Saying it out loud was weird. Suri really did like it. Not that crap she’d been doing at Flaherty’s party, rubbing all over the other dancers just so some asshole politician could get his fix. She liked being on the main stage, feeling the rush of confidence. She liked to make the younger guys blush and the older ones laugh. Maybe in a different venue, she’d feel shamed or disgusted by the audience reactions. Asylum wasn’t like that. It wasn’t dirty. It wasn’t degrading. Dante didn’t let things get like that. There were no drugs, and the dancers made good money. He mediated problems, didn’t put up with bullshit, and kept the drama to a minimum.
He’s a good manager.
“Jen, you don’t have to sell yourself to get by.” The silence had given Les the go-ahead. “Seth, Josh, and I would have helped you out.”
“My mom is living in a nursing home with Parkinson’s and dementia,” Suri said in a flat tone. “My sister is a lazy piece of shit who can’t keep a job and is determined to date every loser in the city. I tried waiting tables, and I bartended for years to barely scrape by. Stripping gives me the income I need to take care of them without sponging off my friends.”
“Okay.” Leslie leaned back against the wall, nibbling her lower lip in agitation. “So you’re stripping, and you’re fine with that. I suppose that’s your choice. Is that guy trying to be your pimp or something? Why are you hanging out with people like him? If you need a bodyguard, I’m sure Josh knows someone. Or maybe Nicolai. He’s in the bar business.”
Suri had never been more aware of the vast gulf separating the way she had grown up and the way Leslie had been raised. “Dante isn’t a lowlife. He owns the club. It’s an upscale place called Asylum. I’m willing to bet your rich lawyer boyfriends know where it is.”
“I didn’t mean…”
“I know what you meant.” Suri was tired of beating around the bush. “Dante is the owner. Jericho is head of security. And the three of us have been sleeping together.”
“You can’t be serious.”
“This from the woman who has been in a committed relationship with two men for more than a year? What? Are you the only one allowed to fuck two guys at once?”
Leslie was mad. No. Mad wasn’t a strong enough adjective. Leslie was livid. “Seth and Joshua are lawyers, not lowlifes.”
“Let’s be honest. Aren’t the two terms interchangeable?” Suri used her extra inch and a half to tower over her friend. “Don’t you mean that your men look nice and tame and mine don’t? Judge much, Leslie?”
“Jen…”
Might as well go for broke. “Did you know that’s not really my name?”
The bewildered look on Leslie’s face made Suri feel bad, but really, this needed saying. “Jennifer is my middle name. My name is actually Suri O’Callaghan. My sister went through a stupid phase everyone thought was so cute where she called everyone by first, middle, and last names. But my mother didn’t like to talk about the name on my birth certificate, and Kim couldn’t handle the S in Suri, so I wound up Jen Robertson. I used that name until she told me the truth my last year at Boston School for the Arts, when she got sick. But really, by then it was too late. I was stuck as plain, reliable Jen Robertson.”
Something shifted in Leslie’s expression, and Suri realized she’d said too much. Way, way too much.
A door farther down the corridor swung wide open, and two men walked through. The taller was Joshua Breckenridge, one of Leslie’s partners. The other was Senator O’Callaghan. Dread twisted Suri’s stomach into a thick knot.
“I thought I saw you disappear back here somewhere.” Josh strode toward them, a wide, welcoming smile on his face. “I wanted to introduce you to the senator, Leslie.”
Suri’s survival instincts kicked in, and she started backing toward the nearest exit. “I’ll just leave you three to chat.”
“No need to run.” Josh could not have possibly known what he was stepping into. “Senator, this is Leslie Hampstead, whom you’ve heard Seth and me talk about so often.” Leslie offered a warm smile and shook the senator’s offered hand. “And this is…”
“Suri O’Callaghan.” Suri lifted her face and locked gazes with a pair of blue eyes that exactly matched her own. Liam was heavier than he’d been in the photos she’d seen, but he still had that earnest, trustworthy expression he had used to charm his way into Mellie Robertson’s bed.
