Luke: A West Bend Saints Romance (44 page)

"Once," I said, Silas' image flashing in my mind.  “A long time ago.”

After all, love was the ultimate con, wasn't it?

***

CHAPTER EIGHT

SILAS

“Sorry I missed the fight, man,” Abel said.  He sat at the table in the bar, one leg in a cast.  “I heard it was an epic one.”

“Hell,” I said.  “You’re apologizing for Coker running you down?  Are you kidding me?”

He laughed.  “No.  There's no way I’m apologizing for that.  I'm just sorry for missing your comeback.  I mean, if it had been
me
you were fighting, you’d have just been embarrassed, because you'd have gotten the shit kicked out of you.”

I held up my beer glass.  “Well, cheers to the fact that I got to kick Rush’s ass, then.  Instead of getting my ass kicked.”

“Cheers to that,” Trigg said.  He stood.  “Now, drink up.  Stacey’s only working until ten, and until then, beer’s free.”

I gulped down the last few swallows, and pulled Abel’s glass from his hand, giving it to Trigg.  “There you go.”

A hand slapped my back hard, and I spun around, expecting to have to knock the shit out of someone.  Instead, I came face to face with an older man in a grey pullover sweater, a cane in one hand.

“You’re that fighter,” he said.  “I watched you at the fight the other night.  You were quite remarkable.”

This little old man was watching amateur fights?  The look of disbelief must have registered on my face, because he chuckled.

“Oh, now, even an old man like me has to have some hobbies,” he said.  “Betting on fights just happens to be one of mine.  And you won me ten grand.”

I whistled.  “Congratulations.” 
Must be nice,
I thought.  Ten grand was more than the purse for the fight. 

“Well, now,” he said.  “If you gentlemen would be so inclined, there’s a bar upstairs on the top floor that is reserved solely for the suites.  Your drinks are on me.  Whatever you would like.  The sky’s the limit.”

I was just opening my mouth to decline - a couple of cheap beers was just fine with me - when Trigg ambled up beside me.  “Free drinks in the penthouse bar?” he asked.  “Abso-fucking-lutely.”

“Thanks,” I said.  “But we’re just drinking beer in the bar down here with the other commoners.”

The old man chuckled.  “Well, if you change your mind,” he said.  He handed me a card.  “You’ll need this key card to access the upper floors.”

Wordlessly, he turned and ambled away.

Trigg snatched the card from my hand.  “Well, boys,” he said.  “Tonight we get to drink like the rich folks do.  Silas, that includes you."

***

TEMPEST

Iver handed me a glass of champagne.  "To another job well done," he said, raising his glass.  "Where is Oscar, anyway?"

As if on cue, the door to the suite opened, and Oscar ambled inside.  "I'm here," he said.  "I was just getting some fresh air."

Emir handed him a glass.  "The money is set up in accounts that the family will be able to access under the radar of any government entity.  Minus our shares, of course."

Iver nodded.  "I'll deliver the news to Deborah."

I sighed.  "What's next, boys?"

Iver shrugged.  "The south of France is nice this time of year."

"Emir?" I asked.

"I have a flight out of town tomorrow," he said.  "There's a comic convention, and a new video game I've been dying to hole up for a week with."

"And you, Oscar?" I asked.  "Far flung travel plans?"

"Oh, you know," he said.  "An old man like me, I'm not chasing models and yachting anymore."

Iver chuckled.  "Don't let him tell you stories, Ariana," he said, calling me by my grifter alias.  "Oscar's got more life left in his pinkie than the rest of us do in our entire bodies.  What are you really up to, old man?"

Oscar laughed.  "I think I'm going to spend a month in Rome," he said.

Iver sighed.  "There was this Italian girl once..."

Emir held up his hand.  "The rest of us mere mortals don't need to hear about your escapades with models and heiresses."

Iver's eyes twinkled.  "Speaking of heiresses, there's a shipping magnate's daughter I really should check up on."

Emir grimaced.  "Don't you ever get tired of being a man whore?" he asked.

Iver grinned.  "I don't understand the question," he said, turning to me.  "Does the question make any sense to you?"

I laughed.  "Boys, stop your bickering."

"What are your plans for your time off, Ariana?"  Oscar asked.  "Are you leaving it up to fate?"

