by Measha Stone
He shifted his black gaze back to her and lifted a shoulder in an easy shrug. “Life is often that way, princess.”
She couldn’t logically argue the point. She knew that lesson well enough already.
“Maybe you are an ass, after all,” she retorted, and he laughed, a soft chuckle really, but it lightened his features.
“I never said I wasn’t. I only said that wasn’t the reason I’m cutting you off.”
The man was impossible, and he was wasting all of her time. She didn’t have long before she needed to hightail it back home.
“Whatever.” She rolled her eyes and turned her back on him, signaling to the bartender that she would like to have that last glass of wine. She didn’t really want it. But she wasn’t going to let the overgrown ape behind her think he actually had a say in what she did or didn’t do.
“I think someone really wants a spanking tonight.” His deep whisper ran along her ear. “You don’t have to be so naughty. If you want to play, come up to my office. The guard will let you in, and I’ll give you all the spankings you’d like. But if you keep being so bad, I won’t be able to make you feel good.”
She froze. Every muscle in her body refused to move. How the hell was she supposed to respond to that. Obviously, she couldn’t.
Right?
No, she couldn’t.
She didn’t have time.
And especially not with him.
Too arrogant.
Too handsome.
Too dominating.
“Maybe, if I have time.” She tried to sound dismissive, but she could feel the tremor in her voice. Hopefully, the sound was lost in the background noise.
“Well, I hope you do.”
She picked up her fresh glass of wine and turned back to him. But he was gone. She spotted him in the crowd; the sea of people simply parted for him as he made his way through. He jogged up the steps near the stage and stopped to speak to the guard. She noticed him point in her direction, and her cheeks heated. He really wanted her to go to his office?
For a spanking?
The small clutch hanging from her wrist vibrated.
“Shit,” she muttered, put her glass back down, untouched, and dug out the watch. Her alarm reminded her of the time, and the urgency with which she needed to get her ass moving.
Half an hour. Just enough time to collect her coat and get home before her mother’s meeting ended.
Forgetting the glass of wine, she pushed her way through the crowd and made for the exit.
Chapter 2
The windows rattled from the thunder outside. A storm brewed, and Peter wished it was only the weather that signified the shitstorm coming toward him.
He knew opening his club could be seen as a breakaway from the Annex, at least by members of town who didn’t quite grasp the full concept of loyalty. Having his own piece of the nightlife didn’t distract him from his family. His loyalty would always remain with the Titon family. But it did give him a place where he reigned absolutely. No one to answer to, no one to run things by, everything on his terms and within his control. Exactly the way he liked it.
Peter walked to the windows overlooking the city below. He’d invited a woman up to his office. A woman he didn’t know but had been drawn to from his first glance at her in the crowd.
She played coy pretty well, but he had seen the nervousness buzzing beneath her fake glare. The more she thrust her chin up, the more visible the fear. The little tremble in her voice cemented the observation for him. She was an innocent. Hell, she could be a damn virgin with the way her eyes widened at the sights before her. But when he’d taken the whip to Cassandra during their little show for the club, Azalea had soaked it all in.
He had planned to take Cassandra up on her offer of dinner after their demonstration, but changed his mind when he caught Azalea’s eye. Her clothing hugged her too tightly, presenting more of her body than someone not offering a sample would have, but she’d said she wasn’t working.
Peter sighed and shook his head. She probably wouldn’t be coming up. And he should be getting back to the Annex. With Ash away on his honeymoon, he had double duty to be sure the girls were safe and staying within their boundaries. Even grown women who knew damn well the consequences for breaking the safety rules of the house would play harder when the boss was away.
Making his way down through the back stairwell, he called the garage attendant and told him to have his car ready for him. The two-way mirror wall he descended past gave him the opportunity to overlook the dancing and playing going on in the club. He scanned the crowd for the stark-blond hair of Azalea, but came up with nothing. Maybe he’d scared her off, and maybe it was better for her to be gone. An innocent like her would be devoured.
“It’s starting to come down hard.” Sam left the door open to Peter’s black Challenger to let him slide into the driver’s seat.
“I’ll be fine,” Peter assured him with a grin. He could handle any car in any weather. The rain would make traffic more annoying not more dangerous.
“See you tomorrow, then.” Sam waved and headed back to his post at the gates.
Pulling out, Peter threw on the wipers and made his way through traffic to Main Street. The rain messed up the already-overcrowded streets, and quickly brought him to a standstill. As he leaned back in his seat, sighing again at the exhaustion he felt in his muscles, he turned to watch the people on the sidewalk. He’d built as far from The Titon clubs as he could. Unfortunately, that meant a less exclusive part of the city. Although street crime was well managed around his club, he saw to that, he didn’t like the surrounding neighborhood.
A flash of white caught his eye, and he inched forward, ducking his head to get a better view. The dark hood flew off a woman running toward his car, and all of the blond hair hiding beneath tumbled out. She grabbed for the hood while trying to jog through the crowd, but wasn’t finding much success.
