by Diana Seere
“I’m Jess Murphy.” She looked around for the source of the voice she’d heard but saw nobody.
“Oh shit,” said the voice. Then more loudly, “I lost track of time.”
A round rack began to shimmy and roll, and then a curvy woman in black crawled out from under it holding a screwdriver between her teeth. Breathing hard, she got to her feet and removed the screwdriver. “Stupid thing keeps falling over. Thought I could fix it myself.” She grinned, a white thread clinging to her tight sweater, and held out a hand. “Damn, you’re as beautiful as your sister.” A petite brunette with impossibly large—and gorgeous—blue eyes, Molly made Jess relax instantly. She looked a little like her sister, Lilah. Maybe this would even be fun.
Instantly at ease with this friendly young woman, Jess shook her hand and returned the smile. “Thanks. That’s quite a compliment. Are you Molly Sloan?”
The woman rolled her eyes. “Way to be professional, Mol,” she muttered. Then, “Yes, I’m Molly. You’re not, like, really early, are you?”
Jess took out her phone. “No. A few minutes late, actually.” Because of the delay in the elevator. Silently she added another black mark to her Derry rating card. It was already largely filled in because of the way he’d unbalanced her right before her first day on the job. Now she might be late too.
“Then we’d better hurry.” She rubbed her hands together. “Lilah said you were similar to her in size, but your style is all different. I put a few things together for you already to try on.”
“I’m larger than Lilah.”
Molly waved her hand as if this was of no importance. “I hope you like what I picked out for you. After we get you dressed, we’ll do shoes.”
“I wear a really unusual size…”
Molly laughed. “That’s just what your sister said. I swear, you two are such pessimists. Have faith in the Magic of Molly.” She walked over to one of the small doors in the back and opened up a small dressing room. “I’ve already put the outfits inside.”
“But how could you possibly have the right size? You just met me.”
“I told you. Lilah described you.”
“But—she can’t even buy me a sweater that fits me, and she’s known me my whole life.”
Molly gave her a cheerful frown and pulled her inside. “Molly Magic. You’ll see.”
With a sigh, Jess gave up, closed the door, and undressed to try on the first thing she saw, almost looking forward to proving Molly wrong.
But she couldn’t. The cream silk blouse fit her perfectly. And then the vest with the silver buttons inlaid with some kind of red jewel, like fake rubies, hugged her curves like a tailored suit. With dread, she reached for the pants. Surely those couldn’t fit—the inseam would be short, or the hips too narrow. But she slid them on, gasping as they fit her like a second skin.
She looked in the mirror. The clothes had men’s styling but a woman’s fit. Having expected an uncomfortable cocktail dress that would leave her inner thighs chafing and her tomboy soul annoyed, she was ridiculously happy.
“What do you think?” Molly called.
Not afraid to admit she was wrong, Jess flung the door open. “It’s perfect. You are magic.”
Molly’s round cheeks flushed pink. She grinned. “You like it?”
“I love it. How did you—never mind. I got it. The Magic of Molly.”
Bubbles of laughter trailed behind Molly as she led her over to the racks of shoes. “I was imagining something with a little color. I hope you agree.”
Now that she was a believer, Jess didn’t argue. “Whatever you say.” She wiggled her toes into the plush rug near the shoes. “Size eleven, please.”
Molly handed her a pair of tiny socks that felt like angel’s wings, then a box.
“I left my clothes in the room,” Jess said, sitting down and putting on the socks.
“They’ll be there at the end of your shift when you go—”
“Oh my God.” Jess drew out a pair of black slippers with ruby-red bows that somehow were both masculine and over-the-top girly-girl. “I was afraid you were going to make me wear heels.”
“Not on your first night. We’ll go easy on you.”
Jess put them on, rolling her eyes. “They fit.”
“Of course they do.”
“You are—well, you’re magic!”
Beaming, Molly clapped her hands together. “Let’s do your hair and makeup, then you’ve got to book it upstairs. You don’t want to get on Eva’s bad side.”
