by Piper Malone
Blake’s attempt to reign over me, even for a brief moment, ignited feelings of anger. No one holds me back. Especially not a man. When I shot him a look of back-the-fuck-up, he just quirked an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth lifted. He’s a daredevil; he doesn’t care if I fight or refuse phone calls or try to walk away.
I’m very worried that Blake Roman is not afraid to tango with me.
If I’m honest, I’m afraid to tango with him.
The weak parts of me know I’ll give in to his advances.
The wedding party introductions refocus me to the present and, in an instant, we are across the ballroom. Smooth as a criminal, Blake leans into Dane, whispering something in his ear, before retreating across the room alone. His distance is a welcome relief. I watch him glide across the dance floor and into a pack of his friends. The calming breaths that soothed my racing heart falter as I see him sidle up to a gorgeous redhead.
He plucks the woman from her seat, revealing her long, willowy legs and leads her to the edge of the parquet.
The vision of him touching someone else snaps the very flimsy control I have on any emotion today. Bitch!
My anger seethes, boils beneath the surface, heating my cheeks with a possessive need to march across the shiny dance floor and ask him what the hell his problem is.
Riotous applause welcoming the newly married Mr. and Mrs. Dunn distracts me from the animated expression of the sexpot fawning over my wicked angel. The guilt of not being one of the first people to hoot and holler at their announcement settles me down. I’m out of line and Blake is the reason I can’t keep my shit together.
I need to focus on Reagan.
He’s not my wicked angel.
Why is the bar always closed when you need it the most?
“Wow.” Dane’s typically monotone voice elevates slightly as he watches Reagan and Caleb glide across the floor in a beautifully choreographed wedding dance.
I demanded she agree to formal lessons for their first dance. When she declined, I told her it was my gift to them. I’m not a prude about much, but class it up for your first dance. She protested about Caleb’s cane so I found an instructor who specialized in dance for individuals with disabilities.
When Caleb came to me a month ago and told me he wasn’t going to need the cane anymore, I met him on off hours to help him get comfortable with the routine so he could surprise his bride. It was fun. I haven’t had formal dance lessons in many years. As an added bonus, I feel a little closer to the big lug seamlessly twirling my best friend around the room. He nearly destroyed my toes trying to perfect that move.
They look amazing. My heart swells when I see the look of radiant happiness on her face. I would have worked with Caleb until my feet bled. It was worth it to fulfill his wish and make Reagan’s day perfect. I couldn’t rob him of that joy. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if she didn’t have this magical day.
We get the signal to join the bride and groom for the wedding party wobble and I’m ready for battle. Bring it on, Blake! We are going to dance. I’m going to get a drink. And the memories of you branding me with your lips will be obliterated after too many vodka tonics.
I’m two steps into my sprint across the parquet when Dane’s hand on my elbow stops me from ending this craziness.
“Hey!” I try to jerk my arm away from him and practically pull him off his feet. “I need to go.”
“No, he told me there was a change of plans.” Dane smiles with pride. “Wedding party is going to dance with their dates.”
I seize, frozen in place with the exception of my rapidly blinking eyes. “What?”
“Come on, Kat, they are waiting on us.”
I pull myself together, taking Dane’s hand and surveying the dance floor. Reagan’s arms are wrapped around her husband’s neck, their bodies swaying in time to the classically beautiful love song pumping through the venue. All the people at the reception, two hundred sets of eyes, are staring at us. Not unnerving. Not at all.
I turn to Dane once we’ve made our way far enough into the clearing and step close to him. I should be comfortable; we’ve had sex. I know the bland landscape of his body so this shouldn’t be awkward. Or stiff. But it is. It’s the wobble and not even a cute one. It’s seventh-grade awkward. He steps on my feet. His hand drops a little too close to the top of my ass. He tries to wax poetic about how beautiful I look. I put my head on his chest and pray to the vodka gods that there isn’t a line at the bar.
