by Alice Ward
And Pippa knew. She knew all about me.
“I’ll be wearing those red panties you like,” she finally said. If sound was visible, her suggestive statement would’ve been coated in velvet and glitter. “Or I could forget about wearing any panties at all. But that’s just a secret between you and me.”
I ran a hand through my hair. “Howie’s going tonight, and you know how he likes to touch your ass by pretending he was pushed into you. I’d recommend wearing underwear.”
My eyes were locked onto the wall clock in the hopes that the big hand would spin around like in a time machine scene from a science-fiction movie until it was time to leave. Not only would that mean I was about to see Tabby, but it would also mean I’d have an excuse to get off the phone with Pippa without being rude. Then again, I’d been known to make up excuses with her before, and this was the least interested in talking to her I’d ever felt.
“You know what, Pippa,” I said loudly, interrupting her drivel about thongs versus G-strings, “I have a last minute phone conference I’m about to be late for, so I’m going to have to let you go.”
“A phone conference? Are you going to make it to The Club in time?” she asked with palpable concern.
“Yeah, I’ll be there.” I tamped down my groan. “I’ll see you later, all right?”
She puffed out a breath, and I was sure she was pouting on the other end of the line. “Fine,” she whined playfully. “Just make sure you show up, or I’ll have to make a surprise stop at your house in the middle of the night tonight.”
The very idea of Pippa coming by my house at any time was obnoxious to me, but it was ever more so with my mind wrapped up in Tabby. I grimaced and repeated, “I’ll be there. Goodbye, Pippa.”
I ended the call before she could respond and threw the phone back down onto the bed. I didn’t hate Pippa by any means, but she was immature and mentally taxing to be around. She was also going to be irate that I was bringing Tabby. The evening looked like it was shaping up to be more interesting than I’d originally anticipated.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Tabby
The steam billowing from my coq au vin was so thick I was glad I wasn’t wearing my glasses or I wouldn’t have been able to see through the lenses. I inhaled a deep, savoring breath and sighed with delight as the aroma tantalized my senses.
“This smells like a magazine.”
Owen crooked a brow and chuckled. “I know what the chef here makes, and if he served you something that smells like paper we’re sending it back.”
“What?” I looked up at him in momentary confusion, then cursed myself as I realized what he meant. I hated being caught unawares by wit, but the entrée was so enticing I hadn’t been paying attention. “No, I just mean it smells like the pictures in the cooking magazines look. Amazing, perfect, mouthwatering.”
“Thanks for spelling it out for me. Your metaphor was far beyond the reaches of my comprehension,” he teased.
I glowered comically at him and picked up my fork. He watched me, clearly waiting for me to take my first bite, but I was reluctant to eat. When the tines had hovered over the meat for several long seconds, he bent toward me and whispered, “I think it’s dead. It won’t bite you.”
“I’m worried about my dress,” I confessed.
The dress I was wearing was not one of my own. Actually, it probably was now, but it wasn’t one of the selections I’d brought with me from home. After Owen had dropped me off at my hotel — the Ritz, for God’s sake — I’d been brought up to my room by a man named Lorenzo claiming to be my personal butler. He showed me into a suite so beautiful I stopped breathing for a moment. The décor was reminiscent of nineteenth-century France with elaborate patterns and rich colors and luxurious amenities, and I was sure he’d gotten me mixed up with another guest. When I’d questioned him, he assured me that this room was indeed reserved for a Miss Tabitha Rickard, and would I please let him know if I needed anything at all? Once he’d left, I’d wandered into the bedroom and discovered another surprise. An outfit laid out neatly on the bed.
It was unbelievable. A dress of fluid black material was presented like a work of art. The sleeves bore keyhole openings with continuous ribbons flowing down well past the ends of the sleeves. The skirt looked to be about mid-thigh length, and the bodice was framing without being revealing. At the foot of the dress stood a pair of jet heels featuring a peep toe and a shimmery material that felt like silk. Jewelry of varying decadence, from subtle diamond studs to a glittering teardrop necklace sat in their boxes where they would be placed on my body, and lying beside the dress in all their glory was a pair of simple black panties. They were probably the most captivating thing on the bed somehow because they weren’t skimpy or lacy or sheer. They were just a soft, tight mesh material with a standard bikini coverage.
Those panties were now hidden beneath the very dress I’d found on my bed, snuggling my loins and reminding me every time I shifted that Owen had chosen them for me.
“Your dress is black,” he said sardonically, eyes dancing with an unreleased laugh.
“Yeah, but it’s expensive and even black doesn’t hide stains in the right lighting,” I argued.
He shrugged and plucked his own fork from the clean white linen. “Then we get you another one if you spill.”
I refrained from muttering about how some people had more money than sense, then gave in and stabbed the coq au vin. Juice dribbled from the prick holes, and my mind instantly went somewhere more questionable than dinner at the sight. I hurriedly shoved the bite into my mouth and chewed with purpose. When I swallowed, I said, “You know, you don’t have to spend money to impress me.”
