Wanderland
by
Madame Z
Smashwords Edition
Copyright © 2011 by Madame Z
ISBN: 978-1-61333-122-4
Cover art by Dara England
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Published by Decadent Publishing Company, LLC
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~DEDICATION~
To the founders of the Chamber and the authors and readers and friends who embraced my work and supported me since 2008, I dedicate this to you.
Chapter One
Tam Wilde made a brus que pass through the sea of men and women, lightly touching the arms, shoulders, and backs of the gallery’s guests. She made a beeline for her date for the evening, Michael Dawson. He stood next to the hors d’oeuvres table, sampling cheeses and crackers. He was stylishly out of place, wearing his usual jeans, T-shirt, button-down shirt, low-quarter Converses and plaid Fedora. Compared to the consistently eclectic and eccentric fashions worn by artists, gallerists, critics, and others of Seattle’s art scene, he appeared different. Apart.
“Be back in a minute.” She grasped his arm, pulling him close and giving him a quick peck on the cheek. A light bulb over one of the stalls had gone out in the women’s bathroom, so she was off to change it.
Michael was such a good sport about everything. Technically, it was their third date. Not as ideal as she’d hoped—she was working, after all—but soon they’d be able to spend some time alone, just as they’d done that morning, drinking coffee at the Java Café near the Gardens. While standing on the toilet, holding tight to the stall partition to her left she screwed in the bulb, recalling fondly their breakfast date and by extension their first ‘real’ date and prior to that, their first meeting, which had occurred here at the gallery.
Days before, she had been working in preparation of the current exhibition, shifting displays, moving pieces from one pillar or blank wall to the next brick wall or open space or the wall-of-windows, of which the front entrance to the gallery was comprised. That’s when she saw him. Rather, he saw her, from the other side of the glass. He stopped mid-stride on the sidewalk and gazed at her until, finally, she left the gelatin-print at an obtuse angle, hanging amongst the others, and stole away to the back. She was not interested in being ogled, even though he was cute. But he’d come in and found her hiding behind the reception desk. He’d feigned interest in the work. Feigned, because she knew he hadn’t come there for the art. Fortunately, she was able to abide his stumbling and turned the conversation in her favor. He’d left that afternoon with six prints and her phone number.
Tam got down from the toilet and walked to the vanity to check her makeup and dress. She’d slipped on a plain black number. It was a sleeveless A-line that segued into a diagonal cut just above her knee. She wore a limited amount of makeup for a natural look, but had gone heavy on the mascara and eyeliner and a natural gloss to accentuate her lips. Her hair, a mass of both loose and tight curls, she’d fashioned into a chignon, not the afro she normally wore. It was simple yet chic, much like the gallery’s exhibition. She’d wondered if all the subtle attention to detail had an effect on Michael. She got her answer as soon as she picked her way through the guests once more to stand at his side.
He removed a glass of wine from his lips and pulled her in for a kiss, his hand settling at her waist.
“You’re gorgeous.”
“You always say so.” She gestured to the crowd. “I’m sorry I’m so back-and-forth. I mean this was supposed to be a date and—”
“Don’t worry about it. I enjoy watching you in your element.” He pulled her close and pressed a light kiss against her temple. “How long is this thing supposed to last, anyway?”
“Just another hour or so. It’s a closing reception. We get in another exhibition day after tomorrow, so there’ll be another party then.”
He let go of her and reached for another glass of wine, handing it to her.
“Drink up.”
“Maybe I shouldn’t…I need to be on my toes in case Tyler needs any—”
“Tam! Tam, there you are.” A voice called from behind them. It belonged to her boss and her friend, Tyler Kelso, the owner of the gallery. “And hello to you again, Michael.”
“Tyler.”
Michael’s grip on her waist tightened when he said hello to Tyler. Tam guessed that maybe Michael wasn’t comfortable with her friends, but then why would he be? This was their third date. He hadn’t a chance to get to know them—them being Tyler, Julie, who also worked at the gallery, and Ivan, Tyler’s boyfriend. She and Ivan weren’t friends as much as they were acquaintances, who got along only for the sake of Tyler.
“I changed the light bulb in the bathroom already,” she began to explain before Tyler had a chance to ask.
“Oh yes, I remember now. Thank you so much, my darling.” He kissed her on each cheek.
Tyler had been at school with Tam, at the Savannah College of Art and Design. He’d graduated one year and one semester prior to Tam, and then returned to his home in Seattle. His family had money, so it was natural progression that he was able to open his art gallery so quickly. Tyler had extended the invitation for her to join him upon her graduation the following year. She had no real family to speak of. Her parents divorced when she was younger. Her mom died, her dad died, her grandmother, whom she had lived with after her parents’ death, died just before she went to college. There were distant relatives, but she didn’t have contact with them. She’d been on her own since college, and Tyler was as close to family as she could think of.
“What is it, Tyler?”
“There’s a group in back.” Tyler looked over her shoulder.
“A group?” She gulped down a large swallow of wine.
“Yes, a special group.” He moved closer. Michael’s grip tightened. “I think they might be interested in the Knights Collection. Currently, I’m caught up with the mayor and members of city council, so I need you to exercise your presentation skills and tell them all about the artist, the conceptualization of the work, and whatever else you can tell them in order to sell, sell, sell!” Tyler lifted his eyebrows theatrically and put his manicured fingertips to his mouth.
“Tyler, why are you fake-biting your nails?”
“You haven’t handled a group of potential clients before. Are you up for it? Do you think you can do this? Oh, look, there they are.” He gestured to the front of the gallery. There were only six or seven of them, mostly males with a couple of females scattered throughout. The women wore cocktail dresses, the men suits.
“The Knight Exhibit, you say?”
