Dance of the Rogue

by Cris Anson

  “Anyone with two eyes can see that he’s a gorgeous male specimen who could inspire the artist’s muse. If he adds to the corpus of fine art the way his brother Magnus does, more power to him.”

  She raised her glass of Pinot Grigio in a toast to the young man sitting to her right. Their eyes locked for a moment and she felt a connection not only to Rolf, but to all of them.

  “We’re all inspired in different ways” Rolf told her. “You should have seen what Magnus did to Kat one night at a Platinum Society shindig. Handcuffed her to the ceiling, stripped her almost naked, turned her on in ways I don’t need to spell out, and then walked out of the party, leaving her two inches away from orgasm. Helluva way to stake a claim.”

  Fantine slipped Kat a sideways glance, reluctant to embarrass her by staring open-mouthed at the image painted in her mind. But Kat’s expression was smug. “That’s when I knew I was going to marry him,” she said. “Whether he wanted to or not. And believe me, Magnus didn’t want to.”

  “Lucky for both of us I changed my mind. And speaking of staking claims,” Magnus added, obviously trying to deflect attention from himself, “what about our quiet Soren over here? The night Kat and Crystal had all the guys in Thor’s Hammer buzzing like bees around their table.”

  He turned to Fantine with something akin to glee in his eyes. “It was a Saturday night, I was working a shift there, and the bar was much too busy for Soren to leave his station to protect his turf. But did that stop him from jumping over the bar and hauling Crystal away from a too-eager dance partner? Now that was a sight to behold. Then, presto, they disappeared into the supply closet for twenty minutes.”

  Soren seemed a bit disgruntled at hearing his antics discussed, but still gave Crystal a heated look that said he remembered every moment of the incident. Then his expression cleared. “I remember very distinctly the night of Crystal’s thirtieth birthday party. In the pool. A certain blond Viking and a certain redheaded Amazon, their bathing suits down to their knees, doing the nasty right in the water. Man, I thought you’d never come up for air!”

  Magnus’ ears turned red, but Kat just smiled.

  “Um, what’s the Platinum Society?” Fantine asked, anxious to change the subject before everyone got too out of hand. Or before Rolf remembered how he’d caught her in the RV with her dildo and her red heels.

  With a little moue, Kat responded. “You fit in with us so well that I forget you’re still new here. We’re not supposed to discuss the Platinum Society unless you’ve been invited to join. It’s a very private sex club.”

  For a moment Fantine was speechless. She’d heard rumors of such things, but had never met anyone who admitted to participating in them. Glancing around the table, she murmured, “And you’re all members?”

  “No, but we do allow visiting privileges if you’re sponsored,” Kat explained. “I’m on the board of directors, but since I met Magnus, I haven’t been attending without him. I’m somewhat of an exhibitionist, and he goes along with it, as long as it’s in a dark corner and as long as no one else touches me.”

  “So, tell the ladies how you and Rolf met,” Magnus blurted out, turning to Fantine. It was clear he wasn’t as comfortable about his sexuality as Kat was. Or as Rolf was.

  “I saw her dancing in the rain,” Rolf responded. “She looked like she was having an orgasm right smack dab in the parking lot of Thor’s Hammer.”

  Fantine’s mouth opened in a soundless O.

  “Right then I knew I wanted to get to know her.”

  “Oh, that’s so sweet,” Crystal said. Turning to Fantine, she added, “Underneath all that testosterone, Rolf’s really a good guy, if a little unfocused. Tries to hide the fact that he has a brain under that movie-star façade. He’s got a soft spot for the underdog, and he’s quick to pick up nuances. Like that other famous incident at Soren’s bar when Magnus comes straggling in—on a Tuesday night, no less—pretending he wants a beer and sees Rolf giving Kat very private lessons at the pool table. Hoo-ee, our Rolf made steam come out of Magnus’ ears.”

  “But Crystal, darling,” Rolf interrupted, “you should be telling Fantine how you and Soren met instead of blabbering about me.”

  “Oh, that was fun, how we met. I won Soren in a charity auction. He hauled me over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes and swept me out of the ballroom.”

  “Now that’s romantic,” Fantine said, laughing. “And you?”

