Beyond Compare (The Beyond Series Book 4)

by Ashley Logan

  “How do you take your tea?” he asks, without looking up. “Or there’s coffee, if you prefer.”

  Momentarily stunned, I don’t respond until his warm eyes land on me again. Pulling myself up from the ground, I dust off my knees.

  “Strong,” I mumble, barely able to make my lips move. “With a little milk.”

  Lennox returns his attention to the tea tray to fill my order and I sit back on the bench, watching him closely. I have no idea what’s going on in his head, and I need every clue I can get. Handing me a sturdy mug of tea, his eyes slip from mine almost as quickly as they arrived, as if he’s uncomfortable looking at me.

  Straightening, he doesn’t say a word, just blows across his tea and studies the flowering magnolia tree in its half-barrel planter.

  “It’s beautiful in here.”

  Turning at the sound of my voice, his gaze lingers on me a moment before he responds. “Yes.”

  Feeling my cheeks warming, I drop my eyes to my tea.

  “So, your family is well?” he asks softly, making me look up again.

  “Yes. Very well, thank you.”

  Absorbing that a moment, he keeps his eyes on me. “Are you?”

  “Very well?”

  Sighing, I stare into my tea again. “Well enough.”

  “You’ve been better.” He states it as fact. There’s no need to argue, clearly. Giving a lop-sided shrug, I sip my tea. English breakfast; my favorite.

  “You take care of a lot of people.” Another statement.

  Shrugging again, I notice gratefully that the sound of falling water from the fountain seems to fill my half of the conversation. It flows much better than anything I can think of to say.

  “Who takes care of you, Katarina?”

  Confused by the question, I look up to see his furrowed brow.

  “I do.”

  Raising one eyebrow, he sits next to me on the bench. “What do you do for fun?”

  “Lots of things.”

  “Name one.”

  “I can name more than one. I dance, I cook, I... craft. There’s a whole list of things that fall into that category,” I say defensively.

  “And you do these things for pure enjoyment? Or do you do them because they benefit others?”

  “I love to dance.”

  “I know, but that’s your job. You work to get paid and support your family. I’m asking if you do anything entirely for yourself. Do you dance in private as you do on stage?”

  “Like practicing?” I ask, looking at him sideways. I’m pretty sure he doesn’t mean practicing. “Are you being creepy?”

  Laughing quietly, Lennox shakes his head and sighs. “I’ll phrase it differently,” he says, taking a minute to think. “If you didn’t have to support your family financially, would you still be stripping?”

  Loaded question. Sipping my tea, I take my time to respond, because how do you tell the nice man that you frequently fantasize about that you are in fact a total sexual deviant trapped in a responsible young woman’s body, and that dancing erotically in front of others is what keeps you on the straight and narrow?

  “Do you know much about the club, or any of the dancers?” I ask, hoping he does, so that I don’t have to explain it.

  Shaking his head, he presses his lips together and takes a deep breath. “I’ve only been twice. Once out of curiosity when I heard you and Scarlett talking about it, and again on the night I wrote the card.” Putting his half-full cup back on the tray, he folds his arms and stares at the grass. “Is there more to know?”

  Sighing, I lower my own cup to my lap. “You might have noticed it’s quite different from other strip clubs.” I pause, hoping he’ll nod; that he understands there’s something deeper in play down at Beyond the Horny Buffalo.

  “I wouldn’t really know,” he says quietly, his cheeks coloring a little.

  I could kick myself.

  “Of course you wouldn’t. You’re a sweet, decent person who has never objectified women or been to a strip club. Sorry.”

  Arching his expressive eyebrows at me, he snorts softly. “I’m not that decent. I’ve just been a little busy.” Leaning in closer, he whispers, “I was a teenage dad.”

  Smiling a little, I nod. “You’re a good dad.”

  He nudges me softly with his elbow. “We do what we can,” he says, as if we’re in the same boat. I guess we are in a way. “So why is Beyond different?”