“Yes, my love.” He leaned in close and spoke low into her ear. “Really try and sell the collection. You can do it. I have faith in you!” He gave her a once-over, one hand darting out to brush at the collar of her dress. Apparently satisfied with her appearance, he turned on his heel and made his way back into the fray. Tam looked once again at the group of elegantly dressed people clustered near the door.
“I’m sorry,” she apologized to Michael. “After the light bulb in the bathroom, I thought the worst was over. Now he wants me to take care of these people….”
“It’s cool. How long will it take you?” He set their glasses down on the bar.
“Maybe twenty, twenty-five minutes. I’ll have to go through the artists’ history, the concept, execution. The whole shebang.”
“I’ll tell you what.” He pulled her close, hands settling at her waist. “I’ll go outside, have a smoke, or two, or three....” He chuckled. He smoked cigarettes, something she didn’t care for, but he’d made a decent effort to practice his habit away from her. “I’ll meet you here.” He kissed her once, twice, on the lips, the cheek. “And maybe after, we can split. Go to my place...or yours.”
It was really much too soon for much intimacy between them. After their previous date, he’d taken her home, walked her upstairs to her apartment, and before seeing her inside initiated a first-date kiss that lasted much longer than a traditional one. The urgency and enthusiasm, with which she had returned the gesture, later scared her. She wasn’t so fast when it came to men. She wasn’t always so eager to take the next step, whatever that step might entail.
“We’ll see.”
He winked at her and then turned to the front. She followed, but veered left, to the back of the gallery, where the business group had gathered to observe a series of nudes on canvas while waiting. She introduced herself as ‘Tam Wilde, Associate Gallerist at Kelso Gallery’, and then motioned them to the back where the Knight Collection waited.
It was a practiced speech, borne of rote memorization, and infused with inflection at the proper moments. She’d prepped for these events, even though this moment was the first time she’d actually presented without notice. Usually Tyler, as head gallerist and owner, fielded prospective buyers. Tonight, he was too busy rubbing elbows with the local government. Even so, she would much prefer spending the rest of the evening, be it here or elsewhere, with Michael. They were just beginning to know one another and if their pre-courtship continued, maybe she could learn not to be such a tight-ass about his business.
As she spoke, she stared just past their heads to a spot on the far wall, still thinking of Michael, and the joke he’d told her earlier about a platypus and Plato in a bar together. She recalled again his work: bar-owner/club-owner. Two of them were strip clubs and the other two, bars. He, along with his friend, Turk Johnson, ran the businesses and had done so for eight years. He was a worker, a businessman, though he dressed like a twenty-year old college student. But that didn’t matter. She liked his plaid shirts and trucker hats and laid-back attitude. He wasn’t her usual type at all. They were almost as different as night and day. Literally.
The group remained respectfully quiet while listening, and was observant as she pointed out various aspects of each print in the collection. They reserved their comments and questions until the end, as she’d requested they do before she began her spiel. As a result of the unexpected speech and ensuing bout of dialogue after, her throat grew parched. And just as she chastised herself for not bringing a water bottle with her from the wet bar, one, as if by magic, materialized before her. She connected the extended hand with the bottle to the man who held it. She looked into his face. The clearest, most blue set of eyes she’d ever seen stared back at her.
“I thought you might need this.”
“Thank you.” She took the bottle from him and for the briefest of seconds their fingers touched. With eyes seeking, she both saw and felt his gaze dance over her face, as if memorizing her features. From where their fingers had touched, to her exposed neck, her mouth, nose, eyes, and even her hair, he looked. It both titillated—her heart raced and a flush of heat burned under her skin—and unnerved her. Just why was he studying her so closely? So...intimately?
She turned away and continued to answer the questions the buyers posed. She drank from the bottle in between explanations, thirsting as if she’d just run a marathon or biked a trail, and was now initiating cool-down procedures. But the only thing that was cool was his glacier-clear irises, watching her from the side of the small crowd.
“I think it is important that the citizens of this city support its artists. This has been our fifth gallery visit this week.” An older gentleman spoke. “We’ve seen wonderful work throughout and I’m hoping that soon we can make a decision on which of these lovely collections we’d like to purchase.”
“Purchase.” She smiled, remembering Tyler’s request that she not only inform them of the collection but sell it, if at all possible. “That’s wonderful. We’d love to display these collections in your homes or businesses. If you’ll note, our contact information is on the back of your program. Tyler Kelso is the owner and will have no problem arranging sales, transfer, and installations.”
The gentlemen and ladies noted the programs and the location on back to which she referred. She took the break in speaking to drain the remaining water in the bottle. She found she was still thirsty. As she glanced around for another bottle, she thought of Michael and wondered if he was at the bar, waiting, or if he was outside again, smoking cigarette after cigarette. A touch to her shoulder prompted a turn. She half-expected to see the same man who’d asked her about acquiring the collection, but was surprised to find the gentleman, her water-benefactor from just moments before. He stood with a curious smile on his face and a mischievous glint in his eyes, holding another water bottle.
“So you’re not the owner?” He offered the water. Without question, she took it, careful to avoid touching him again.
“No, I’m an associate gallerist.” She looked him over, taking in his form. He towered over her by at least half a foot, and she was five-foot-seven. His presence was as oppressive as it was impressive. He reeked of power, of wealth. Perhaps it was the suit and the watch she’d glimpsed and the cufflinks and his tie. Maybe it was his scent, lingering, present, but not overpowering.
His eyes were his most striking feature, though she found her gaze drawn to his mouth. Even teeth were curtained by a pair of full lips that stretched into a smile, revealing light dimples in his cheeks and laugh lines to the sides. His strong jaw was matched to a prominent brow, between them an aquiline nose bisected the almost-perfect symmetry of his face. He was ridiculously handsome. He could’ve been a model. She wondered if maybe he was.