Jess nodded and sat patiently as Molly got out a box of creams and brushes and makeup, then began applying them.
“Let’s put your hair in a tight ponytail,” Molly said. “To go with the suit. If it bothers you, we’ll leave it loose tomorrow.”
“I’ll be fine. I like it tied back.”
Molly brushed and sprayed and made appreciative noises. Then she gestured for Jess to get to her feet and looked her up and down. “That looks even better than I’d hoped it would. Wow. You’re going to have to beat them off with a stick.” She frowned. “Which you will—did they mention that? No dating the members?”
As if that had worked for Lilah, Jess thought. But aloud she said, “That won’t be a problem. I’m not interested in dating anyone.”
“Really?” Molly sighed. “I am. I love getting out, doing things. It’s ironic I’m stuck down here.”
Jess felt a pang of sympathy. “Have you ever asked to work up in the club?”
“Oh, no thanks. I’d go crazy with all those gorgeous men all over the place. I’m safer down here.”
“If I meet anyone, I’ll be sure to introduce you,” Jess said.
Blushing, Molly waved that idea aside. “I can’t date members either. But thanks.” She glanced at a clock on the far wall. “It’s time! Come on, this elevator can be slow. I call it Old Ironsides. Swear it’s even older.”
Within three minutes, Jess was walking onto the service elevator, thankful her annoying future brother-in-law wasn’t on board again.
“Thanks so much, Molly.” She began to wave good-bye.
“My pleasure! But don’t worry, I’m coming up with you to show you around.” Molly scurried between the closing doors.
Jess smiled with gratitude. For some reason, the thought of being alone in that elevator made her even more nervous.
The move from the subterranean Novo Club to the upstairs Platinum Club had come at a price for Derry.
That price was annoyance. Unbridled frustration coursed through his veins like thousands of mosquitoes feasting off him from the inside out. Normally calm and breezy, he had come into this obnoxious state of unrest recently and was doing his best to drown it out.
One ounce of fine whisky at a time.
He looked at his watch, surprised by the bare skin. He forgot he didn’t wear a watch any longer, as it was no longer stylish. Digging into his breast pocket, he looked at his phone.
Late. She was late.
Derry lounged in a chair two sizes too small for him with a glass of whisky that was also too small. He lifted his hand a few inches, the movement so subtle it might have been an accident.
A willowy figure, tall, blonde, and delicious, appeared at his side.
“Another drink, Mr. Stanton?” Gillian was one of the servers, a tall, Swedish morsel with eyes bluer than a Caribbean pool and tits that plastic surgeons used as a model for desperate patients. Too bad they were fake, but they were a work of art in their own right.
He’d had a sample. Or ten.
She winked, making it clear she knew what he was thinking. Or, rather, that she thought she knew.
He sighed and lifted the ice-filled glass. “Thank you. Yes. A double this time.”
Her eyes narrowed imperceptibly, the movement of her face muscles bringing out one tiny dimple. She had those in her ass, too. That fine, upside-down, heart-shaped ass that seemed chiseled from marble covered in silk.
And… nothing.
His body wasn�
��t responding.
She quirked one eyebrow and turned in a smooth gesture, as if she were warm caramel in human form, walking away with gracious efficiency. He was supposed to drool now. Think luscious thoughts of naked flesh and heated, hitched cries of ecstasy.
And… nothing.
Antsy and scattered, Derry’s mind and body were unquenchable. For months he found nothing that could satisfy him. Entertainment was not a distraction. Women in his bed—in twos and threes—made him feel unfulfilled, even as he tested his own refractory period.
Clubs and dancing and the standard prowl of finding a bed partner, or just a pile of women to fuck, seemed too droll. Clichéd. Boring.
When had life become so boring?
Gillian delivered the double whiskey with a look that lasted two seconds too long. Derry gave her a pleasant, polite smile that was the equivalent of a rejection.
