Colleen recoiled as if slapped.
Chase grabbed her hand. “Honey, she’s going to be fine.”
“She’s asking for me. What if she thinks I forgot about her?”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“What if she’s scared?”
“Istvahn is there. He’s the father.”
Colleen sniffed. “I told her I’d be in the birthing room with her. She wanted me, not him.”
“Sometimes life has other plans.”
They got through the red light, and Chase pulled up to the entrance so she could go in while he parked. Istvahn had told her the floor but not the room. He wasn’t answering any of the texts she was sending. Colleen pressed the elevator button several times, but that didn’t make it go faster. She burst onto the floor, sparing a glance at the lounge. Istvahn wasn’t there. The nurses at the center station glanced up when she stalked over.
“I’m here to see Nefertiti Desmond. I’m her birthing coach.”
The two women exchanged a glance.
Fear took the strength out of Colleen’s knees. She knew she should have insisted on a private hospital with an on-call doctor.
“Better late than never,” a sleepy voice said from behind her.
Whirling, Colleen saw Tee lying back on a wheeled bed with an adorable little bundle in her arms. Istvahn strode beside the bed, fingers twitching and his gaze going everywhere as if searching out threats. His fingers clenched and patted his jacket. Was he looking for his Glock?
“This is our daughter, Ezina,” Nefertiti said, shifting so Colleen could get a peek at the beautiful, tiny face.
Ezina gave a big yawn and blinked up at them.
Colleen fell in love.
“Ezina, this is your godmother. She’s fashionably late.”
Sniffing back tears of happiness, Colleen said, “No, Ezina was early. A terrible faux pas, but we’ll forgive her just this once. She’s new at this.”
“Can Colleen and I have a few minutes alone?” Nefertiti said to Istvahn once she and the baby were back in the room.
Istvahn glanced around the room again for threats and gave a curt nod.
“I’m so sorry I’m late.” Colleen gripped Nefertiti’s hand.
“Don’t worry about it. Istvahn stepped up. He did pretty good, although I thought he was going to faint dead on the floor when Ezina came out.”
“She’s beautiful.” Colleen ran her finger over the baby’s downy head.
“How are things at Couture?”
Tucking the blanket around Tee’s feet, Colleen said, “Everything is fine. Everything will be just as we discussed once you come back. We’ll have a little crib and a nanny on call. You have nothing to worry about.”
Tears filled Nefertiti’s eyes. “I know this is the post-pregnancy hormones talking, but I’m not sure I can be a good mother.”
“Too late. You already are.” Colleen leaned in to kiss her on the cheek. “And I think Istvahn is a great baby daddy.”
“Ass.” Nefertiti snorted.
The doctor came in and shooed Colleen out.
“Do you need me to get you anything?” Colleen asked.
Nefertiti shook her head sleepily.
Istvahn was guarding the door like the president was inside.
“How are you doing?” Colleen asked when the door shut.
“Fine.”
“You want a shot of vodka?”
He slid an amused glance at her. “You got a bottle in your purse?”
“I can get a bottle of Stoli Elit here in about an hour.”
“Done.”
She rubbed his arm. “When was the last time you slept?”
He blinked. “I dozed in the chair.”
“Why don’t you go home and…”
Istvahn was already shaking his head.
Chase sprinted into the reception area but skidded to a stop when she gave him a thumbs-up.
“Let me know when she’s free or if you need anything,” Colleen said.
“Will do,” Istvahn said.
She walked over to Chase and dragged him away from an adoring fan. “Excuse us, please.”
“Everything went all right?” Chase asked.
Linking her arm with his, she guided him out into the hallway. “Yes. Baby Ezina and mom are doing just fine. Istvahn’s getting closer to fine, but he’s not there yet.”
“I owe him.” Chase turned her into his arms for a hug. “If he hadn’t shown me the club’s tapes, who knows when we would have sorted this all out. Maybe never, if Dante had his way.”
“Don’t blame Dante—at least not completely. He’s a manipulator and an opportunist. He saw the rift between us and used it to his advantage.”
“Next time he can see my fist again.”
Colleen grabbed the fist he was shaking and kissed it. “He’s not pressing charges from the last time you punched him. Don’t press your luck.”
