Night Fever

by Jessica Hawkins

  “It isn’t,” he said. “You’re just asking the wrong questions. We’re going to a gala.”

  “A what?” The tuxedo. She’d been so caught up in herself that she hadn’t stopped to wonder why he was wearing one.

  “A black-tie gala to benefit the L.A. Philharmonic. I needed a date. That’s why I picked tonight for us.”

  She pulled on the hem of her vintage concert tee. “But I’m not dressed for that.”

  “Thank God you agree. You can wear that if you want, but I prefer not to spend the night looking at Stevie Nicks and her yellow hair.”

  Lola scrambled. “I wish you’d told me. I can find something more appropriate if you take me back.”

  “That won’t be necessary. I didn’t tell you to dress up because I planned a little extra time for shopping.”

  “I didn’t realize…I thought we would just—”

  “Fuck?”

  Lola’s breath caught. If Johnny ever spoke to her that way, it wasn’t in broad daylight, outside the heat of the moment. “Honestly,” she said, swallowing back her surprise, “it wouldn’t take me long to run into my apartment. I only have one dress that would—”

  “I’d be a madman to take you back now that I have you.”

  Lola shut her mouth. He was becoming bolder, catching her off guard more. “You will, though, won’t you?” she asked quietly, not entirely sure he’d say yes. “Take me home?”

  “In the morning, as promised. But not a minute sooner.” He moved the test results from between them to the floor and placed his arm along the back of the seat. “First we’ll go shopping. You’ll wear what I select for you, and I’ll pay for it.”

  “I’m not comfortable with that. It’s not part of the deal. I can buy my own clothing.”

  He zapped her conviction with a look. “In case it needs to be reiterated, Lola, I always say what I mean. Nothing is open to discussion. And since you’ve promised yourself over to me for the next twelve or so hours, make this easy for us both and comply.”

  “If you were looking for a woman who’d just comply, I don’t think I’d be here right now.”

  His eyes narrowed. “What makes you say that?”

  “A man like you would have no problems finding willing women. You want someone unwilling. Someone you have to work for. You think I’m trashy, maybe a little wild, and that does something for you. I understand.” For the first time since she’d met Beau, Lola felt in control. The look on his face and the quickening of his breath gave him away. He leaned into her as if he didn’t even realize he was doing it. “If you tell me exactly what you’re looking for,” she said, “I can play that part for you. I’ve done it before.”

  “You’ve done what before?” he asked, hardly even blinking.

  “Been someone’s fantasy.”

  “Not their reality, though.” He’d slid over in the seat, far enough that he’d have to reach to kiss her, but still close.

  “No.”

  “I want the reality. You. Just you.”

  She lifted one shoulder. “You have me. My body’s already yours. If it’s not enough, tell me what to be.”

  “I made myself clear on this already. This is about you, Lola. Not just what’s underneath those jeans and T-shirt. I won’t accept anything less than everything from you tonight.”

  She shook her head coyly. “My body is one thing, the rest of me is another. What you paid for is only what’s underneath these jeans and T-shirt.”

  The car slowed to a stop. Beau straightened up abruptly. “You’re wrong. That’s not what we agreed on.” He looked away from her and opened the door before the driver could.

  Lola took Beau’s hand and unfolded out of the car. Palm trees framed the tall windows of the marble storefront, which displayed smartly dressed mannequins. “I hate to tell you this,” Lola said, “but these shops are closed.”

  He put his hand on her upper back, trapping the ends of her hair. “Not for us,” he said, guiding her forward. The brass-handled, glass doors opened with his words.

  “You must be Lola,” said a slick-haired blonde saleswoman, outstretching her hand. “I understand it’s an important night for you.”

  Another woman appeared with two glasses of champagne.

  “Is that what he told you?” Lola asked, taking a drink.

  “Lola,” Beau warned. “Don’t pretend your thirtieth birthday dinner is just another night.”