Unaccustomed to that, Gillian’s resulting sour look conveyed her displeasure.
Which, oddly enough, made Derry glad.
“You look like someone stole your lollipop,” Eva said, appearing in that slightly magical way that the woman possessed. Derry felt like an errant schoolboy around her. Always. She was more motherly than he wanted, and if he were honest with himself, he’d have to admit that he was worried that she considered him too shallow. Unlike his brother, Gavin, Derry had not made his own fortune. His other brothers Asher and Edward rarely set foot in the Platinum Club, preferring the family estate in Montana. Their sister Sophia came to the Platinum Club at odd times.
Mating season, mostly.
He looked at Eva with a sense of Eureka! “It is October, isn’t it?”
She quirked an eyebrow. “Do you need a calendar? Have your international party escapades been such a distraction that you’ve lost count of the months?”
Zing! The arrow struck its target.
“No. I—It’s just—” Derry didn’t stammer. Ever. But Eva brought this out in him, and coupled with the existing feeling of ennui mixed with a buzzing, impulsive need to seek something he feared he would never find, his frustration grew.
Eva’s face changed as if she suddenly understood something. “Ah. October. It’s time to begin hibernating for… you.”
She was about to say your type, wasn’t she? Derry and his twin Sophia were bear shifters. Their older brothers, Gavin and Asher, were wolves. Poor Edward, the youngest, was the only mountain lion.
Blended families made for some very strange siblings. They weren’t exactly The Brady Bunch.
“It is indeed,” he answered Eva, distracted. October. Of course. And that meant—
“Derry!” a female voice shouted as the elevator doors parted and three women emerged. His sister Sophia, bold and brash, was first. Tall, dark, and full figured, she gave him insight into how he would look if nature had made him a female. She’d just been acting as temporary nurse to his brother’s future mother-in-law, who’d recently had some kind of medical procedure.
The recovering lady was also the mother of the next woman on the elevator. A woman who made him very glad to be a man.
Jessica Murphy strode into the Platinum Club with a cool, detached demeanor that he knew was as fake as Gillian’s rack. Inside, she must be trembling with fear. Her sister, Lilah, had worked here for a few months until she’d mated with his brother, Gavin. And now they were engaged.
Derry had been told bits and pieces of what the human sisters knew about his family. The Stanton family was one of a handful of shifter families in America, and the Platinum Club was a front for the really exclusive club. The one built so deep beneath the ground floor, so old and hidden, that even Boston’s subway system maps didn’t chart it.
The Novo Club. The only requirement for membership: be a shifter. Derry longed to go back downstairs, but he never stood a woman up.
Gavin had told him that Jessica had ridiculed Lilah when she’d confessed to her sister that Gavin was a werewolf. Derry couldn’t blame her—the truth was so unbelievable in human society that it was easier to think her sister had a touch of hysteria in her.
And yet the truth was the truth.
You can deny reality for only so long. But reality has a way of refusing to ignore you.
Just as Derry couldn’t ignore her.
Her.
In the dim recesses of his mind, he played the good brother, giving Sophia a socially appropriate embrace, saying the right words to Eva, exchanging small talk and chitchat. His mind and senses were elsewhere, the ribbon of Jess’s scent finding its way to him.
Tying him in knots.
Binding him.
“How drunk are you?” Sophia asked, her voice loud on purpose. She wanted attention. Every October, right before she slowed down for hibernating season, she came to the club looking for exactly what he had sought for years.
A fuck buddy. Sophia picked them in twos, always finding men who could satisfy her. One was never enough. And if her post-mating-season stories were true, two really didn’t cut it either.
He could sympathize.
Right now he could fuck his way through a women’s Olympic volleyball team and still feel this unquenched need for something unattainable. His sex drive should be slowing down this time of year, though. Not speeding up.
And involuntary shifting?
At no time of year.
“Not drunk. Just distracted,” he muttered, slugging away his drink. He could feel the defensiveness in his words as cherries and heated oak sweat and musk, and a light bouquet of curiosity filled his nose.