Somewhere in her study, she recalled her purpose in standing before these people. Before him.
“Tyler handles more the business end of things. I’m more hands-on with the work.”
“Is that right?”
Something in his tone made her look and question his intent. He was flirting with her. Or maybe she read too much into it. Or maybe not. She was accustomed to receiving attention from males. Even when she downplayed the makeup and her dress, she was flirted with, whistled at, catcalled, hit on by all kinds of men. It had always been something that just happened. And while she was used to it, she was hardly ever comfortable with the attention.
“If there aren’t any other questions, feel free to look around at the other collections. Thank you for coming.” She ducked away, bypassing him before he had a chance to say more. She sought out Michael in the crowd, while holding tight to her water bottle. The bottle he’d given her.
“Excuse me.” A voice called from behind. Even before recognizing his voice over the murmur of the crowd, she knew it was him.
“Yes?”
“I just wanted to offer my thanks on that fantastic presentation. I’ve learned quite a lot about the….” He hesitated.
“The Nobu Knights,” she finished for him.
“Yes,” he stated evenly. “The Nobu Knights. Thank you for that.”
“It’s my job. It’s what I do,” she answered with her mouth tight. He was looking at her again. Staring at her, through her, into her, it seemed. She turned away but a hand at the bend of her arm stopped her. Slightly annoyed with the beautiful stranger at her side, she lifted her eyebrows, prompting him either to release her or to say what he had to say.
“I overheard you telling Mr. Jinn of another exhibit coming soon? When will that be? And…will you be giving the tour as you did tonight?” He let go, pointedly looking to his hand.
Although his fingers had moved, she could still feel the heat of that touch on her bare skin. She glanced away, reaching to scratch at a spot on her neck where an itch flared just below the surface. She watched, noting how he studied the motion. He spoke with a slight accent. Germanic, Slavic, Italian? She’d lived in Europe growing up. She was an Army brat, thanks to her soldier dad and teacher-tutor mom.
“Ummm, probably not. Tyler usually does most of the presentations, too. At least during the larger openings for the major exhibits.”
“But you did so well....”
“Thank you for saying so. But as I said a moment ago, presenting isn’t really my area. Installing is.” She looked past him to the crowd. Michael wasn’t at the bar.
“I’d like to see you again.”
She heard but didn’t hear, so when her gaze settled upon his, vibrant and earnest, he corrected himself.
“I’d like to see another presentation, that is.” He covered the slip well, though his cheeks burned crimson. With eyes so clear, pale skin, close-cropped black hair and now a red face to match, she wondered if maybe he was Swedish or Norwegian. Her mind swarmed with images of Vikings, handsome and strong, with boats breaking oceans of ice, rallying together for war, for peace, for love.
“Look, I’m sorry, but I really have to go. Please enjoy the rest of the show.”
“Of course.” He stepped away, allowing her to pass. “Wait. What’s your name?”
She spotted Michael re-entering the gallery from the side entrance. He waved to her. She waved back. The man with her turned, seeing Michael, as well. The other man’s eyes connected with hers again. Some message or emotion she couldn’t quite read passed through those icy depths.
“Your name?” he prompted again.
“Tam Wilde. And yours?” She asked out of courtesy’s sake. She didn’t really care to know. Not really. Not unless he planned to do business with the gallery.
“Xavier Clark.”
Clark was common but somehow sounded familiar given the context of his group and their business attire. His accent threw her off. His eyes, his handsomeness, his very presence upset her balance.
He’d taken her right hand and planted a kiss to the back side. His lips just barely brushed the surface. He let go of her hand just as quickly as he’d taken it, before she was even aware but the contact, though brief was as palpable and staying as if he’d taken the flesh between his lips and teeth and sucked. Hard.
“I-I have to go. Excuse me.”
Quickly, she walked away, cutting a jagged line through the crowd. She made her way toward Michael, who’d taken up again at the bar.
“Hey…how much longer?” Gently he gathered her close for a hug and a kiss, smelling lightly of alcohol and heavily of cigarette smoke. His hands ran along her back, soothingly, and she melted into his touch. All of the running around, and now running from that Mr. Clark, had her tense, incredibly tense. She could use a massage and something told her that Michael would be all too willing to give it to her.
“Let me find Tyler and see.”
Reluctantly, she moved away and searched the crowd for her boss. Finding him, she told him about the presentation with the business group. She explained how well everything had gone. He was pleased by what she said, but not so pleased when she complained of a headache and suggested that he get Julie, the other assistant, to help out with the cleanup. Now more than ever she felt she needed to leave—no, knew she needed to—and knew also that this mysterious Mr. Clark had everything to do with her desire to cut and run. She grabbed her purse and shawl from the office and sprinted down the hall. She ran headfirst into a solid, male body.
“I’m sorry.” She apologized before looking to see whose brick wall of a chest she had collided with.
“No, forgive me. I was in the way. Are you all right?”
Mr. Clark settled his hands on her shoulders before she pulled away.
“Yes.” She nodded. “Yes. Excuse me.”
He stood aside as she walked past feeling as frazzled as she knew probably appeared. Before turning the corner into the open area, she glanced again and saw him standing there, with what she perceived as a brooding expression on his face. It was a complete one-eighty from how he’d appeared before. Ignoring him, she found Michael, took the arm he offered and together, they made their way past the guests and out the door.
***
In the back seat of the car Michael had hired, they made out like love-struck teenagers. Michael had her pressed into the corner, practically on top of her. It would take only a second for her to spread her legs and allow him even closer. But she pushed him away just as the car stopped at her place. He groaned and she sighed, stroking his face as he shifted to the side.