I hear a whistle, a catcall, random tinkling of glasses to encourage kisses. When a whoop of “Get her, Blake!” echoes in the room, I have to look. Blake has Red twirling around the dance floor in a near perfect waltz modified for the modern music. She follows his lead. He dictates every smooth movement with the push and pull of his body against hers.
Holy shit… The man can dance.
As Dane teeters me around in a circle, I stretch my neck to watch Blake. It’s clear to me that Red has no clue what she’s doing. I correct her steps in my head while I watch him amend her movements as a good dance partner does. He controls every step. He is smooth and obviously classically trained. Just like me.
“Bummer they changed the dance card on you, babe. You two would have burned up the dance floor.” My response to Dane’s comment is lost, drowned out by a tornado of longing and fury.
We would fit together like pieces of a puzzle. Legs and arms moving in rhythm. Breathing in time. Sweat. Hearts pounding from exertion. Smiles. Laughter. Languid bodies after the dance is over, the decadence of used muscles, the relief only physical exertion can bring. The sensuality of dance. The movement of sex. Memories of Walter Reed’s third floor mingle with the pulsing desire to take her place and show everyone how that dance should look. My body shimmers with need. I want him. His hands on my body. His breath on my skin. I want us.
One dance.
The song ends. I step away from Dane and press a clammy hand against my warm cheek. I nod, acknowledging the polite applause of our audience with a tight smile while trying to even my erratic breath. The second the attention dies down, I make a beeline for the bar.
“Vodka,” I rap my knuckles on the wood bar, making the bartended jump out of his suit, “all of it! On the rocks.”
The care for how insane I look flies out the window. I need something to slow down, to thin my blood so it’s not pounding in my ears, through my chest, around my clit.
A generous swig of the chilled booze offers a slight distraction. The burn giving me something else to think about, until Nick appears next to me, looking lethal in a suit that hugs his broad shoulders and tapered waist.
“What’s got your panties in a twist?”
Our bond is not deep, formed in the strange hours of Caleb’s hospitalization. He is all rough and grumble. I feel comfortable with him mostly because he’s never so much as winced at my colorful language. He seems like a good guy, but he’s got an edge I can’t quite figure out. He’s also firmly attached to Blake.
“What is your buddy’s issue?” I demand.
“Which one? The married one or the three ring circus?”
“Don’t be cute,” I bite out before sucking back more vodka. “The Ring Master, what’s his problem?”
“With what?”
“Coy falls in the same category as cute, Nick. Either you’re working with me or against me.”
The corners of his mouth pick up, giving him a look that borders on evil. “I’ll work with you, Kat. You might not like my style compared to Blake’s.”
Fiery irritation licks the edges of my sanity. “Can we keep the whips-and-chains chatter to a minimum for a single evening, please? He keeps coming after me. How do I get him to,” I fling my hand to shoo the issue away as if it were a bug, “go away?”
Nick lifts his shoulder with a noncommittal shrug. “How do you know you want him away from you?” He sips his beer. “You had no problem cozying up to him at Walter Reed.”
Mortification boils my blood. “How do y
ou know that?” I hiss through gritted teeth. “What did he tell you?”
“Nothing,” he smiles before taking a pull of his beer, “you told me everything. A satisfied look combined with a wrinkled skirt is a dead giveaway, Kat.”
“Shit!” I toss back the last of my drink, slamming the empty glass on the counter. “Fill it like you mean it, bud,” I bark at the man doling out the booze. I need to find some cash to tip my new favorite bartender.
“He’s not a bad guy, Kat,” Nick offers as he surveys the crowd now filtering into the bar.
“This is not the time for a Hallmark moment, Nick. The bottom line is this, I need to make changes in my life and they don’t involve Blake Roman and his lifestyle.”
“Which lifestyle is that?” A deep baritone enters the conversation from my left. I wobble on my heels when I turn to see Ax escorting Blake’s dance partner into the bar. Nick can be menacing enough, but Ax has his own level of darkness. I only ever saw him while waiting on news about Caleb. He was always calm and collected in that mob boss kind of way. He has that look of being able to issue a smile and gut you a second later.