Josh frowned. “I thought your name was Jen Robertson.”
Her knees were practically knocking beneath her skirt. Dancing caused an adrenaline rush. This was more. “That’s all right, Josh. It’s really both. Depends on who I’m trying to fit in with.” She pegged the senator with a hard stare. “Or who I’m hiding from.”
O’Callaghan had paled several shades beneath his tan. “How is your mother, Suri?”
Emotion made her throat burn. She had to force the words out. “Dying, actually. So nice of you to inquire. If you don’t mind, I’m going to go find Dante.”
Liam grabbed her arm, his fingers digging into the flesh above her elbow until she was in physical pain. “What do you mean?”
She’d said too much. This was the last place to have this conversation with people who didn’t deserve to know anything about her private life. She yanked her arm away and blinked back tears, wishing Leslie would help her out just a little. But her friend had retreated to the safety of Joshua’s side, his arm wrapped protectively around her. Once again, Suri was left to the wolves.
And then she felt him approach from the direction of the kitchen door. Dante’s strong, stoic presence behind her gave Suri the courage to say what needed saying. “Ma was diagnosed with Parkinson’s about fifteen years ago. She’s been at Our Lady of Perpetual Hope for ten years now.”
Suri caught Dante’s scent when he moved closer. He stood near enough to offer support but let her handle the situation as she saw fit. She was glad. It might be tempting to latch on to his arm and snuggle in the way Leslie was doing with Joshua, but that wasn’t really Suri’s style. Strength was more important right now. There would be time to curl up in his arms later when Jericho was there, and it was time to talk this all out in private.
“Suri, I’m so sorry. If there’s anything I can do.” Liam’s expression was hard to decipher. He looked as if he actually cared, but he was a politician. That was what they were hardwired to show. How did anyone ever believe anything they said? “I’d like to see her. Does she ever talk about me?”
“Oh yeah, all the time,” Suri spat. “Especially now that her muscles are so rigid that she can barely speak at all, or swallow, or eat. After all this time, you’re the one she thinks about. After all, you’ve been such a big help to us.”
Politeness be damned. Suri was done. She turned her back, facing Dante. She had a brief moment of understanding exactly why Leslie had been so terrified of him. With his arms crossed impassively over his broad chest and his legs braced, he looked mean as hell. His expression was hard, the slash through his lip announcing to the world that he wasn’t afraid to fight dirty.
Scary or not, Suri was damn glad to have him on her side.
She was halfway back down the hallway when Dante turned to follow. She wondered if he was wishing he’d brought Jericho along despite the innocuous nature of the event.
Suri didn’t go back into the reception room, taking a left turn instead and stopping when the hallway dead-ended near a maintenance room. There was a tiny window at the end, daylight seeping through the frosted glass and making a quiet, out-of-the-way spot to reflect.
Or break down.
Sucking in deep drafts of air, she put her hands on top of her head and paced in tiny circles. It was as if she’d run a marathon race only to crash just before the finish line. Her limbs were shaky, and her heart pounded an irregular staccato beat.
“Come here, princess.” Dante held out his arms, and she didn’t hesitate.
He was warm and familiar. Everything about him screamed security, though she’d only known him intimately f
or two days and suspected he had at least as many secrets as she did. How did any of that make sense?
“I miss Jericho.” She pressed her face to Dante’s chest.
“Am I not enough?”
Had she hurt him with her whispered confession? Taking a peek up at his face, she saw that he was smiling. “You know what I mean.”
“I do.” He wrapped his arms around her and rested his chin atop her head. “Jericho is just calming to be around.”
“I wish we could just go back to the club and hide in your suite.” Suri didn’t just wish it; she longed for it with a painful ache.
“Then let’s go.”
“I have so much I have to take care of today.” The tears were back, slipping through the barrier of her closed eyelashes with entirely too much ease.