“Two and-a-half dates.” She spoke the words in between kisses, speaking more to herself than him. She burned right at her core—God, it’d been too long since she’d made love! She wanted him desperately. The feeling was always there. It had been there since the end of their first date a couple nights before. “Let’s slow down, okay? It’s too soon.”
“I know. I know…just, give me a second to…calm down, and then I’ll walk you to your door.” He stretched one leg to the side as he adjusted the crotch area of his pants. She looked away for both their sakes. His hand rested there, moving sensitive body parts she’d wondered about in her dreams....
God, was she really that horny?
“Look, you don’t have to walk me—I’ll be fine.” She reached for the door handle. His other hand covered hers.
“No…just wait….” He inhaled and exhaled theatrically, noisily. “Okay, now.”
He got out of the car, came around to her door, and opened it. He walked her up the flights of stairs to her door. By the time she reached for her key and popped the lock, he had her against the side of the doorframe. They kissed and touched until her mouth parched, and she grew tired of tongue-wrestling with him. It was pleasant, nice, and naughty all at once, but a dry mouth reminded her of water and water reminded her of the bottles she’d received from her handsome water-boy earlier.
“Call me tomorrow?”
She kissed his cheek, his neck, his earlobe. He groaned and moved his lower body against her. She felt the motion as he nodded to say ‘yes’, even if the word couldn’t leave his mouth.
“We’ll go out…to my club. How’s that sound?”
“Sounds great. Wait, is it—will there be strippers?”
“No stripping…unless you want to give me a private dance in V.I.P.?” He wiggled his eyebrows.
“Fine, just call me ahead of time, so I can figure out what to wear.”
He kissed her one last time and waited as she slid in to her apartment. She blew him a kiss, and closed the door shut.
As she undressed and got ready for bed, she thought of the chores she needed to do tomorrow. It was Saturday, which meant no work. She had a few errands to run, but mostly she planned to do nothing. When she fell into bed with a smile on her face, she thought of Michael, still feeling the scruff of his beard and mustache burn the skin around her lips. But when her eyes closed, drawing the darkness in, she saw Xavier, the stranger with the hypnotic eyes and accented speech, pale skin, dark hair, imposing stature. She couldn’t quite help herself. She fell asleep to the memory of their encounter, dreaming his words, the look in his eyes, his touch—everything.
Chapter Two
For her night out with Michael, Tam borrowed a dress from Julie. It was a gold, strappy number that hugged every curve. She completed the ensemble with a pair of gold, equally strappy sandals. She hoped it wasn’t too gaudy an outfit for Michael’s club, or for Michael.
There was a knock at the door. Quickly, she checked her makeup, puffed her hair, shimmied in the gown to adjust her cleavage, and with a quick nod of approval, grabbed her bag and strutted to the door. She was all set and prepared to greet Michael, but was surprised at the stranger who stood in her hallway with a slight smirk about his mouth.
“May I help you?” Tam pressed her hand against the panel, ready to snap it shut in case the man tried to force his way inside. But he didn’t. He stared, his smile relaxing as he looked upon her.
“You’re Tam.”
“Yeah? And you are?”
“Shocked, stunned, surprised. He said you were gorgeous, but…I never imagined.”
“He who?”
The man was officially beginning to creep her out.
“Michael. Hi, I’m Turk, his business partner and best friend. I believe he told you a little about me?”
He stuck his hand out. She glanced at it, then back to him.
“Where’s Michael?”
She looked beyond him into the hall, halfway expecting Michael to jump out and surprise her.
“He’s at the club, busy. Asked if I could swing through and get you on my way there.”
Turk’s hand hung in the space between them. Timidly, she reached through the door and shook his hand, giving him a onceover. She remembered Michael mentioning a Turk, but she had no idea he’d look like this. He was big, tall, built, and had the smoothest brown skin. Totally unexpected, the man’s build and race. Somehow she had envisioned Michael having friends that looked like him: skinny, white, with a slacker flair.
“I’m sorry. It’s just….”
“It’s cool. This is a pretty tough neighborhood. I don’t blame you for being cautious. Are you ready to go?”
“Yes.”
She stepped through the entrance, locked the door, and tucked her keys away inside her purse. She walked alongside Turk as he escorted her down the hall. She expected a town car, simply because that’s what Michael had picked her up in before, but a four-door monstrosity of an SUV waited. It was all black with big rims on it: twenties, as she’d heard the young kids call them. She got in the back, while Turk joined another fellow, who drove, in the front.
“So, is it true you made Mike buy art before giving him your number?”
Turk turned in the seat to look back at her, an amused look on his face.
“Not exactly.” She laughed. “Is that what he told you?”
“Yeah, something like that. That’s pretty cold, making a man give up the dough before the first date! Gotta respect your hustle.”
The driver chimed in with a grunt and nod of affirmation and agreement.
“It’s really not like that. He seemed genuinely interested in the pieces.”
And he had been, once she explained the artist’s intent behind the prints. But of course he’d been more concerned with learning about her.
She perused the passing scenery as they rode in silence. Turk and the driver talked; about what, she couldn’t discern over the noise of the stereo. She checked her makeup at almost every red light, finally forcing herself to stop being so picky. Michael had seen her with less makeup, so why the fuss over her looks now?
“So what’s this place like?” she asked, speaking up so that they could hear.
“Club Expo is…well, it’s a cornucopia, a melting pot of the best after-hours entertainment in the city.” Turk gave her a wink over his shoulder. It sounded like a tag line one might use in a television commercial or radio-spot, only more corny.
They arrived a few minutes later. Turk opened her door and helped her out. She looked to the huge line behind the rope. It extended around the block. But instead of entering at the front, Turk walked her around the corner to a side entrance. He ushered her inside, laughing and joking with the bouncers who gave curious and surprised stares she could feel following her.
