Losing Control (Kerr Chronicles #1)

by Jen Frederick

  “These lights are so cool,” I comment, allowing my mind to be distracted from the Howe deal.

  “Mr. Kaga believes in the conservation of our natural resources. While the club itself does not run on solar power reserves, the offices and private areas do,” she explains.

  Behind me, I hear Ian snort. “Mr. Kaga is a cheap, opportunistic bastard.”

  “I heard that,” a male voice from above us booms out. Whatever Mr. Kaga is, he has a voice well suited for the stage. It’s loud but nicely modulated. When we reach the top, I see that he could easily be a star on the stage. His black hair and razor-sharp cheekbones could be seen from the last row of the upper deck of the Shubert Theatre. Even in the dim light, I can make out his effortless gorgeousness. I wonder if all of Ian’s acquaintances are good-looking. It’s not like Steve is hard on the eyes, either.

  Priya gives him a short bow and disappears down the hallway, little lights flashing to illuminate her path as she goes.

  “Tadashubi Kaga, at your service. All of my friends call me Kaga.” He lifts my hand and simultaneously pulls me forward and presses his warm lips to the back of it. I nearly faint. I’ve never had anyone kiss my hand before. What is it with these guys and their old-school hand kissing? It should be banned! As I stumble backwards, two hands brace my fall—one tries to pull me back as the other tries to pull me forward. Kaga releases me with a smirk and I fall against the hard chest of Ian.

  “Not yours, Kaga.” His arm bands around my waist and he lifts me against him. The delicate knit and lace of my top gathers under my breasts as he half-carries me onto the landing and past Kaga, whose smirk has widened to a full-on grin.

  “I thought I was the one of our little troupe who had a problem with sharing.” Kaga follows us down the hall. I’m grateful the darkness hides that my cheeks are currently the color of my shirt—and not because of any excess makeup. If Ian and I were alone, I would share what I thought of his display of possessiveness. He doesn’t deserve to feel territorial, not after what he’s asked me to do.

  Ian pulls me back so I can feel his hardness flush against my back. There’s no give to any inch of his body. From his sternum to his thighs he’s just marble. Into my ear, just slightly above a whisper, he says, “Just because I haven’t stuck my cock in you doesn’t mean that I’m not thinking of you at every moment, wanting you more than the world needs oxygen.” The hand that had shackled my wrist drifts to the bottom of my shorts, and for a moment, I hold my breath thinking he’s going to spin me around and kiss me until I pass out.

  A cough interrupts us and my eyes shoot upward to see Kaga staring above my head, his face serious. A communication passes between him and Ian. Kaga nods and then winks at me. The silent message is clearly coded by testosterone as I can’t figure it out, but perhaps it was his acknowledgment of Ian’s totally fake claim over me. Unfortunately, the point of protest for me has passed. I’ve already exhibited my weakness when it comes to Ian.

  “Victoria Corielli, meet Tadashubi Kaga, scion of the Kaga empire,” Ian introduces us. “Tad’s an old friend.”

  For the first time, I notice there are no obvious doors in the hallway. The floors are made of some kind of dark, striped wood and the walls are covered in gray squares with rounded edges. Every four feet or so there is a linear break from floor to ceiling, and it’s only after Kaga pushes on one that I realize a few of them are doors. He gestures for us to enter.

  Inside is a spacious room that overlooks a two-level nightclub. Longer than it is wide, the room reminds me of a stadium box where I once delivered caviar during a Giants game. A tech company ran out when hosting some Russian oligarchs. Sandra told me later that the caviar was worth nearly twenty grand. I only delivered five small containers of it. From the ease of both Kaga and Ian, I suspect that they wouldn’t be surprised at all by the price of four-thousand-dollar cans of caviar. Life for some people is simply unreal.

  The front of the lounge is all glass, from floor to ceiling, although there are heavy blue velvet drapes hanging on either side. In front of the glass panel are two stair-stepped platforms with cushions strewn across the padded surfaces. Up one level are club chairs and small tables. Where we are standing there are a few bar stools and a good-sized metal cart with glasses and bottles of liquor. There’s no music inside the room, but the vibrations of club music can be felt under our feet.

