by Alice Ward
*
I’d never seen someone as singularly enmeshed in their work as Tabby was. She was living artistry, every inch of her body as important as the camera held lovingly in her hands. Watching her was like watching a Cirque du Soleil show — breathtaking, extraordinary, unimaginable. Even if her pictures were junk, I still would’ve found the experience of watching her well worth my time and dime, but the tiny thumbnails I saw appearing one by one on her computer screen as she shuttered were far from junk. They were as perfect and pure as the positions she maneuvered herself into, the tiny whimpers and grunts of exertion she made just before she snapped, and the inconceivable angles she approached that somehow heightened each photo to a new level of incredible.
“This place is gorgeous,” she said.
She was poised in an extremely precarious position. Standing on a chair, one leg was draped flat across the tabletop while the other was bent at the knee, putting her in a strange and unexpectedly erotic half-split. Her back was hunched forward so she could hover over the pre-prepared entrée, and she repeatedly lifted and lowered herself to gauge the best distance for the lighting. The loose sweater she’d been wearing when I picked her up lay discarded on another table nearby, which left her donned in just a form-fitting navy tank top and those black leggings. As hard as I tried, I couldn’t keep my eyes from constantly tracing the soft curves of her belly and hips.
“Thanks,” I replied. “I designed it myself.”
A snicker floated from her lips, but she didn’t tear her gaze from the viewfinder. “Liar.”
In truth, the only thing I’d done for the restaurant was connect the owners with some of the best NOLA execs in the industry and sign a big check. It was actually the brainchild of the chef at the helm, a young rising star with stark white hair who only went by Nikolai.
Hiring a photographer for the PR package was far from my rights or responsibilities as an investor, but I was the backer who’d provided the most financial support and I had a small percentage of equity in the establishment, so Nikolai and his business partners tended to keep their lips on my ass. Besides, seeing Tabby’s work happening right in front of me was more than enough reassurance that I’d receive zero backlash for making the call without consulting the others involved in the project.
“Are we on a schedule here?” I asked. I was trying not to talk too much. I didn’t know if she needed silence to concentrate. My wheelhouse had always been numbers. Creative types like Tabby tended to get cranky if there were too many distractions while they were doing whatever it was they did to wow the world.
“No,” she answered. She lowered the camera finally and looked over at me. “Why?”
“Because I was going to have Nikolai whip something up for lunch, but if you need to get back to do some bridesmaid duties, I can just tell Stephan to keep the limo warm.”
She wobbled as she tried to slide her stretched leg toward her other one without disturbing the plate of demonstrative food. I strode up behind her and closed my hands around her waist, lifting her slightly to assist. She stilled momentarily beneath my touch, and I felt the warmth of her skin flowing through the thin cotton shirt into my fingertips. If not for my stupid rule about sex, I would’ve thrown her down on the table right then and there to lick every single curve she possessed.
But she hadn’t been to The Club. I couldn’t do anything until she’d been to The Club. It was the only thing that kept me safe.
“Are you kidding?” she demanded scornfully, pulling her legs together and regaining her balance on the chair. I reluctantly released her so she could hop down. “I need to stay as far away from that hotel as possible right now. Grace is in full meltdown mode. She’s not even wearing eyelashes, and I can tell you I haven’t seen her without false eyelashes in about ten years. Complete breakdown. Plus, the bachelorette party is supposed to kick off around three and go all night, and if I’m stuck with those friends of hers for that long, you’re going to see me on the news tomorrow morning.”
I laughed. I didn’t doubt her in the slightest. The brief sighting I’d had of her cousin in the casino and the few sentences exchanged between them that I’d overheard were more than enough to convince me the festivities were sure to be anything but festive.
“What about your family though?” I reminded her. “Aren’t they coming in for the wedding? Don’t you need to meet up with them?”
“My parents aren’t flying in until tomorrow morning. They can’t afford more than a night in the hotel.”
“Aha. So, lunch, then?”