The inside of the club was huge and very loud. She couldn’t discern the song or the singer of whatever the hell was playing, but she felt it. The bass boomed so hard that it vibrated inside her chest. People were everywhere and by the looks of their attire, she had dressed appropriately.
“V.I.P.!” Turk yelled in her ear, nodding his head up top. There was a second level with balconies that overlooked the dance floor and entire bottom level. She pressed close to him while he pushed people out of the way. They climbed another set of stairs and struggled through club-goers, dancers, and gawkers amassed along the staircase. She felt herself getting excited now. Too long a time had passed since she’d gone out and enjoyed herself in a bar or club. The last time had been with Tyler and Julie some weeks back. Now the experience would be different. She didn’t have to go searching for a man because she already had one, and she planned to enjoy him tonight.
“Here we are!” Turk yelled again. “Frank! What’s up, man?” He greeted one of the two bouncers who stood at the edge. Tam lifted on her tiptoes in an attempt to look over Turk’s and Frank’s broad builds. It was an open space with lots of people inside, that much she could tell.
“Michael in there?” Turk asked Frank.
“Yeah, man. He’s uh…indisposed at the moment.”
She caught the look that passed between Turk and Frank.
“Don’t worry, she’s cool.” Turk covered her hand where she held to his muscled arm. “Right this way, missy.”
Tam decided in that moment that Turk was a cool fellow. She had noticed the wedding ring when he covered her hand but said nothing about it. Frank, she didn’t care for. She hadn’t liked how he looked at her: he was untrusting.
There were about fifteen people in the space. A number of them stood around talking while the others gathered around the coffee table that rested at the middle of the giant white sectional couch. A couple of the people gave her looks, particularly the guys, who smiled, some lifting their glasses. She turned away, looking for Michael. Someone over at the couch yelled and three of the figures who knelt around the table looked up at the one who stood up, abruptly.
“Goddamn! That’s some good shit! Yes!”
It was Michael.
“Oh, son-of-a…somebody get me a bourbon and Coke. Cindy. Cindy! Hop to it. What do I pay you for? Shit!” Michael snapped his fingers. The one who was Cindy got up from the couch, retrieved her serving tray, and stomped to the door. Michael watched her, wiping at his nose, until his eyes fell on Tam, and Turk.
Tam surveyed the scene coolly. What was good shit? What had he been doing? She looked again to the people who sat around the table. Their arms and hands banked left and right as if removing something from the table.
“Michael, I have someone here to see you.”
Turk, releasing her hand, gently urged her forward. She gave him a look. He winked at her, turned, and then left.
“I could die and go to heaven right now.” Michael sniffed. “Come here.” He pulled her into a hug, his hands running up and down her back. “You look…fucking amazing. Shit, you look good.”
He kissed her rather sloppily, but she let it slide. He was obviously happy to see her.
“Everybody.” He whistled. “Get the fuck out. Right now.”
The crowd moaned their disapproval, but dispersed and vacated as ordered.
“Turk, tell Cindy to bring my drink pronto…you want something, babe? Champagne? Let’s get you some bubbly.”
Once the room was clear, Michael pulled her into his lap.
“Jeez, you feel good, too.”
He nuzzled her neck. His hands moved along her backside, squeezing firmly. She squirmed, loving the feel but wanting a moment to at least relax. She wanted to ask him what those people had been up to and what he was so excited about. She hoped it wasn’t what she suspected, though, given the atmosphere of the place.
But Michael’s expression, the boy-man features of his face, and the puppy-dog look he gave her with the sad eyes and the droopy smile, and her reaction to it, compounded by the excitement she felt at being here, temporarily wiped clear any reservations she had upon seeing the group gathered at the table. She chose to ignore it for now, focus on him, and have a good time.
“Miss me?”
She brushed the hair out of his face and answered him with another kiss. He moaned, his lips seeking more, but she pulled away.
“Who were all those people?”
“Just people.” He shrugged, gazing at her. “Some friends, some foes, all here to drink up my booze. Do you like it here?”
Tam looked through the glass partition to the open arena beyond. She turned back to him. “Can’t say if I like it or not.” She stopped at the disappointed look on his face. “But I can say that I like you.”
Grinning, he reached a hand to her neck and pulled her mouth to his. He kissed her slow and soft, this time, much better, not sloppy at all, focused even. She smiled against his mouth, and then slid from his lap as the waitress, Cindy, came in with their drinks. He poured the champagne, and refilled her glass after she greedily drank down the first. They talked and laughed and played around with one another. He complimented her dress, saying he was particularly fond of the short length. She rolled her eyes, loving his fun attitude and secretly loving the adoration she read in his eyes. This attention she liked. This attention she wanted. Soon they were both feeling the effects of the booze. At least she was. Michael had already been far gone by the time she got there.
***
Later, they stood on the balcony, overlooking the crowd, the dance floor, the lights. She didn’t mind the dancers in cages, nor the beauties hanging from swings and ropes from the ceiling. It added allure to the place. It was fun and sexual, but it was no seedy strip club, and for that she was glad. But business had picked up since her arrival. She couldn’t understand how a club could be so packed. Surely they were violating some fire code or something.
Michael, standing behind her, splayed his hand over her stomach, pulling her body flush against his front. She held his arm with both hands while gently swaying to the music. She could feel him, feel his hardness, and it made her tingly all over. Either her euphoria came from being so close to him and enjoying herself, or it came from the expensive champagne he’d plied her with, glass after precious glass. How many have I had again? She felt so fluffy and light. Drunk would be the more appropriate word, but….
“You want to go back inside?”