  “What can I get you to drink?” Kaga asks, positioning himself by the beverage cart. Ian turns to me with a raised eyebrow.

  “Singapore Sling?” I’m not sure if I should be asking Kaga to mix me a drink, but since he asked, I’m not going to be shy. I figure I’m going to need a few drinks before the night is over.

  He presses a button near the cart and says, “Singapore Sling and the new reserve.”

  “Right away, Mr. Kaga,” a voice on the other side responds with alacrity.

  “Uncorking a new barrel?” Ian asks with genuine eagerness in his voice.

  “Eighteen years old with a little spice and cherries along with vanilla. I think you’ll like it.”

  “Kaga’s family owns the largest beverage company in the world and makes some of the best single malt whiskeys on the market,” Ian explains, settling into one of the velvet-covered club chairs on the second level. He draws me down on top of his lap and wraps his arm around me, his hand finding a resting place at the top of my left thigh. I squirm, a bit uncomfortable at this intimacy in front of a stranger, but his hand clamps down to still my movements.

  “We are but a blip on the map compared to the holdings of Kerr Industries,” Kaga says dryly.

  “Don’t let him kid you, Tiny.” Ian stretches out his legs. A knock on the door brings our drinks, which Kaga carries over to the table. He settles into a chair next to Ian and hands out the drinks. “His money is older than the United States and probably enough to buy a few territories.”

  The Singapore Sling tastes refreshing with only a hint of sweetness, a perfect combination.

  “Usually guys are all about showing who’s got the biggest of everything, but the two of you are arguing about how the other guy’s bank account is fatter. This is the weirdest kind of dick posturing I’ve ever seen.” I shake my head and take another sip. Kaga and Ian both pause and then roar with laughter.

  “Where did he find you?” Kaga asks, wiping from his eyes the tears his gut laugh produced.

  I look at Ian for guidance as I say, “Mutual acquaintance.”

  “No secrets from Tad,” Ian says. “Tiny is Malcolm Hedder’s stepsister.”

  This revelation causes Kaga to look at me with speculation. “So you aren’t together? This is all for show?” He leans toward me to grab my hand, but Ian blocks him.

  “Yes, for show,” I say.

  “Not for show. We’re together,” Ian replies at the same time.

  “We’re together,” he repeats, giving me a hard look and a firm squeeze on the thigh.

  I’m not one for arguing in public or doing much of anything in public, so I press my lips together even though I’m dying to give Ian a piece of my mind.

  I settle for, “It’s complicated.”

  From the owner’s lounge, I can see the entire dance floor. Kaga presses a button and the plate glass turns into a viewing screen showing eight different security feeds. He selects one feed and zooms so that it overlays the other video. The security camera is focused on a well-kept man in his forties. I recognize him instantly as Richard Howe, my target. Forcefully, I push away from Ian and after a bit of a struggle he lets me go.

  “Is this the source of your complication?” Kaga asks. I nod but my eyes are glued to Howe. He’s leaning over the second-floor balcony, holding a small tumbler in his hand. There’s a beautiful brunette standing very close to him. As we watch, she flips her hair across her shoulder a few times in a flirtatious gesture. They keep talking, and after a moment we see them exc
hange phone numbers.

  Howe takes a picture of the woman and then they pose together for his camera.

  “What does he tell his wife?” I ask, genuinely curious.

  “Some say that she knows and doesn’t care. Others believe she has no idea. This is a rather different crowd than Cecilia Montgomery Howe would associate with.”

  “Too old?”

  “Too poor,” Kaga answers dryly. Ian has been silent as I observe Howe, wanting—I suppose—for me to draw my own conclusions. How does Ian do it? If I saw him flirting with another woman, even knowing it was a charade, I’d be jealous and hurt. How can he keep everything so separate?

  “You want me to go over there tonight and get his phone number?” I ask Ian.

  For a long moment he doesn’t respond, and then in a tone so low I can barely hear him, he replies, “No. I don’t want that.”

  In one swift motion, he rises and hurls the whiskey glass at the side wall. “Sorry,” he mutters, and then walks out. I’m frozen by the display of violence and more confused than ever. Kaga catches my arm when I turn to chase after him.

