Love So Dark: Billionaire Romance Duet

by Stasia Black

  I shake my head and focus on the music. The moment. Enough with the internal debate. I look hot tonight. The music is hot. I’m at a hip as hell club. I want what I want and there are plenty of guys here tonight who are up for the same thing. I scan the crowd again. I’m further away from the other guy I scoped out, the blond one, but I think I can just barely make out his group from here. I start heading in that direction.

  When I get closer, I happily note that the guy I first spotted is still dancing alone. I note that his hair is slightly reddish as I get closer. It’s a night for redheads, apparently.

  A slight dusting of freckles dot his nose and cheeks. Sweet. His eyes are closed as he dances. He has much better rhythm than Mr. Awkward. He’s not trying any crazy dance moves but has a decent back and forth shuffle/shoulder roll thing going on. I move into the space in front of him and start to dance.

  I don’t put my hand on him or anything. I’m not a hypocrite. I won’t touch or invade his space until I’m invited.

  He keeps his eyes closed though, and I can’t help the smile breaking out on my face. He’s totally lost in his own world as he dances, a slight sheen of sweat on his brow that produces little curls at the front of his hairline and the base of his scalp.

  When he finally opens his eyes, he jerks back in surprise when he sees me there. I laugh and then cover my mouth with one of my hands.

  “Sorry!” I shout over the noise. “You just looked really into the music.”

  He quickly recovers and flashes me a bright, white-toothed smile. Damn, good orthodontia gets me every time.

  He holds out a hand. The angle he does it makes me think of a handshake, but I give my hand over anyway. His nice smile gets even wider and we start to dance. After a few moments, he uses the hand he’s holding to spin me, then roll me back into his chest. It’s like a salsa dance move or something, but I gotta say, crazy impressive. He just positioned me, applied force, and there I went, twirling and spinning.

  Oh yeah, Blond Dancer is definitely the best choice for the evening. I’m all smiles as we keep it up for several more songs. It’s rare that I actually want to stay on the dance floor with a guy for longer than a single number.

  I’m usually all about getting down to brass tacks. Well, for the whole month that I’ve been at this. I have needs. A guy can fill them. Ensue mutually beneficial exchange.

  Speaking of, this has been nice and all, but I’m not big on foreplay. I take a quick glance around. VIP or not, the crush of bodies is at a good enough density to be inconspicuous. I lean up and into Blond Dancer’s chest, sling one arm around the back of his neck and push into his body. It’ll look to anyone watching like we’re just dancing intimately.

  I lean in. “How we doing, big boy?” No one should notice my hand traveling down his chest to the front of his slacks.

  I’m not disappointed. It’s only a semi and I have to follow him when he jerks back in surprise. But he quickly perks up to full mast in my hand. The bold junk-grab rarely fails.

  I move my body with his and look up into his eyes, eyebrow arched. Who the hell is this femme fatale inhabiting my body at the moment? I don’t know, and I don’t question it. It feels fucking amazing.

  His pupils dilate and his hand on my hip grips harder almost reflexively. Oh yeah, he’s into this. I stroke him a couple times through his slacks so he really gets the gist.

  Then I turn on my heel and start walking through the crowd of dancers toward the stairs. When I look over my shoulder, he’s still just standing there with a kind of dazed expression on his face. I give a slight huff and crook my finger so he gets that he’s supposed to follow me.

  A slow, lazy kind of smile comes over his face and then he’s quickly at my side, a hand possessively on my hip. I brush it off but grab the front of his shirt so he knows it’s not a rejection.

  I lead him down the stairs. The VIP floor might be a little more upscale and all that, but I’m looking to get lost in a much larger crowd. The darkest of the dark little forgotten corners. The constant light show is briefly blinding once I get to the bottom of the stairs, but I can already see an area that’ll be perfect. The neon lasers project from the central DJ platform down and outward toward the middle of the club. There’s an area off to the back right that barely gets any light at all.