After a job, I usually headed to the airport with no luggage and no plans, to take whatever flight was available that suited my fancy.  I guess I could throw a dart at a map or something,
really
leave it up to fate to decide.  And maybe I would do that, sometime in the future.  But this time, I was going back to Colorado.  My grandmother was still there.  It had been almost a year since I'd sneaked back to see her, and that was long enough.

I sipped from the glass.  "I think so," I lied.  “Should we meet in New York next time, boys?”

Another grifter’s rule -
always keep moving
.  We rotated cities and discarded identities like people changed clothes.

“At the Four Seasons, I think,” Iver said.  “Or the Ritz.”

“The Ritz,” Oscar said.  “Now, shall we retire to the restaurant for dinner?"

Iver paused.  "Oscar, you look like the cat that ate the canary," he said.  "What deviousness do you have planned?"

Emir wrinkled his nose.  "Please say you didn't tell the maitre'd it was one of our birthdays," he said.  “If I have to listen to wait staff sing to me…”

"Oh God, Oscar," I said.  "If you have something up your sleeve..."

Oscar put his hands in the air.  "Can't an old man dine with friends without his motives being questioned at every turn?" he asked, exhaling heavily.  "Grifters are some of the least trusting people in the world."

Iver laughed.  "Spoken like a guilty man," he said.

***

CHAPTER NINE

SILAS

"Holy shit.  This place is insane," Trigg said, his voice only semi-hushed, in the way that drunken people try to whisper.

"We can order food and everything, right?"  Abel leaned in toward me.  "I'm afraid they're going to come after us with an insanely huge bill."

I was wary myself, but I shook my head.  "It seems to all be taken care of," I admitted.  "I mean, they even let us in dressed the way we are."

We weren't exactly in gym clothes, but we weren't dressed like the few other people, mostly couples, here in the dimly lit restaurant.  I'd seen two couples escorted through the bar area toward the restaurant, and they wore suits and dresses.

And here I'd thought I was getting really dressed up tonight by putting on jeans and a polo shirt.  We had to stand out like sore thumbs here, even if the bar area was empty.

"Cigar, gentlemen?"  A man appeared tableside, wearing a tuxedo and carrying a box.

"Hell fucking yeah," Trigg said, then cleared his throat.  "I mean, yes.  Please.  That would be excellent.
Sir
."

Beside me, I heard Abel stifle a laugh.  "Classy," he said under his breath.

We selected cigars, and laid them on the table.

"This is some kind of life," Trigg said.  "Hell, if I go pro, this is how life would be all the time."

"If you went pro," Abel said.  "You'd be training and living clean so you didn't lose everything you worked for."

"Shit, man," Trigg said, gesturing down the length of his body.  "This body is a damn machine.  It can handle anything I throw at it."

Abel laughed.  "Whatever, dude," he said.  "Give it a few years.  Wait until you're thirty.  Shit, even twenty five."

"That's forever away," Trigg said.  "Right now, I'm in my motherfucking prime.  All of us are."

"Yeah, man, look at me," Abel said, gesturing to his leg in the cast.  "I'm like the definition of prime, right here."

I happened to look across the room as they laughed.  And suddenly, everything faded into the background.

It was
her
.

Tempest.

She was standing there in the entrance to the restaurant, wearing this little black dress that skimmed over her curves, the material shimmering in the candlelight.  She should have looked conservative, elegant in the dress she wore -it was that kind of a dress- but she couldn't have looked edgier if she had tried.  The strapless gown did nothing to conceal the tattoos that twisted around her forearms and biceps, snaked across her shoulder, and peeked out from underneath the tiny straps.

Of course, she could have been wearing a fucking paper bag, for all it mattered to me - I couldn't take my eyes off her.

When her eyes met mine, her lips parted, just slightly.

It was like everything in the world stopped, in that moment.

I stood up.

I knew I should feel angry at her for leaving.  I knew I should want nothing to do with her.  She was a fucking thief who made promises, ran off with things that were precious to me.

Like my seventeen-year-old heart.

But I just couldn't help myself.  I wanted her.

I crossed the room, hearing Abel protest from where he sat at the table.  "What the hell are you doing, Silas?"

"Holy shit.  That's that TV producer," Trigg said, hooting.  "He's got some balls.  She's out of his fucking league.  She's with the rich guy, the one who bought our drinks."

Behind her stood a group of men.  They were unassuming, nondescript, didn't look like they belonged together as a group in any way.  One wore an expensive suit, like some kind of male model.  One wore a hoodie and sneakers, black-framed glasses perched on the end of his nose.  And the older man, the one who'd invited us up here to begin with, stood there behind them in a cardigan, holding a cane.

