Boston Avant-Garde 4: Encore (12 page)

“My sister-in-law is expecting, and my brother hates to leave her for too long,” Desiree explained. “Although, considering how hungry she’s been lately, a to-go box might not be such a bad idea.”

Dante found himself laughing along. He envied Nicolai the easy banter with his wife. Finding a mate and settling down in a long-term relationship had never been part of Dante’s life plan. Now, though, it wasn’t hard to imagine slipping into a similar situation with Suri and Jericho. He and Jericho had always shared a comfortable rapport. Suri not only fit right into their repartee, she added an element of vitality that made it better.

“You want me to call the car around?” Nicolai slid his phone from his pocket.

“Actually, I promised Talia I would give Leslie the latest ultrasound photos. Give me a few minutes and then call.” Desiree huffed out a long-suffering sigh. “I never thought there’d come a day when I’d interrupt a musician to hand her a picture of a
fetus
.”

The word “musician” gave Dante pause. “Is Leslie one of the string players?”

“The violinist.” Her expression turned suspicious. “She’s extremely taken.”

He gazed across the room at Suri’s graceful profile cradling her instrument against her body. Eyes closed, she was totally immersed in the music. It reminded him of the look on her face while she danced. “I’m not into redheads, but I’m a sucker for blondes.”

“You mean Jen?”

Jen? Are we talking about the same woman?

Desiree made a sound he didn’t quite know how to interpret. “I’ll introduce you.”

“That’s right, you go socialize, and I’ll hit the food table.” Nicolai gave her a quick kiss and strode off toward the buffet.

Desiree watched him go. “That man doesn’t give a shit what anyone thinks.”

“Pardon me, but it doesn’t really seem to bother you.”

“Hell no! That’s what I love about him most.” Desiree grabbed Dante’s arm, the familiarity of the gesture taking him by surprise.

She was literally dragging him through the room full of people toward the trio playing unobtrusively in a corner. He knew the moment Suri saw him. Her head came up, her bow skidding to a stop on the strings before dropping limply to her side. The phrase “deer in the headlights” came immediately to mind.

“Hey, Les, Talia wanted me to give these to you.” Desiree handed Leslie the pictures, oblivious to the electricity snapping between Dante and her friend “Jen.” “And Dante here wanted an introduction to Jen. Apparently, he’s got a thing for blondes.”

Suri couldn’t breathe. She kept sucking air into her lungs, but she couldn’t release it. Every nerve in her body tingled. She’d always heard people describe being irresistibly attracted to someone, but she hadn’t imagined it to be a force of nature that robbed you of speech and coherent thought.

“Is she hyperventilating?” Niles was staring at her as though she’d grown a second head.

Leslie looked from Suri to Dante and frowned hard enough to form a storm cloud in her normally sunny expression. “I don’t think Jen wants to meet Dante. Thanks for the pictures, but I think you should go.”

It was a total
Twilight Zone
moment. Dante crouched down beside Suri, reaching out to brush the backs of his fingers across her cheek. The air she’d been holding escaped in one long sigh.

“That’s it, princess. Breathe.” The familiar sight of his scar lifting when he smiled made the bottom drop out of her stomach.

He wasn’t angry. She couldn’t have said how she knew, but his dark eyes were too warm. More than that, her instincts told her that Dante Torres might be terrifying to some, but never to her. Never.

“Seriously, Desiree. Jen’s got a fair complexion, but she looks white as paper. I think—”

“Get a grip!” Desiree cut right across Leslie’s tirade. “Look at them. They already know each other. I knew I was right!”

“I like you in this profession,” Dante teased. “Were you never going to offer us a private concert?”

Suri couldn’t help it. It was like the sun had come out. He was so drop-dead gorgeous it was all she could do not to put her cello down and throw herself into his arms. He was wearing one of those tailored suits that made him seem like a wolf in sheep’s clothing. Suri was ready to strip him naked and show the world what he really looked like—sexy, dangerous, and hers and Jericho’s.

Her heart thumped. If Dante was here— “Where’s Jericho?”

“Running errands.” He laced his fingers into hers, bringing them to his lips. “We decided a long time ago that if I couldn’t handle myself in a room full of pampered socialites, I deserved to have my ass kicked.”