She nodded eagerly. “Please.”
He might have been a pretentious prodigy, but Nikolai wasn’t named the Next Big Thing for no reason. The lunch of duck medallions and balsamic greens was phenomenal, so much so that Tabby and I forgot to talk to each other until our plates were almost empty. Although, frankly, I wasn’t caught up in the food as much for its flavor as I was to distract myself from the chronic tightness in my crotch after spending a couple hours watching the agile nymph bending and stretching and posing with her shape bared to me in thin fabrics. I was grateful she was a photographer rather than a yoga instructor, or I probably would’ve had to excuse myself.
“Wow,” Tabby breathed as she dropped her fork onto her plate and scooted back in her seat. She wore an expression of such satisfaction that my budding erection bloomed further. I could think of at least a hundred other ways to put that look on her face. “That was amazing. Thank god I don’t live here, or I’d be eight-hundred pounds.”
“No, you wouldn’t. I’d make sure you burned off every last calorie,” I growled. I didn’t mean to say it, but I was quickly losing control of the predator in me. If she did or said one more thing to make me throb, I was going to throw out every single rule I’d ever made for myself and fuck her into starvation.
She stared at me. Her eyes widened a fraction, and her lips parted to make way for a surprised breath. “Is every Louisiana man so forward?” she inquired, her voice a little shaky.
“I don’t know.” I leaned back too. “I’m not a Louisiana man.”
“What?” This stabilized her, and her surprise now was not arousal-induced. “Where are you from?”
I flashed her a beaming grin. “Maine. I went to college here, returned home for a few years, then came back to stay.”
“Huh.” She pursed her lips and raised her brows contemplatively. I mimicked the action back at her, curious what she was thinking. “I wouldn’t take you for a Yankee.”
I laughed as I asked, “Why not?”
She lifted a slim shoulder, which was unfortunately back underneath the bulky sweater. “You’re too polite. I figured it was Southern charm.”
This time, I lifted just one eyebrow and leaned forward as my cock pulsed. “Are you already forgetting what I told you about me and my politeness?”
A second gasp puffed from her mouth, coming to rest somewhere between us and sending my cock into a frenzy of need. This woman was a human aphrodisiac, and she didn’t even know it, which made her all the more irresistible. Before I could act on my lewd whims, though, she plucked her napkin from her lap and dabbed her mouth. “Well, thank you. For the opportunity to do your photography and for the lunch.”
What I would’ve given for her to be thanking me for something else…
“Of course.” I inclined my head. “Your work is exquisite. I’m shocked you’re not already a national sensation.”
She smiled gratefully. It was a smile of such innocence and humble receipt that it quelled my raging sinful tide just enough for me to regain dominion over myself. All the better, perhaps. I stuck to The Club for a reason.
The limo ride back to her hotel was far more uncomfortable than the ride to the restaurant, but not because her presence was unwelcome in mine. I was conflicted, painfully so. Never in my life had I been so taken by a member of the fairer sex. She wasn’t just alluring or interesting or admirable, she was utterly and completely enchanting from start to finish. Her sh
eer lack of intimidation of me — post coffee on crotch — was enough to keep me on my toes, as I was used to women either becoming tongue-tied or bland, mewing kittens around me, but there was so much more.
This kitten was different.
She had depth. She had a story, and knowing her was like watching the words being scrawled upon the page and waiting with bated breath for the next chapter. Maybe she was just Tabby the picture-taker from Chicago to most men. To me, she was Tabby who didn’t like her full name, Tabby who poured herself into her photographs, Tabby who wore what she liked regardless of label or color or style. She was a woman of snappy comebacks and solid goals and no bullshit. And that’s what made me so hard for her.
She was dangerous.
“Stephan, drop us here,” I called to the driver when he swung into the valet’s lane at Harrah’s. “I’ll be a few minutes, so park and I’ll call you.”
