“Jada!” I call out again and again, my voice cracking. I start to walk away from the cottage. The bushes shuffle, and I hunch my shoulders as I wait to be killed by whatever steps out of them. Instead, a boy emerges from the brush. Dark hair flops over his brown-blue eyes and he’s smiling at me. I get pissed off. “Where’s my sister?” I scream at him.
He steals a quick glance toward the cottage, and so do I. A light pops up in the window. The boy races forward, grabs my hand, and leads me back into the forest. We run until we’re no longer children. We turn into adults standing inside a field of peonies and poppies, a carpet of color surrounding us. The boy becomes Alek. He’s mouthing some words to me that I can’t understand.
“Where’s Jada?” I ask him, even though I know he can’t help me find her. She’s gone. Forever. The tears come at once. Alek leans over to kiss me.
I wake up, alone in my bed. My pillow is drenched in sweat. And the guilt still punches me in the chest each time I think of the reason my sister was in the car with my dad instead of me.
Sitting up, I step out of bed and head over to my dresser. In the top drawer sits a card. I pull it out and read the name and phone number.
The time for the quarterly visit to see my mom has almost arrived. The date falls right around the time when Alek’s show is set to begin. I place the card back in the drawer, swipe at my eyes, and briefly flirt with the idea of calling Alek. I decide against it before Righteous has the chance to open her mouth up and tell me how desperate I’ll sound if I do that. I crawl back into bed and eventually drift off to sleep.
* * *
I don’t skip my Saturday session this time. With Alek’s pre-show coming up next week and the production right on the heels of that one, I’m pretty sure I’ll be too busy to remember yoga class in the upcoming weeks.
Petre only scolds me for a short moment. He understands me. I feel super crappy for skipping out on his class, and he knows it. All five of the students in my group have all suffered through some type of traumatic incident. We rely on the positive reports from one another to sustain the mood. When one of us skips a meeting, well, it kinda throws the whole group off balance.
After the yoga session ends, we all sit in a circle on the floor in the meditation room. Since I haven’t been here for the past couple of classes, I’m the one who has to share a moment of positivity that has taken place in my life since we last met.
I’m not ready. I can’t very well explain to them how experiencing my first real orgasm in years has been the highlight of my past week. So I go with the dream I had about my sister, making sure I change Alek’s name to someone a little less famous.
So, no, it wasn’t all that great of a dream at first, but in the end, it turned into something I felt was kind of a sign. I fill my classmates in on the details. Everyone in the room agrees with my theory, including Petre.
“What do you think the dream was trying to tell you, Erin?” Petre asks.
I consider his question carefully. “I believe my sister was trying to tell me I’m on the right track.”
“Would you care to highlight for us?” Petre asks.
My, my aren’t we nosey today, doctor? “I think she wants me to know that the person I met is good for me,” I say, shrugging.
“And what does Erin believe?” He asks yet another question.
“I’m not sure yet.”
Erin
Luca, Carla, and I along with Black Butterfly’s two new interns have all been working late hours, staying at the shop well into the evening. Contracts from clients all over the country have been rolling in since last week’s showing.
Tonight, the BB crew’s obsessive work behavior has helped to keep me from chewing all of the skin off my bottom lip while I wait for Alek to arrive. It takes nerve to challenge a man like him. He’s already given me a taste of his, um, dominant side.
What the hell makes me think he can’t meet my criteria? I mean, challenging him to out dance you in a night club? Seriously? I try to take comfort in knowing that he’s only a few years older than me. But if he puts me to shame, which I’m pretty sure he can do if I’m not on my game tonight, then I have to deal with answering his damned proposal.
We’ve all pitched in late hours to help finish prepping the final touches on the clothing sets that Alek will use in his preview show next week. I owe much of the successful preparation to Carla. She has this wicked ability to be able to turn an idea into an outfit in less than an hour. She took all of my kooky ideas, transferred the final vision to a pattern, and was able to have a rough version of the final product ready by the time I finished my morning coffee.
Everyone in the design room stops talking when Alek strolls into the shop. He’s dressed in a light colored shirt and black slacks, it’s almost the same outfit he wore when we first met each other, the day he comforted me until my asthma attack ended.
“Are you ready, Erin?” he asks in that accent he uses when he knows he’s on display the way he is right now. He’s a natural born performer and a damn sexy as hell one at that.
A smile spreads across Carla’s face, and then she makes a giggly laugh. “When you called him a hot date, you weren’t kidding around, were you?”
That
’s right. My date is panty-drop gorgeous. And I have him all to myself tonight.
But Alek knows how he affects women, and I still feel a bit strange about his neglect to call me after the showing. So, I act as blasé as I possibly can, when inside I’m jumping up like a little bunny who found a big ass carrot garden.
I head to my office in the back and grab my purse. On the way out, I remind everyone not to work too late considering this is Saturday night. My boss and coworkers are still staring even as Alek and I walk out the door.
* * *
The lights in the Alcatraz flash across both Alek’s face and mine. Two floors of wild party madness greet Alek and me as soon as we walk through the doors. The Maestro wants an arrangement based on sex. And he did one hell of a job in trying to prove his point. But if I'm going to be partnering up with him and putting my options aside then he's going to have to prove he's worthy of my time and efforts.
I can't just agree to something like that without giving him a reason to appreciate what I'm doing for him. Otherwise, I'll wind up being a pretty little dolly that sits on the shelf and waits for her owner to come around and play with her again. I'm sure his previous partners jumped at the chance. He's used to getting his way with women. I probably let him go a little further than I should've done the night of the showing; but hell, I am human and my body has needs. Okay, so we know he has confidence down, and he's damn good with his hands. But what about the rest of the package? Can he move that sexy body of his the way I suspect he can? Well, I guess we'll find out. Choosing one of Milan’s largest nightclubs turns out to be a great idea according to Alek.
