His cell phone came to life in his pocket and he took a quick look. He groaned when he saw the caller ID—Mama Jo—and he didn’t have time to explain why he’d canceled his scheduled visit. No doubt she wanted to reschedule and he couldn’t give her a solid answer just yet. Regretfully, he sent her to voice mail and ignored the wash of guilt that followed. He would call her back right after the meeting, he made himself promise. He truly missed Mama Jo, but as she would say, he had a funny way of showing it. He hadn’t been home in a while. Life kept throwing him curve balls and he had to be around to knock them back. She understood. Most of the time. But this last cancellation, he’d heard more than disappointment in her tone. Can’t think about that now. Gotta focus on the here and now and that included the man who held the key to all his dreams.
Who just happened to be sitting at the table farthest from the door, in a little pocket near the window, sipping his espresso with a contemplative expression. Frank Rocco was as Gage described, distinguished, well-dressed, yet seemingly down-to-earth and Christian’s nervousness dissipated.
He smiled as he extended his hand. “Mr. Rocco? Christian Holt. Nice to meet you, sir.”
“A pleasure,” Frank Rocco said in his softly accented voice, clasping his hand in a firm shake as Christian sat opposite him. He gestured to the barista and she brought something hot, dark and rich to his table. “Best kept secret in New York,” he shared as Christian sipped at his drink. “Eh?”
Christian choked down the strong brew, not particularly fond of coffee in general, but put a brave face on, not wanting to offend his potential business partner right off the bat. “Smooth,” he said. And likely to put hair on his chest if it wasn’t lightly covered already. “Thank you for agreeing to listen to my proposal. I know your time is valuable so I’ll get right to the point.” Frank inclined his head ever so slightly as if to say he appreciated his candid style and Christian took that as a good sign as he continued, “Gage and I have the operating expenses covered, we even have the business location scouted, distributors in line and a solid business plan…what we don’t have is someone to provide the venture capital. We aren’t looking for someone who will babysit the operation but rather someone who believes in our plan and is willing to see it through with us. Gage believes you might be the one we’re looking for.”
A shrewd light entered the older man’s gaze as he accepted the detailed business plan from Christian. “Why me?” he asked as he flipped through the pages. “There must be a handful of investors milling around the city, looking for a good project. What drew you to me?”
“Easy. You have a reputation for being solid, honest and the best part in my book, profitable. We’re looking to make a profit, therefore we’re looking for someone who has a track record with making it work in a tough environment. Clubs come and go. But the ones with staying power make mad money. We think we have what it takes to make it.”
“Confident,” Frank mused. “But every green businessman with stars in his eyes thinks he’s the one who’s going to be the success instead of the statistic. Tell me why you’re different.”
Christian leaned forward, the intensity he felt in his gut shining in his stare as he said, “Because I know it takes more than hard work, more than desire, more than strong business sense to make it a success…it takes
obsession
. I will eat, drink, breathe nothing but what it takes to make it work.”
“Obsession,” Frank said, clearly amused but there was something else in his tone, something that smacked of respect. He narrowed his gaze at Christian. “What of a personal life? A special lady friend? A wife, perhaps?”
Christian hesitated, his thoughts flying inexplicably to Skye, which he shook off with effort. Now was not the time to show any cracks in his resolve. He didn’t know why he thought of Skye. They barely knew one another and he knew for a certainty, she wasn’t the woman he’d feel comfortable having a relationship with…yet, there was something there. Maybe it was simple hormones and whatever it was would fade. He couldn’t bank on something that wasn’t actually real at the moment when the man holding the key to his hopes and dreams was sitting in front of him, watching him, waiting for an answer to his seemingly simple query. He grinned. “Mr. Rocco…I’m finally standing on the precipice of what could be the culmination of hopes and dreams…I’m not going to throw it all away over a woman.”
“Truer words were never spoken,” Frank agreed, though there was a split second of regret reflected in his eyes that was gone so fast Christian was sure he imagined it. Drawing away, he rapped his knuckles lightly against the business plan and said, “This is good stuff. I like your style. I will be in touch.”
Christian nodded, elation zinging through his brain at the positive vibes he was getting from the older man. He was nearly close enough to his dreams to reach out and touch them. He’d imagined this moment for so long it almost seemed unreal. “I look forward to your call,” he said, rising.
Frank chuckled and after adjusting his cuffs, let himself out to the awaiting Bentley idling at the curb.
Christian watched as the car melted into the busy traffic and couldn’t stop the grin. Good things were about to happen. He could feel it.
The girls crowded around her, eyeing the bag with open curiosity. Skye smiled as she unzipped it. “Dancers need proper dance supplies. I found some old leotards and ballet slippers in my closet and then went to a few dance studios throughout the city and gathered some donated leotards. I tried to guesstimate your sizes by memory,” she said, smiling as the girls rummaged through the bag, exclaiming as they found a size that would work for them. After everyone had something in their hands, she dismissed them to change. A sweetness born of satisfaction formed her smile and she thought of Christian. His kindness warmed her heart in a way that she didn’t have time to dwell upon.