  Kat’s smile turned devilish. “I stalked him. I chased him shamelessly until he agreed to let me represent his sculptures. Then after Rolf put the moves on me and got the man jealous, I let Magnus seduce me.”

  “That’s enough about us,” Magnus growled, his ears still an embarrassed pink. “We should be asking you about your grandmother. Rolf’s grandmother,” he amended.

  Rolf’s smile was instantaneous and warm. “She’s really a warm, terrific human being. Mind sharp as a tack, for all that she’s eighty-five. She told me she gets upset when she has to leave some empty squares in the New York Times crossword puzzle until she gets the answer the next Sunday. Loves her flower garden. She still uses a compost pile that she started fifty years ago. Has a big fat old cat, Hercules, that purrs like an idling race car when you pet him. She told me stories about my, er, about her son while he was growing up. You know, the usual, breaking an arm falling out of a tree, the girls all flocking around him. Pictures of him in his long hair and Jesus beard during the seventies. She talked and talked, and I listened. I loved it.”

  “Her beloved Michael was a third-generation investment banker, very low-key, with high-end clients,” Fantine added. “He wanted to send Randolph to military school early on, but Nonie would have none of it. She did, however, agree to prep school by the time he was ready for high school, as long as it was close by.”

  Fantine took a sip of her wine, thoughtful. “I guess it didn’t do any good, because to hear Nonie tell it, Uncle Randolph had the wanderlust. He didn’t want to be a banker, didn’t even want to go to college. In fact, he emphasized that aversion by spending a year on a freighter. Nonie was fit to be tied, because Michael gave her the ‘I told you so’ routine regularly after that.”

  “How did you get so close to her?” Crystal wanted to know.

  “She and my grandmother were lifelong best friends,” Fantine continued. “They lived next to each other, went to school together, got married within a year of each other. Interestingly, each of them only had one child after several miscarriages. My dad was two years behind Randolph in school. But,” she was quick to add, “my father didn’t go to prep school or spend time on a freighter.”

  Laughter followed that remark. Then Fantine continued on a more sober note. “Ever since I can remember, Nonie and my grandmother would volunteer their time in the children’s ward of the local hospital. In fact, Nonie and Pop-Pop endowed the new children’s wing after—”

  She stopped. Swallowed. Choked up.

  “What’s the matter, honey?” Rolf swept his arm around her shoulder, wordlessly giving her his support.

  Fantine took a deep, steadying breath. It wasn’t something she talked about. “I had a sister. She was four years younger than me, and the sweetest child. She died of leukemia when she was ten.” She closed her eyes a moment, remembering.

  Silence settled over the table for a moment. Then Crystal said, “I’ll put the coffee on,” breaking the somber mood. They enjoyed Crystal’s homemade brownies for dessert and Fantine was glad that the conversation turned desultory.

  Magnus was the first to stand. “I’m leaving for Anchorage at the crack of dawn tomorrow, so I think Kat and I will call it a night.”

  Kat stood as well. “It was wonderful to meet you, Fantine. I hope we see a lot more of each other.”

  Everyone hugged Fantine and murmured similar sentiments. As they stood in Soren’s hallway preparing to depart, Rolf asked, “What’s your game plan, Mags?”

  “The investigator will meet me at the airport and we’ll play it b
y ear. He thinks he has a bead on Mom out on one of the islands, and by the time I get there, he might have a firm destination in mind.”

  “May I give you and Soren my cell number?” Fantine asked. “Rolf and I will be at Nonie’s for the next two weeks at least, and I’m sure he’ll want to hear anything you discover.”

  Heading back to the apartment, Fantine could feel the tension in Rolf, part hope, part trepidation at the prospect of finding Alana Thorvald. Or perhaps the worry that Magnus wouldn’t find her.

  Chapter Ten

  The heat nudged Rolf into a hazy wakefulness. The covers seemed to blanket him with heat.

  The blanket stirred, the heat shifted. He blinked himself fully awake.

  Fantine. It was Fantine’s leg slung over his, her arm across his chest, that had warmed him so thoroughly, not the wheezing air conditioner falling down on the job. Her head rested on his shoulder. It had been there long enough for Rolf to feel the needles and pins of impaired circulation in the arm cradling her.