There was pleasure at seeing him so unexpectedly, but a pang at missing Jericho too. “I think we need to talk.”

The sensual note in his chuckle sent a thrill down her spine and straight to her pussy. “Agreed.”

So immersed in Dante’s sudden appearance in her everyday life, Suri hadn’t paid attention to their rapt audience. She was brought forcefully back to reality when Leslie stood up and laid her violin aside with more force than necessary.

“You and I need to have a discussion, now.” Leslie grabbed her arm, dragging Suri out of her chair. Dante’s quick hands saved the cello from a dive to the floor.

“Um, okay.” Arguing would’ve made more of a scene. “I’ll be back in just a minute, all right?”

Dante set the cello gently on its side. “I’ll be waiting.”

Leslie speed walked toward a set of double doors leading to the back entrance. Flinging them open, she shoved Suri into a red-carpeted hallway. A dozen yards down, the catering staff buzzed back and forth through a doorway between the kitchen and the buffet tables. They were too busy to care about a pissed-off violinist and her cello sidekick.

“Spill!” Leslie’s vehement tone said she was done giving Suri space. “I’ve been patient, Jen. But that is one big, scary-looking creep out there. Are you trying to get yourself raped and left in a gutter?”

Suri didn’t have a ready response. She was still reeling from Leslie’s decisive slander against a man she didn’t even know. And Leslie had just called her Jen. The haze of surprise started to clear, and Suri realized how much the “scary-looking creep” had just done to make things easier on her. Dante had to have realized that she was Jen to everyone there. But instead of pointing out the inconsistency, he’d just called her princess.

As lame as it is, I really like it when he calls me that.

“And who the hell is Jericho? This other guy who follows him around to keep him from getting his ass beat? What do these people do? That guy looks like he knife fights on the weekends for
fun
! Are you in some kind of trouble?”

Leslie was still going full speed. Suri was trying to decide what to say, but there was hardly an opportunity to interject anything at the moment. She knew Leslie was concerned, the way a friend should be, but really? Was all the degradation necessary?

“Jen!”

Oops, guess it’s my turn.
“I don’t really know where to start. If I start at the beginning, will you shut up until I’m done?”

A nod.

Suri felt bad about the hurt in her friend’s green eyes, but at least Leslie was keeping her mouth closed. “You were right, okay? I got a job as an exotic dancer to earn some extra money.” Les started to open her mouth, but Suri shushed her with one hard look. “Don’t judge me. You of all people better not judge me. It isn’t what you think. I’m not having sex for money. I’m dancing. And I actually like it.”

Saying it out loud was weird. Suri really did like it. Not that crap she’d been doing at Flaherty’s party, rubbing all over the other dancers just so some asshole politician could get his fix. She liked being on the main stage, feeling the rush of confidence. She liked to make the younger guys blush and the older ones laugh. Maybe in a different venue, she’d feel shamed or disgusted by the audience reactions. Asylum wasn’t like that. It wasn’t dirty. It wasn’t degrading. Dante didn’t let things get like that. There were no drugs, and the dancers made good money. He mediated problems, didn’t put up with bullshit, and kept the drama to a minimum.

He’s a good manager.

“Jen, you don’t have to sell yourself to get by.” The silence had given Les the go-ahead. “Seth, Josh, and I would have helped you out.”

“My mom is living in a nursing home with Parkinson’s and dementia,” Suri said in a flat tone. “My sister is a lazy piece of shit who can’t keep a job and is determined to date every loser in the city. I tried waiting tables, and I bartended for years to barely scrape by. Stripping gives me the income I need to take care of them without sponging off my friends.”

“Okay.” Leslie leaned back against the wall, nibbling her lower lip in agitation. “So you’re stripping, and you’re fine with that. I suppose that’s your choice. Is that guy trying to be your pimp or something? Why are you hanging out with people like him? If you need a bodyguard, I’m sure Josh knows someone. Or maybe Nicolai. He’s in the bar business.”

Suri had never been more aware of the vast gulf separating the way she had grown up and the way Leslie had been raised. “Dante isn’t a lowlife. He owns the club. It’s an upscale place called Asylum. I’m willing to bet your rich lawyer boyfriends know where it is.”