“What the hell is she doing?” He was already several blocks away from Tower, far from the reach of any of the security guards or the extra police presence he demanded. The wind whipped her hair in front of her, and she swiped it away, still stuck behind a group of people not getting the idea she seemed to be in a hurry.
Peter found an alley entrance and blew his horn while merging through traffic to get to it. He pulled into the alleyway, cutting off the group from crossing. A few men in the crowd flicked him off and cursed, but once he stepped out of the car, they backed off, walked around the back of the Challenger, and moved on.
Azalea still struggled with her coat and the whipping wind and acknowledged seeing him. Peter approached her and grabbed her arms.
She shrieked and looked up at him, wild fear dancing in her eyes.
“It’s me, Peter—from Tower,” he said, pulling her closer to his car. “You don’t have a ride?”
She blinked a few times, her hair so wet it stuck to her forehead.
“No—I was going to take the bus, but—”
He shook his head. “I’ll drive you. Get in.”
She looked to the car then back to the road. “The bus—”
“Stopped running five minutes ago. Didn’t you check the schedule?” One of the many things he hated about public transportation. With all the new taxi and car services, the busses stopped running before most of the clubs even slowed down in the evening.
A clap of thunder cut her response off, and he shook his head. “Tell me in the car. You’re not walking, or rather running, in this.” Her cloak opened up a bit, and her already-too-tight dress clung to her as a second skin, and water droplets glistened off her exposed cleavage. Fuck, his cock reacted too quickly to her.
She opened her mouth, probably to try and protest again, but snapped it shut as a bolt of lightning illuminated the night sky. With a nod, she pushed forward and let him lead her to the passenger side.
Once back in the car, he resituated himself. Soaked through, he looked over at her. “Buckle up,” he reminded her when she h
adn’t moved to grab the belt.
“Is that time correct?” she asked pointing at the digital clock on the dash, which showed 11:45 p.m.
“Yeah, why?”
She snagged the belt and secured it. “I live four miles down Main Street. Corner of Main and 3rd.” She pointed at the alleyway. “I think if you go through here and take back roads, it will be faster than turning around on Main.” She looked behind her, out the rear window. “Traffic looks bad.”
He listened to her rambling and suspected it wasn’t from fear of him, but panic about time. Her response to his invitation had been, If I have time.
“Do you have a curfew or something?” he asked, throwing the car into drive and getting them moving.
“What? No. I just—I really need to get home.”
Even with her innocent aura, she didn’t appear underage. And his doorman wouldn’t have let her inside Tower if she wasn’t at least drinking age. Since he’d already jumped to the conclusion she was a working girl in his club uninvited, he wasn’t looking to offend her again by demanding to see her ID.
Peter knew the city well enough to stay off the overcrowded streets.
“You weren’t at Tower very long,” he said, increasing the speed of the wipers. The rain pelted the car as he made his way toward her house.
“I underestimated how long it would take to get there.” She glanced his way then turned to stare out her window. “I saw enough, I think.”
“Cassandra. She’s the woman I was working with on stage. She’s all right. She’s not hurt.” He never explained his sort of play with anyone, but then again, he couldn’t recall the last time he’d encountered someone who didn’t understand.
“I know.” Azalea pulled her hair from behind her and ran her fingers through the long tresses. “She looked—happy.”
Peter smiled. Cassandra would have been happier if he’d given her half a dozen more lashes with the whip, but he knew when enough was enough. Endorphins sometimes fuzzed the truth of what a submissive could take.
“I knew what I would see at the club. So, if you’re worried you scared me or something, don’t be.” She leaned forward in her seat. “I’m getting your car all wet.”
Peter made a right turn and flipped the vents to blow more on her side of the car. “What were you doing, trying to run home?”
“It’s really none of your concern,” she said, splaying her hands in front of the hot air blowing at her.
“Do you know what kind of people hang out on that corner you were coming up on?”
“If the area is so bad, why put your club there?” she countered.
He let the question pass. He could go into a long speech about wanting to revive the area. Bring it up to a better standard for those living and working in it. The women slinging sex on the street needed safer places to work.
Not that he considered himself the savior of women, or anyone for that matter. Hell, he wouldn’t be accused by anyone of having a heart of gold. But people deserved better.
“So, no cab money?” He pushed the subject again.
She didn’t answer, only huffed and scratched her neck. He let her stew in her soaked clothing while he made his way through town. She glanced at the digital clock over and over again, her fingers twisting together every time another minute clicked off.
“Go through the alley. It’s faster.” She pointed at the narrow opening coming up on his right side.
He flipped on his signal and made the turn.
“Now a left. I’m right on the corner,” she said, already gathering her belongings and grasping on the handle.
“Hold on, Azalea. Don’t jump out.” He found an open spot to pull into and hopped out, thankful the rained had died down to an annoying mist, and ran to her side.
“I could have done that.” She stepped from the car and pulled her cloak tighter around her body.
“I think the words you meant to say were thank you,” he chided in a low tone, taking a step toward her. It was one thing for her to get riled after he accused her of being a hooker, but being rude for the sake of being rude didn’t fly with him.