Dante gave her a gentle squeeze. “You want to take care of the whole world. Jericho is determined to protect it.”
“And you take care of us.”
He didn’t respond to her comment, though he seemed to be thinking it over. Suri wondered if he realized it was true. Dante only played the badass. He’d be the first to manipulate things to suit him. But at the end of the day, he spent most of his energy worrying about those who were lucky enough to be within his personal sphere.
“I know better than to order you back to the club for the rest of the day, princess.” Dante drew back and cupped her face in his palms. “But I expect you to have that luscious body in our bed tonight. Understood?”
She would have answered. But he chose that moment to lower his lips to hers and kiss the thoughts right out of her head. He tasted like tantalizing danger. His tongue slid past her lips, rubbing against hers in a rhythm that had her whimpering with the need for more. Slow, sensual, fast, and then hard, until she could think of nothing else but what it would feel like to have him take her right there in the hallway.
When they broke apart, his chest was heaving, and she could hardly stand. Suri swallowed back her fear of being caught having sex in public and let her desire win. “I’m not wearing any panties.”
“Fuck.”
Dante scooped her into his arms and moved into the recessed entrance of the maintenance room. He pushed her up against the wall. The long black material of her skirt bunched around her hips. She reached down, fumbling with his belt to unfasten his pants. She expected to feel the barrier of his boxers, but his cock spilled into her hands. It was hard, hot, and ready.
“I detest underwear,” he admitted.
“I’m glad, because that would take up time I don’t have.”
She gripped his shoulders and wiggled a little to help the head of his cock push into her slick opening. Had she been this wet a few minutes ago? Or had his kiss left her instantly ready for him to penetrate her pussy?
There was no more time to wonder, only to enjoy the sensual slide of his shaft into her wet heat. She moaned, pressing her mouth to his shoulder to stifle the sound of satisfaction that wanted to roar past her lips.
Fully sheathed inside her, Dante shifted her weight in his arms. “Princess, you’re going to kill me one of these days.”
She put her fingers over his lips. “No talk. Fuck me.”
“As you like.”
She did like it. A lot. Dante braced her against the wall and pounded her pussy until there was nothing but the sound of their bodies slapping together. Her toes went numb, the tingling sensation of impending climax taking over every nerve ending. She wanted to cry out, choosing to bury her face against him instead.
When she thought she might die of pleasure, he arched his back, changing the angle of his thrust and giving her exactly what she needed to orgasm hard. They came together, his seed pouring into her womb as she bore down on him with powerful contractions that left her weak with release.
“Don’t forget, princess.” He lowered her gently to her feet, making certain she could stand before he let go. “You, me, and Jericho in the bed tonight.”
To anyone else, he might be a scary-looking bastard. To Suri, he was the embodiment of gentleness. “I could never forget the two of you. I’ll be there.”
Chapter Twelve
Jericho knocked and took a step back to wait for an answer. He supposed it might seem odd that he refused to enter his mother’s home without an invitation. But a man had to feel welcome in order to walk on in, which was why he’d never felt the need to knock before entering Dante’s quarters. And why he’d wait an eternity for someone to answer his mother’s front door.
It opened a crack, and Abby peeked out. “Oh, good, you’re here!”
“Shouldn’t you be at school?”
“Nah, I don’t have classes on Friday.” The door swung wide to let him inside. “Which kind of reminds me, do you think you can pick me up and bring me home next Thursday?”
“Why?”
Abby didn’t answer right away—Jericho’s first clue that she had some kind of ulterior motive for asking him. He followed her through the foyer of his mother and stepfather’s Cambridge townhouse. They’d recently redecorated for at least the third or fourth time in ten years. He grudgingly admitted that the colonial-style stripes, vintage furnishings, and knickknacks were a big improvement from the country-themed farm-animal phase Mother had finally gotten over.
“You know, Jeri…” Abby began.