The words came hot against her ear. She couldn’t answer, so she nodded and turned in his arms. They walked through the sliding doors, passing the few people Michael let join them on the balcony. He approached her steadily, after securing the entrance. Her hand trailed over his stomach, wanting to go further down. She was curious to see what he was like. Two-and-a-half dates be damned.
He watched her. Fabric panels embedded in the ceiling lowered, giving the space the privacy he obviously wanted. She sat further back on the couch and propped one oiled, stiletto-heeled leg on the edge of the coffee table. She rubbed a finger over her lips, to make sure she still wore at least some of the lip gloss she’d applied earlier.
He grabbed her ankle and tugged, opening her until he could stand between her legs. She continued to gaze upon him, watching him attempt to maintain control, even as he lifted her legs further to slide up and down the sides of his thighs. She coyly pressed the material of her dress down, so that he couldn’t see her panty in the middle. The tease worked its magic. He kicked the coffee table back with one foot. It went tumbling to the other side, into the other end of the sectional. Everything on the table crashed to the floor. He knelt between her legs, watching, mutely asking for permission, pleading, even. He lifted her ankles onto his shoulders and ran his hands up to her thighs, pushing the dress to her waist.
“What is this, Michael?”
He used her legs to pull her slowly to the edge of the couch.
“What are we doing?”
He smiled, kissed the inside of one knee, then the other.
“Two and a half dates. Three dates, Michael. Only three...I swear I’m not—”
“You don’t want this?” His voice was husky in the semi-darkness.
The panels were somewhat soundproof and now that the doors were closed, they were afforded the privacy they needed. The lack of external noise intensified the arousal in every sound they made. He used his head to nudge at her hand, which held the dress in a death-grip between her legs.
She grew serious for a moment. Sure, she floated on cloud nine with the champagne he’d given her—the glasses and glasses of it. No need to blame it on the liquor: she wanted him, would have him, even in this public space with limited privacy. She glanced again to the partitions.
“Kiss me.” He moved between her legs, lifting up until his mouth hovered above hers. “Kiss me, Tam.”
Their lips connected in a heated kiss, full of battling breaths and thrashing tongues. He grabbed her neck, holding her in place as he tongued her so well her lower body thrust up toward him, until finally, he pulled back.
“Just relax, all right?”
She nodded, breathing hard, her heart racing in anticipation. She relaxed her hands, let go of her dress in a silent move that invited him in. He grew serious and so did she as he drew her panties down and away. She had to control her balance once his tongue slid along her center, pressing the nub and sliding back down, then delving deep inside. He lifted her ass, spreading the cheeks wide, before resettling her on the edge of the couch. Once his mouth sucked her there, it was over. Over, over, over. She bucked against him, wanted to scream, but she moaned instead, called his name a couple of times, even tried to get away from him, but he held her down, until finally she surrendered and gave into the supernova erupting inside of her. She fell back on the sofa, breathing heavily and tired as hell.
“Oh, Michael….”
Grinning, he wiped a hand over his mouth and reached for his drink. He sat back, one hand on his crotch, rubbing, the other holding the glass. He swallowed the alcohol down.
“You like that?”
She laughed softly. “I suppose you want me to return the favor?”
“Yes, indeed.”
He stood before her and allowed her to unzip his pants and pull open his underwear. For a moment, watching him swell and lengthen even before she took him in hand, she was mesmerized, excited, and curious and appalled by her soon-to-be actions.
Two and a half dates. Three, if she stretched it. But that was reaching, just as she reached for him now.
Seven minutes later found her dodging the stream of cum that shot from the tip of his cock. She worked him with her hand until he was spent; he held tight to her shoulder, too tight, while moaning her name over and over and over. He let go of her, adjusted his pants, holding them with one hand while wiping the sweat of his brow with the other. He left her alone and walked through a door in the side wall. While he was gone, she sat up and looked around for her panties. As he came back into the room, she stood, wavering, one hand holding to the back of the couch as she slipped the minuscule piece of fabric back over her legs. Michael walked to her, sniffing noisily, and helped her pull the elastic band over her hip bone. He smacked her ass, laughing when she turned upon him, shocked.
“What was that for?”
“For having such a nice ass. And for letting me taste you. I’ve wanted to do that since the day I met you.”
“Really?”
“Yeah.”
“And here I thought you liked me for me.”
“I do!’
He pulled her close and gave her a slow, deep kiss. When he pulled back, she noticed the glazed eyes, the tip of his nose, and the overall redness of his face. She attributed it to post-coital exertion.
“Stay with me tonight.”
“Mmmm, no, not tonight…but soon, I promise.”
And she meant it. She’d gotten a taste of him and a feel of him but not in the desired place. She wanted more. She would have more of him, soon.
“You live in the Highlands, don’t you?” She spoke of one of the more trendy areas of the city. Trendy and expensive. It was nothing like her neighborhood, which was more working-class, poorer. She saved, and would one day upgrade, but for now, her place, her building would suffice.
“Yup, but I’m closer to midtown. That’s how I met you…in your shop and saw you in the window and said to myself that I had to have—”
“All right, all right, I get the picture. Wipe your nose.” She pulled away to reach behind the couch to another table for a tissue. She gave it to him and looked around for her purse. “I need the little girl’s room. Where is it?”
Michael escorted her downstairs. They were stopped by some friends of his. Introductions were made, but she couldn’t remember the names. She spied the bathroom across the floor and whispered that he should wait for her. He nodded, kept talking, and she walked on jellied legs across the space. After she cleaned up, she checked to see that her makeup was in place. Surprisingly, it was, but she reapplied lip gloss, anyway. Satisfied, she turned and walked out. Her eyes instantly sought Michael. She spotted him talking to the group she’d left him with and proceeded to walk to him. But for the second time in the past two days, she ran headlong into a body. His body.
