by N. N. Britt
The meaning of what he was telling me finally registered. It wasn’t just an engagement party. It was an opportunity. “Okay. I’ll go,” I said breathlessly.
Dante dipped his candy into his mouth for a brief moment, then took it out and brushed it along the seam of my lips. My stomach lurched and my head spun. For a second there, I forgot my own name.
Something slick pooled between my legs. Oh no, not while I’m wearing a swimsuit. He and I alone... This was turning into a disaster.
Dante slowly dragged the lollipop from one corner of my mouth to the other, smearing the sugary substance over my lips, and then nudged them open with it. I obeyed. A blend of cherry and something else—something very male and dangerous—burst on my tongue.
Our gazes were locked and our bodies were tight, like two snares. “Not today,” he rasped and gently slid the candy out of my mouth to return it to his.
Then he walked out of the pool house, leaving me turned on and speechless.
Several days later, I sat on the shaded patio of an upscale bakery in Calabasas, the bakery that my mother had been visiting once a month for the past twenty years like clockwork.
“The numbers are up.” She adjusted her glasses and continued to scan the accounting spreadsheet I’d put together specifically for her.
Eloise Rockwell was old-school. She liked paper.
So I humored my mother. Every time we met up for brunch, I brought a hard copy of the compressed profit and loss report.
Just the way she liked it.
I didn’t quite understand why exactly she needed to look at the numbers printed on a piece of paper when she could see the same numbers from her computer any minute of any day, but arguing with her was useless. This stubbornness made me think about Ally and I wondered if my daughter inherited her attitude from her grandmother and not from the man who accidentally conceived her.
Calling Greg a father seemed too far-fetched. He’d taken himself out of the responsibilities of parenthood by assuring that his only form of involvement was the money he sent me every month.
For your daughter, he’d said to me fifteen years ago when she was born.
Not our daughter.
Your daughter.
“Yes, I believe we’ll have our best quarter yet,” I muttered absently, my mind snapping to the present and instantly drifting to Dante’s party. I swore I could still feel the taste of him on my tongue after all this time and all the showers I’d taken and all the times I’d brushed my teeth. It was like he’d imprinted himself onto me with his candy trick.
The memory came back, fresh and unbidden and dirty, and I felt a pang just below my stomach that resonated through my entire body and nearly made my toes curl.
Harper was right. The other day he’d told me I needed to get laid. Normally, I would protest. Sex didn’t seem important when you were raising a child alone.
I hadn’t protested then.
Because I’d been secretly wanting.
“What is this about some musician you’re seeing?” my mother asked, her voice cutting into my thoughts like the sharpest knife.
“I’m sorry?” I looked at her carefully, curious about who’d spilled the beans. Most likely Renn.
“Renn mentioned something the other day when she came over.”
I knew it. “I’m not seeing him, Mother.”
She narrowed her green eyes at me. They were just like mine, bright and lush. We shared almost the same hair color too, but hers was a bit duller from age and she kept it short, in a neat bob. “Well, tell me about him, Camille.”
“There’s nothing to tell.” Oh, there was a lot to tell, most of which my mother wouldn’t like.
“What do you mean? How old is he? Is he divorced? Does he have kids? What does he do? Obviously, musicians don’t make much money. He must have a real job.”
I never contradicted my mother openly and in public places, but I felt the need to do so now, just to prove her wrong. “He actually doesn’t have a job because he’s made a fortune by playing a guitar and he doesn’t need to work.”
The words seemed to render her speechless for a long moment, but obviously, she didn’t show her disdain. Truly, she hardly showed any emotions these days.
“I hope he’s not one of those hippies.”
“No, he’s not a hippie. That was in the seventies, Mother. We live in the twenty-first century.”
“How many times has he been married?”
“Why do you always assume things?”
My mother gave a delicate shrug. Everything about her was elegant and proper and very thought through. From her carefully put-together outfits to her movements. God forbid she wasted more energy than necessary on stirring the sugar substitute that she took with her tea.
“It seems logical, doesn’t it?” She picked up her cup from the table and sipped slowly.
“He’s never been married. No kids.”
“He’s not younger than you, is he?”
“No, he’s a few years older.”
“How come he’s never been married?” She meant she wanted to know what was wrong with the man.
“I don’t know. Maybe he hasn’t met anyone.”
“Did you ask?”
“As a matter of fact, I did.”
She raised a brow. “And?”
“That’s what he alluded to. That he hasn’t met anyone.” Because I was too fucked up didn’t sound like an explanation my mother would understand.
“He sounds very suspicious.”
“Everyone sounds suspicious to you.”
“Does he get along with Ally at least?”
“Yes.” Somehow, I couldn’t hide my smile when I thought about Dante in my living room, teaching my kid music.
“That’s the important part.” My mother set the tea back on the table and studied me for a bit. “If he’s kind to your daughter, you should hold on to him. You’ve got only a few good years left.”
My heart dropped to my stomach, sudden anger pulling me under like a cold tide. “You really went there, didn’t you? Your life won't be complete unless you marry me off.”
“I’m just thinking of you and Ally. You need a man.”
“Why? What for?”