What did Jess smell like when she came? An image of her, lips parted with abandon, hair draped over his fevered body, crying out his name as their sweat and flesh drove them to a place where true release gave him back his sense of wholeness, made him—
Where in the hell did that thought come from?
And now he was hard.
“Distracted by…” Sophia looked around the room with laser-sharp focus, eyes filled with an impish merriment that he knew would lead to trouble. He took every ounce of focus off Jess, who was being introduced to Carl and Gillian at the bar by a pert little curvy brunette who handled something with dresses and hair at the Plat. One of the few female staff members Derry hadn’t managed to sink his cock into, as Gavin once noted.
Too bad you never will.
Derry shook his head fast, like knocking a black fly loose before it could bite, the movement quick and dirty. God dammit, he was losing it. What the hell were the bartenders putting in these drinks?
“Distracted by the lack of good pussy,” he said, making Eva roll her eyes. If he couldn’t please her, might as well shock her. “I need someone adventurous. The women here are more Hello Kitty and I need something more like Catwoman.”
“You need good antibiotics,” Eva said, walking away after her quiet comment, leaving Sophia prostrate with laughter and Derry annoyed. He lifted his glass.
No one appeared.
A ripe, lush sense of pleasure and fulfillment tortured his nose, the scent filling his mind with images of his fingers against her skin, his mouth slanted against hers, his cock buried so deep he could touch her soul, their bodies moving as one toward a gentle love that would make them one.
His.
He tipped his head up, nostrils twitching, needing to capture every molecule of her essence, sensing her uncertainty, her need, her strength.
Derry watched as Sophia found a man to target, barely registered Gillian’s delivery of a new drink, scarcely noticed his own insistent stare as a cloud of want, need, desperation, and grounded truth enveloped him. Every hair on his body stood on end, every muscle began to twitch and turn, every tendon tensed as he became aligned with a singular realization:
He knew exactly what would meet his need.
And at that same moment, she looked up and caught his eye.
Her.
Chapter 3
The Platinum Club took Jess’s breath away.
Movie stars. Senators. Football players, m
usicians, models. She recognized one of her former professors from night school, then was flattered when the woman remembered her—and admitted she’d worked at the Plat herself, long ago.
“Enjoy yourself,” she told Jess, holding up her bourbon in a toast. Then, as she brought the drink to her lips, added, “Not too much, of course.”
“Don’t worry.” Her nerves calming, Jess thanked her and hurried back to the bar to refill her tray. No money changed hands, no tabs needed to be tracked. Every member had already paid more than enough in their dues to cover all the amenities. They came to the Platinum to relax, network, play—not pull out their wallets. Eva told Jess to be invisible but present, quiet but friendly, unhurried but very, very fast. No member should ever look around in annoyance, wondering where the server was or why their drink hadn’t arrived yet.
“You’re a natural,” Carl, the bartender, told her. Young and friendly, almost certainly gender fluid and maybe pansexual, he’d had her back all night. “Must run in the family.”
“Without tracing the tab, it’s easy.”
“You make it look easy. You haven’t served the wrong drink yet.” He handed her a tray with two pint glasses of a local ale, a whiskey smash, and a dirty martini. “That’s a first. Even Lilah screwed up a few drinks on her first night.”
Jess smiled wickedly. “She did?”
“Served a Bloody Mary to a vegan.” He shook his head in mock horror. “It was quite the scandal.”
She laughed. “You’re teasing me.”
“Never.” He put one more drink on the tray. “Get back to work. Show them how it’s done, sunshine.”
Still smiling, she lifted the tray and pivoted in her ruby slippers, which were as comfortable after two hours on her feet as they’d been the moment she’d put them on. And although she was the only woman server wearing pants, she had noticed a few appreciative glances from the men in the club. Nothing requiring a stick, but enough to make her feel beautiful, sexy, and confident.