  The saleswoman smiled. “Well, you’re in good hands with us.” Both women disappeared somewhere into the pristine, bone-and-black-lacquer interior.

  “It’s not even close to my birthday,” Lola said. “Why the subterfuge?”

  “It’s fun to watch you squirm.”

  “Well, if we’re playing games, could I not be thirty already? How would you like if I went around telling people you’re forty when you’re not for a few more years?”

  How he smiled at that, crooked-lipped and dimple-deep—as if it were the best thing he’d heard in a while. “Did a little research on me, I see.”

  “Don’t be flattered—”

  “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

  “It was only to make sure you weren’t wanted for murder or something. I’m still not entirely convinced you aren’t.”

  “Well.” His smile only widened. “I’m glad you decided to put your life in my hands anyway. Funny how a little money turns the other cheek.”

  She followed Beau to the back of the store, frustrated at her lack of comeback.

  He stopped at a clothing rack. “Here are the things I’ve preselected. I’d like to see them all on you.”

  “For one evening?” She balked at the price tag. “Some of these cost more than my month’s rent.” She flipped it over. “Make that two months.”

  “While you’re with me, you’ll be dressed the part—every hour, every minute.” He took her champagne glass from her. “I’ll refill your drink. You can change around the corner.”

  She picked up the first dress and took it to the fitting room, holding it away from her as though it might break. It was lovely and expensive. She hated it. The high neck and gathered fabric along one side was completely out of line with her taste.

  Just as she’d stripped down to her underwear, he knocked. She glanced at the door. Beau might be proving difficult to decode, but Lola was sure about one thing—he liked power. Control. He fed on weakness—in a single bite—and it made him stronger.

  Lola wasn’t weak, though. She’d let Beau do the biting, but just enough to keep him satisfied and no more. It’d been a while since she’d had the attention of a man like Beau, but she had, and she hadn’t forgotten this game.

  Lola opened the door wide. She slid her hand up along the edge and cocked her hip just enough for him to notice. “You knocked?”

  He schooled his expression in one quick second, but not before Lola caught his surprise. His slow gaze drifted down her neck, past her wide-strapped, sea-foam-green bra, over her naked stomach to her mismatched, oversized panties.

  “Stubborn right down to her underwear,” Beau said, more amused than annoyed.

  “It’s laundry day.” Lola shrugged. “My less modest things are—well, probably in Johnny’s hands as we speak since it’s his week to do the wash.”

  “Good thing they carry lingerie here,” he said, less amused.

  “Oh, don’t waste another dollar on me. I’m fine with this if you are.”

  He smiled thinly. “I’m not. As I said, you’re to dress the part every hour, every minute. That includes our time alone.” He passed her a fresh glass of champagne. “I’ll take care of it, but for now, I’ll be outside your door. Talk to me while you change.”

  She shut herself into the fitting room and went to lock it but didn’t bother. If Beau wanted to come in, he would. Wouldn’t he? It’d been almost an hour and he hadn’t made any move to touch her yet. When he did, would she like it? Could she enjoy being touched by Beau when she loved someone else? She shivered and passed her han
ds over her biceps. “What do you want to talk about?”

  “Have you ever been here?”

  “Rodeo Drive? Sure.” She removed the dress gingerly from the hanger. Despite her feelings about it, it was still a beautiful piece of clothing. “Mostly to walk around. Truth be told, it isn’t really my style.”

  “No, I don’t suppose there’s a lot of leather here.”

  “You don’t like the leather?” she asked, smiling a little to herself.

  “I didn’t say that. What are you doing now?”

  She looked down. “Pulling on the dress.”

  After a moment, he asked, “How about now?”

  “The dress is tight, so it’s taking a minute to get on. What are you doing?”

  Beau laughed. “Well, now I’m picturing you struggling with a tight dress. Something I look forward to seeing later.”

  “Later?” Lola had expected to be in his bed by now, but his behavior bordered on gentlemanly. Curiosity urged her closer to the door. “Not now?”