“I didn’t mean…”

“I know what you meant.” Suri was tired of beating around the bush. “Dante is the owner. Jericho is head of security. And the three of us have been sleeping together.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“This from the woman who has been in a committed relationship with two men for more than a year? What? Are you the only one allowed to fuck two guys at once?”

Leslie was mad. No. Mad wasn’t a strong enough adjective. Leslie was
livid
. “Seth and Joshua are lawyers, not lowlifes.”

“Let’s be honest. Aren’t the two terms interchangeable?” Suri used her extra inch and a half to tower over her friend. “Don’t you mean that your men look nice and tame and mine don’t? Judge much, Leslie?”

“Jen…”

Might as well go for broke.
“Did you know that’s not really my name?”

The bewildered look on Leslie’s face made Suri feel bad, but really, this needed saying. “Jennifer is my middle name. My name is actually Suri O’Callaghan. My sister went through a stupid phase everyone thought was so cute where she called everyone by first, middle, and last names. But my mother didn’t like to talk about the name on my birth certificate, and Kim couldn’t handle the
S
in Suri, so I wound up Jen Robertson. I used that name until she told me the truth my last year at Boston School for the Arts, when she got sick. But really, by then it was too late. I was stuck as plain, reliable Jen Robertson.”

Something shifted in Leslie’s expression, and Suri realized she’d said too much. Way, way too much.

A door farther down the corridor swung wide open, and two men walked through. The taller was Joshua Breckenridge, one of Leslie’s partners. The other was Senator O’Callaghan. Dread twisted Suri’s stomach into a thick knot.

“I thought I saw you disappear back here somewhere.” Josh strode toward them, a wide, welcoming smile on his face. “I wanted to introduce you to the senator, Leslie.”

Suri’s survival instincts kicked in, and she started backing toward the nearest exit. “I’ll just leave you three to chat.”

“No need to run.” Josh could not have possibly known what he was stepping into. “Senator, this is Leslie Hampstead, whom you’ve heard Seth and me talk about so often.” Leslie offered a warm smile and shook the senator’s offered hand. “And this is…”

“Suri O’Callaghan.” Suri lifted her face and locked gazes with a pair of blue eyes that exactly matched her own. Liam was heavier than he’d been in the photos she’d seen, but he still had that earnest, trustworthy expression he had used to charm his way into Mellie Robertson’s bed.

Josh frowned. “I thought your name was Jen Robertson.”

Her knees were practically knocking beneath her skirt. Dancing caused an adrenaline rush. This was more. “That’s all right, Josh. It’s really both. Depends on who I’m trying to fit in with.” She pegged the senator with a hard stare. “Or who I’m hiding from.”

O’Callaghan had paled several shades beneath his tan. “How is your mother, Suri?”

Emotion made her throat burn. She had to force the words out. “Dying, actually. So nice of you to inquire. If you don’t mind, I’m going to go find Dante.”

Liam grabbed her arm, his fingers digging into the flesh above her elbow until she was in physical pain. “What do you mean?”

She’d said too much. This was the last place to have this conversation with people who didn’t deserve to know anything about her private life. She yanked her arm away and blinked back tears, wishing Leslie would help her out just a little. But her friend had retreated to the safety of Joshua’s side, his arm wrapped protectively around her. Once again, Suri was left to the wolves.

And then she felt him approach from the direction of the kitchen door. Dante’s strong, stoic presence behind her gave Suri the courage to say what needed saying. “Ma was diagnosed with Parkinson’s about fifteen years ago. She’s been at Our Lady of Perpetual Hope for ten years now.”

Suri caught Dante’s scent when he moved closer. He stood near enough to offer support but let her handle the situation as she saw fit. She was glad. It might be tempting to latch on to his arm and snuggle in the way Leslie was doing with Joshua, but that wasn’t really Suri’s style. Strength was more important right now. There would be time to curl up in his arms later when Jericho was there, and it was time to talk this all out in private.

“Suri, I’m so sorry. If there’s anything I can do.” Liam’s expression was hard to decipher. He looked as if he actually cared, but he was a politician. That was what they were hardwired to show. How did anyone ever believe anything they said? “I’d like to see her. Does she ever talk about me?”

“Oh yeah, all the time,” Suri spat. “Especially now that her muscles are so rigid that she can barely speak at all, or swallow, or eat. After all this time, you’re the one she thinks about. After all, you’ve been
such
a big help to us.”