He blocked her from moving away from the car and towered over her. She let out a hard sigh and dropped her shoulders.
“Thank you. For the wine. For the insults. And for the ride.” She looked up at him, the innocent eyes he’d been drawn to at the club narrowed, and her lips pressed together. “I really need to go.” A tremor underlay her voice. She wasn’t irritated with him, she was getting panicked.
“Next time I see you, we can have a long chat about manners and the proper way of thanking me.” He pushed his lips up into a grin and strode out of her way, following her as she approached the stairs of the brownstone.
She stopped on the first step and turned to face him. “You don’t have to walk me up. I’m good from here.”
The lace drapes covering the front window moved to the side then dropped back into place.
Peter sensed her urgency, felt the tension building inside her, and stepped back onto the sidewalk. He’d stay back, but he wasn’t walking away. The air didn’t smell right, didn’t feel right. Something here was wrong.
“I’ll wait until you’re inside,” he said flatly. She wouldn’t be able to convince him otherwise, and hopefully she understood that from his tone.
The click of a lock being undone grabbed her attention, and she spared a second to glare at him then turned and shuffled up the stairs. As soon as the door started to open, she rushed through.
She made it inside before Peter could see who opened it, but not before he heard the threatening voice greeting her.
“You barely made it home. How the hell did you get out this time?” The door shut on Azalea’s response, but Peter doubted her words would have shed any light on the situation anyway.
What the hell did he mean how did she get out?
The rain came faster and harder, again, but he stood where he was, watching the windows. A light flickered to life on the top floor. A small, single bulb burned behind the shade. It was her. He could make out her figure; she brushed her hair out as she paced in front of the window.
He shook his head, reminding himself, whatever her problem was, it was hers. He didn’t know her and didn’t owe her anything.
He did the right thing, brought her home. Didn’t let her run in the rain through a shitty part of town.
So why, as he pulled his car away from the brownstone, was he more worried about her now than when he found her on the street?
Chapter 3
“Azalea, you look exhausted,” her mother admonished at the breakfast table.
“I didn’t sleep well,” Azalea said, not lying in the least. Her heart had been jackhammering after leaving Peter outside of her house and hightailing inside. Her mother had walked in the back door only moments later. If Peter had kept insisting on walking her up to the door, they would have been found.
She could feel her mother staring at her, judging and evaluating her, from her seat across the table. Her long fingers fondled the handle of her coffee cup.
“You were up late?” she asked. To anyone listening it might sound merely curious. Azalea was, after all, an adult, and didn’t have a bedtime, but she knew the tones well. She was fishing. She suspected, and Azalea knew what would happen if her mother found out she’d managed to slip out of the house after she’d left for her meeting.
“I was reading,” Azalea lied and took a bite of her toast.
Her mother sighed but left it alone. “You love those books more than me, I think.”
Azalea smiled. “Of course not.” As much as some of her moods held Azalea at arm’s length, she knew her mother needed to feel her love. Insecurity would run deep in anyone who had lost a child and had a man simply walk out of her life like it was the easiest thing to do. Azalea never met or knew much about her father, other than that he’d found out her mother was pregnant for a second time and disappeared.
“Good.” She reached across the
table and patted Azalea’s hand. “I have to leave town for the yearly meeting earlier than usual. I’m leaving tomorrow morning.”
Her mother never fully explained what she did at these meetings, or exactly how she earned her money. But given the fact that Azalea never wanted for anything material, she didn’t push the issue.
“How long will you be gone?” Azalea asked, already concocting day trips to the museums. It wouldn’t be difficult with her mother gone during the day; she’d have to have Santos accompany her. But there were also the evenings. When she was supposed to be tucked into the house—for her own safety—she wanted to explore the city. That would be harder, but not impossible. And having her mother gone would make it even easier.
“Three weeks, maybe a little more,” her mother said. Her fingers started drumming on the tabletop. “I’ll be home in time for your birthday.”
Azalea watched her expression carefully. Every time she mentioned her birthday, her lips tightened. It was as though she was trying to keep back excitement, or maybe it was fear. She always warned Azalea of the dangers in the city, and promised that when the time came for her to finally move out of the house and start her own life, she would be with her every step of the way. Nearing her twenty-third birthday, it seemed that should be right around the corner.
“I was thinking.” Azalea placed her fork down and folded her hands in her lap. “When you return from your meeting, we could start looking for an apartment for me. I’ve already graduated. I have my degree. Maybe it’s time I look for a job, start making my own money. Like we talked about?”
“You have everything you need or could want right here. Why would you want to go work for someone else? Slave away to make them richer while you get by on a meager paycheck?”
“Maybe you could teach me about what you do.”
Santos, always watching, stifled a cough behind her. Obviously, he found the idea funny. Well he could go sit and spin, for all Azalea cared. She wasn’t stupid. Maybe a little over-sheltered, but she had a good head on her shoulders. And her damn near-perfect GPA backed her up.