Chains and Canes (9 page)

She tipped her chin to a defiant angle. “You’re forgetting the woman’s side of things.”

He’d made her beg the night before, but she knew her job, even when her personal confidence flagged. Understanding what a dance lacked but with so little power to suggest changes—she’d been a chorus girl, after all—had finally prompted her to take Daniel’s advice. Club Devant would be good for her. That meant speaking her mind. She’d always wanted to, but she hadn’t realized how difficult that could be.

Remy’s arrogant antagonism shot her way past shy to pissed off. He didn’t realize he was doing her a favor.

“You want fucking on the stage,” she said. “I want
seduction
.”

She turned the music back on and stepped to within inches of his firm chest and glaring eyes. His arms were still crossed—a neon “back off” sign.

After nodding to indicate his defensive stance, she met his gaze head-on. A rehearsal room was not a bedroom. Or a living room, in their case. “Do you want to see the bruises on my back and ass?”

His sharp inhalation was answer enough. The slick, mouthy Cajun was at a loss for words. In fact, he had been since she’d suggested he was missing something. She was getting under his skin. That was good. In the not-so-hot category was how she almost apologized, almost asked him what she could do to please him again.

No way. Her opinion belonged in that room as much as his.

“Then treat seeing those bruises like a chastity belt. You gotta convince me to unlock it.”

After a tight swallow, he said, “You’ll let me see all of it.”

“
If
you convince me. But not here.” She cast a glace toward the small camera eye in the corner of the room. “Showing you would mean showing Declan.”

Remy’s sly good humor shone through. “You know about that, eh?”

The heat from his body and the sheen of sweat on his skin was distracting.
Want want want.
But she wasn’t arguing for the sake of art alone. He’d left the penthouse only a few minutes after he’d come. Naya already had a partner, and Daniel had her. They weren’t chasing a man who didn’t want to chase in return.

That conversation had lasted nearly to dawn.

“Declan and Daniel have been friends for more than a decade. So yes, I know. Besides, there’s no way you can seduce me so well that I’ll reveal my bruises to my new boss. Not here.”

“Where, then? Because first we’ll work all afternoon fucking up my choreo—”

“Fucking it up? Get off it,
pendejo
.”

“Fine. We’ll…find what’s missing from my choreo,” he said, gritting his teeth. “Then we dance and you get wet between the legs. Where will we be when you show me?”

Naya forced easy breaths.
Forced
them. “The guest suite at the top of the building in Midtown where Daniel’s company is headquartered. In three days.”

“Three—?”

“When Daniel gets back from London. That’s a hard-and-fast rule that shouldn’t surprise you. In the meantime, a little taste…” She turned and lifted the hem of her T-shirt. In the opposite mirror, she saw what she revealed: a particularly fierce weal. It must’ve been from one of the last smacks. He’d been in command all night—until that countdown. A Dom in complete control wouldn’t have risked so much.

At the time, she’d only relished the glorious pain of total release. But earlier that morning, before arriving at the club, she’d smiled to herself. She’d gotten under his skin again, slipped behind his defenses.

How often did Remy Lomand lose it?

The result was gorgeous. He could’ve laid the belt—the belt he wore—right over the red stripe. It was that clearly defined.

“Holy fuck, Naya.”

“You can touch. Sir.”

“Clever, sneaky little bitch,” he said with a smile. Not a grin. A full smile that lit his graceful features with a golden glow.

He didn’t take any more than she offered. Beginning with the tip of the stripe where it graced the innermost span of her ribs, he traced to where the mark disappeared beneath her teasing, lifted hem.

“So seduce me. Right here. Seduce me for
three days
. Don’t you wonder how good it could be, with anticipation that fierce?”

Remy made a noise in his throat that was a half-choked growl.

She dropped the shirt back into place. “I know you have more in you than tough-guy dancing and plain ol’ fucking.”

“I happen to beat a gal pretty well too.”

“And why is that?” The question was quick, as if her tongue had been programmed to ask it right then, whether she’d wanted to or not. Why not the night before, when he’d stood over her with a curled belt in his fist? Why ask at all? She never probed why professional Dominas liked getting paid to make clients scream.