I felt a rush of something I couldn't quite place, seeing her with them.  These men had to be the people she was working with, the people she'd chosen to be with.

Her crew.

A wave of jealousy washed over me, this feeling of possessiveness I couldn't shake.  She'd been mine once.

Or, rather, once upon a time I
thought
she was mine.

I told myself I had no right to her anymore.  I'd never had a right to her, even back then.

I stopped, a few feet away from the group, looking at the old man.  "You."

Tempest turned to look behind her.  "Oscar," she said, her voice soft.  "What did you do?"

He shrugged.  "I'm simply an old man, looking for a meal," he said, taking the sleeve of the man in the suit and calling for the host.  "I think a table at the far end, over there by the window, will do nicely.  For three."

The nerd with the glasses looked up from his phone.  "There's four of us."

The man in the suit patted him on the back and cleared his throat.  "I do believe it's just the
three
of us for dinner, Emir," he said.

The group followed the maitre'd across the restaurant, and I stepped forward, close to Tempest.

I had the nearly irresistible urge to slide my hand up to the nape of her neck, grab a handful of hair, and draw her against me.

Or to fucking throttle her.

I wasn't sure which feeling was stronger.

Instead, I stood there, looking at her.  "Tempest Wilde," I said.  "Or should I call you Maggie?"

She stood there, expressionless for a moment.  "You found me," she said.

I wasn't sure if she was disappointed or pleased.

And then a smile played on the edges of her lips.  "Silas Saint," she said.  "It's been a long time."

She tilted her head down, swept a strand of brown and purple hair over her forehead, and looked up at me, eyes twinkling.  Her hair was different from the way I remembered.  But the look she gave me was familiar.

That part, I hadn't forgotten.

***

PART TWO

When one is in love, one always begins by deceiving oneself, and always ends by deceiving others.  That is what the world calls a romance.

~ Oscar Wilde,
Picture of Dorian Gray

CHAPTER TEN

TEMPEST

"What are you doing here, Tempest?" Silas asked.  He stood so close to me that I couldn't think about anything except the way his lips would feel as they dragged across my skin.

"A girl gets hungry," I said.  As soon as the words left my mouth, I realized how much they sounded like an innuendo.  Silas made a sound in his throat, low and guttural.

I stood there motionless, drinking in his presence.

I wanted to stay there forever, life on hold.

"You were at the fight," he said.  "
Maggie
.  Jameson, is it now?"

"Tempest," I said.  "It’s Tempest.  It always was."

He laughed, but there was no mirth in the sound.  Instead, it was just bitter.  "Your name was real, then?" he asked.  "That's the only thing about you that wasn't a lie."

"You know that's not true, Silas," I said, my voice soft.  "With you, it was real. 
We
were real."  He thought I'd deceived him, ripped out his heart and left West Bend - left
him
- without a care in the world.

He couldn't know how hard it was for me to leave back then.  His mother had been right.  I would only drag him down.

He had no idea how hard it was now, standing here before him.

"Do I know that, Tempest?” he asked.  "You don't know the meaning of the word
real
."

"I did love you once," I said, honest. 
For once.
  “Back then.  That was real.”

Something flickered across his face, painful and intense, and I almost regretted telling the truth.  It was wrong, telling him something that would cause him more pain, years later.

Silas stepped forward, so close to me I could feel his warm breath, his face inches from mine.  I heard him inhale, and every cell in my body responded to his nearness, anticipating his touch.

Desperate for his touch.

I wanted to know if his lips tasted the way they used to.  I wanted to know if he felt the same way underneath my fingertips that he did years ago.  I wanted to know if our bodies would meld together, fitting like two puzzle pieces, the way they did when we were teenagers, initially fumbling and naive.

But he didn't kiss me.

Instead, he slid his hand up my arm, leaving a trail of goose bumps in his wake, until his hand reached the nape of my neck.  He clutched at my hair, grasping a handful, and pulled me close to him.  The movement sent a shock of pain through my body that made me wince.

Followed immediately by a rush of arousal at his touch.

"Outside," he growled.  "Now."

Only barely loosening his grip on my hair, his hand still on my neck, he led me around the tables in the bar, past his friends, and through the tinted glass doors that opened onto a balcony, empty of anyone else.  The cityscape stretched out in front of us, the twinkling lights of Vegas that went on for miles until they faded away at the edge of the desert.  Music pumped softly over the speakers.