  “Well there’s no grinding against seedy guys in the dark. There’s no touching at all, actually. It’s not that kind of place.” Taking a deep breath I shake my head. “It’s just that it’s a place for the dancers as much as for the audience. Probably more so. It’s a platform where we can express ourselves safely, without judgment or fear of pursuit. We can use the dancing as a medium for working out other issues. We all dance for different reasons, and of course the money is the main one for me, but there’s more to it than that. The dancing is like therapy. I need to...” Pausing before I share too much, I notice Lennox has been hanging on my every word. “We’re all different, and we support each other and care about each other, like family.”

  “Home away from home?” he asks, his expression becoming puzzled.

  “My siblings don’t live in a strip club, if that’s what you’re thinking! It’s just that I need to dance, and I need people.”

  “Because you miss your family?”

  Taking the photo from my coat pocket, I look at their faces a while before passing it to Lennox.

  “I miss them so much,” I admit with a sigh. “But I have to be in the city to earn enough money to keep them. While I’m here, I fill the family gap with everyone else. Benji and Scar are a lot like Tim-bones and Jem’s like Alexa if I mix in a little bit of Violet, and she has the same taste in food as Kimber - who incidentally is the same age as the twins, but Ros is much more like Trish from the salon mixed with Ireeni, whereas Liana shares similarities with Rosemary, and weirdly, Bruno.”

  “Who am I like?”

  I watch him as he studies the photo. Unlike anyone I’ve ever met, he’s all hard lines and softness, and chock-full of surprises. Everything from his tidiness to his tattoos is a contradiction and he’s fascinating in a way that makes me feel guilty for wanting to indulge. His eyes lift to mine, still waiting for a response.

  “You’re not like anyone I know.”

  Considering that a moment, he looks around the small garden and nods. “Probably not,” he agrees, handing me back the photo. “Do the kids know you dance in a strip club?”

  “Are you kidding? No!” I tuck the photo back into my pocket so that even their likenesses can’t witness the conversation I’m having.

  He shrugs in response. “Just asking. Kimber knows. It doesn’t seem to affect her opinion of you.”

  Feeling light-headed, I grip the bench with my free hand as I put my trembling cup on the tray. I don’t even want to think about the discussions the Greens might have had about me over the dinner table.

  “My siblings think I cook and clean for the Beyond crew. And sometimes work at the bar,” I confess, but immediately feel the need to justify my secrecy. “I’m not lying to them because I don’t want them to think less of me - I just don’t tell them the truth because I don’t want them to feel guilty. It’s my choice to earn the money we need in this way. If they knew I danced naked for strangers, they’d want me to stop, but that would mean no college for Jem, no sports or dance for the twins, no babysitters to give Tim the freedom to work a job he loves and live a reasonably normal life for a young person. That’s all I want. This works. They can live good lives, and I get to dance. And I’ve found people I can love and cook for, and listen to. I need that. I don’t really feel like myself unless I’m looking after someone.”

  “You think who you are is looking after people?” Lennox asks, raising that eyebrow again.

  “No,” I reply - probably too quickly, because the more I think about it, the less secure I am in that response. Thinking of
my own needs is a luxury I can’t afford. I’ve never really had a chance to figure out who I am because I’ve been too busy worrying about everyone else. “Maybe?” I shake my head. “I don’t know.”

  “You don’t know who you are?” Somehow he manages to sound empathetic and non-judgmental, but I still feel defensive.

  “I do,” I insist, feeling myself winding tighter, because I don’t allow myself to answer these kinds of questions. I don’t allow myself to be myself.

  “The girl on stage?” he asks plainly.

  “Partly.”

  He nods in total agreement. “Partly.”

  “What does that mean?” I ask, frowning at his confirmation.

  “It means I’ve seen you dance, and you seem to revel in it, so admitting it tells me that at least part of you is tuned in to yourself.”

  Standing up from the bench, he runs his hand through his hair and scratches his beard as my cheeks flame.

  “You think I’m a total slut.”

  Lennox chuckles and shakes his head. “You told me you weren’t, and I believe you, but you are a sexual creature, Katarina. Your selflessness and innocence probably just keep you from exploring it further.” Frowning at himself, he picks up the tea tray. “It’s none of my business though, so I’m just going to shut up now.”