“I can’t help it. I have to.”
And when he sank down on one knee, her first thought was that he’d better be careful of his injury, followed by brief disapproval of his form. If he was going to offer submission in a crowded hospital, he should at least do it right. Then that faded and all the air left her lungs when he pulled out a ring box.
“I wanted to do this more privately, but since we’ve got a moment now where we’re not fighting or having a crisis, I want to ask you to be my wife.” Chase offered her the ring. The rose gold band was shaped like a cage and covered with diamonds. Inside the cage were platinum links that resembled chains. Each link had a black diamond on it.
“I’ve never seen anything like it,” she whispered, sliding it on and admiring it. Marrying again hadn’t been on the agenda, but Colleen realized that it was the only way they would be able to be together for the long term. He was too insecure without the bond of marriage to trust that her job wouldn’t tempt her away from him. And she liked that this meant he was invested in their relationship, even though his temper overruled his common sense most of the time.
“It’s unique. Just like you. I had it made for you after our first night together in your office. I knew then that I’ve never stopped loving you.”
Colleen cupped his cheek, her heart melting at the utter devotion she saw in his eyes. “Chase.”
He barely stood up in time as she came crashing into his arms. “I love you, too. I always have.” This time it would be different. They would always fight. They were both used to having their own way. But now they would be joined together—if not by the true bond of mistress and submissive, then by marriage.
“You know what this means?” he said, cradling her close.
“What?” Colleen’s reply was muffled against his shirt.
“We can get as pissed off as we want and storm out. Because now we’ll know we have something to come back to when things calm down.”
She lifted her head up. “I still reserve the right to throw your clothes out a window and slap you silly.”
“Only if you make it up to me afterward, Mistress.”
Colleen kissed him until a nurse harrumphed behind them.
“Ms. Desmond would like you to escort Mr. Olenev out of her room.”
“Were those her exact words?” Colleen asked over her shoulder.
“No. I don’t use that kind of language,” the nurse said primly.
“I think I’m going to need your help,” Colleen said to Chase.
“I got your back, babe.” Chase kissed her. “Always.”
BY JAMIE K. SCHMIDT
Club Inferno Series
Heat
Longing
Fever
PHOTO: JOEY JONES FROM EXPOSURES
USA Today bestselling author JAMIE K. SCHMIDT has published more than thirty short stories in small-press journals and e-zines. She’s an active member of the Romance Writers of America. When not writing, she relaxes with a mug of hot tea and knits or makes beaded jewelry.
www.jkschmidt.com
&nbs
p; Facebook.com/Jamie.K.Schmidt.1
@Jamiekswriter
The Editor’s Corner
March into romance this month with Loveswept—our authors are savvy, and their hot books will warm up the cool winter evenings.
Jennifer Chance’s Rule Breakers series turns up the heat in Risk It as a wealthy playboy and a beautiful con artist engage in a high-stakes game of seduction. USA Today bestselling author Lauren Layne revisits her salacious Sex, Love & Stiletto series with The Trouble with Love, where a jaded columnist discovers a steamy way to get over an old flame: falling for him all over again. USA Today bestselling author Stacey Kennedy returns to the tantalizing world of Club Sin with Tamed. In Cecy Robson’s latest urban fantasy romance, A Curse Unbroken, the search is on for an unholy grail, while evil is licking its wounds—and looking for revenge. Another of our Loveswept USA Today bestsellers, Jamie K. Schmidt, revisits Club Inferno, the erotic playground where glitz and glamour mix with leather and whips in, Fever. Seduction returns to Violetta Rand’s Devil’s Den, a Texas strip club where hearts can’t hide when the chemistry is right. In the latest Disgraced Lords novel from USA Today bestselling author Bronwen Evans, A Touch of Passion, a vivacious thrill seeker clashes with her dutiful defender—causing irresistible sparks to fly. Then Maeve Greyson unleashes a thrilling tale of magic in My Highland Lover, as a feisty Southern gal falls into the arms of a rough-hewn Highland chieftain. And in Sharon Cullen’s steamy historical romance Sebastian’s Lady Spy, love is a hazard best avoided—until an unforgettable affair exposes their undercover hearts.