The pause in his eating was visible, and I instantly wondered if I’d said something inadvertently offensive. As he set his fork on the edge of his plate and folded his hands beneath his chin like a steeple, my stomach tightened. He had that same threatening look woven in his features that he had when he was planning to turn my body into his personal playground.
“I’m not spending money to impress you.” He said each word carefully, accenting every syllable to leave absolutely no room for misinterpretation. “If I believed you were that kind of woman, I would not have continued to pursue your company after the photography session. I certainly wouldn’t have sent you a ticket to return here.”
My eyes widened in panic. “No, I know. That’s not what I meant. I—”
He held up a hand, and I silenced. “If your good favor is won in the process of spending said money, I consider that a bonus, but it is by no means my intent.” His tie dangled dangerously close to the rim of the dish before him as he leaned in. Eyes flashing, he added, “I do this for me. I know what I like, and I know how I like it.”
He wasn’t talking about money.
My throat closed momentarily, and I squeezed my thighs together under the table. The panties scrunched around my apex as a stoic reminder that he was down there even when he wasn’t, and I quickly separated my legs by an inch again.
“Okay,” I breathed.
He picked up his fork, and the thundercloud that had suddenly amassed overhead dissipated. Just like that, the mood reverted back to the fun, cheerful nature we’d shared since our date had begun. The only difference was my underwear was noticeably damper than it had been when he picked me up. I tried to make light of it.
“You know, even though you do this for yourself, you sure do it up right,” I mused. “I can’t say I’ve ever had a guy pick out my clothes before taking me out.”
“Good,” he said. “I like being the first.”
“It’s a bold move buying a woman panties though,” I jibed, hiding my smile behind a rather large chunk of chicken.
He smirked, but I saw the thundercloud return. “I know what I like, and I know how I like it,” he repeated smoothly.
It was official. I was soaked.
With the kind of mercy only granted by gods, the remainder of our meal was spent chatting as easily a
nd innocently as old friends. Not an awkward silence occurred, nor did another bout of his arousal-ensuring looks, and I was full and comfortable by the time he paid the check. We were too easy. Owen was completely out of my league in a number of categories, and I was an anomaly to him in a handful of ways, but we jived so well together it was astonishing. I was hungry to know as much about him as I could, and I was eager to share about myself when he inevitably asked at random intervals. He could keep up with my banter, I met his wit quip for quip, and to top it off, he had me teetering in an erotically needy state only read about in romance novels. How had I managed to stumble on this person?
Oh, yeah. I had actually stumbled on this person.
He escorted me back to the limo with his hand in its perfectly carved place in the small of my back. I noticed the looks from women all around the restaurant, women of all ages and some of whom were accompanied by partners, and I felt a swell of pride roll over me. Yes, this man was with me. Yes, we’d just had an excellent date. And, yes, he’d screwed me silly earlier and probably had every intention of doing it again later. What a blissful life it was.
“So, am I to witness another riveting auction, the likes of which cannot be matched?” I joked once we were settled in the limo and Stephan pulled away from the restaurant.
Owen gave me a sideways glance as he poured two glasses of champagne. One of the strange things I was learning about being in his company was that I felt like I was always drinking, yet I never had enough to get drunk. I wasn’t sure how that worked, if he was secretly regulating my beverages or if he simply knew how to space them and when to stop, but it was more of a head-scratcher than I would’ve thought. “I can’t promise any quality in entertainment value,” he said, handing me a bubbling flute, “but if it’s an auction you want, an auction you shall have.”
I made my eyes go wide. “Such power!”
His eyebrows lifted over his own flute. “You dare mock me, helpless kitten?”
I shifted on the seat, and the back of my arm rubbed over a divot in the leather. I realized it was one of the nail marks I’d left that afternoon. My cheeks grew hot, and I took a long drink from my glass to cool off and distract myself from the sensual memory.
“I mock only that which is mock-worthy,” I replied once I’d swallowed a sufficient amount of alcohol to pluck up some courage.
He smiled, but it was the sinister kind of smile more akin to a demon than a pleasant date. When he responded, it was with the syrupy sweetness that made the hairs on the back of my neck prickle. “Oh, sweetheart, you are in for a very big, very revealing reality check.”
“What do you mean?” I asked suspiciously. I was immediately flooded with the thought of Owen yanking my dress off in the middle of The Club, and my face became just as hot as it had a moment ago.
Rather than answering me, he took a sip of champagne and looked idly out the window at the lights of streetlamps and businesses passing by. I wanted to press him, but I wasn’t foolish enough to think that would work. Owen was a force to be reckoned with in both stubbornness and determination, and though I’d never been on what I would’ve considered the negative receiving end of such force from him, I wasn’t about to try and level the mountain. I did, however, make sure the straps of the dress were snug and secure on my shoulders and checked the zipper running from my underarm to my hip to ensure it was in place. The word “revealing” had me apprehensive.
Once the limo had slid to a stop, Stephan clambered out and rounded the car. He opened the door, and Owen finagled himself out with the grace of royalty. I accepted his proffered hand and allowed him to help me out as well, and then we unanimously bid Stephan goodbye. It was the first time I’d been permitted to see the building, the location of the infamous Club, but I was too distracted by whatever Owen surely had up his sleeve to pay much attention to the beautiful columns and plantation-style architecture.