The girls returned and she clapped her hands with pleasure. “You look like dancers!” she exclaimed, eliciting shy smiles. “Now we can begin.”
She took the girls through an hour of instruction and after they were all worn out, but still smiling, she ended the class with a promise to see them next week.
Skye was packing her bag when a girl named Payton came up to her. “Are you going to stay our teacher or are you going to bail on us eventually?”
Skye quieted at the pointed question. “I…well, I don’t know how long I’ll be here. It just depends on how long I’m invited to stay, I imagine,” she answered honestly. She didn’t want to give the girl a false promise. After all those children had been through she wasn’t about to betray them further by lying. She held her breath until the girl seemed to accept the answer.
“I knew you wouldn’t stick around forever…but thanks for being honest.”
Payton turned to leave and Skye stopped her with a gentle hand on her shoulder. “You know, I’d really love to see you continue to dance. You’ve got something and it’s called talent. Not everyone can dance like you can.” Payton stared, unsure of what to do with that kind of praise. Skye smiled. “Just keep coming to class at the very least. Okay?”
Payton bit her bottom lip but finally allowed a short smile as she nodded and said, “Okay. See you next week. Oh, and thanks for the leotard and ballet slippers. They feel good. Like we’re real dancers or something,” she added sheepishly, then bolted as if she’d said too much and risked further embarrassment. Skye didn’t try to stop her, just grinned and finished packing her bag.
“You’re a natural,” Christian said, startling her. She smiled in welcome, happier than she should be to see him. She met him at the door where he lounged against the door frame. “You got plans after this?”
“Not for a bit, why?” she answered, ignoring the private thrill that danced tiny fingers along her skin in anticipation.
“I want to show you something,” he said, a hint of playfulness in his grin.
She slung her dance bag over her shoulder. “Such as?”
“Just say yes and I’ll show you.”
Skye vacillated between desperately wanting to go with him and needing to keep her distance. Belleni expected her back to her apartment by 5:00 p.m. or else he’d send Vincent to track her down and if that happened, there would be consequences. Once she’d been late because the subway train had broken down but Belleni wouldn’t listen. He punished her as he always did, by withholding her son from her. It was the most foolproof way of keeping her towed and tethered without having to lock her into the apartment. She nipped her bottom lip, unsure of what to do until Christian lifted her dance bag from her shoulders and she had to stop the flutters that followed the chivalrous gesture. She couldn’t remember the last time someone took a true interest in her comfort or feelings.
“If you’re up for a shared taxi ride, I think you’ll like what I have to show you,” he said.
“What is it?” she asked.
“Don’t like surprises?”
“Not especially,” she answered truthfully. In her experience surprises tended to leave her with bruises at the worst and an unfortunate evening at the most benign. Besides, she’d never been one for mysteries. “I don’t know you well enough to agree to go somewhere without prior knowledge of the destination. That’s just reckless and I have Nico to think of.”
Sobering quickly, he said, “Skye, I would never hurt you.”
She knew that and it wasn’t because he’d already saved her life. It was because of what she saw in his heart that she knew if it were in his power, he’d always do what he could to ensure her safety. The knowledge was at once sweet and brutal. A lump rose in her throat at the cruelty of her situation and it gave her one more reason to hate Belleni. Not that she needed another. She already had a boatload of reasons.
Christian must’ve sensed her waffling for he said, “All right. How about this…a compromise. I will tell you where we’re going, if not why we’re going there. How’s that?”
She considered his offer. He waited for her answer, watching her with those killer blues from beneath long, dusky eyelashes that would make any woman jealous for their length and she relented with a shake of her head. “Okay,” she agreed, eliciting a wide grin from Christian. “But I only have two hours to spare. I have to get Nico before five. Promise we’ll be back in time?” Nico was with Belleni but she needed a plausible excuse because she couldn’t imagine actually telling Christian the truth about her curfew.
“I promise.” He stepped aside, holding the door for her and her heart tripped a beat. She flashed him a tiny, appreciative smile and followed him to the street. It occurred to her as they hailed a cab, she couldn’t remember the last time she felt so free, so normal. And she drank it up like a woman dying from thirst.
“I don’t actually own the building…yet…but Gage is a commercial real estate broker when he’s not bartending and this just happens to be one of his properties,” he explained, giving the lock a jiggle when the key stuck. It clicked open and he gave the door a firm push. It opened with a creak that was surely heard for miles and they slipped inside.
Dust motes danced in the stale, cold air and it smelled of old timber, age and industrial storage. Weak, watery light shone through windows fogged with years of grime and a fine layer of dirt settled on every surface. He led her into the back where the remnants of a bygone era lay rusting, disintegrating or the opposite, remaining stalwart, but useless, against the passage of time.
“What was this place?” she asked, her brow furrowing slightly, rubbing at her nose from the dust. “And why are we here?”
Christian opened his arms wide and spun in a slow circle. “This,” he said, “is the place where I want to open my very own nightclub. I met with a venture capitalist today and I think he really believed in our vision for the club. If he decides to invest, we could be up and running within three months.”