But there’s more!
Come Flirt with us—Saying yes has always come easy for Fallon. Now, as Renita Pizzitola’s steamy, poignant Crush series continues in Just a Little Flirt, winning her dream job means Fallon must say no to the guy she wants the most. And in the new Extreme Risk novel, Slashed, from New York Times bestselling author Tracy Wolff, a burned-out underdog and a vulnerable tomboy defy the pressure to be perfect and go after what they really want.
Until next month ~Happy Romance!
Gina Wachtel
Associate Publisher
Read on for an excerpt from
Surrender
by Violetta Rand
Available from Loveswept
Chapter 1
“Don’t touch me again,” I warn, tapping the heel of my stiletto on the ceramic stage floor.
“What ya gonna do?” Robert, a regular customer, slurs while standing at the stage. “Smack me with one of your big tits?” He laughs at his own stupidity.
I ignore him and turn around, my hips swaying to the tempo of the wild music. Robert stays glued to the corner of the stage. I move farther away, accepting a ten-dollar tip from a glassy-eyed redneck who has a silly grin plastered on his face.
“You’re beautiful,” he says.
“Thank you.” I don’t receive compliments well, but it’s something I’ve adjusted to since I became a dancer.
The song is almost over. I can’t wait to leave. The pungent combination of stale beer, cigarettes, and male sweat is nearly enough to make me throw up tonight. Add strobe lights overhead and a smoke machine that the DJ likes to overuse, and I’m itching to get away.
“I’m sorry,” Robert blurts.
“Go back to your seat,” I say.
“Just come over here…”
I edge closer, hoping he’ll shut up. He holds up a fifty. I shake my head. A modern-day version of paying an indulgence fee. He thinks fifty dollars will absolve his sins. “I don’t need your money.”
“Liar!” he shouts.
“Be quiet,” I hiss. If he gets too rowdy, the bouncer will come over and make a scene. I hate being the center of attention. “All right.” I move next to him and squat. He tucks the bribe money in the side of my G-string.
Without warning, he grabs my left butt cheek. Instinctively, I punch him in the jaw. He stumbles backward, tripping on the leg of a chair. I stand. “I told you!” I shout this time. “Don’t. Ever. Touch. Me.” I grab my dress off the speaker near the corner of the square stage and leave.
That’s it. I make sure I slam the dressing room door, hard. I’ve had enough insults slung at me for one night. Strangers grabbing my ass. Other dancers judging me for playing by the rules. This wasn’t a career choice, just an unfortunate detour I took three years ago, as soon as I turned seventeen, using a fake ID. That neon red sign out front in the parking lot had the same effect on me as a lighthouse does on a ship tossing in a watery void. It was a lifeline. I’d never go hungry again. Never sleep on another friend’s couch because I didn’t have anywhere else to go.
People compromise all the time to get where they need to go. Screw draconian societal values. And fuck anyone who judges me for it. Stripping off my black sequined bra and matching panties, I kick off my five-inch stilettos, then rub my feet. I walk to a row of freshly painted metal lockers hanging on the wall. I unlock mine, then grab my large duffel bag and toss it on the floor.
I sit cross-legged on the carpeted floor and dig inside my bag. I take out a pair of gray warm-ups and a matching ribbed tank top. Working tonight was a bad choice. The club is full of assholes. I stand, then drop my open-toed sandals on the floor. I’m not interested in finishing my shift, or sticking around to count my tips, or waiting for my best friend, Macey, to get off work. I need to leave. Dressing quickly, I scrawl a message on a bar napkin and slip it between the vents on Macey’s locker.
The message reads, Gone fishing. Secret code for I need to be alone. Macey knows where I’ll be: Bob Hall Pier on Padre Island. There’s nothing special about the place. It has a few wood picnic tables and benches, concrete showers, and bathrooms. It’s the view I love. Under a full moon, nothing is more enticing than the Gulf of Mexico. And if I get lucky, I’ll see the electric-blue glow of Portuguese man-o’-wars floating in the water.