“It was fun to learn some girls like it.” Remy caught her chin, pinching harder than was necessary to hold her gaze. Not that she was retreating. She only mourned that his surprising golden smile was long gone, replaced by a darkness she couldn’t understand. “And I liked it a damn sight better than being on the receiving end.”

His words shot electricity down the backs of her thighs. It could mean anything. She ought to ignore it altogether, because the scary alternative was to learn more about him. Patrick’s lesson had been a hard one to learn. Some men didn’t open up. Ever.

Besides, Naya had one man to protect and care for and love. Remy wasn’t that man.

Damn her curiosity.

“If you didn’t like getting it, why did you put up with it?”

“Sometimes choices get really scarce. Seemed like the best of a bunch of bad ones at the time.”

A knotted ball lodged in her throat. She breathed his name, but it was possible he didn’t hear her because his spine became painfully stiff. His smile was something close to malice, although he overplayed it. His eyes were so expressive. He was a fantastic Dom, but he’d have been a crappy poker player. Those eyes gave him away.

“Now all I think about is the giving end.”

Liar. You think about all of it.

Past, present and at least three days into the future.

“I happen to like the receiving end,” she said, forcing lightness into her measured reply.

He shook his head—an obvious dismissal of the whole topic. Then he nudged the hem of her shirt, reverently, asking silent permission. His expression was tense, as if she’d shove him away. Funny how she had the power now. Funny and so damn incredible.

Naya indulged him with a shudder that arrowed straight between her thighs.

His fingertip was shaking and soft as a butterfly’s wings. “How’d he react this morning?”

Naya smiled. She ran her hand along Remy’s forearm, where he was so edgy, so strong. She liked feeling his body move as he traced the proof of their gorgeous violence. “He found me in the bathroom after my shower. Ran his palms flat, just once, from my shoulders to my thighs. He kissed the bruises he’d made with his fingertips.”

Remy lifted his brows. “So he managed some real meanness?”

“Oh, yes. They matched the size of his hands.”

“Good boy.”

Naya shuddered.
You told me to hold on to her back and squeeze and that’s why I did it.

Daniel taking orders…

“Then we fucked on the bathroom counter,” she finished quickly.

“I’m glad you both enjoyed the result.”

She tugged her T-shirt down and scowled. “Don’t give me that. You’d have preferred being there.”

“Why not? You haven’t gone down on me yet, little girl.” He shrugged in that particular way—nearly as telling as when he looked away. For someone who worked with body language, he was remarkably unaware of his transparency. A man torn. Hurting in ways she couldn’t understand. Needing what he couldn’t let himself take.

“Then why didn’t you stay the night?” she asked. “We offered. Our couch is a damn sight nicer than most queen-sized beds.”

“What I brought to last night was very specific. We all got what we wanted,
non
? Weren’t no promises of morning-after cuddles and fucks that didn’t involve beltin’ your ass. Besides…”

His grace was nearly swallowed by tension as he strode to the sound system. He hit three buttons. The same sultry blues tune throbbed out of the speakers. Only when he returned and took her in his arms—pure power—did he finish his thought.

“…I’ve got a bed. I’ve got a home. And we got work to do.”

Chapter Nine

Three days later, Remy was convinced he’d go mad dancing with Naya. Not from any sexy, fun, gonna-die-of-blue-balls-if-he-didn’t-get-no-release-soon way, but because he was going to wrap his hands around her throat and choke the ever-lovin’ shit out of her.

Damn, that girl was stubborn.

With her hands on her hips, she staked her feet shoulder width apart and leaned into him, with her out-thrust chin like a terrier after a bone. Remy really had her going this morning. She tossed up her hands, her arguments and insults blending English and Spanish, voice rising, words racing.

He pointed at the shining wood floor approximately two feet away. “There’s dance and there’s sex, and the place where they meet
est bon
.”

“You don’t know sex!
Mierda
.” She stomped one nearly bare foot. She wore half-sole shoes that protected the balls of her feet. Her anger made a meager plop against the floor. “You only know raunch! Show me more, or this is a waste of time.
Christos
, I don’t feel a damn thing other than pissed off when you manhandle me to an eight-count.”

