutely breath-taking with color, the next one literally had death written all over it, and still another was of a little girl in what looked like a death shroud. I thought of my new friend. Naturally, at her advanced age, she would have lost more than her share of loved ones. Painting them would help her with her grief. But I couldn’t picture her as a morbid person. Instead of immortalizing tragedies for all eternity, I thought of Delilah as one to celebrate life. All life. No matter how short. Then again, what the hell did I know about Delilah Delaney? According to the bartender, she didn’t use her real name most of the time. She probably had secrets.
Gathering my art supplies after they were returned to me, I packed them in a satchel. I thanked the waitress, gave her a tip, and made my way out of the library. Before I got very far along the hall, I caught the reflection of something shiny up ahead. Two men were carrying what looked like a bunch of ropes, chains, and…Was that a disco ball? A few minutes later Damon and the blonde I’d noticed him with the other night appeared from out of nowhere.
My jaw clenched.
A sharp pang of jealousy squeezed my gut and the hair on my arms stood up. I thought of his tongue trailing up my leg and wondered if I was just foreplay….for her.
Get a grip, Liz! You aren’t even dating for Christ’s sake. Unless you can call raw dirty sex some sort of social arrangement. I took a deep breath, berating myself. This is what I got for having a conversation with Mr. Stud Fuck!.
What was wrong with me anyway? I gripped the side of the entranceway, hiding behind a poster, taking a much needed breath and willing myself to keep calm. I wanted to scratch her eyes, especially when I saw her kiss him on the cheek.
A group of businessmen emerged from behind me, all chattering about stock prices, the price of futures and whether their time on the golf course or private jets would be deductible in their taxes. I blended into the crowd, making my way past Damon and the blonde with my satchel held up in the air.
As I passed by the lovers, I watched their body language. Arms flailing, they seemed to be in a sort of heated discussion. Passionate. That’s what Delilah would call it. I wondered if she knew one of her employees was bonking two women on the same day. What was I saying? This in no way meant he slept with her. Still, they looked close. Intimate. Tears flooding my eyes as I rushed back to my room.
Chapter TWELVE
Damon
I walked into the board room on edge, clenching my jaw. My hands formed into fists as I watched my sister, Tabitha twirling her long golden locks around her ring finger, head cocked to the right.
This meeting was about the three of us. The rest of the suits came to watch. To see me squirm. To wait for some crumbs to drop. Hell, I don’t know why the hell they came. If grandmother didn’t pick an heir before she died, her entire fortune would be split between all her investors.
“I think my ideas are perfect,” Tabitha was saying. “A strip club for the men and dancing for the women. We could schedule specific days for each, and then everybody’s happy, right?”
“That’s not what you told me a couple hours ago.” I growled. “I saw what was in that box, Tabitha and I doubt Delia will approve.”
I glanced around the room at the investors, but not one of them changed his expression. I could have called my sister a lieing thieving bitch, and they wouldn’t have raised a brow. They never did. Neither did they react, when my grandmother strut—at times dressed like a damn harlot. Today, she was dressed on the conservative side however. A signal something was up.
I scowled at my sister and then turned to my grandmother. “DD…”
“Mrs. Delaney…” She corrected.
“Of course. Mrs. Delaney.”
Neither of us was in the habit of using grandmother’s real name, least of all my grandmother, but the suits were investors and business was only legal if we all used our legal names. “Sorry,” I growled, knowing that they knew full well what we called each other.
“Now what’s this about a box?”
Tabitha twirled her hair again. “Just…props. Nothing special.” She tried to act innocent, raising a shoulder nonchalantly, but I doubt anyone was buying it.
A stern look etched my grandmothers face. “And the modern name for these…props?
“Toys. They’re sex toys, Mrs. Delaney.”
Delia rubbed her lips. “Toys. So that’s what they call them these days.”