I scan the room to make sure I didn’t forget anything and zip my bag. Noting the time on the wall clock above the vanity (eleven thirty), I’ll try to make it back in time to meet Macey after the club closes. I slip into my sandals and leave the empty dressing room. The hostess booth where I pay tip out is around the corner by the front entrance. I squint to see who’s on the back stage. Macey is dancing on the bed of the red 1957 Chevy pickup.
The DJ booth is about twenty-five feet from the T-shaped main stage, which connects to a narrow catwalk that wraps around the back. There are half a dozen big screens situated around the club and various neon beer signs hanging on the paneled walls. Sports memorabilia, mostly autographed photographs of Dallas Cowboys who have visited the club, are proudly showcased over the main bar. Pool tables and the pickup are in an adjoining room with a second bar. Six high-top tables and a sofa and love seat are off to the side so dancers and customers can hold intimate conversations while they wait for a pool table to open up. Of course, that’s where the dirtiest table dances take place—bouncers tend to overlook that area most, focusing on the main room and VIP. That’s why I like this bar. Everything is visible from anywhere.
I wave. Macey smiles. I go to the hostess booth and Mama Beth greets me with genuine concern.
“Did you check out with the DJ?” she asks, leaning in close to be heard over the blare of Metallica.
“I didn’t.”
She eyes me sympathetically, then says, “I saw what happened, sweetheart. You’ve got to learn to get over it. Men are beasts in any setting.”
She always means well, but trying to minimize the effects of behavior that’s socially repugnant even for a strip bar upsets me right now. The day I give these guys a free pass is the day I give up all hope for humanity. Somewhere, men still possess a shred of honor. They don’t grab handfuls of ass or whisper filthy things unfit for a prostitute to hear. I throw down thirty dollars and stuff an extra ten in Mama’s shirt pocket.
“Thanks, Mama,” I say. “I’ll see you Friday.” I head for the door.
“Wait,” she calls.
I don’t look back.
The last person I want escorting me outside is Craig. My car is parked pretty close. I walk briskly to the 1976 Camaro that I adore. I unlock the door, climb in, jam the key, and rev the engine. My baby needs a paint job, but the engine purrs. I check my rearview mirror before backing out. I do a double take. Craig blocks my path. His arms are folded defiantly over his broad chest. I know he isn’t going to budge until I talk to him. Damn him. I climb out, leaving the engine running for quick escape. The September night air is humid, and I wipe a drop of sweat from my forehead with the back of my hand.
“You can’t keep doing this, Robyn,” Craig scolds. Bouncers typically manage the dancers.
“Doing what?”
He sighs. The man doesn’t understand the word no. One date a few months ago doesn’t mean I’ve made a lifelong commitment. If his brains matched his brawn, I might have tried harder. His IQ doesn’t even meet Neanderthal standards. However, his biggest problem is keeping his dick in his pants. That killed any chance he had with me, and he resents me for it.
“Come back inside and finish your shift.”
I snort, meeting his heated gaze. “Go away.”
He yanks me close. “We’re not finished, Robyn, not by a long shot.”
“We never started.”
He lets go. His caramel-colored eyes are rimmed with long, dark eyelashes. Beautiful, really, just like every inch of him. He’s a fine specimen—but I’m not doing a science project. I shake my head and go back to my car. I climb inside. Craig has moved to the sidewalk in front of me. Good. I lock the door. Then I flip on the radio. “Immigrant Song” by Led Zeppelin blares from my brand-new Alpine speakers. Classic rock goes with my car. I back out and speed away.
Half an hour later, I pull into the pier parking lot. The place is mostly dark and empty. City parks close at eleven. I don’t care, and grab the small backpack I carry everywhere from my backseat. The pier manager stays late, and if I slip him a twenty, he lets me through the gate. I walk a hundred yards, my sandals sounding like horse hooves clapping against cobblestones on the wood planks of the pier. The manager looks up from his desk and waves me in without payment. I smile and mouth thank you; he won’t hear me through the bulletproof glass. I head to the end of the dock. I stop at the last bench and spread a towel I retrieve from by backpack over the wood seat so I don’t get splinters in my backside. I stare across the black water—this is what I need. The sound of rolling waves and the smell of salt air relax me. I lean over the crudely made railing.
Fever Page 20