The Sculptor's Seduction (The Gentlemen's Guild Book 2)

by Dr. Rebecca Sharp

  It wasn’t uncommon for Pierce to invite him on a video shoot for a company and most times, Sloane ended up with good contacts from the event. This time, though, he was just too distracted to think of asking anything about exactly where they were going; plus, who said Pierce would have told him the truth anyway?

  “I can’t on Friday. Cynthia is coming over.” He hoped that Pierce would be thrilled with that excuse; instead he pressed on.

  “What time? We won’t be out late.” Late for Pierce was four AM.

  “Twelve-thirty.”

  “Mmm…” There was the vaguest hint of a smile behind the sound. “Night owls, I see. Well, not to worry, I will have you home before midnight, Cinder-Sloane.”

  “I don’t know, Pierce. I have a lot of shit going on – not the least of which is shit that you started.”

  “Which is why, like I said, I’m trying to make it up to you by inviting you on this guy’s night out.” Pierce huffed on the other end of the line. “I think there will be some people at the video shoot that you’ll really want to meet.”

  “Who?” Don’t even bother. “Never mind. I don’t care. I’ll go.” Anything to help get Pierce off of his back.

  “I’ll meet you at your place at ten.” Click.

  Sloane stared at the phone. For the first time since he’d met the bastard, he was actually hoping Pierce would take him to one of his infamously exotic clubs that he haunted; maybe then, he could at least force his mind to think about something other than Cyn, even if it was other random, partially naked women. At this point, he didn’t care. He knew they wouldn’t turn him on and that relief was what he needed.

  He looked back over at the marble that had most of the excess taken away from it, Cyn’s curvaceous form beginning to take shape in the stone. As he carved, he could feel the heat of her skin just as if he was actually touching her. And just as if he was actually touching her, his cock remained in a perpetual state of arousal. If Pierce knew just how much his little joke was torturing him… Sloane wasn’t sure if he would have a field-day or if he might be legitimately concerned.

  She was perfect. Not that he hadn’t thought that before, but seeing her standing in front of him, naked, had been his undoing. She’d brought him to his knees, literally. Her skin was a pure, luminescent white and it made him want to mark every inch of her with his hands. He wanted to carve into its pristineness with his tongue and teeth – a signature for whomever would see that she was his.

  But she could never be his.

  No, her intoxicating mix of heaven and hell was more than enough to take him to a place where he refused to go. He closed his eyes as the image of his mother’s face passed before him, her lifeless eyes staring up at his as he screamed her name through the smoke until his vision faded to black.

  Instinctively, he reached for the sculpture… for her. Breathing heavily, he focused on the only thing strong enough to force those memories from his mind. Cyn. Why had he even tried to explain to her last night why he would never act on his desire? It was pointless; she would never understand and he would never ask someone, especially her, to try to. He could never ask her to willingly involve herself with someone who was genetically programmed to hurt her and he prayed that he could make it through the next couple of weeks without hurting her any more than was necessary to protect her from himself.

  Even though the marble was cold, he rested his head ever so gently on where her forehead would be. Her face as she danced came to his mind; the peace and joy that had flowed from her were the most exquisite things he’d ever beheld and he hated whoever had taken that from her. God, he wanted to be her savior; he wanted to show her that there was nothing to be afraid of in pursuing her dream and opening up her school.

  He placed his hand on the side of her sculpted cheek; he couldn’t give her the passion that she craved – it was too dangerous. But he could give her this, he thought, looking at the beginnings of his masterpiece. He could show her that her own happiness was worth the fight – worth the risk.

  And he could only hope that that would be enough.

  Chapter 9

  “CYN! Oh. My. God. OhmyGod.” Terri’s voice blasted into her dressing room a second after she’d finished closing the door.

  She’d been in the middle of changing and instinctively, she pulled her shirt up against her exposed chest.

  “Oh please.” He waved his hand at her. “Like I haven’t seen that a million times before.”