“Of course, that’s only part of what we’ll offer,” Tabitha added, her voice rising with enthusiasm. “I haven’t worked every detail out but I will. We’ll be the hottest destination with all the corporate elite. A place where men.. .and women… can let their hair down, live a little, and do something they’d only dreamed about in the business world. I mean, where else can they do these kind of things and not have to worry about it ending up in some gossip column or worse? Besides….” She looked right at me. “Certain activities relieve…tension. Isn’t that what they came here for in the first place?”
I hated to admit it, but Tabitha had a point, and I myself did feel a lot less tense since…
A smirk crossed a few of the suit’s lips, replaced almost instantly with stoic expressions.
“We’ll be in all the magazines after we make the renovations,” Tabitha continued. “But of course the details will all be hush hush. Only the rich and famous will know what we really have to offer.”
I started drumming my fingers on the table. “May I remind you, dear sister, we’re already the top destination with the corporate world.” I turned to my grandmother. “De…I mean Mrs. Delaney, she’s talking about a Sex Club. Tabitha wants to make the Delaney Club into a sleazy Sex Club for God’s sake!”
“And a disco on alternate days,” she corrected. “That’s not so bad, is it? Look, we all know a certain type of lady has been snuck inside the club from time to time. I’m just saying we should capitalize on that. We’re leaving money on the table. Don’t you see?”
I leaned back in my chair and shoved two hands inside my trousers. “I don’t believe this! Grandfather would roll over in his grave.”
“No he wouldn’t,” said Delia. “I know your grandfather. He’d say hear her out. Tabitha has some interesting ideas.”
“You can’t be serious,” I said, leaping up.
Delia patted at the air. “Now hold on, Damon. I didn’t say we would do it. The whole point of this meeting is to find out who best to run the club after I’m gone. This is just one idea I may be persuaded to consider.” She glanced at my sister. “I’m not saying we will entertain the idea but it’s definitely an option.”
“Put all our cards are on the table. Right mum?” said Tabitha. “You get that.” She turned to me and stuck out her tongue.
“Right. I want to hear all your ideas, not just….the different ones.” My grandmother turned in my direction, white hair shining. “Now Damon, what do you have up your sleeve for the Club? What would you like to see happen here?
“It’s not about sex. I can tell you that much.”
“It isn’t?”
“No.”
“Something wrong with sex?”
“No. I… That’s not the point and you know it.”
“Damon, when was the last time you dated a woman?”
“What does that have to do with…”
&
nbsp; “Answer me.”
I slunk back in my chair. “I fail to see what… I thought this was a business meeting.”
“I see,” said Delia frowning. I had no idea what it was she thought she understood. She tapped her fingers on her lip. “You know I’ve been worried about you for quite some time.”
“Worried? Why?”
“Poor choice of worlds perhaps. Not worried exactly. More…curious.”
I wasn’t getting her drift.
What the hell did she have to worry about? Loyalty was my middle name. I ate, slept, and breathed this place. Hell, if the fucking janitor didn’t show up, I even cleaned the fucking toilets!
If she wanted to worry about someone running this place into the ground, she should be worried about Tabitha. My sister didn’t know a goddamned thing about running a business, much less one frequented by the richest men in the country. If we didn’t make them happy, we were nowhere. I hated to admit it and I certainly wouldn’t do that aloud, but Tabitha’s idea did have its merits. Even so, I should be the one running the place. Someone with experience.
“Oh come on,” said Tabitha. “Surely you have some ideas of your own, Damon. Or maybe you just want to sign your shares over to me right now, huh?” She batted her baby blues at me. My sister wasn’t really dumb, she just liked to play the ‘dumb blonde’. It put everyone off their guard.
“Like fuck I will!”
I turned to my grandmother. “What did you mean you’re’ worried about me?”
Delia looked thoughtful for a minute. “Now, you know I’m a modern woman and sex has never scared me one itty bit but… How do I put this? Damon, sweetie, I haven’t seen you with anyone since…”
“The bitch that tried to slice his dick off,” Tabitha supplied quite loudly.
My teeth gritted, and my hands formed into fists. Then it hit me. “You don’t think I…? Surely you don’t believe…”
Delia reached across the table and patted my hand. “Darling, I don’t know what to believe but honestly, it doesn’t matter. Not one itty bit.”
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