  I’m not really bothering with the polite dance-my-way-through-the-crowd thing this time. I make a beeline in the direction of the dark corner. I’m in heels, but Blond Dancer is the one struggling to keep up. Sheesh, I’d think he’d be more motivated by the promise of a hot piece of ass. If he doesn’t think a little hustle is worth it, I’m sure there are plenty of other candidates out there who would.

  My brief irritation fades when we get to the corner of the club and I realize the space isn’t just a tiny alcove, but a whole room. In fact, there are little rooms all over the place between the dimly-lit columns back here.

  I look around and grin. Damn, this place is my new favorite spot. They know what a club is really for.

  I grab Blond Dancer’s forearm and drag him to an unoccupied couch in one of the small side rooms. In seconds, I’ve got him down and I’m straddling him, rubbing back and forth. The thin pieces of fabric of my thong and his slacks provide excellent friction for me. I want to throw back my head and revel in my arousal—

  But no, there are still too many unknowns about the situation.

  Instead, I ride him and look down in satisfaction at the man beneath me. Completely at my mercy. They shoot pornos from this angle but it’s always the dude holding the camera. I get the appeal now, though. Being on top and mastering another person.

  Dancer Boy reaches around and tries to get a hand on my ass but I swat him away before he makes contact. My eyes adjusted to the dark a while ago and I can see his startled expression. I don’t bother hiding my glare, but at the same time I dip down and kiss him hard. I don’t care if he feels like these are mixed signals. They really aren’t.

  I’m in control here. Why is this difficult for them to understand? His hands can only go where I put them.

  The kissing is nice—he’s even good at it. His tongue stays pretty much put. He’s not trying to shove it down my throat. He lets me guide the kiss. Good. He’s learning. I feel like he deserves a reward.

  Again, my hands snake down the front of his chest. Past his abs. He’s not overly built, but his stomach doesn’t have a paunch either. I can definitely work with this. I grab his cock and give it a good stroke through his pants.

  He’s rock hard and bigger than before. I give him a wicked grin. Oh yeah. He definitely knows where this is going and he’s on board. I also like the non-verbal thing we’ve got going on. Compliant and non-talkative. He’s turning into my perfect gentleman.

  I kiss him deep again while stroking him. It’s dark in the room and the couple making out in the corner up against the wall is too busy to bother noticing us.

  I’ve got a condom in my bra—never leave home without ‘em is my new motto. A girl’s gotta be prepared. Now I just need to figure out how to smoothly grab it and get his pants down far enough so that I can—

  “That’s enough.”

  The deep voice doesn’t shout, but it’s so loud in my ear and completely unexpected that I fall off of Dancer Guy’s lap.

  Strong hands catch me. Hands on me. Some big fuck of a stranger has his hands on me.

  “Let go of me! Get the fuck off of me!” I yank out of his grasp and stumble backward.

  My hand immediately goes for the knife at my thigh garter belt but fuck, I’m not packing because tonight was just supposed to be a girls’ night.

  And here I am in a dark corner where no one will hear me scream over the music with this giant towering over me. I look frantically to the couch for Dancer Guy but the fucking bastard took off as soon as we were interrupted. Gentleman my ass.

  My gaze shoots back to the giant and I shift my weight to the balls of my feet, hands forming into fists. Run. Don’t fight. Lydia’s i
nstructions from self-defense class ring through my head, but the fucker’s blocking the exit of the little room.

  My blood pounds in my ears and I open my mouth to shout FIRE at the top of my lungs but the giant holds up his hands and takes a step back. In an extra bright flash of the laser lights, the side of his face is lit up.

  Holy shit.

  It’s my ex. Jackson Vale.

  Three

  JACKSON

  I see the moment she recognizes me, the surprise, the shock.

  “Wha—” she starts to ask but I cut her off.

  “I’ll be the one asking the questions here.”