  Rolf craned his neck upward. The grimy blinds let in only the faintest light from the street lamp. He looked at the corner, where the muted green glow of the digital clock read three twenty-seven. He hadn’t slept so well in months, even though they’d only been making Z’s for a couple of hours.

  Soren and Crystal’s dinner had a lot to do with his feeling of well-being. His brothers and their mates had welcomed Fantine without reserve, and he’d felt absolutely no negative vibes about Nonie. They’d all been eager to meet her. And Mags was heading to Alaska to find their mother. The pieces of his life seemed to be falling into place. And Fantine was a big part of his changing attitude.

  With a soft sigh Rolf nuzzled her closer into him, ran his free hand down her back and onto her plump hips. He loved the way her ass cheeks dimpled when he squeezed her smooth flesh. Loved the unconscious movements she was making right now, snuggling closer to his fully alert Magnum.

  Loved the bites she was bestowing on his chest as she obviously was waking up too.

  “Is it morning already?” she murmured.

  “Not yet. You don’t want some coffee right now, do you?”

  “Mmm. Maybe in a little while. I just found something better.”

  Rolf’s hips almost shot off the mattress as her hand gently cupped his balls. They’d certainly messed up the sheets last night after returning from Soren’s, but she seemed as insatiable as he. Not that he was complaining.

  Slyly he nudged her head downward. She complied eagerly, nibbling around his navel then lower, grazing his pubic hair until her tongue connected with his shaft. Several long, leisurely licks along the length of him had him moving to clamp the back of her head in his hands. In tandem she gently squeezed and released his balls.

  “Don’t stop,” he growled.

  “I won’t. Not until I’m good and ready.”

  With that statement, she took his mushroom head into her mouth. Blistering heat surrounded him as she alternately sucked him deep into her then let his cock slip most of the way out before going down deep again.

  She milked him until his eyes crossed, but it wasn’t enough. He reached down to caress her lush breasts, but could barely reach them from his current angle.

  “Hold on a minute,” he gasped. “I need to touch you, to taste you.” He shifted them both until they lay on their sides, his face parallel with her crotch and his cock within reach of her mouth.

  “Much better.” He flung her leg over his shoulder for easy access to her sweet honey and dived in, tongue first. She reclaimed his cock with her magical mouth. He breathed in her musky scent, tasted her juices as he suckled on the hard nub at the tip of her slit, sliding one then two fingers into her wet pussy, all the while rocking his hips to the rhythm her mouth had set up.

  Slight tremors from her inner muscles alerted him that her climax was nearing. God, he hoped he could hold himself back long enough to give Fantine her own pleasure before he exploded. She was too damn good. His control when it concerned this woman needed some serious shoring up if he wanted to please her, and he wanted with every fiber of his being to do just that.

  Her contractions strengthened, her juices flowed copiously. He thrust a third finger inside her pussy and bit down lightly on her clit.

  Fantine made an incoherent sound and bucked against his mouth, her hips dancing madly as wave after wave of climax swamped her. She grabbed hold of his ass cheeks and drew his cock as deep as she could, and he could feel the vibrations from her moans streak like lightning through his cock and into his balls, and he gave himself up to the feeling of blowing every circuit in his body until he was crisp fried, freeze dried and mushy inside, and every last drop of cum had found a home in her mouth.

  After what seemed a long time, and with great effort, he dragged himself up to the head of the mattress and pulled Fantine back into his embrace.

  And sleep embraced them both.

  * * * * *

  Rosalie tossed in her sleep, the dream unnerving. She’d been running through her garden, jumping over her beloved dahlias, snapping the stalks and stomping on the buds, running, running, heedless of the damage she wreaked. Rolf was a glimmer of light in the darkness, far ahead of her.

  The copper trellis loomed, with purple clematis twined like snakes around its shanks. Inside the arch stood Fantine, her hands beckoning frantically, like a sailor wielding semaphore flags to signal an SOS. Her granddaughter-by-choice disappeared like smoke in a breeze as Rosalie seemingly ran right through her. Weeds sprang up as fast as Jack’s growing beanstalk to trip her as she ran. Thunder rumbled all around her, morphing into Pearce’s voice repeating, “I’m your only family…family…family…” The willow oak she’d planted in Randolph’s memory, its denuded branches raking her skin and drawing blood, crashed to the ground with a deafening roar.