“Are you ready?” he asked cheerfully.
I bit my lower lip, suddenly nervous. “I think so.”
He grinned, wrapped an arm around my waist, and pulled me up against him. In a whisper barely audible over the distant street noise, he said, “No, you’re not.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Owen
The Club was more packed than I’d seen it in a while with barely enough room to squeeze through people and good odds of bumping elbows. A nagging voice in the back of my mind warned me it was because word had gotten out that I was going to be bringing Tabby, but I dismissed the thought in favor of not fanning my ego. I recognized everyone there, of course, but some of the faces were almost unfamiliar to me as I hadn’t seen many for over a year. I wondered if this auction was something special I hadn’t learned about or if it was simply happenstance that tonight should be the night that drew in a crowd.
Howie was standing at the nearest bar to the door with his arm leaned on the countertop and his eyes swiveling from left to right so rapidly he looked like one of those cat clocks grandmothers and retro-lovers hung in their kitchens. I’d seen him doing this before, scoping out the women. I didn’t know if he had registered to bid in the auction or not, but even if he hadn’t that wouldn’t have deterred him. Plenty of women hung around in The Club without being auctioned, which gave him ample opportunity to take someone home, and Howie’s goal was always to take someone home. Rather than going over to him to say hello and socialize, however, I curved my hand around Tabby’s waist and guided her in the opposite direction. It was rude, perhaps, but I’d seen the look on Howie’s face when I mentioned Tabby might show up tonight, and his remorseless lechery wasn’t something I intended to subject Tabby to — not in the least because it raised my hackles.
“Wow,” she murmured as we wound our way through people. I nodded silent greetings to those I made eye contact with as we passed. “Last time was dead compared to this.”
“Last time was the usual,” I told her. “This is a rarity.”
“Is there a special event happening tonight or something?”
Again, I wondered if the crowd had shown up because they considered Tabby a hot commodity and wanted to try their hand at winning her over, but I wasn’t going to share my theory with her. “Not that I know of,” was my simple answer.
We reached the second bar, which was surrounded three-deep, and waited to get our chance at the front. As we did, I performed a brief scan of the room. Bruno was nowhere to be seen, for which I was grateful, but I did spy Tripp Lubbock in the mix. He’d shown particular interest in Tabby the last time I brought her. My territorial nature roared to life, and I shielded her from his view with my body.
By the time we reached the bar, I was genuinely parched. I ordered drinks and watched with interest as Tabby continued looking around. Her eyes spoke the things her mouth didn’t. She found Hugo Ivanov’s chin wobble amusing. Tyrone Warwick’s diamond-crusted teeth repulsed her. The gliding way Delilah, the Dealer, walked made her envious. It didn’t occur to me I was learning to read her wordlessly until she glanced up at me for a split second and I responded as if she’d spoken.
“He’s had that hairstyle since I’ve known him. He claims it’s a tribute to John Lennon,” I said, referencing the shaggy, unkempt hairdo of a rather eccentric member.
She smiled. “How did you know that’s what I was thinking?”
“It’s what everyone is thinking,” I chuckled, choosing not to tell her I’d actually known by some cosmic connection that made me wholly uncomfortable.
The bartender handed me two beverages, and I gave one to Tabby. Then, I looked around to point out someone else we could comment on. As I did, however, I noticed a familiar profile in the room, and it was the kind of familiar of which I wasn’t fond.
Pippa.
She hadn’t spotted me, but I knew it was only a matter of time as long as I was lingering by the bar. I wasn’t necessarily afraid of Tabby and Pippa crossing paths, but I didn’t relish the thought either. Frankly, I would have found it embarrassing to admit to Tabby I’
d bid on Pippa on more than one occasion because the two women were complete opposites in regard to redeeming qualities and personal depth. My having an association with Pippa made me look bad, not in the eyes of my Club comrades but certainly to someone who’d made a point of telling me over dinner she didn’t need to be showered in riches to be wooed.
“Come on,” I said, taking Tabby’s free hand in mine. “Let’s play a few hands.”
I started walking before she could respond, but when we neared an available blackjack table she hesitated. “Oh, you actually want to play cards.”
“Yeah, why?” I asked with a smirk. “Did you think it was an innuendo for something?”
She rolled her eyes. “I never know with you.”
With a saucy wink, I gestured to one of the open chairs. “Have a seat.”
She slipped onto the chair, her dress smoothing over her thighs and dipping into the gap between them, but she looked up at me with mild concern and admitted, “I don’t know how to play.”
“You don’t know how to play blackjack?” I asked, disbelieving.
She shook her head.
A thrill shuddered through me, and I sank onto the seat beside her. “Then, I guess I’ll have to teach you.”
Actually, this news was better than I could’ve hoped for. I had a plan in mind, and this being her maiden voyage into the world of 21 was more than accommodating to the intricacies I’d whipped up. She didn’t know a thing about the plan yet, of course, but it was going to be that much more fun when she found out…