  Fuck but she’s beautiful. So beautiful. She always laid me out. Shaped like Venus and smart, too. The only woman I ever met who wasn’t interested in me for my money or what I could do for them career-wise.

  She never wanted anything from me except me.

  Until she didn’t anymore.

  And that would be fine. Okay that’s a fucking lie. I barely had a taste of her but I’m not sure I could ever get over Calliope Cruise. But I don’t think it was just that she fell out of interest in me.

  He did something. Bryce Gentry. I don’t know what, and I don’t know how, but he did something to her that set her spiraling. Matthews did his research on her before I ever approached her at that Korean café months ago. Single mom. Before working for Gentry she worked long hours at a bar. She didn’t have a car so more often than not, she slept on a worn out couch in the back office. Matthews interviewed one of her fellow waitresses. She never had boyfriends, never slept around.

  No, this out of control behavior is new.

  Like she can see what I’m thinking, Callie’s eyes flick back to the couch where that bastard had his hands all over her and her cheeks flame.

  “What the hell are you doing, Callie?” I step close because I can’t help myself and her eyes drop briefly closed. At first I think it’s in shame but then her nostrils flare. Like my nearness is affecting her as much as hers is me.

  Because she is. Even though I only briefly touched her earlier to pull her away from that fucker, Jesus, touching her. Her skin. Her scent. She’s imprinted so deep I don’t think I’m ever getting her out.

  Which makes me even more pissed about what she’s been doing.

  “So?” I demand.

  Her face hardens and I can see her stubborn coming out. “Are you stalking me?”

  I wouldn’t call looking out for her safety stalking but she takes my silence as confirmation.

  “You are, aren’t you?” She just stares at me, open-mouthed for a moment.

  But she finds her voice quick enough. “You fucking stalker!” She shoves me in the center of my chest. Not just a small shove either. It’s like she uses all her momentum and aims it just right, so even though she’s tiny and I’m over six-foot-four, she knocks me off balance so I’m forced to stumble backwards.

  She stomps past me.

  “Calliope, stop,” I call after her. She is not going to just leave now. Not when we’re finally having this long overdue conversation.

  But she just scoffs and gives me the finger over her shoulder.

  I’ve never wanted to take her over my knee more. Or grab her up in my arms and never let her go. I can’t decide which.

  I follow her either way but I don’t make the mistake of grabbing her.

  “Callie, you need to talk to me.” I catch up to her, my long legs easily covering the distance. It helps that she can barely stay upright in those heels. They might make her legs look fucking fantastic but luckily for me, they aren’t ideal for a quick exit.

  “I’m not talking to a fucking stalker,” she says, eyes on the exit.

  “Technically I’m your host,” I say.

  “What?” she pauses, obviously confused before shaking her head and starting forward again like she’s just reminded herself that she’s ignoring me.

  “Where do you think Jamaal got those VIP passes?”

  She freezes again at that and bingo, finally looks my way. “What are you even talking about?” She lifts a hand to her temple. “You know Jamaal?”

  I shrug. “He works in marketing and we got to talking after the last niche market strategy session meeting.” I smile because I’ve been told I have a charming smile and I’m not above using any weapon at my disposal if it means getting through to her.

  Apparently she’s immune, though, because she just turns and starts walking again, making a beeline for the exit.

  But when I continue beside her, she starts talking. “And you just happened to chat up my best work friend’s boyfriend? And get him a bunch of VIP passes to a club where you also just happen to show up? What, did you hint that he should get his girlfriend to invite a bunch of her friends from work?” She shakes her head. “Did you get buddy buddy enough with Jamaal to mention me by name?”

  That’s exactly what I did, except for mentioning her name. Give me a little more credit than that. But I’m done beating around the bush. None of this is addressing the real problem here. We’re almost to the club exit and she can’t leave before I say what needs saying.

  “It’s not safe. What you’re doing.” I gesture behind us in the general area of the dark corner we came from. “With random men like that. These…” I shake my head. Jesus, I don’t even know the word for what she’s doing. “These hookups. Men you don’t know, circumstances you can’t control.”