“To take care of you.”
“I’ve been without a man all this time and have done great so far.” My voice pitched low and I pushed my chair away from the table because I had the urge to walk out on my mother.
“Honey.” Her face softened, which happened so rarely, I no longer remembered how she looked when she was tender. She reached for my hand from across the table and covered it with hers. “I only want you to be happy and loved. It’s a wonderful thing to have someone in your life to share it with.”
My fury subsided. “Then say it like that. Don’t scare me into jumping into bed with the first man available simply because I’ll start getting wrinkles soon. I don’t want to settle on some guy I don’t care about on account of my ticking biological clock.” I want to love the way you love Dad and the way he loves you. Unconditionally.
But, of course, I didn’t voice my thoughts.
My mother squeezed my hand one last time and let go. “How about you bring this musician of yours to the anniversary? I think Dad and I would like to meet him.”
This was my chance to tell her that we weren’t serious. We hadn’t even kissed yet, but he was in my house twice a week. Without fail. And I’d already agreed to be his date at his friend’s engagement party. So I said, “I’ll ask him.”
“Wonderful.” My mother beamed and returned to the printed report.
13 Dante
“Frankie-boy sure does live out in the boonies,” I murmured as I stared out the window from the back seat of my Navigator. The driver was taking us up a hill, the road curving and jumping ahead like a snake.
Camille was next to me, knees tightly pressed together, hands folded in her lap atop her miniature purse. When the car turned a sharp corner, she lost her balance and slid over to me
. Our thighs touched.
“I’m sorry.” A small smile flashed.
“You can bump into me anytime, darlin’.” I laughed at her eccentric modesty. Right now, it didn’t suit her. Not in this goddamn dress. It was a chocolate-colored number made of the softest silk that hugged her body tight enough for me to assume she’d possibly worn a thong underneath. Her shoulders were bare except for thin straps and the skirt ended just above her knees.
She was wrapped like a piece of candy and I wanted her badly.
What else did I want?
To do things right for once.
That was the main reason we’d been playing this cat and mouse game for the past month.
And Ally, of course.
Who, like a true rebel, sat in the front and chatted with my driver.
Every night, as I lay awake alone in my bedroom and thought back to that charged moment in my pool house, when the energy snapped and roared through the air between us, I imagined things going in a completely different direction.
I imagined spinning Camille around, bending her over the couch, and fucking her into oblivion.
And I imagined her liking it and begging for an encore.
More often than never, these fantasies ended up with me jerking off. Which was funny because I couldn’t remember the last time I’d used my hand since there had always been an available mouth or pussy to stick my dick in...in my past life.
Where nothing but the next high mattered.
In my current reality, I was the owner of a body that had forsaken me. I had no choice but to eat right, sleep a lot, exercise regularly, and pretend that I didn’t crave another line or another shot.
“Oh my God, I love this song!” Ally shrieked excitedly from her seat as we took another turn, and all my filthy thoughts evaporated instantly.
An old Bleeding Faith tune blared from the speakers and I was surprised how calm Camille remained throughout the entire drive with so much metalcore in the background. I wished my own mother had been that understanding of my creative endeavors when I was Ally’s age.
Finally, Frank’s villa emerged farther up the hill. The gate was wide open. Two security guards with walkie-talkies were scanning the cars slowly pulling into the long driveway.
Frank was a huge fan of clean, simple aesthetics and his house reflected that love of all things elegant.
The front yard seemed ablaze with lights. I could see people moving inside the house through the huge windows. Music played. Voices blended. Glasses clinked.
“I thought you said this was supposed to be an intimate event,” Camille whispered as we came to a stop. The driver climbed out of the car to open the doors for us, but Ally beat him to it. She was buzzing with energy today.
“It is intimate, darlin’,” I said, stepping out and offering her a hand. “It’s Frankie fucking Blade. What did you expect?”
“A smaller crowd,” Camille bristled, her face suddenly tense. She slid her palm against mine and got out of the car. The lights instantly streamed over to her, brushing across the fabric of her dress and illuminating her hair that she’d—to my dismay—put up in an elaborate do. A few strands fell loose down her neck and I had the urge to wrap them around my fingers.
“Dante,” a male voice called from off to the side. “Long time.”
I spun and saw Roman in all of his bold, suited glory. A crackling walkie-talkie strapped to his belt was sticking out from under his black jacket and he lowered the volume.
“My man.” I shook his hand and patted his rock-hard shoulder. “You’re looking good. Frankie-boy’s treating you right, huh?”
He wasn’t the smiley type—bodyguards never were—but there was a grin on his face. It lasted only a fraction of a second, but still, I appreciated it.
“You do too, Dante.” He nodded.
“I’m getting by.” Camille’s hand was still in mine and I realized that tonight would be very different for me. I’d never brought a woman I wasn’t fucking to any of Frank’s parties.
Sensing my sudden unease, Roman shifted his attention to Camille and offered his hand for a shake. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m Roman, head of security here.”
“Camille.” She motioned at her daughter. “This is Ally.”
“She also goes by Hendrix,” I pointed out.
“You’re that good, huh?” Roman grinned again at the girl. It was unlike him. All this beaming and swooning.