He saluted me in the rearview mirror, and I scooted myself out of the limo first. I helped Tabby out after me, then retrieved her duffel from the back. She was watching me curiously. When I returned with the bag, she reached for it, but I shook my head and secured it in the crook of my arm. “No, ma’am. A lady doesn’t carry her own bags when a man is present.”
“It’s no big deal,” she said dismissively, reaching for it again. I turned away to block her, and she planted that same hand onto her hip. “What are you doing?”
“We have to make a stop before I return you to your room,” I announced.
She eyed me suspiciously. “Where?”
“The casino.” I grinned. “We’re making another bet.”
“Oh, yeah? What kind of Christmas bet is in your bag this time, Santa?”
God, she was adorable.
“I get one hand, same deal as yesterday.”
The hip supporting the hand jutted outward, and I had to force myself to keep my eyes on her face instead of her luscious form. “So, if you lose, I win. But I already got the gig, so what are you offering?”
Every cell in my body hummed with the question. I took a step closer to her. “What do you want?”
She swallowed hard as she considered me in silence for a long second. I felt every flick of her gaze brushing my cheeks, my mouth, my forehead. Finally, I could almost see a lightbulb go off behind her stare and a smile crept across her lips.
“If I win, you have to be my date at Grace’s wedding tomorrow.”
I tilted my head. I wasn’t averse to the idea in the slightest — anything to spend more time with her was great — but I didn’t think it was a feasible one. “Isn’t the guestlist finalized? Your cousin might have a conniption if you announce to her at the last minute you’re bringing a date. That’s another plate of food, another chair, rearranging the seating chart—”
“It sounds like you’ve been married before,” she retorted, the suspicion returning.
I chuckled. “No, I’ve just been to a lot of formal functions.”
“Well, I know for a fact there’s space for you. Grace got into a huge fight with her cousin on her dad’s side last week because Emily said Grace’s wedding colors reminded her of a cheap spa, so you’re covered. I hope you don’t mind going vegetarian for a night, though, because I guarantee Emily went for the salad option over the steak.”
“Fair enough,” I agreed. “If you win, I’ll be your date tomorrow.”
“Good.” The look of satisfaction was back on her face, and I had to shift my weight to hide the bulge threatening to grow in my pants. “And, if you win?”
I licked my lips. “If I win, I get to take you to The Blackjack Club.”
She squinted at me and shook her head. “I don’t get what it is with you and this Blackjack Club, but you really want to take me there.”
“You have no idea,” I muttered. More loudly, I added, “Do we have a deal?”
“I don’t know. Will you tell me something else about the club?”
I leaned in close enough that my nose touched the hair just over her ear. “Only if I win.”
Tabby sighed, rolled her neck, then nodded. “Yeah, okay. We have a deal.”
I took her hand just like I did yesterday when we made our wager and guided her inside. The staff behind the desk greeted us as we passed, me by name, but I was too excited to learn the outcome of our bet to do little more than nod my acknowledgment. Judging by the way her fingers tightened in my grasp, Tabby was experiencing excitement of her own.
Jeeves wasn’t on shift, but I knew the other dealers nearly as well and was enthusiastically greeted by Deborah, a grandmotherly woman in her early sixties, when I took my seat. No other players occupied the table, but it didn’t matter. I turned in money for chips and tried to keep the jolts of thrill in my gut at bay while Deborah dealt. Tabby was leaning over my shoulder, clearly as interested in the results as I was, and I could feel delicate wafts of warm breath on my neck each time she exhaled. I was glad I was sitting. There wasn’t a chance in hell I would have been able to hide my erection now if I’d been standing.
“Fourteen,” Deborah announced as I revealed my hand, a nine and a five.
I looked over my shoulder at Tabby. She smiled sweetly as she wiggled her eyebrows in an adorable show of sinister challenge, and I tamped the guttural snarl that rose in my throat. Turning back to Deborah, I tapped the table twice and willed my next card a seven with all my might.
“Bust!”