  She sat bolt upright at the sound.

  Sweat coated her skin. Her breathing sounded loud and jerky. The background hum of the central air-conditioning threatened rather than soothed. Something. She’d heard something. Something that didn’t belong.

  Glass shattered. Hercules let out a yowl and she heard the cat’s claws scrabbling across the parquet floor in the foyer.

  Taking a deep, calming breath, Rosalie wiped her forehead. The cat. He’d probably jumped on the Duncan Phyfe table in the foyer and hadn’t known she’d put the crystal vase in pride of place so she could smell the spicy scent of the rare hybrid Helena’s Beauty she’d snipped that afternoon.

  Hercules mewled loudly, as though he’d cut himself walking through the shattered pieces of vase. She let out an exasperated sigh as she threw off the Egyptian cotton sheet and swung her legs off her four-poster bed. She slid to her feet and swore a mild oath at the pain that buckled her knees. Her arthritis was always worst after lying down for any length of time.

  Without bothering to don her silk robe over her nightgown but slipping into sturdy slippers with leather soles in case glass had indeed shattered, she limped through the bedroom and out into the hall. It was lit by a night-light and the weak sheen of a quarter moon through the stained glass window at the top of the stairs. Her eyes confirmed what she’d suspected. In the dim glow of another night-light near the front door, she could see shards of crystal, a puddle of water, her prize dahlia and filler ferns scattered in the hallway.

  Hercules howled again, a sound amazingly akin to a human in pain, in the kitchen from the sound of it, so grabbing a fistful to hike up her ankle-length nightgown, she began a quick descent of the eighteen steps to investigate.

  On the second step her foot caught on something. Her haste gave her body forward momentum. She catapulted down the steps, arms flailing, bones smashing against the sturdy oak steps, tumbling, tumbling, until she lay sprawled in the middle of the wet shards. Excruciating pain, blood gushing from her mouth, and then everything went black.

  * * * * *

  Damn. Had he done everything right? Seated in his own living room while waiting for his pounding h
eartbeat to quiet, Pearce reviewed every detail in his mind as he sipped the forty-year-old scotch he’d been saving for a special occasion. After he’d heard Rosalie bounce down the long staircase and land in the foyer with a satisfying thud, he left his listening post in the kitchen and crept up the back servants’ stairs. He tiptoed across the bedroom hallway to the main stairs to remove the trip wire he’d wound around the banisters across the second step down.

  He should have strangled the damn cat while he was at it, he thought, stroking the trio of painfully deep scratches on his left forearm. Hercules’ untrimmed claws had ripped gouges not only on his skin but in his favorite silk shirt. He’d been so busy rewinding the wire into a tight ball there on the stairwell that he hadn’t heard Hercules until the cat jumped on him. He’d been so surprised by the attack that he’d flung his arm upward and outward to shake free of the menace. The force of his swoop propelled the cat to hit the ceiling in the two-story foyer before falling with a splat somewhere in the front hallway.

  After the cat meowed his last, Pearce had crept halfway down the front stairs, careful not to touch the balustrade so as not to override any fingerprints the old hag might have left. He relived the excitement of watching avidly to see if he could detect any movement of the old woman’s chest. He didn’t make the mistake of going all the way down to step up to her, to tromp in the water from the broken vase or the spatters of blood from her head wound so the police could match his footprints. Oh no, he was smarter than that.

  When at last he assured himself she wasn’t breathing, he’d gone the rest of the way back up the main stairs, retracing his steps down the back way and out through the sunroom entrance. It had been hard to resist the urge to rifle her jewelry box for that ruby-and-diamond necklace Uncle Michael had given her for their thirtieth anniversary. Or her emerald engagement ring that she couldn’t wear anymore because of her arthritic fingers. Or any of the other pieces of jewelry she had that he knew were the real thing. But he left everything untouched. Too many people knew about them, especially that interloper Fantine.