Not only did Cassy Evans turn Frankie Blade into a mushy mess, but she also fucked up a perfectly mean bodyguard.
“I’d like to think so,” Ally said, looking for pockets to stick her hands into like she always did when she was nervous, but she had on a dress today. It was a simple black piece with layers of lace, and she’d paired it with military boots and a whole lot of accessories. I had to give it to her. The kid had style.
“She’s just being shy,” I cut in. “She’s amazingly talented.”
Behind us, another car pulled in, its headlights streaking across the yard, then disappearing into the darkness.
“Well, it’s very nice to meet you. You know the way, right?” Roman gestured at the front terrace and took off to greet another guest.
Typically, at this time of year—late October—the property was engulfed in thick fog at night, but temperatures only crawled up and up the entire month. Not a sliver of rain. Even clouds were rare. It had started to feel as if we were living in hell, which wasn’t far from the truth, at least for me. My hell, however, wasn’t dependent on the weather.
We walked up the path leading toward the house and entered the terrace. A small group of people lingered by the entrance. Recognition filtered through me at the sight of a familiar face. Cassy’s friend and partner. I couldn’t remember his name, only that he was a Jewish fella. The black hole in my memory was terribly upsetting.
I raised a hand by way of a greeting.
His eyes widened at that and he nodded but didn’t approach.
Inside, the house was alive with muted chatter, soft rock music, and the clinking of silverware. A uniformed waiter carried a huge tray loaded with dangerous-looking hors d'oeuvres past us.
Ally’s gaze fell on the food as the guy maneuvered through the downstairs area.
“Are you hungry?” I asked her.
“A little.”
“She hasn't eaten anything since breakfast,” Camille whispered, resting her delicate hand on her daughter’s shoulder.
“Why would you do such a thing?” I inquired.
“The dress wouldn’t fit,” she murmured.
I surveyed her, confused. The piece did look a bit too snug now that I could actually see it better in this light. “Why not buy a different size?”
In the corner of my eye, I saw Camille making a strange face. Like I’d asked the most preposterous thing.
“This was the last one,” Ally explained indignantly and jerked at the hem to straighten the fabric.
“Why not get a different one in your size?” I pressed, really wanting to hear the reasoning.
“Okay, that’s not a question you should be asking a stubborn fifteen-year-old girl,” Camille whispered in my ear, her palm sliding across my back as if she was trying to pacify me. It felt nice, the slender fingers pressed to my spine, burning through the black satin of my shirt.
“I liked this one,” Ally said, her chin lifted. “Now are we going to mingle or what?”
“Okay, Hendrix,” I agreed, examining the room. “Let’s go feed you and introduce you to some people.”
Heads started to turn as we strolled through the crowd toward the back terrace overlooking the ocean, where I spotted Cassy.
She was talking to her brother, a tall, lanky guy with a mop of honey-blond curls, who was wearing a tux. I felt the cool, salty breeze on my cheeks and neck, flowing in from the water. It was refreshing after the heat of the mountains.
“Dante! You’re here.” Cassy finally took notice of me. Others did as well, but they seemed to be terri
fied to strike up a conversation. They smiled and greeted me stiffly and I wondered if Frank had informed his guests about my being included on the guest list.
Or that we were actually talking to each other.
Because it seemed that only our lawyers were aware of the fact. Not the rest of our friends.
“How are you, darlin’?” I offered Cassy a cheek for an air kiss as she rushed over, her sharp gaze darting to Camille at my side and then to Ally.
“I’m glad you came.” She beamed.
“This looks like a fun party. Wouldn’t have missed it for the world.” I shifted, my body drawing closer to the woman I’d brought with me tonight. I wasn’t sure why I hesitated to reveal her name. Perhaps keeping it to myself ensured she was only mine and no one else’s, but in my heart, I knew that even if we did get together, she’d never fully be mine. Ally would always come first.
“This is Camille, my date,” I finally said. “And this is Ally.” I paused for a second, my hand finding Camille’s. “She’s my... I guess protégé sounds about right.”
“Pleasure. I’m Cassy.” She smiled. “I’m so happy you could make it.”
Some small talk followed, which was interrupted by Frank’s appearance a couple of minutes later. He’d snuck up on us, all dressed up and chiseled and satisfied. Like a huge cat.
Ally was starstruck. She shook his hand for what seemed like a good hour. When Cassy finally whisked her and Camille away to show them the house, we retreated into Frank’s study.
Here, away from the noise of the party, he braved a question, “If I didn’t know better, I would’ve thought she was your long-lost sister. Since when are you dating women over twenty-five?”
“Careful, Frankie-boy,” I warned him, feeling a little offended. “You’re not the only one who gets to have a wholesome relationship.”
He looked me over, his keen blue eyes alert and serious. “She seems nice.”
“She is.”
“What does she do?”
“Wedding dresses.”
Frank laughed. It was a deep, hearty rumble. “You’ve changed.”
“Yeah, well...” I strode across the room, aimless steps taken mainly to calm the restlessness that was rising in me due to so many familiar faces bringing so many unwanted memories. “You know, drugs do that to you.”