“Mrs. Wilde,” said the tall, dark shadow with the crystal-clear eyes.
He stood over her, holding her, steadying her, lest she fall. She smoothed her palm against his chest, more aware of his body, his presence, now than ever before.
“I’m not married.”
“I’m sorry?”
“You said Mrs. I’m not married.” She couldn’t remove her hands.
“Oh yes, I know. I...I get the titles confused sometimes. Miss Wilde, then. Is that correct?”
Mouth slack, nostrils flaring she inhaled his scent. Surprisingly, she was able to separate his scent from the smell of booze and smoke and sweaty bodies in the club. And then there was the taste and smell of Michael that had lingered as she washed her face and gargled water in her mouth. It was completely gone. Or maybe she wished it gone?
“You don’t remember me, do you?” His hands, which had somehow settled against her arms, squeezed lightly, one slipping away to land at her waist. “I’m Xavier. We met last night at your gallery—”
“I remember you.” She blurted the words while looking into his face. People walked by, bumping them in the crowded space. He moved them steadily back against the wall, out of the way of the traffic, out of sight of Michael. “What are you doing here?” she asked.
Xavier stood in front of her, wholly blocking her view. One palm stroked at her waist and her hands were still pressed against his chest.
“I’m here with friends, not having a good time.”
“Not having a good time?”
“At least I wasn’t until now.”
She heard the playful teasing in his voice, though she could barely make out his face. They were away from the light. Not even the glow from the bathroom doors opening and closing was enough to illuminate his features.
“I have to go.”
She pushed at his chest, but he stood still, taking the brunt of her force.
“I’m here with friends. We have a room, just there.” He released one hand to point at an unseen spot across the dance floor. “You should join us. Allow me to buy you a drink.”
She didn’t answer. She was somehow hypnotized by the sound of his voice, the lilt in his speech that hinted to his accent. She thought of Michael, who had no accent but whose tongue had only just finished doing wonderful things to the place between her legs.
“I really should go.”
She spoke again, but didn’t move. She felt his fingers flex against her waist, tightening. She closed her eyes against the sensations that welled up inside. She hadn’t thought of him all day. She’d done well in that regard, considering she’d fallen asleep thinking of him, seeing his eyes.
“It was nice to see you again, Xavier.”
She pushed at his chest again, allowing her palms to once again feel the broad muscles move under his shirt. After another moment of non-verbal communication, of them only touching one another, he released her, stepping back so as to allow her to pass.
“We’ll meet again, Tam Wilde. Very soon.”
She pushed off the wall and looked him over once more, admiring his chest, the arms that now rested at his sides. With one hand stuffed into a pocket, he regarded her, waiting for her to leave…or was that look meant to say ‘stay’? She smiled briefly, lifting her purse strap further onto her shoulder. Somehow she was able to leave, but she felt his gaze on her departing form. She joined Michael again and stood, awkward and flustered now, unable to really settle into the moment, unable to bask in what they’d shared. Somehow, seeing Xavier had ruined the evening for her.
Chapter Three
“Ah, there you are, man! Where’d you go?”
Xavier turned to Seth, one of the friends he’d come to the club with. Seth’s hand landed on his shoulder. The other held a pint of beer. He allowed Seth to lead him away from where he’d stood to watch Tam’s departure.
“Bathroom.”
“Well, that’s probably a good thing. The show’s about to start.” Seth patted him on the back, allowing Xavier to step through the doorway of the private room they’d rented to celebrate Xavier’s return back to the States. He’d been in Seattle for awhile, four months, but hadn’t had time before now to reconnect with his old business-school buddies.
“You’re gonna love this, man. Hey guys, let’s get this party started! Where are the ladies?”
Xavier walked over to the mini-bar set up along the wall and accepted a Scotch from the bartender. He turned, surveying the room, at least as much of it as he could see in the semi-darkness beyond the neon lights. He glanced over his friends. Seth, Dominic, Alex, and Colin laughed, drinking and spilling stories from times past.
“…But I’ll need to get the proper funding for this new venture. Xav! Speaking of investors, right?” Alex wiggled his eyebrows and the guys responded raucously. “You can front me the money, can’t you? You know I’m good for it.”
Xavier smiled. Alex wasn’t serious, well, at least not all-the-way serious. His friends came from well-off families, but Xavier was beyond well off, in a league of his own, especially now that he’d inherited his father’s company. His father’s death, that both blessed and cursed event, had been six months ago. No longer was he beholden to his father’s hand over his life; he was free to do what he wanted, go where he wanted, and be with whomever he wanted. And Tam, he knew his father wouldn’t have approved of, but she was who he desired. And so, they were destined.
“You submit a business plan. I’ll make sure to look it over before saying no.” To this, he lifted his drink in salute. Everyone laughed and as the music kicked in, a spotlight from the back of the room illuminated a circular point on the wall in front of them. Dominic urged him to take a seat in a chair that had been situated in the center of the space. He knew what was coming next and probably would’ve anticipated it more, had his mind not been focused so on Tam.
“Hey man, I hear this one gives the best head. No shit. If she offers, give me the nod and we’ll give you some privacy, all right?” Colin said in his ear.
The curtains parted and a tall, buxom blonde made of silicone and plastic—he was sure of it—strutted and sashayed her way over to him. The guys yelled nonsense and carried on, until other girls entered the room and attended to each one of them.
“My, aren’t you handsome?” The blonde whispered in his ear, her tongue flicking close enough that he could feel its moisture seep into the air. She spread her hand along his shoulders, bent down and pressed her breasts against his back. He felt the soft cushions of her breasts, the hardened nipples, tickling his skin through his shirt. She snaked around him, sliding one gartered leg between his legs, lifting until her ankle just barely caressed his crotch.