“Three months? Are you sure? It’s pretty old…and dirty.”
He laughed. “Ye of little faith. Nothing a bit of elbow grease couldn’t fix. We’ve already had a building inspector come out and give us a report on the structural integrity—we’d need to bring the piping up to code and whatnot but the bones of this place are solid. This building has been a lot of things in its lifetime.”
Her gaze traveled the open beams and steel framing. “Such as?”
He hesitated before answering but decided to go with the truth. “Well, for example, at one time this place was a brothel in the late 1800s.” When she flashed him a look but continued her silent perusal, he added quickly, “Well, in its next incarnation it was a pressroom for a newspaper and then in its most recent life, it was used for industrial storage, which would account for the odd oil splashes here and there in the dirt. It might’ve even been a garage in the ’30s, I’m not sure, I’d have to check. But a place like this has a rich history and I knew the minute I saw it that it was going to be the location of my club.” He gestured, lifting the tarp covering something long and bulky. “And this right here was how I knew for sure,” he said, revealing a very old, ornate, soft maple bartop with dark, rich tones and an aged finish. Skye sucked in a surprised breath and came to get a better look. “Gorgeous, isn’t it?” When she nodded, he said, “When Gage and I researched the building we found archival photos of this bar in the saloon that originally inhabited the building. And somehow, through all the years, it survived. I’m guessing that the owners either never knew about it or thought to sell it eventually and just never did. Gage and I found it in the basement with a bunch of other stuff.”
“It’s amazing,” she said, running her fingers lightly down the ornate carving. “Handcrafted. Wow, it’s beautiful.”
“Yeah, that’s what we thought, too. We want to restore it and put it into the club.”
Her eyes shone as her mouth formed a wondrous smile. “I think that’s a great idea. It would give the club automatic history and that could be a selling point. New Yorkers love something with character.” She glanced around with a speculative expression as she asked, “So what else do you plan to do with the place?”
His insides warmed at her interest. “Well, the first two stories will be the nightclub and the top floor will be administrative offices. We hired an architect to draft some plans and a designer to create a vision. We want to incorporate the building’s history along with a fresh new look, so modern yet classic, edgy without being trendy.”
“Nice. So your clientele…?”
“Kind of like Martini, upscale, with established incomes who enjoy a bit of refinement with their entertainment.”
She nodded, an odd expression flitting across her face but it cleared and she offered him a smile that spoke of her opinion. “It’s a great idea. I have a picture in my head and it’s gorgeous. I think you might really have something here.”
“Thanks,” he said, her approval important to him for reasons he didn’t want to examine too closely. “I’ve lived and breathed this dream for so long I can’t remember what it was like to be without the vision in my head.”
“That’s how I felt about dance,” she said wistfully. “It takes a certain amount of obsession to make dreams come true.”
He grinned. “That’s exactly how I feel. I definitely have the obsession part. My friend Gage said if he didn’t see dollar signs in my eyes whenever we talked about the club he would’ve found a different friend. According to him, there’s more to life than business.”
She risked a short smile. “Not for some.”
He agreed. “Not for those who cannot accept failure.”
“When I danced the world disappeared. I didn’t mind the broken toes, the bunions, the strict diet…because when I took the stage I became the part and it felt like magic.”
“What was it like to dance as Aurora?”
Her eyes shone with remembered joy that was only slightly dimmed by sadness as she said, “Incomparable.”
“I wish I could’ve seen you dance,” he said.
Skye’s mouth trembled with a smile. “Me, too.”
Standing in the milky light, surrounded by the promise of his dreams, he stared at the woman before him, fighting a hunger that had him by the short hairs. He wanted to tell her how beautiful she looked, yet he couldn’t—or wouldn’t—form the words. How many other men had uttered those same words to her as she offered herself for their entertainment? The thought made him twist in disgust but it didn’t cool the heat building between them. He knew she felt it, too. It didn’t help that he’d already seen her naked. There were no barriers to his imagination. In his mind, the only place it was safe to touch her, his mouth tasted her bare skin; his fingers explored every inch. Most times he shut down those thoughts before they took hold. But right here, now, he couldn’t seem to muster the willpower.
He stepped toward her, drawn to her without thought. She didn’t stop him, but her eyes widened and the tip of her tongue darted to moisten her lips. The small motion nearly caused his knees to buckle. “I have a confession to make,” he began, his voice straining as his body tightened.
“And what would that be?” she asked, her eyes wide and luminous.
Instead of answering, he simply dipped his head and brushed a soft but firm kiss against the sweetness of her mouth. It’d been his intention to only do that but once his lips touched hers the contact ignited a firestorm that he couldn’t quite control. Her body melted against his, pressing in all the right places, her softness fit perfectly against his hardened planes, and as she clutched his lower back, her fingers curling against his shirt, he felt his whole world tilt.
And somewhere, far off in the functioning recesses of his brain echoed his answer to the question posed by Frank Rocco earlier that day.
I’m finally standing on the precipice of what could be the culmination of hopes and dreams…I’m not going to throw it all away over a woman.