Silas pushed me forward until he reached the far end of the balcony, where a canopy with white billowing fabric framed matching white cushioned lounges and glass tables.  Without asking, he took my purse from my hands and set it on one of the tables.  He barely stopped moving.  Instead, he guided me toward the edge of the space, his grip on me unyielding.

He only stopped when we reached the glass wall that lined the balcony, finally letting go of me.

I turned to face him, my heart thumping wildly in my chest.  “Most people would say ‘Hello.  How have you been?  Have a seat.  Can I buy you a cocktail?’”  I said.

Silas didn’t smile.  His expression was dark, his eyes greyer than the soft blue from my memories, like the kind of sky you see at the beach right before a storm.

Dark and foreboding.

He stepped forward, and I leaned back, the railing of the balcony cool against my skin, draped in the low cut fabric of my dress.  Silas slid his hand around my waist, the gesture possessive.  When he spoke, his voice was low and hoarse.  “Would you like me to say hello?” he asked.

“That would be nice.”

“Hello, Tempest.”

The way he said it, deep in his throat, made me weak, and I swallowed hard before I spoke.  “Hello, Silas.”

“Would you like to sit?”  His hand slid to the middle of my stomach, lingering for a moment, and the movement sent a shock of arousal like electricity, running through my veins.

“No.”

“Can I buy you a cocktail?”  He traced his finger up the middle of my abdomen, in between my breasts, to the top of my cleavage, and paused there.

“No.”

He lowered his gaze to my chest, as he traced the outline of the top of my breasts, just above the material on my dress.  I lightly closed my eyes, thrown back to feeling seventeen again, anticipating his body pressed against mine.

"There," he said.  "That's out of the way.  Are you happy now?"

"Ecstatic," I said.  “Was it so hard to extend a little courtesy to an old friend?”

He grunted in response.  “Is that what we are, Tempest?  Old friends?  Why the hell are you suddenly showing up in my life?"

I shrugged, the gesture a hell of a lot more nonchalant than I felt.  Outside, I was the picture of calm.  Inside was an entirely different story.  "Coincidence," I said.  "Or maybe it's just the universe's twisted sense of humor."

I was aware of Silas's finger, paused at the top of my breast, unmoving.  My breath hitched in my throat.

"What were you doing with Coker?" he asked.

"I can't tell you that, Silas."  I wanted to explain, to tell him
why
I was doing what I was doing, to tell him that I wasn't who I was back then, back when I was an accomplice to my parents' scams.  But I knew the explanation would ring hollow.  Besides, what the hell did I know about Silas anymore?  Could I even trust him?

Silas looked down at me, his blue eyes filled with a mixture of lust and anger.  He slipped a finger underneath the fabric of my dress, against my bare breast.

I inhaled sharply, tasting the coolness of the air, and looked behind him to the restaurant, aware that he was barely blocking my body with his.

"Would you rather be inside, with your business partners?" he asked, noticing my glance.  His finger slipped further down, brushing over my nipple, which stiffened immediately in response to his touch.

I heard a moan escape my lips.

"I'm out here with you, aren't I?" I asked.  I couldn't think.  Not when he began teasing me, swirling his finger around and around my nipple.

"Yes, but I did have to drag you out here by your hair," he said.  "If you'd like to leave..."  His voice trailed off, but his finger didn't stop moving.  I didn't respond to his implication that I was free to go.

Not verbally, anyway.

Instead, I arched my back into his touch.

Giving him permission.

Silas pressed me harder against the balcony wall, leaning closer against me and nudging my knees apart with his leg.  I felt the fabric of my dress rise up my thigh.  He didn't take his eyes off mine as he took his hand from my breast and reached down to the hem of my dress, on the inside of my thigh.

I shook my head.  "Not here."  I could barely get the words out.  Arousal flooded my head, making it impossible to think.

"No one can see us," he said.  His fingers touched the crease at the top of my thigh, and I gasped.

"Silas," I said, more of a moan than an intelligible word.

"No panties?" he asked, his tone more of a statement than a question.  "Jesus Christ, Tempest."

I shook my head.  It was dizzying, being so close to him again.  "Panty lines," I said softly.  "I don't like them."

"Fuck."

"Is that what you're looking for, Silas?" I asked.  I wasn't sure if I was challenging him or offering.  "A quick fuck, for old time's sake?"