“So this is a welcome home for you…where have you been, soldier? At war?”
“Only with myself.”
There was actually some truth to that. He sipped his drink, thought better of it, and then knocked it all back. She took the glass, their fingertips grazing, and handed it off to a waitress who stood at the ready to retrieve and replenish. Her leg continued to massage his crotch, applying more pressure than before.
“Well, maybe I should give you some peace.”
She straightened, stepping over his leg to bend and sit on his lap. His empty hands hung down to the sides. He groaned, relishing the soft press of flesh against his crotch. She rolled her hips to the music and settled her hands on the back of the chair. He inhaled, feeling his cock tighten with arousal. After seeing Tam, he thought he wouldn’t be as into this. Well he was, and he wasn’t. He was a man, after all, and she wasn’t bad looking, even if her tits were fake and one nipple was situated slightly higher than the other. He studied her chest and reached his hands to her waist.
“You’re not supposed to touch me, sweetheart.”
The waitress handed the stripper a glass. She brought it to her lips and drank, then pressed the cool edge to his mouth. He swallowed, tasting something that wasn’t Scotch, something that tasted about as blue as it looked; an electric blue, he decided. It cooled his throat as he swallowed. She pressed it to his lips again and he greedily accepted more, mesmerized by the sweet taste.
“What the fuck is that?”
“Something special to get you ready. Your friends said you’d like it.”
“If it’s what I think it is—”
“How about that Pluto Ice? Hell yeah, right?” Seth called out to him.
Xavier gave him the biggest go-to-hell look he could project through the neon light.
“Are you afraid it’ll make you hard?” The dancer licked his ear. “I wouldn’t worry about it…feels like you’re already there.”
He wasn’t quite certain, but he could’ve sworn he felt her wetness through his pants. Either that or the cocktail was already affecting him. He hadn’t drunk the concoction since college, and even then, he did so rarely. He didn’t like feeling out of control and that’s what it made him feel like—a total other person. It was just alcohol, albeit taboo-alcohol on the level of chartreuse or absinthe. Much like Bruce Banner, he turned into a Xavier-Hulk who could, and would, fuck for hours on end. And while that kind of behavior had been par for the course back then, it wasn’t now. He was grown, a man, head of his father’s company—now his company—and he wasn’t interested in screwing some random hooker or hired escort into oblivion.
“How much?”
He felt his cock twitch from beneath. He wanted this over with, and soon. His friends could go all night, partying like they were nineteen again, but he had things to do in the morning. Granted, it would be Sunday morning and still the weekend, but he had plans, ones that involved somehow linking up with Miss Tam Wilde.
“One thousand,” she whispered in his ear.
“Fine.” He brought his hands to her waist, not caring if the bouncers yelled at him or not. “Get your friends out of here and I’ll do the same.”
She rose from his lap and strutted away. He took the moment to adjust his pants. Not bothering to get up, he glanced over at Colin, whose face was buried in the upturned ass that gyrated in front of him.
“Colin!” he yelled, and yelled again when his friend failed to look up. Colin pulled away, finally hearing him. Xavier nodded. Colin smiled, stood, and whistled, rounding his hand in the air. The others seemed to notice and rose as well, passing him by as they left, girls in tow.
“Hey, enjoy yourself, bro,” Dominic said.
“Yeah, I will.” He shifted on the seat again. “Think I’ll head home afterwards. Will you tell the guys?” Dominic nodded. “Thanks.”
When the room was clear, she returned.
“I didn’t get your name, sexy.”
Xavier responded only by reaching into his jacket pocket. He pulled ten one-hundred dollar bills from his wallet. She reached for them, but he held them back.
“Fair enough,” she said, dropping to her knees before him. Her hands smoothed up his thighs. He reached down and caressed a breast, tweaking the nipple slightly, pinching even, as she fumbled with his zipper. “So, your name, handsome?”
“Why do you want to know?” It annoyed him that she’d asked twice. “Do you normally ask the names of the men you’re getting paid to blow?”
Her fingers faltered, stopping in their attempts to slide down the zipper. Had he been too harsh? He didn’t think so. With one hand, he gripped her wrists in an effort to make her continue. His dick now strained painfully hard against his pants. That fucking drink, he thought. And only one at that. Or maybe it was something else that had him on edge, someone else that sent his arousal level skyward into the stratosphere. She continued and he sensed a change in her. Oh no, he thought, a hooker with a heart.
“Did I hurt your feelings? I’m sorry.”
He spoke with false sincerity. He touched her cheek. He could swear she pressed her face into his hand. Goddamnit. Why’d he always get stuck with the damaged ones? This was partly why he didn’t delve into the life, with frequenting strip clubs and sexing low budget hookers: too many amateurs with no professionalism about them. He could’ve easily called Carla or Selma or Ashley or any of a dozen others. But his friends wanted to give him this private party in a public club. For old times’ sake he’d gone along. He’d take more care in putting them off next time.
“My friends did this…set this up to somehow cheer me up, because of my father dying and everything. They mean well, I know, but…. Hey.” He forced her to look at him, gripping her by the chin. “What’s the holdup? Suck me off so you can get paid and I can go about my business.”
A little push was all she needed. For a cheap hooker, she was actually good, skilled even, definitely worth the grand he now slipped into her panties. Afterward, he had trouble standing, cursing his friends again because of the drink, but it was more a loss of brain cells than drunkenness. By the time he stepped out into the packed club, he was somewhat level-headed again. He didn’t bother searching for his friends, but instead looked around the space, walking to the section where he’d left Tam. He narrowed his eyes, focusing on everyone who passed, but he didn’t see her again.