I’m surprised, but then not really. There’s this surreal battle going on between us. You know the kind, the type where either one or the both of us will give in to whatever this thing is that we’re feeling for each other. And not even the heated atmosphere of the wildest and most controversial club in Milan can do a thing to hinder the outcome.
“
You’ll beg me to kiss you before it’s all said and done,”
he told me a few nights ago.
“We’ll see who begs who first, won’t we, Mr. Sexy as Hell?” I lead him to the center of the dance floor.
The beat is a thumping disco tune that drives through every part of my body. And it is so not helping me to gain the lead in this battle. I turn around, lift my arms, and make the first move. “Show me what you got, Mr. Maestro.”
“We’re on, Erin Angelo.”
So arrogant. So sexy. Dangerous is the word I think I’m looking for, and hooked is the one I’ll do anything to avoid. Alek moves close to me, his body grinding against my hips. He’s in no way shy about letting me feel how hard he has become.
I’m instantly taken aback to that place from a week or so ago, the one where he gave me an orgasm that turned me into a puddle of ooze. Moving back, he takes my hand, laces his fingers with mine and begins moving to the beat.
Holy hell. I’m so in trouble. A guy who can dance like this. Let me repeat it for you, you’re so in trouble, Angelo.
Part of me feels all bubbly inside, while the other half is terrified, because now Alek’s arms have circled my body.
We’re grinding and jerking to a beat that I swear was created just for sex. The words “bang bang shot you dead” blast through the speakers. It’s a tune called Gang Bang where the singer essentially says she killed her lover because she’s afraid of falling for him. But she used sex instead of a gun to do it. The meaning behind the lyrics hits too close to home to even think about.
The club spins. This man intoxicates me. Everything about him oozes sex. He’s passing the damn can-he-move test and shooting me dead with desire at the same time.
“Dare me to do something crazy?” he purrs in my ear, his lips brushing across my lobes just before he moves them down to my neck.
Do it
, Erin! You know you want to find out what he’s got for you.
“No way. I know all about how you handle dares,” I say instead.
You wimp!
I curl my fingers up in his thick, dark hair. And then I move his head down toward mine so I can speak into his ear. His lips trace a path toward mine. I tighten my grip on his hair, holding him back, and stare into the shadows of his eyes.
“No kissing on the
top
set of
lips, remember?” I remind him, making sure I specify exactly which pair of lips I’m talking about. I cannot handle another episode like the one we shared that night after the showing just yet.
Every so often
, I catch his boyishly mischievous grin in the flashing lights. Once again, he holds the upper hand, and he knows it. We wind up dirty dancing to every single tune.
Damn he can move.
Whatever song plays, no matter what kind of groove it holds, Alek keeps up the pace. You’re so in trouble, my friend. I should’ve known how this night would go.
Now what will you do, Erin Angelo?
Alek
She wears too much black.
Her outfits remind me of a Gothic fashionista. It’s just one more thing about her that drives me wild, insane even. I bet she didn’t think I’d be able to keep up with her dance moves. I think I’m worthy now, in her eyes…and mine. Now, I can't turn down my hormones, even if I tried. I want to fuck her right now, right here on this dance floor. What red-blooded male wouldn’t want to do the same?
I run my hands over her bare shoulders and slip a hand up under her halter top, running my fingers across the exposed skin of her waist. Most maestros are skilled with their hands.
The song we dance to couldn’t be more perfect. A few of tonight’s tunes have been disco music performed by an American singer. Madonna, I think Erin told me. I usually hate that crap. I’m not as western in my tastes as Adriana; but even I have to admit this is a refreshing change from violins and tubas. And this song likes me. It’s sex in a drum and a synthesizer, a symphony of beats and vocals thrown in the mix. Dancing along to this beat with Erin makes me horny as hell.
We go back and forth between the bar and the dance floor off and on all night long. I’m not for sure, but I think Erin wants to impress me by demonstrating her ability to handle large quantities of alcohol.
Her efforts are completely unnecessary. Almost everyone on both the Russian and American sides of my family come from a line of professional drinkers. This is a battle that my Jaybird’s going to lose.
It doesn’t take long for the effects of the drinking to hit her. And I love the way she opens up when she’s under the influence. I won’t lie. Erin has practically undressed me each time we hit the floor; and she has put every single lap dance I’ve ever received to shame.
On our final trip to the bar, we take a seat and catch our breaths. Erin’s full of energy. I like that about her. I instruct the bartender to go easy on the alcohol. “Hey, I can handle myself,” she says, her words slurring as she tries to keep her balance. This will definitely be our last visit to the bar.
“No, you can’t,” I say with a grin.
She rolls her head toward the bartender and speaks in broken Italian. “Put as much alcohol in that drink as possible.” He glances at me. I shrug. Hagar patiently waits outside for us. Getting home in one piece won’t be the issue for us tonight, I suspect.
“Erin Angelo?” some guy says to Erin as he passes by our seats at the bar. Her head rolls toward him.
Right away, she turns back toward the bartender as though she didn’t want the guy to find her sitting here. He’s an American, probably a student. I can tell by his accent and the preppy way he’s dressed in the club. But he’s poaching on my territory, and I have a feeling this scene won’t end well for him.
He makes a goofy grin and says, “Ha! Yeah, that is you. Remember me from the University here in Milan? I’m the guy you and Selene stood up.”
“No, I don’t remember since that would’ve been close to eight months ago now,” Erin answers. She turns back to the bar again, but the jackass doesn’t know how to take a hint. Plus, he acts like I’m not even sitting here.