His hand moved, inched its way between my legs, and his finger found my clit.  When he touched me, I moaned, louder than I intended.  He leaned in close to me, his mouth near my ear, and spoke low.  "I'm definitely going to fuck you, Tempest," he said.  "But there's going to be nothing quick about it.  I'm going to feel you come, right here, right now, on my fingers.  And then I'm taking you to wherever the hell you're staying, and I'm going to reacquaint myself with how it felt to have you come on my cock."

Heat rose over my face, and I could feel my cheeks flush.  "You're brazen, aren't you?"  I asked.  "Not exactly the old Silas I used to know."

Silas teased my entrance with the tip of his finger until I was clutching him, digging my fingers into his arms.  Then he plunged his finger inside me.  "Things change," he said.

"Not everything," I said. 
Some things stay exactly the same.

Silas made a sound, low in his throat, something akin to a growl, and lowered his mouth to mine, kissing me hungrily, his tongue seeking mine.  It was rough, hard.

If it was possible for a kiss to be filled with years of unspoken anger, this was that kiss.

It was familiar and strange.

Silas
was familiar and strange all at the same time.

My body felt like it was on fire, ignited by the warmth of him against me.  I wanted to rip his clothes off, press my body against his, feel his skin on mine.  I wanted him to crush me with his touch.

I arched my back, meeting him as he kissed me, not wanting him to let go.  Not wanting him to stop doing what he was doing between my legs, his fingers beckoning inside me, stroking me, bringing me higher and higher.

When he tore his lips away from mine, I threw my head back, my hair spilling over my shoulders.  Silas ran his lips down the side of my neck, then up to my ear, the flicker of his tongue over my earlobe sending a shiver up my spine.

"Oh God, Silas," I said.

He whispered, his lips close to my ear.  "Come on me."

"You...shouldn't...out here...Silas."  My voice was breathy, my words coming out in between gasps.

"Come on me," he said, his voice insistent.  He stroked me, the pads of his fingers inside me pressing against that most sensitive place.

"Silas...you...should...stop."

He paused.  "Do you want me to stop?" he asked.  "Be damned sure about that."

No.  That wasn't what I wanted.

What did I want again?  I pressed against his hand.

"That's a no, then," he said.  "You want me to keep going."

"Yes," I said.

But he didn't move.  Instead, he ran his tongue over my earlobe, breathed heat against me.  "Say it, then."

"Yes.  Keep going," I said, my voice nearly a whine.

He made a clucking sound with his tongue.  "You really need to learn manners and courtesy," he said.  "Ask me nicely."

I laughed, turned my face to meet him, my lips grazing his.  "You're joking."

He rolled his thumb over my clit.  "Hardly," he said.  "What do you want, Tempest?  If you want me to keep going, you should say it - please, Silas, bring me to the edge, make me come right here, on your fingers."

I opened my mouth, my head clouded by desire.  God, it would be so easy, so incredibly easy, to just say please.  To beg Silas, the way he wanted me to.

But fuck that arrogant son of a bitch.

"No," I said, my eyes trained on his.  "You know I'm not that kind of a girl."

"The kind who says please?" he asked.

"The kind who begs," I said, coming to my senses.  Who the hell did Silas think he was, waltzing back into my life, grabbing me by the scruff of the neck, and telling me what to do?  Telling me he was going to fuck me senseless if I just asked him politely?

The corners of Silas' mouth turned up.  His fingers still lodged firmly inside me, he leaned close to me, kissed me on the lips, this time gently, taking my lower lip between his teeth and tugging at it before letting it go.

Then he slid his fingers from between my legs, and brought his hand to his mouth.  Slowly, he ran his tongue from the base of his fingers to the tips.  "You taste exactly the same."

I flushed, a mixture of sexual frustration and irritation at Silas for his arrogance.  For his damn game playing.  And irritation at myself, for the way that, when he said the word
taste
, the image of him naked, lying back as I took him in my mouth, flashed in my mind.

I couldn't help but wonder if he tasted the same.

And the fact that I was wondering pissed me off.

"I should let you get back to your friends," I said.  Meanwhile I needed to go take a cold shower.  I winced at the throbbing between my legs.

Something that looked like surprise flitted across his face, and I felt a sense of smug satisfaction.  Did he think I was really going to cave and beg him to do me right here?  Now that his touch wasn’t distracting me anymore, the idea seemed stupid.  Silas had always been cocky.