  “Innocence?” I ask, standing up to confront him. “It’s not like I’m some virginal child dancing at a church recital.”

  Chuckling again, he concedes with a nod and starts walking away.

  Following him around the corner to an area with a small refrigerator, a workbench and a sink, I wait for him to set the tray down and turn back to me.

  “You think because you have a beard and tattoos that you’re some kind of wild-child expert?”

  His eyebrows draw down as his eyes search my face. “I’m not judging you Katarina.”

  “Well it kinda feels like you are, Lenny.” Frowning at the embroidered stitching of that name on his shirt, I look back at his face. “New shirt?”

  Looking down at the name label, he sighs. “Gag gift from Linc.”

  “That you’re choosing to wear.”

  He shrugs. “Hopefully I won’t be wearing it tomorrow.”

  Not understanding what that means, I squint at the name tag. “You are so not a Lenny. Doesn’t he call you Nix?”

  “Yes.”

  “I see. Funny.”

  “Hmm.”

  His lips stay pressed in a line, but I can almost feel the smile beneath; can almost taste it. So distracting. “Sorry, what was I saying?”

  “I’m pretty sure you were scolding me for my use of the word innocence.”

  “Right. Well, you’re wrong.”

  One of his eyebrows twitches, threatening to rise again. “Am I?”

  “Yes.”

  Just the hint of a smile gets tucked back in as he keeps his face straight. “You freaked out when I kissed you the first time, and you just freaked out again, despite initiating the contact yourself this time.”

  “That could have been for any number of reasons! Why would you pick innocence as the cause? I might have... sensitive lips!”

  He is on the verge of laughter at that suggestion, so I come up with a more serious response. “I could be a survivor of abuse for all you know. Or my fiancé might have died in my arms leaving me forever lost in grief, or I might have kissed ten men already on the morning of that first time and had had enough by the time you came along with your mistletoe!”

  His brow wrinkling with a frown, Lennox folds his arms across his chest. “Are any of those things true?”

  “No,” I reply sheepishly.

  “Then I stand by what I said.”

  “Oh, you’re an authority on innocence now, teen-dad? You think the lack of a condom makes you a bad boy? You’re a responsible, garden-growing, sweet child-raising, nice tea-making, over-sized hulk of a nurturer, so don’t try and tell the stripper she’s the innocent one!”

  With both eyebrows high, Lennox takes a step back. “I really hit a nerve, huh?” Looking beyond me, he smiles politely. “I should probably get back to work. I meant for you to feel better, but I don’t think I helped at all.” Walking past me, he travels back through the green corridors.

  Following to keep from getting lost, I watch him take a stack of empty crates out the huge roller door. Feeling the need to apologize for my atrocious behavior, I want to thank him for the tea, and being thoughtful enough to ask about my issues, and for the kiss. No, I shouldn’t thank him for that. Wouldn’t that encourage more of the same? Gosh, that’d be nice. No. No treats for you Katarina!

  He makes two more trips before he comes to a stop next to me.

  “You’re welcome to stay, but not if you’re only trying to decide how to apologize for something that doesn’t warrant it. I don’t want your apologies.”

  “What do you want?” I ask suggestively, instantly mortified as the words fly out of my mouth before I’ve edited them.

  Regarding me carefully, Lennox draws his lower lip into his mouth. “More than your sweet ears want to hear.” Sighing, he pinches the bridge of his nose. “I didn’t mean to upset you, Katarina.” Picking up another stack of empty crates, he carries them out the door. On his way back in, he stops again, his eyes falling to my fingers tapping against my thigh.

  His eyebrows twitch a little, briefly highlighting the slight crease between them that he gets when he frowns. Gently pulling me away from the wall in a completely non-sexual manner, he hits the button behind me and the rolling door begins to come down. Probably I should duck out now and run home. I hold my coat tighter while my feet refuse to move.

  We watch the door close together.

  “You don’t want to go home yet,” he observes. A moment passes without my confirmation or denial and he nods to himself. “Okay.”