It was an eight, one diamond too many looking back at me. Yet, the disappointment cascading over me was hardly more than irksome despite my expectation. I was her date for the wedding. I’d get to see her again. And that meant I had another opportunity to try again.
CHAPTER FIVE
Tabby
Freedom was so close. I could feel it, taste it, smell it even. It was like sweet champagne with a single bubble-covered raspberry rolling at the bottom and warm, slick chocolate slipping in strands down the side of the glass. Luxurious bliss.
If there was one thing about this wedding I liked, it was that Grace didn’t have the patience for a lengthy ceremony. That meant I only had to stand straight — “Don’t lock your knees!” — and smile pretty at an audience of bored guests and weeping mothers for another five minutes. After that, it was pictures, the Grand March, dinner, and then I was done. Home free. Released from the cage of bridesmaid duties to soar without restriction. I’d be able to dance and nosh and drink without the hard knot between my shoulders warning me Grace was within a fifty-foot radius prepared to shriek and sob about her latest failed wedding plan.
And I’d be doing all of it with Owen.
He showed up as promised, of course, but I didn’t know it until I walked down the aisle with bouquet in hand and groomsman on arm. Grace had kept me occupied up until the very minute the planner shoved me into place and whispered loudly, “Okay, go! Chin up, big smile, and for the love of god, don’t trip!” Uncomfortable enough with being the center of attention amongst a crowd of people I didn’t know for the most part, I tried to keep my eyes trained on the reverend at the altar, but a head of chestnut hair caught my notice. Disregarding everything Grace and Aunt Romy and the neurotic wedding planner had pounded in my head over the rehearsal, I looked. There he was… Owen Driscoll, dressed in a pale gray suit that could’ve paid for the caterer, sitting only four seats away from my parents.
I knew I was supposed to look adoringly at the couple being married during the ceremony for the pictures, but more often than was appropriate, my eyes were pulled out to the crowd, straight to the smoky, fixed stare of the man who’d shown up for me. His gaze was like a heat ray. I could feel it penetrating me wherever it landed, and my body reacted as much as it would have if he’d been applying a visceral touch. I felt him scanning my breasts, skimming my waist where his hands had already rested, brushing the outer and inner lines of my thighs through the Christmas-tree-green gown I wore. He could’ve walked right up there and placed his fingers where his eyes were, and I couldn’t have been any more aroused. A r
ainforest, suffocating in both warmth and wetness, was bursting in my core. With each passing minute under his scrutinizing and smoldering watch, I was craving less my impending freedom and more his undoubtedly skillful administrations.
The past two days with Owen were unlike any I’d ever experienced with anyone. They were fun and intriguing and entirely original, but they were also like endless foreplay that continuously built without the promise of release at the end. Taking pictures, eating lunch, and making bets were seemingly innocent activities, but beneath the surface — beneath his surface — constantly lingered something darker and deeper and gripping. It pulled me in without revealing itself, a masked hook that dragged me closer without offering the smallest hint of its true identity. I wanted to pull the mask off. I wanted to know more, to know him.
I also wanted to come, hard, at his hand.
“You may kiss the bride!” the reverend cried jubilantly. Loud applause rose from the onlookers, including the women on either side of me, as Grace and her new husband Kenneth locked lips a little too sloppily. Politely, I clapped as best as I could with a bouquet of anemones and roses in my hand, and I glanced out into the crowd again. Owen was clapping as well, but he wasn’t watching the bride and groom. He was still staring at me, and the corners of his mouth were turned up into a smirk I was quickly learning to be characteristic of him. I didn’t need words or proximity to know what he was thinking. My body interpreted perfectly.
When I retreated back down the aisle with my arm limply hooked inside my assigned groomsman’s, I was elated. Not only was the ceremony done, but I could stop feeling like every person there was able to tell I was too turned on to function. As I passed Owen’s row, my mother stood up and waved like a fool, fresh tear tracks marring her makeup. I smiled at her before mouthing to Owen, Meet me by the bar.