Anything she started with the words “you know” inevitably wound up prying into his personal business.
“You’ve been single for an awfully long time.”
Meaning forever, because Jericho didn’t date. He just didn’t have the time or energy. His days and nights were usually spent with Dante at the club. What sleep he managed to snag was done on a narrow bed in an unused office space.
Why is that?
But Abby wasn’t done. “So I was thinking the other day—yesterday, actually—that you and my music teacher would be just perfect for each other.”
“Abigail, are you meddling in your brother’s love life again?” His mother’s voice drifted from the kitchen.
“Not exactly, Ma. I’m trying to set him up with a woman who’s perfect for him!” Abby sang out.
Jericho was still distracted by the realization that he’d been spending all of his personal time with Dante. For years. Without thinking twice about it. They hung out in his office watching the Sox or the Celtics. They worked out business strategies for the club. They dealt with customer issues, security problems, or just reminisced about former customers.
All these years, Jericho had cherished that time they’d spent together without realizing that he was fixating on a relationship that essentially prevented him from having any kind of love life.
The two of them weren’t celibate. What men were? But the liaisons were short, generally straight to the point, and emotionally unsatisfying. It hadn’t mattered. Because Dante was filling any need Jericho had for companionship.
He followed his sister into the cozy kitchen. His ten-year-old nephew, Lance, was doing homework at the table in the breakfast nook. Jericho shook off his deep thoughts. Being distracted while chatting with his mother was a recipe for disaster.
“It’s nice to see you, Jericho.” His mother dusted the flour off her hands and stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek.
Abby wasn’t finished discussing her plans for his future. “So, will you pick me up next week?”
He sighed. Abby looked so much like their mother, with her sparkling hazel eyes and messy dark ponytail. “I’d be happy to pick you up, Abs, but I’m not making promises to settle down with some poor woman I’ve never met.”
She squealed and threw her arms around his neck before dashing from the kitchen. “See you later! I need to go practice my cello.”
Mother went back to the piecrust on the counter. She still looked exactly the same as she had on the day Jericho had come to the States when he was thirteen. He could see why his da had fallen in love with her. She was warm and motherly looking, with her hair up in a loose bun and an apron over her jeans and
blouse. But she was also opinionated, judgmental, and a true-blue New Englander.
“You might keep an open mind when you meet Abby’s teacher, Jericho.” She deftly rolled the dough into a perfect pie-shaped circle.
He propped his hip against the counter and crossed his arms, trying not to seem too defensive. “Why is that?”
“She’s been a wonderful influence on Abby. Most of those teachers are nothing but nutjobs. This one seems to have a better head on her shoulders. She’s got your sister thinking in terms of career choices and what she can actually do with her education at that silly liberal arts school.”
And that was the idiosyncratic truth about his mother. She was a woman who valued family above all else but married after a whirlwind romance to a man who couldn’t support her in the style she wanted. The experience had made her fiercely determined to see her daughter find a successful career that would enable her to support herself while falling in love with a good husband and raising a house full of kids.
Jericho chose not to respond to her comment, reaching inside his pocket for a check instead. “Here’s this month’s tuition payment.”
“Just set it on my planning desk.”
He did as she asked, wondering if she would ever forgive him for financing Abby’s choice to attend the Boston School for the Arts and pursue her dream of playing the cello on a professional stage. Jericho loved his sister. She was full of hope and vitality. Some of his best moments had been watching Abby play the cello at her recitals.
“You need to settle down and start a family, Jericho.”
He turned back, wondering if she would ever give up her relentless nagging about his personal life.
She carefully arranged a heaping portion of fruit filling into the pie plate. “Marriage will make you happy. A good woman, a son or daughter, or two or three. Those are the things that make you happy.”
“They didn’t make you happy.” The words popped out before he could stop them. From the corner of his eye, he saw Lance lift his gaze from his drawing and focus on his grandmother.
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