  He didn’t respond right away. “No,” he said. “Now I’m using my imagination.”

  “Can I ask you why without you taking it the wrong way?”

  “Which way would be the wrong way?”

  Absentmindedly, she touched the doorframe with a finger. “Not that I want this or that I’m trying to provoke you.” She carefully considered what she was trying to say. “But how come you haven’t done anything yet? You do know we only have tonight?”

  “Tonight will be over before we both know it,” he said. “That may be good news for you, but I intend to unwrap you slowly so I don’t miss anything.” He paused. “If you were worried about me breaking into your dressing room and bending you over the bench…you can relax.”

  Lola’s eyes went directly to the bench. If he bent her over it, she’d be face to face with herself in the mirror. She’d see everything—like Beau behind her in his tuxedo. She closed her eyes, willing away the warmth seeping through her. Things were not supposed to be this way. Her plan was only to endure his weight on top of her, not anticipate it. Not enjoy it.

  “Are you all right?” he asked. “You’ve been quiet for some time.”

  She cleared her throat and moved away from the door. “I’m fine.”

  “What are you doing now?”

  “Unfastening my bra.”

  “How come?” he asked.

  “It’s the wrong kind. Should be racerback.” There was a weighty pause. “Now I’m zipping up the dress.”

  “What’s the material?”

  “Silk, I think. It must be silk.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “It’s smooth and soft,” she said. “It feels…”

  “Yes?”

  “Silky.”

  “You can’t see, but I’m smiling. Can I come in now?”

  She opened the door.

  Beau stood from his chair. “Beautiful.”

  “Thanks.”

  “But purple doesn’t suit you.”

  “I hate purple.”

  “What color do you like?” he asked.

  “Black.”

  “I should’ve known.”

  She left the room, went around the corner and past the rack of Beau’s selections. Something near the front had caught her eye when she’d walked in. She found it in her size and returned to the fitting room, where Beau remained in the same spot, watching her. Behind the door again, she was alone. “Beau?”

  “Yes, Lola?”

  Alone with his voice.

  “Why me?” she asked.

  She put the purple dress back on its hanger while he took his time responding. “I suppose I should’ve been prepared for this question.”

  “You could just be honest,” she suggested.

  “All right. It started with the first moment I saw you. Everything else just…ceased to exist. Time. People. Music. You stood there like a prize waiting to be claimed. It stopped me in my tracks.”

  Jesus. Had he claimed her yet? Or was that to come? Her face flushed as if she were back outside the bar, having just put a dent in a teenager’s car with her tennis shoe. “That’s who I am.”

  “Who are you?”

  “The girl you saw that night. I’m not expensive silk dresses and Friday-night events. I’m just the scrappy kid I always was, a girl who’s made some bad decisions, good ones too. Nothing special.”

  “That’s not what I saw,” Beau said. “I saw confidence, resistance, strength. Blue, bloodthirsty eyes.”

  The girl Beau described reminded Lola of herself when she was younger. She was still that girl, just not as vibrantly as she’d been back then. “Will you zip me?” she asked.

  She opened the door and turned to face the dressing room mirror. The black floor-length gown had two straps that came around her neck and dipped in the front. Soft, pebbled leather subtly trimmed the neckline.

  Beau appeared at her back. In one hand, she held up her hair. He didn’t touch her once while he raised the zipper. Their eyes caught in the reflection. “This is the dress,” he said. “I don’t need to see any others.”

  “You certainly know what you like, don’t you?” she asked.

  They stared at each other. Slowly, he lowered his mouth to the curve of her shoulder. His stubble lit instant chills over her skin. She inhaled deeply, quietly. Her lids fell more with each careful, sensual kiss—along her neck, under her ear, on her cheek. She wet her lips and parted them for him.

  “Not yet,” he said in her ear.

  “When?” she breathed.

  “Soon. You aren’t ready for me. I hope you are at some point, but either way, it will be soon.” He held her gaze. “You asked me why you? I’m drawn to you in a way that can’t be ignored for long. There are limits to my patience.” He backed away. “Wait here,” he said before disappearing.