  “Sorry,” she retorted. “I didn’t know who was barging into my dressing room – usually you knock!” Cyn turned to begin sorting through her rack of outfits, trying to decide which skimpy, sparkly piece to wear for the evening. She wasn’t even paying attention to the rainbow of colors that moved across her gaze, instead her mind buzzed in anticipation of seeing Sloane.

  After talking to Ellie, she decided on a new course of action since blatant seduction didn’t seem like it was going to be the most successful in the long-term. She needed to find out what he meant when he said that being with her was an addiction that could kill; there was something that happened to him – or to someone that he cared deeply about. Maybe it was his mother, like what Ellie had suggested. But until she learned that, there was no breaking through to him. Based on his response to her so far, she knew that the only way he would let her in was if she did the same.

  Was she willing to do that?

  Her stomach turned at what he might think of her when he found out that she’d slept with a married man and that she not only slept with people for money, but stripped for them, too. She wasn’t embarrassed or ashamed in the slightest about her decisions, but for some insane reason, he seemed to have put her on a pedestal that she didn’t deserve to be on. At some point, he’d realize she didn’t belong up there… and that she didn’t have wings to carry her back down.

  “Earth. To. Cyn.” Terri’s hands grabbed her shoulders, spinning her to face him. “Have you heard a word I’ve said? Oh. My. God. I swear, I’m going to have a heart attack. Do I look flushed? Faint?”

  “No, sorry! Ok, ok, what’s going on?” Terri was usually a little over-the-top about most things, but it was rare to see him like this; something big must be going on.

  “LaneProductionsIsGoingToBeHereTonightToFilmYouForNewPromotionalMaterial!!!” He squealed and Cyn still had no idea what he’d just said.

  She shook him back. “Terri, slow down. I literally have no clue what you are trying to tell me.”

  “Oh my God, girl, you need to keep up. There’s a producer who is coming here to take some preliminary video footage for some new ads. So, put your make-up on, your best attire – which is the bedazzled number, by the way – and get your A-game ready; and by A-game, I mean ass-game because you are going to need to work it tonight.” He reached behind her, flipping through the hangers for the sheer, jeweled number he’d mentioned as Cyn soaked in the news.

  New ads featuring herself were great; it meant more customers, more exposure, and more requests – to the point where she could substantially raise the price that she charged for private dances... and other things. Six months ago, she would have been thrilled. Now, she felt like opportunities were being dumped in her lap for a job that she wasn’t sure she wanted any longer.

  “What is the matter with you?” Terri stopped, a horribly confused expression on his face. “You should be freaking out right now – like even more than I am. God, if this doesn’t entice you to stay here, well, I just give up.” He huffed and crossed his arms.

  “Nothing’s the matter! Just a lot on my mind.” She shrugged her shoulders. “I’m totally excited though. This is going to be great for you, too… and the Paradise!” Terri just stared harder at her. “So, what am I doing? Am I just doing my normal thing? Am I dancing for someone?”

  “Oh, yes! Right, ok. So, this is what I want to see. You’ll do your normal dance and they’ll get a couple shots of that and the club. Then I want to see you come down off the stage and we’re going to have you gi
ve Sebastian a lap dance.”

  “Sebastian is going to be here?” Her eyebrows raised.

  “Oh, yes. I called him as soon as I heard. I can’t risk you doing this on some random guest – even one of the regulars. There’s too much at stake. Plus, you know that Sebastian is the hottest out of all our regulars.” His fingers came up underneath his chin as he momentarily got lost in his own fantasies about the gorgeous, gay man.

  “You think he will be ok though? I mean he’s gay so he’d certainly not going to be interested in what I’m portraying to offer him…”

  Terri’s “psshh” accompanied a furiously flapping of his hand. “Of course, it will be fine. Plus, no one is going to even be paying attention to him with you in the picture.” A finger came up to stop her next words. “But, we still need him to look good.” And Sebastian did always look good.