  Even saying it out loud has my fists clenching. She’s been putting herself in such danger and I’ve had to stand helpless from the sidelines. Maybe tonight was extreme—making up the excuse to give Jamaal the VIP tickets in an attempt to run into her in a setting outside of work—but I had to do something. I couldn’t just let her keep—

  “Oh my God, you have actually been following me,” she whispers in horror. “Not just tonight.” Her eyes are wide with the sudden realization.

  We’re finally at the club exit and she slams her whole body into the door to shove it open. She’s obviously furious, closing it in my face when I try to follow. Shit. This is going all wrong. I had a plan. I was going to be so suave. Why am I such a shit when it comes to people? Code, I get. Code, I understand. But people? I’ve learned to occasionally fake it over the years, but I’ve always been shit at people.

  “Callie, wait,” I call after I get the door open and follow after her.

  She was stomping away in those damn heels of hers but she spins and stabs a finger in my direction.

  “You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about. I am in control.” She pounds her chest with her palm. “I say when. I say where. I say who. I say how. Nothing happens that I’m not in control of.”

  I don’t care about the audience—the bouncer standing only a few feet away by the entry door or all the people lined up outside the club.

  I face off with her. “Bullshit.”

  I point angrily back at the club. “That’s not safe. You think you’re in control because it’s public, but that’s bullshit. I know for a fact that ten feet from where you and that low life were there was an unlocked door to a hallway. What if a couple guys see you and decide to fuck with you? You think you’re in control and then boom,” I slap my hands together and she jumps from the noise but I don’t care. Maybe I’m finally getting through to her. “They drag you in there with the doors shut so no one can see or hear you.”

  “So I’m just supposed to be scared all the time?” She throws her hands in the air. “Or feel ashamed? So it’s my fault if I get attacked?” Her voice takes on a hysterical edge. “It’s my fault, huh? For dancing suggestively? For daring to tempt the guy because of what I’m wearing? Because I’ve got big tits? Is that what you’re fucking saying?”

  She goes to slam me in the chest again but I catch her wrists before she can. My chest roars at the contact and all I want to do is pull her into me. Instead I let her go even though it takes everything in me to do it.

  She’s in so much pain. I hear it in her voice. I see it in h
er face and it is fucking killing me. Killing me.

  What happened to you, Callie? What did he fucking do to you?

  “No,” I say firmly. “Christ, I hope you know me better than that.” Then again, who am I kidding? I run a hand through my hair and mutter, “Not that we had that much time together to get to know each other beyond the basics.”

  Was that it? Was that Gentry’s plan? Just to dangle the best thing of my life in front of me and then snatch her away? I don’t understand. I don’t understand any of it.

  All I know is that when Calliope Cruise came into my life, I realized I’d been asleep for years. Numb. I had my routines and I had my company and I thought I was happy. Well, maybe I’ve always thought true happiness was a myth but I was content enough anyway.

  Only to find out I was actually sleepwalking through my life.

  Because she woke me up.

  Nerves gone numb from not firing in years came back to life. It was like Dorothy going to Oz. Everything was suddenly in vivid, heart-breaking color.

  Things mattered again.

  And maybe the Tin Man could find his heart again after all. The thing is, I did. But it’s beating in her chest.

  I’m staring, I know it, but she’s not looking away either. And I feel it again—the connection that’s like a fucking hammer to the chest. I’m looking at my future. The only future I’ll ever want.

  And she deserves the truth. I won’t play games with her. I’ll never be anything like him. I don’t know what he did to her and maybe she’ll only be the ghost of my future. A future that could have been but never will be.

  Maybe that’s what I deserve and maybe it’s a mercy because though she deserves the truth, there are some things about my past I don’t think I could ever bring myself to tell her.

  “Maybe I have been stalking you—” her eyes flare at my words “—if by stalking, you mean having one of my security guys shadow you when you go out on your own.”