  “Give him a minute.”

  Nodding, I allow Kaga to lead me to a chair.

  “Richard Howe is a charming, likeable man,” Kaga says. “And he wields those traits like a weapon. People do things for him that they wouldn’t ever do for another. And behind him, he leaves a trail of ruined lives, broken hearts, and . . . orphaned boys.”

  Orphaned boys.

  My character was set at the age of fifteen.

  I look toward the rear of the room where Ian exited. This Howe thing was personal to him. It wasn’t just about some “friend.” Someone close to Ian got hurt by Howe. And now he is struggling between his feelings for me and his desire for revenge.

  “Some say that the elder Howe’s candidacy rests on Richard keeping his nose clean for the three months until the primary voting is closed. His primary voters want to see an intact family because that’s part of Howe’s platform. In the general election, it won’t matter as much.”

  “I don’t see how a cheating scandal is going to make a big difference.”

  “It might not to a lot of people, but it would matter to Richard Howe’s father. Ian wants to separate Richard from everyone else.”

  I frown. “I’m supposed to attract Howe? I’m too old.”

  “You’re with Ian. That’s enough.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Kaga crosses his arms and stares out the viewing glass. “Richard is intensely jealous of Ian. Believes that Ian is standing in his place in the sun. Whatever Ian has, Richard wants,” he explains. “Ian needs only to show you some attention and Richard will be right over to see if he can peel you away.”

  “I don’t get how Richard could possibly lure someone away from Ian,” I grumble.

  At this, Kaga shouts out a laugh and drops his arms to his side. “Loyal. I like that. Or deluded.” Sobering, he replies, “Ian wasn’t always this well situated and Richard comes from an old Dutch family whose roots can be traced back to the Knickerbockers. For some, that’s worth more than all the money in the world.”

  “But can’t Ian just ruin him financially? He said that Howe was spending money faster than the Treasury can print it.”

  “If Ian ruins Richard financially, all the Howes suffer. Papa Howe believes the mayoral position will right the sinking ship. They’ve poured millions into the campaign and convinced all their wealthy society friends to contribute as well. If Papa Howe doesn’t win, the Howes will have to leave the city. They’ll be disgraced, and it would be easy for Ian to tip that ship over and have it sink like the Titanic.”

  “But?” There’s more to this; something Ian doesn’t want to share but Kaga feels compelled to reveal.

  He smiles in approval. “But when a ship goes down, a lot of innocents are harmed, and Ian feels strongly that only Howe should suffer. Publicizing his indiscretions will humiliate Cecilia, but she’ll divorce him. Once Howe is isolated, Ian can bring all the influence he has to crush Howe. But not until all those bystanders are safe from harm.

  “In New York society, you can exist if you have either status or money. Lose one and you can still belong. If Howe is ruined financially, it would affect his entire family. They are teetering on the brink of financial insolvency. But if Richard Howe becomes a liability, his family will cut ties with him and he’ll be left without status or money.”

  Not yet, Ian had said on the car ride over. He isn’t prepared to take out the bystanders. I could respect that in a weird way.

  “Why me? Why not the other women that Malcolm sent?”

  “They were too hard. Ian would never have dated them. He’s always had much quieter tastes. Richard would have known right away something was up. But you?” Kaga looks me over. “You’re exactly what Ian’s always wanted.”

  I flush profusely at this.

  “Ian needs you, and I can tell that asking you to do this for him has been an enormous struggle.”

  He needs me.

  This thing with Howe isn’t a job; it’s a gift. Ian has bought me clothes, upgraded my apartment, and provided for my mother. Not because of any job but because he genuinely cared. And I can do this for him even if he doesn’t want me to.

  Straightening my shoulders, I turn to Kaga. “So what do I do?”

  With admiration in his eyes, Kaga replies, “Go over to the VIP lounge and have a drink. Richard will inevitably approach as soon as Ian leaves you alone for a moment. Play it by ear from there.”

  “How do I act?”

  “Be yourself.”

  Ian is standing by the back door of the club where we first entered.

  “He talked you into it?”

  I nod.