  “Ok, ok.” Cyn grabbed the hanger from his other hand, looking at the red, bejeweled fabric that hung from it. “Alright, well why don’t you go and let me finish getting ready. You’re taking up valuable preparation time.”

  Terri scowled at her playfully before he made his dramatic exit from her space.

  “Wait, you’re actually working here tonight?” Sloane asked, scowling at Pierce as they pulled up in front of the Paradise.

  “No, I drove us to the wrong place just for fun,” Pierce retorted. “Of course, I’m fucking working here. We’re getting a couple of the risqué shots tonight and then my guys are coming back another day to get more of the space and shit.”

  Sloane exhaled forcefully; he only had himself to blame. He’d agreed to come and he knew that there were only a select number of places that Sloane would choose to frequent on a Friday evening; and a high-class strip club would make the top of the list. Although, he really hadn’t needed to wear such a nice suit for this. But, Pierce had said it was a business thing.

  Again, he should have known better.

  Sloane took a look up the sleek, modern establishment. It was covered in windows – excessively tinted windows, but still. The appearance matched the reputation of the place: expensive, high-class, elusive. While Pierce was busy instructing one of his videographers on the angles of the exterior that he wanted to capture, Sloane googled the place. His eyebrows raised at the hefty, five-hundred-dollar entrance fee. And then to become a premier member with access to the upper floors and the more… skilled… entertainers, well, maybe he should have gone into the sex scene instead of real estate.

  “Hey, Sloane. Let’s go. The dance is about to start.” Pierce opened the door for them both. “Fucking artsy videographers always fucking late,” he grumbled underneath his breath, annoyed that they’d had to wait for his team to get there.

  When they walked inside, a very large black man wearing a very pink shirt and purple scarf walked up to Pierce.

  “Mr. Lane, so good to see you again.” If the shirt wasn’t a bright beacon of his homosexuality, the inflection of his voice sealed in the assumption.

  “Terrence.” Pierce reached out and shook the other man’s hand. “Sorry we are late. This is my business associate, Sloane Peterson.”

  Sloane reached over, shaking the manager’s hand as well. “Nice to meet you.” Even more than Pierce, the gay man eyed him, pausing on his startling blue eyes.

  “If you want to follow me, we can get everything set up upstairs. The show is about to begin.” Terrence turned and led the way up the large staircase.

  Sloane followed Pierce and was trailed by the two videographers who were going to be capturing the indoor footage, both of them with their eyes wide and jaws practically gaping at the luxurious furnishings and the luscious women walking around serving alcohol.

  Sloane looked around from the corners of his eyes, noticing the top-shelf alcohol that graced every bar that they passed. He also saw the numbered doors at the periphery of each floor, with what looked like key-card access; that would be where the private ‘dances’ happened, he surmised.

  They made it to the top floor where only the most exclusive clients must have access to. Sloane had barely stepped off the last stair when a blond wearing a black, sparkly bra and matching thong presented him and Pierce with what smelled like vodka on the rocks.

  He nodded his thanks while Pierce tipped the glass back, downing its entire contents.

  “Belvidere?” He asked the woman, an enticing smile spreading over his face as he looked her up and down.

  She nodded, cozying up to Pierce and whispered something in his ear while making sure her very large breasts pressed against his arm.

  Sloane watched in amusement as Terrence sent the woman a glare that had her scurrying off to attend to the other gentlemen who were on the floor; there was only about ten or so other patrons that he could count. Seeing another guest, Terrence’s glare morphed into a bright, white smile as he quickly addressed the man who was seated to the right of the doorway - front and center with the best view of the pole. His first assumption about a smile like that would be that the other male was gay… but then why would he be frequenting a strip club? No, it seemed more likely that Terrence was just attracted to the man’s GQ looks even knowing that his attentions wouldn’t be returned.