“How many does he have?” I mumble, into my glass, trying hard not to stare at the beauty on his arm. She may not have danced well, but she’s a knockout.
“Well,” Ax begins, “he’s a firefighter and has the whole huge Italian family thing going for him.” He stops to order drinks and turns to Red. “What do you think, Chloe? Anything else?”
“He’s a wonderful top,” she says with a glow that instantly makes me jealous. “Master Blake is so patient and giving. Everyone at Reign loves him.”
“I’m sure they do,” I mutter into my rapidly disappearing drink.
“Oh, so that’s the issue.” Nick turns to face me, his voice a borderline growl, “Is that why you weren’t at Reign last weekend?”
“It’s not an issue.” The words were meant to sound breezy, not like the hiss from a tire that has been stabbed.
“But it’s a reason?” he presses.
“Don’t you have a date to attend to?” I lob, desperate to end this conversation.
Nick’s eyes narrow. “No.” The chill from his tone setting my skin on edge.
Chloe’s innocent voice emerges from behind her Cosmo. “Have you heard from Skyler?”
He looks at Chloe for a moment, his eyes darting to me before he blanks his face and summons another beer. “No.”
That’s weird. I’ve heard Reagan lay into Caleb about how much Nick must be into Skyler. He’s perfected the pull-the-pigtails routine. I think there would have been a going-away party for her if she were taking another job.
“I didn’t know she left Reign.” A wash of empathy comes over me. Nick can be rough but he looks wounded by her departure.
A dark sadness flows across his face. “From what I hear, she’ll be back. I just don’t know where she went.” He sniffs, stiffening his upper lip. “She’s not my concern.”
Liar. “Right.” I sip the edge of my newly refilled glass; eyes drifting into the ballroom, watching people begin to seat themselves for dinner. Toast. Smile. “I need to get back in there.”
“Good. Have fun with Blaze,” Ax quips, smiling a shit-eating grin.
“Who?” I ask.
“Blake.”
“No, you said Blaze. What is that? Some special code name for inside Reign when you guys play dress up?”
My flippant words, intended to be lighthearted, rile Ax. His mountainous form growing a few extra inches as he steps close and towers over me. A bolt of fear zips down my spine when I look up at his stony glower. “Girl,” he grits between clenched teeth, “for as smart as you are, you are terribly ignorant. Do us all a favor and learn a thing or two before you start making assumptions about things you only partially understand. I like you, Kat. Don’t make me put you on the asshole list.”
His open ridicule would have been enough to make me feel like a jerk. When I glance at Nick and Chloe, my stomach plummets. I’ve offended all of them.
“O-okay,” I stammer, tears shaking my voice and the unstable foundation I’ve been traversing all day. “I-I didn’t mean… I’m so sorry.” He’s so close, I can’t look at the floor, only the sharp lines of his face glaring at me. I blink back my tears, determined not to let them fall.
“Fuck,” Ax mutters. “I don’t mean to upset you, but you’re out of line, Kat. You need to educate yourself before you spout off.” He looks around the bar, grabbing a pile of cocktail napkins and shoving them into my hand. Ax leans over me, shielding me from the room, before whispering, “If you want, we can talk sometime.”
I nod, desperate to remove the foot from my mouth. “I didn’t mean—”
“We don’t think you did,” Nick interjects quietly.
“Look,” Ax offers, “just think about it.” He pulls a plain white business card out of his wallet. “Ax” and a phone number stamped on the card in heavy black ink is the only embellishment. “Call me.”
I nod. Maybe it’s not a horrible idea if I talked to someone that wasn’t Blake. I have to come to the club anyway while the newlyweds are on their month-long honeymoon. Reagan recruited me to help her pull off a surprise for Caleb upon their return home. Maybe I can sneak in when Blake is working and grab a few minutes with Ax.
“Good.” Ax pats my shoulder, his eyes lighting up with wicked delight. “Now go have fun with Blaze.”
I shake my head, unsure if I want to know. “I still don’t understand where Blaze comes from. Can someone fill me in?”