  Enclosing my restless fingers in his big hand, he leads me back to the workbench by the sink. Clearing away the tea tray, he pulls out two segmented potting trays from the shelf below and sets them on top. Bending again, he pulls out a tub of soil and two scoops. Handing me one, he proceeds to use his to fill his tray.

  Copying, I fill the one in front of me, slightly confused. “Dirt?”

  “Dirt is good,” he replies in his rich timbre, which only makes me want to do dirty things with him, but he doesn’t even look up until he realizes I’ve stopped moving. Meeting my eyes, he blushes slightly. “I...” Shaking his head, more at himself than me, he keeps his eyes low. “These are for the garden not the store,” he says, brushing loose soil off his hands before pulling out seed packets from a drawer in the workbench and spreading them for me to see. “Choose what you like.” Opening a packet, he starts pushing seeds into the sections in his tray.

  “Snow peas?”

  Lennox nods, not raising his eyes. “I love the peas and Kimber loves the curly tips on the shoots. We both like mixing edibles with ornamentals.”

  “I like snow peas too,” I say, reaching for the packet. His hand shoots out, snaring mine in midair. Sneaking a glance at me as if I might explode, he gives a hesitant half-smile, lets go of my hand and moves the pea packet further from my reach. “We’re good at sharing. Choose something else. Something just for you.”

  Viewing the selection again, I choose sunflowers.

  Nodding his approval, he presses his finger into one of my segments, making a shallow dent in the soil to show me how deep the seeds need to go. I repeat the dents throughout my tray, set a seed in each and smooth the dirt back over them as if tucking them into bed. It feels nice under my fingers and I dip my hand into the tub for another handful, sprinkling it slowly over my buried seeds. Lennox is right. Dirt is good.

  “Why are you worried about going home?” he asks quietly.

  Sighing, I raise one shoulder. “Because I’ll have to explain why I’ve done certain things.”

  “You don’t want to?”

  I shake my head.

  “Then don’t.”

  �
��I should.”

  Considering that a moment, Lennox moves to the sink and fills a small pink watering can with a yellow daisy on it. It looks ridiculous in his huge hands, but I can’t bring myself to laugh, because he’s so natural with it that it seems normal. Coming back to the bench, he lightly waters both of our trays before setting down the can.

  “Did something happen over the holidays?” he asks quietly, sweeping spilled soil off the workbench and into his palm then sprinkling it back into the tub. It tidies the bench, but most of the dirt sticks to his wet hands.

  Sighing, I think of telling him about Andy. Shaking my lowered head, I dust specks of brown dirt off my black top. “Nothing important.”

  “Why do you sound sad about it then?”

  Now that he’s said it out loud, I can feel the aching lump in my throat build at the thought of how I’ve messed up my life. “I was reminded of something bad I did.”

  His forehead wrinkles. “Failed cake bad, or I killed a man bad?” he asks carefully.

  “Somewhere in between. Probably closer to the second one.” I give him a shy smile and collect my coat. “Told you I wasn’t innocent. Thanks for letting me hide out for a while. And for not getting angry about the mess I made outside.”

  Returning my smile with some reservation, Lennox nods. “We’ve all done things we regret; made poor choices. Doesn’t mean we’re bad people, Kat. You want me to walk you home?”

  He steps towards me, possibly to induce agreement, or maybe just to show me that I haven’t scared him off, I’m not sure, but it only really serves to heighten my awareness of him. He’s close enough that I can almost feel his energy bringing my skin to life. Wetting my lips, I shake my head.

  “Thanks, but I think I should just go. Alone.” Patting the air behind me, I find the workbench and use it for support. “I’ve wasted enough of your time.”

  Placing an arm on either side of me, Lennox boxes me in. “Any time you want to talk, I’ll listen,” he says, leaning in. “I’m here for anything else you might need as well.”

  His lips brush mine lightly and at the sense of him pulling away, I want anything but. Before I can stop myself, I chase his kiss and am rewarded with full-on engagement. His body presses into me as his mouth hungrily attacks mine in a welcome assault. Just about losing my mind as his hands travel down my sides, I lean into him further, stroking his tongue with my own.