“But first, a drink,” I murmur standing and going downstairs. The place is more crowded, with a mixture of my covert employees and what I suspect are repeat customers. A curvy redhead gyrates in nothing but a G-string to the pop beat of Madonna’s “Material Girl” while a half dozen men stand along the stage. The girl works her way down the line of males, giving each a nice swish of her ample ass and a peekaboo at her pussy, in a quick exchange for a dollar, all in perfect rhythm to the song. I can’t help but be a little impressed. Unlike Claire, this dancer is no rookie. As if sensing my gaze, she glances over, and when our eyes meet, she winks. Another time, another place, and I would most likely take her somewhere before the dawn and fuck her unconscious. I know the type. But I'm not that person anymore. Not since Claire.
I scan the room for her blonde head and am disappointed when I don’t see her. All the tall, round cocktail tables are occupied, which leaves only the bar itself to search for her. There, I find only men. A couple give me a once over, but my icy glare convinces them to steer clear. If they think I am entertainment, they will be sorely disappointed.
Frustration mounting, I hold back a curse and instead order a top-shelf scotch, no water, no ice. Just neat. Claire must be in the dressing room still, perhaps feeling a little shy after what happened between us. The thought makes me smile as I sip my drink and wonder about the emotions Claire might be feeling. They are no doubt as intense as my own. The chemistry between us is unmistakable. What we experience together clearly has no bounds. Another tug of arousal makes me shift my stance. I am ready to continue what we started, and scan for her again, only to see Johnny striding toward me through the crowd. Even in the room's low light, I see he is pissed, and I set down my drink to be ready for anything. On my left and my right, I feel two of my men shift as well. Johnny has no idea he is entirely surrounded by people who are there to do anything I say.
When he is a foot from me, he stops and points angrily at my face. “This is your fault,” he snarls, and I raise an eyebrow.
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“That fucking Claire,” he answers. “Bitch just quit!”
I take in the information, breaking down his words so they can penetrate my brain. I am both happy and frustrated. Of course, Claire would quit tonight, that was always my plan, but we had not talked about the details yet. That Johnny called the woman I intend to spend the rest of my life with a bitch is just his most recent mistake. Another nail in his coffin. I made arrangements for his personal and professional ruin already, so, I refocus on Claire quitting. “Where is she?”
Johnny waves his hands in the air. “Left. Gone. Pretty much ran out of here,” he says. “And I know you are the reason. Which is why—” He keeps talking, but the words are gibberish at this point. My hearing shut off after I heard ‘left' and ‘gone'. That cannot be possible. I raise a hand to shush him.
“What do you mean she left?” At this, Johnny actually grins. There is nothing pleasant about it from his shitty need for dental work to the malice in the smile.
“Oh, didn’t she give you a kiss goodbye?” He laughs. “Scared her off, butch. And now you are going to pay me the rest of my money for ruining a good investment.” A part of me wants to stay and find out what Johnny means in regard to Claire being an investment, but a stronger part needs to find her before she gets away again.
“We’re not done,” I explain as I tap him hard in the chest with my forefinger. “But for now, get out of my way.” Pushing past, not waiting for a response, I navigate the crowd to get to the club’s parking lot and scan for Claire’s car. My chest tightens when I see the blue sedan washed in backup lights as it reverses out of a parking spot. She really is going to leave. Nothing could have caught me more by surprise and not thinking of my own safety, especially considering she hit me with the same car once before, I run to stand behind her vehicle. For a second, I think she doesn't see me, and I really am about to be run down again, and then the backup lights turn to brake lights. The red flare makes me squint, but not so much I can’t make out Claire’s eyes in the rearview mirror. Fear. But why?
I hear her put the car in park as I walk around to the passenger side and open it. Without invitation, I sit inside shutting the door and look at her. She stares out the windshield at the brick wall in front of us. It gives me a moment to take in the details around her. The car is spotless but for a Chicago Cubs baseball hat and round-lensed sunglasses tucked in the center console. I like that she takes pride in her car, although it is not new or flashy. She is no longer in the black dress, but now jeans and a white t-shirt, with her hair pulled back into a messy bun. The red lipstick is gone. Somehow, she is even more beautiful in the simplicity of it, and the urge to take her face in my hands to kiss her is enough to make me clench my fists. Somehow, I know doing that right now would be the wrong move to make.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers, and before I ask what for, she lowers her head to the steering wheel and rests it there. “I'm not who you think I am. What happened…” I keep silent needing to know what she is thinking. “…I am not that person. I was just caught up.”
“Caught up?” I ask, not sure I like where she is going. Things did not feel ‘caught up’ to me, they felt real. She squeezes her eyes shut and rocks her head side to side.
“I don’t know,” she continues. “Things are just complicated right now. I can’t do this.”
Every fiber of my soul wants to reach out to her, take her in my arms, and explain everything will be okay. I can take care of anything which is complicating her life. Anything. Then, I think of Zena and Val, and even Lila’s words from the yacht. “Pick someone who doesn’t know you.” I grind my teeth in frustration. As much as I want to believe telling Claire would not change things, I know it is not true. She can’t know I’m a billionaire with an international empire. Not yet. Still, I don’t have to be helpless. There are discreet options. “How can I help?”
The offer makes no difference. “You can't,” she half-laughs. “You know what's crazy? I can't stop thinking about you.” My hopes soar. I feel the same and reach to take her hand only to get caught in her stare when she finally looks up. There is fire as well as sadness there, and I freeze at the combination. “I can't do this to you. Please just go.”
“Kiss me first,” I insist. “And then if you still want me to go, I will, no questions.” I think for a moment she will refuse, but then her eyes soften, and she leans in. Not stupid, I seize the moment and wrap a hand around the back of her neck to pull her mouth tight against mine. The flare of heat at the contact makes me dizzy, and when she parts her lips to let me take her mouth with my tongue, I am truly lost to her. She moans as I plunge deeper and starts to press her body forward until she is dangerously close to ending up in my lap. This is what I want. Right here. Pulling back until I can slide my lips along her cheek and to her neck, I am again hungry for her. “Come home with me,” I ask. “I want you.”
Again, she moans, this time with more angst in it, and I know the pulse pounding inside me matches hers. She and I are so good together. We belong together. I am about to kiss her again when I hear her sob out a breath. Freezing in place, I am not sure what is happening. “I can't,” she answers me. “I need to go. Please let me.” With no idea what to say, I release her and step out of the car. This is the last thing I want, but I won’t force her to be with me. I watch from the parking lot as she backs out and then moves to drive away. At the last second, she rolls down her window. “You’re amazing, Madison,” she says and then she is gone again.