  It was a moment before she dropped her hair. His restraint surprised her more than anything else so far.

  Her eyes fell to her faux-leather brown hobo-style purse slumped in the corner. It looked out of place even on the floor, which was plush, white carpet. She glanced over her shoulder then squatted and retrieved her phone to text Johnny.

  Everything’s fine. We’re just shopping. Going to an event.

  She put the phone back right before Beau entered the room with a saleswoman loaded down with shoes, jewelry and a clutch that matched the dress. She put everything on the bench above Lola’s purse.

  Beau also had something for her in his hands, and he was clearly anticipating her reaction.

  She took the lingerie from him without flinching. “It’s lovely,” she said. She ran a finger over the fine lace corset and then checked the price tag. “But is it necessary? I’ve never spent this much on anything and certainly not to sleep in.”

  “It’s more necessary than anything else we buy tonight,” Beau said in a deeper voice than usual. “And you won’t be sleeping in it.”

  The saleswoman visibly bumbled as she left the room.

  Lola’s phone chimed behind her, and Beau’s eyes cut to her purse. “Perhaps I didn’t make myself clear. Tonight you belong to me. And no. Not just your body.” He went and picked up her bag, pulled out the phone and read the screen. “Your thoughts and your heart too.” He slipped it into his pocket. “As long as you’re with me, he doesn’t exist.”

  Her mouth hung open a little. “I’m sorry if you thought any amount of money would get you my heart,” she said.

  He stepped close to her. Mint cooled the champagne on his breath. “When it comes to which parts of you I own, don’t fucking challenge me again. Is that understood? I own them all. Period.” He took a deep breath, but it didn’t seem to calm him. “There’s still five hundred grand on the line. Act like you want to be here with me, or I’ll call everything off.”

  She held his glare, trying to manage her own temper. She wouldn’t walk away now. Beau was regaining his hold on her, like the one he’d had the night they met. Giving all of herself over wasn
’t an option, though—not if she wanted anything back when this was over.

  “What’s it going to be?” he asked. With another step, his shirt ghosted against her nipples. “Keep the half a mil and walk right now, or give yourself to me until I say stop?”

  “I asked you why me,” she said. “Your answer was that you’re drawn to me. I don’t believe you.”

  “What do you believe?”

  “That you have to pay women for their attention,” she said. She didn’t believe that at all, but his composure was unnerving, and she craved a real reaction.

  “You looked me up. You saw the endless buffet of women I have to choose from.”

  “You’re a pig,” Lola said. “A buffet? You think of women as food?”

  He licked his lips quickly, reached up and brushed her hair away from her neck. “Those women are a buffet. But you? You’re a delicacy. I’ll eat you slowly with attention to every bite. I’ll drink you like fine wine, savoring your taste, inhaling your scent, letting you own me for as long as you’re in my mouth.”

  Lola exhaled an unintentional noise.

  “I’ll swallow all of you, but you won’t realize it until it’s too late. Until you’re a part of me,” he said. “That’s what you sold me. That’s what I paid for.”

  It would’ve been enough to frighten any other woman. It should’ve sent her sprinting back into Johnny’s arms, content with the five hundred thousand that had almost been enough. The idea of being consumed by Beau did scare Lola, but it excited her more.

  She didn’t know whether to kiss him or back away, but it didn’t matter. He was already leaving the room. “Put the things you wore here in the shopping bag by the door,” he said over his shoulder. “Everything else in this room should be on your body tonight.”

  Chapter Eight

  It took three technicians to turn Lola inside out. She was transformed. After their visit to the boutique, Beau’s next stop had been a nearby salon. Within an hour, her hair had been washed, dried and swept into a loose updo, and her makeup flawlessly applied. Her nails were the color of sweet cherries. Lola watched raptly as the makeup artist carefully glided on the final touch—vivid lipstick, also cherry, also sweet.