He snorted back a chuckle, pressing his knuckles against his teeth. “I don’t…?” He choked down full-fledged laughter, but it was a close call.

Naya’s eyes narrowed. She shoved her hand into her hair, pushing the heavy mass back from her shoulder. “Did you just laugh at me? Don’t you dare, you arrogant
gringo
shit.”

“I’m Cajun,
chère
. If you call me
gringo
, I get to call you white girl.”

Her mouth pressed flat until a hint of a smile cracked through. She smashed it down. “I don’t appreciate being laughed at.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” He inched closer. She wore another close-cut T-shirt, this one pale blue over loose navy sweatpants. They’d been keeping everything aboveboard when dancing and practicing, which meant Remy had kept his hands to himself. Mostly. Now he smoothed his index finger along the plump pout of her bottom lip. “You have to admit though… Telling me I don’t know about sex? Really?”

She lost her grip on that smile. It broke through like a shining ray of sun. Her giggle followed, shoulders curling as she shook her head. “And I stomped. I actually stomped my foot.”

“You did.”

“Like
mis tías
in a full-on
puertorriqueña
rage. How embarrassing.”

He leaned close and inhaled the sweet smell of her hair. Such a fucking temptation. He wanted her. Hell, he wanted Daniel too and wouldn’t apologize for either desire. “You’re cute when you’re angry,” he whispered.

She rolled her eyes. “Daniel says the same thing.
Lo odio.
”

“I don’t blame you for hating it. But it’s still true.”

Walking away, she shook her hair back over her shoulders. “I hate you too.”

“You sure don’t,
chère
. You like me a lot.” He ran his hand through the sweat on the back of his neck. “But we gotta work a lot harder if we’re going to make it out of here on time tonight. I don’t intend to drag back up here after performance time.”

Standing by the sound system, she looked back at him. Pure, teasing sex. Maybe it was the tilt of her chin, or how her girly smile belied such a goddamn gorgeous body. “Why? You got a hot date?”

He crossed his arms. Knowing how much he was looking forward to that evening made him defensive. “You tell me,” he said evenly. “Hot date or cold shower?”

She grinned and punched the button on the system. Her hips swayed as she slunk into her opening pose: half bent, ass out, hands poised above her head. “Dance it with my steps. Then we’ll see.”

He wrapped an arm low around her torso, fingers digging into her hip. Against his chest was the back he’d smacked the hell out of only three days ago. She’d given him one glimpse. Not enough. Never enough. He wanted the whole feast.

If Naya were his woman, he’d demand new pictures each day. Fuck, if she and Daniel were his, he’d order Daniel to take the pictures.

He nestled his mouth against the shell of her ear. Delicate. Stubborn as hell. “You’re a dirty little blackmailer.”

“You know it.”

The music kicked in and they danced. Slow and low, a profound ode to the course of lust as they circled the small practice room. Remy was facing the mirrored wall when he dipped her, almost breaking form as he watched their bodies move.

They used her steps for the last sixteen bars. Remy had wanted a deep hip swing, with his cock snugged up against her ass. She’d insisted that they try facing one another, with solid distance between them, letting the tension crackle.

“Let them know we want to fuck,” she’d said. “Don’t give them the money shot.”

She was right. He could feel it. The last quarter of the song had more burn. More promise. Like finishing up three hours of foreplay rather than running for a quickie in the back room.

He wasn’t the only one who knew it. Slow, insolent claps came from the doorway. “Children, we have a winner.”

They both turned. Remy grinned. “Jack, you bastard. Where the holy hell have you been?”

The slender, fresh-faced young man had a grin made of thirteen shades of wicked. His dirty-blond hair stood up in wild shocks across his head. “Around.” He held a finger to his lips and gave a coquettish pout. “Shh. Don’t tell Declan a thing.”

Remy cocked his head toward the camera in the corner. “You know better.”

“He might not be watching
this very moment
.” He smiled at the camera and waggled his fingers. “And if he is, I’m sorry, Declan. I’ll make it up to you!” He blew a kiss toward the lens.

Naya laughed and grabbed a towel from her dance bag. “You’re what my
mami
would call
un bambino terrible
.”