Nick and Ax share an evil smile. Chloe hides her giggle with her hand.
“It’s the name he used when he stripped,” Ax confesses with a chuckle. “Be careful if they play that ‘I’m Sexy and I Know It’ shit. He’ll be naked before the end of the song.”
The look of shock on my face must have been satisfying because the guys clink their beer bottles in victorious celebration. Chloe at least has the good manners to look slightly embarrassed.
Could this get any worse?
“Let’s go.” Nick wraps a strong hand around my elbow. “I think I hear the DJ calling for you to toast the couple.” I try to muster words to respond to Ax, but Nick steers me toward the ballroom.
“No, wait,” I whisper to Nick, trying not to look crazed, hoping to catch my breath, but the DJ presses a microphone into my shaky hand the minute I’m in the ballroom.
I’m on.
Smile.
Don’t look like you just found out the man you fantasize about on a regular basis runs a sex club and was a stripper.
I’m going to die…
I do my best to deliver the toast I’ve been crafting for weeks. Some tears escape when I talk about our sisterhood, a deep relationship forged over time and the occasional argument and one too many nights of bad karaoke. The room becomes aware of my deep love for Reagan and my willingness to keep Caleb on the path of caring for our girl like the precious jewel she is. Part of me wants to add in that the threat to kick Caleb’s ass should he mess with my friend will always be on the table, but I decided that would be a card to play on another day.
The applause and loving hug from Reagan signals that my duties of the day are coming to a close. I hand the microphone to Blake, who gives me a little wink before beginning his speech.
It takes no time to realize the connection between Caleb and Blake once he begins. The foundation of his relationship with Caleb, the struggles they’ve both gone through, the days when Caleb was injured and his long recovery is presented with a clear love and admiration. I hear Reagan sniff, and watch her lean into her husband, silently affirming all the things Blake is saying. Their brotherhood. Their bond. Bound to each other from the good and the bad in life. It’s humbling, beautiful. I dip my head, tamping away the tears that won’t seem to go away.
The emotions I’ve bottled for weeks have come to the surface on this singular day. Reagan is married. Has a successful career. She shares a beautiful home with Caleb that will hou
se stunning children. It’s a woman’s dream.
I am single. Watching the life of my best friend evolve with time and love and dedication. For me, that life is a fantasy. A way of being that has never touched my consciousness until Reagan met Caleb.
And then there’s Blake. I knew I couldn’t avoid him. I knew I couldn’t see him and not feel something. It was foolish to put Blake and me in the fantasy life I’ve watched Reagan and Caleb navigate.
I never thought about a long-term relationship. The men in my life have always shown me that relying on someone else is not an option. Nothing is going to stay and, in the end, they always find something wrong with me. Fantasizing about Blake is just another mistake in the long list of errors that has landed me in this place—wanting the wrong guy for all the wrong reasons.
Or is he? Blake is the only man who has made my body feel like a phoenix rising from the ashes, blazing and bold. Days after our time together, I relived all the precious moments. I recall the memory of his voice calling me “doll.” I’ve been called sexy, hot, smokin’, hell, even bodacious, always a babe. Never something to be cared for, cherished. I’ve never been placed in a category of class. I’ve always been Spring Break, never Saks Fifth Avenue.
And this is where the torment begins. How can someone so wrong make me feel so right? He’s a Dominant, a man who uses power to control sex. The driving need to understand Blake and all his pieces fights with the impulse to run and live with the memories of one perfect day.
And now I know he probably used years of professional dance lessons to design legendary routines for shaking his ass in a banana hammock for cash. Wonderful.
The applause surrounding the very manly hug between Blake and Caleb pulls me back to the here and now, pushing away useless thoughts that won’t fix anything.
Our meal begins and ends with family and friends approaching us, commenting on the ceremony, the dresses, how handsome the men are. The cake is cut. Middle-aged women fight preteens for the bouquet with such passion the Patriots would be proud. The booze is flowing, and the party begins.