  “Don’t look at me like that,” he warns.

  “Like what?”

  Turning away, he curses. “I’ve tried to keep the two of you separate in my head. At first, I turned you down because I wanted to sleep with you. Then I convinced myself that I could sleep with you and have you ensnare Howe. Compartmentalize, I told myself.” He shoves an agitated hand through his hair. “Now my Tiny boxes are scattered in every corner of my head. I think of you nonstop. When I get up in the morning, I wonder if you’ll like the smell of the soap I used. When lunch rolls around, I wonder if you’ve eaten enough. By mid-afternoon, I’m so hungry for your body I have to go to the bathroom and stroke myself until I’m spent—only to find that I’m hard thirty minutes later when I think of your pink pussy convulsing under my tongue. But I wanted to delay making love to you until I was completely sure you were with me—mind, body and soul—because yes, Tiny, you are mine. And this isn’t for show.”

  He pushes away from the door and climbs up the stairs. I haven’t moved. I can’t. His words have rendered me motionless. With each step, he’s coming closer to me, until he’s so close I feel the heat of his body. His eyes search mine, and in them I see not only lust but tenderness.

  His mouth fastens over mine, punctuating his words or perhaps sealing them inside me. Does he know that he makes my heart sing? That the tender look in his eyes completely slays me? His right hand digs into my hair as he uses his left to lift me against him. The hard length of his erection is impossible to miss. I wish I could see him in his office stroking himself. That would be so amazing that I’d probably come from just the show.

  His tongue rubs slowly along the side of mine, inviting me to play. Whatever lipstick I once wore is being sucked and licked and bitten off. His kiss is ravenous, and I feel like he’s trying to devour me. Worse, I want him to. I open my mouth as wide as possible to swallow down all the sweetness and passion he’s serving me.

  Beneath my questing hands, his body feels like iron. I want to rip off his clothes and impale myself on him right here on the landing. With a last reserve of sense, I pull away from him and rest
my head in the hollow of his throat. I hear his rasping breath above me, and underneath my cheek his chest heaves up and down as he tries to gather his own self-control. I allow him to soothe my trembling body with his big hands when I realize the long, sweeping caresses are just as much for his sake as they are for mine.

  “Jesus, Tiny,” he groans, dropping his forehead. After a minute he clears his throat and tips my chin up so I can see him. His eyes glitter in the darkness, lit from within. “I’ll find someone else to do the job. Clear the table so there’s just you and me.”

  Someone else? He’d have to feign interest in her, bring her out to nightclubs and events. The idea of someone else doing this . . . project with Ian makes me violently jealous. Like, I’d punch her if I saw her with him. “No,” I say forcefully. “You hired me.” I straighten up and push him away. “I’m your girl.”

  I am halfway down the second set of stairs when what I said sinks in.

  “About time you realized that.”

  I bite my lip to keep from laughing because I don’t want him to know he has yet again gotten the last word.

  CHAPTER 20

  The Aquarium is so named because it’s full of water, blue walls, and blue light. There is so much glass and mirror used on the walls and even the floor of the second level that it seems like you are in a fishbowl. The entire place is painted blue, from the floors in deep midnight to a varying gradient on the walls. Even the lights are tinted blue, giving an under-the-sea feel to the space. The main floor has a circular bar centered around a real aquarium with . . . are those sharks in there?

  Once I see the second floor, I understand why Ian picked out shorts for me to wear. Above us the floor is made of alternating tiles of clear and blue glass, about four feet square, and by looking upward you can see straight up the skirts of some of the female club-goers.

  Around the sides of the room on the second level are people sitting in glassed-in plunge pools lit from underneath, like square mini hot tubs. Most of the pools are filled with women who appear to have stripped down to their underwear, although there are a few males in them too. There are butts and boobs pressed against the glass—and in at least one, there’s a couple simulating a sex act. At least I think it’s a simulation. I nearly break my neck staring as I pass. It’s an exhibitionist’s dream, and I’m very glad I’m wearing shorts as I walk up the stairs past a formidable bouncer clad in a navy-blue T-shirt with the word “Aquarium” stenciled in white across his massive chest.