  Couches and chairs were arranged in a U-shape around a small runway of sorts that led to a single metal pole in the center of the room. The lights on this floor were dim and mostly focused around the center of the room where the dancer would be to keep the focus on her and less on who the other observers were. Terrence led them over to two large, leather chairs along the wall in front of where the stairway merged with the room; they were seated right in between two of the overhead flood lights which meant they were secluded in a darkened nook where it was essentially impossible to make out who they were.

  Sloane dropped into one of the chairs while Pierce and Terrence spoke quietly in front of him. Every so often, even in the darkness of the room, Pierce’s even darker gaze darted to his; a sensation of unease slithered up his spine – as if there was more to this night than Pierce had let on and he was about to find out what it was.

  If that asshole paid for someone to dance on him, he really would punch him.

  Sloane watched intently, looking for any sign of foul play as Pierce instructed the two videographers to position themselves in the front two corners of the room. He couldn’t hear the instructions, but he saw Pierce’s hand move in those directions before the two men dispersed to their posts.

  “You gonna drink that?” Pierce asked as he took a seat next to him.

  “What do you think?” He swirled the liquor around the ice in the glass.

  The lights began to dim even further. “You should drink it.”

  “Why?” Sloane bit out, his bright blue eyes practically the only things visible in the darkness.

  Pierce took just a second too long to answer. “Because it’s a waste of good fucking alcohol.” His friend reached over and grabbed the glass from his hand, chugging the potent liquid and setting the glass down on the small table in between their chairs just as the music began to play.

  The remainder of the lights around the room went almost completely out, the only lighting that remained was above the runway and then concentrated around the pole. A few seconds later, a shadow appeared at the end of the runway behind a red screen. There wasn’t much he could tell from a shadow except that the dancer was perfectly proportioned; long legs, slender waist, full chest, and long hair that moved gracefully along the screen. The way the dancer moved even reminded him of her. He ran his hands along the sides of his head, frustrated with the tendencies of his thoughts.

  Apparently, for his mind to go even a few hours without thinking about her was a fucking—

  The curtain dropped.

  Cyn.

  Sloane felt like he was drowning in a sea of air. He gripped the edge of the chair, unsure if what he was seeing was real or just a figment of his imagination. No, even he couldn’t imagine his vixen this exquisitely.

  She was clad i
n the smallest, tightest, red sparkly dress – Christ, it was more like a child’s t-shirt that had been stretched to its limit to accommodate her curves. The tightness only hinted at the lingerie that she was wearing underneath.

  He wasn’t breathing – he was sure of it – as she slowly danced down the pathway to the pole. Her body ebbing and flowing, teasing every man in the room with what was to come. His knuckles were white as she passed by him, not even seeing him in the crowd. Her eyes flitted open and closed, lost in her dance, just like she had been with ballet – except instead of being lost in bliss, she was lost in oblivion. This dance was an escape from her feelings, instead of a connection to them. When she did open her eyes, they were staring heavily at Mr. GQ who was sitting and waiting on the other side of the pole.

  He would strangle that motherfucker if he touched her. Right after he strangled Pierce.

  As if on cue, his friend leaned over to him and said, “Enjoying the show?”

  Sloane didn’t – couldn’t – look at him. “Now I know why Tristan punched your fucking scheming face.” Pierce’s low chuckle just incensed him further.

  The problem was that he was paralyzed watching her. Her seductive walk finally ended at the metal pole. Her right hand and arm wrapping around it as she lifted off and swung around. Her feet somehow managing to come to a gracefully stop in the heels that she was wearing. She strutted around, her steps aligning with the beat of the music. And then she dropped.

  Sloane felt his heart jump into his throat as her legs straddled the pole, her arms clasping it, as she bent her knees to let her torso trail down the metal length. In his mind, an image of her dropping down like that in front of his body instead of the pole tormented him even further. His legs shifted; he would bet his entire goddamn company that the rod inside his pants was harder than the one she was currently touching. It was a good thing he was so fucking livid right now or he might be beyond his breaking point.