A Jade's Trick (Lilly Black's Jaded Series Book 1) (6 page)

I clock in at work to find an especially slow Monday.  The seconds tick away so slowly that I can almost hear the click of each one as if the digital clock behind the bar were an old school wind-up, but when the little, glowing, red numbers finally change to 7:00 pm, I see the elevator doors open.  Cain steps out, and I'm instantly exhilarated.

"Right on time," I say as he approaches the bar.

"Does that please you?" he asks.

"Cain..." I start to chastise him, but I realize I don't want to.  "Yes, it...pleases me."

"But we need to talk?" he asks.

"We do," I admit, apologetically.

"It's really slow tonight," Cain hints, and I can't argue that.

"Dave!  It's dead in here.  I'm giving Nicole the bar.  Call me back in if it gets busy," I call out to him, then I grab my purse, toss Nicole the keys to my car, and lead Cain to the elevator.  As he steers me with one hand very low on my back, his touch is electric, and I'm relieved when I can break contact and ride down with my back to the glass wall.

In the parking lot, his car is in the space right by the elevator, and it's definitely not the Toyota he borrowed last night.  It's a Jaguar in "ultimate black metallic."  I know the color because this is my
if I hit the lottery
car.  He opens the door for me, and once he gets in on his side, I notice that I can't smell his cologne as I detect only the heavy scent of the leather seats.  The car smells new.

"Did you trade in the Toyota?" I tease.

"After driving that thing, I realized that my administrative assistant was underpaid, so I gave her a raise and a car," he says, pulling onto the street.

"Was it something I said?" I ask with a pleased smile.

"Yes, actually, and Veronica sends you her most sincere thanks."

"She could have just sent flowers," I fish.

"She did," Cain admits.

"You had your assistant send those?  That's cheating!  They no longer count."

"I typed the card myself..."

"That's good.  I wouldn't want Veronica having to hide your subliminal messages for you."

"Those three little words were hardly subliminal."

"No more so than if someone had, say, read them on your lips?" I accuse.

"Not at all," Cain says with that smirk of his.  "Just like telling my assistant that I want calla lilies sent to you is no different than me telling a florist the same thing."

"You have a point, but in the future, do the dirty work yourself if you want the credit."

"Duly noted," he says, pulling onto my street.

"So let me get this straight.  You bought Veronica a new car then turned right around and borrowed it the same day?" 

"No," he laughs.  "This one is mine."

"And why did you deserve a new car?" I ask.

"Because there is someone I've been dying to see in pristine, black leather."

"A coat would have been a cheaper alternative," I say, but his response is only a look that gives me the impression that we aren't talking about the same thing at all.

"So where do you want to go?" Cain asks.  "There's a good band playing at the Tor."

"Okay," my mouth says before my brain can get involved.  The Torrance Music Hall is an old theater converted into a small concert venue and much too loud a place to talk, which I've no doubt is by design.

When we get to the Tor, Cain stops the car in the middle of the street, and a tall brunette woman comes out of nowhere, gets in, and drives it away.  She looks vaguely familiar.  I think I may have seen her at Prometheus before.

"I didn't know they had valet parking here," I say.

"They don't."  Cain offers me no further explanation, and I don't pry.  I probably don't want to know because the more people he has taking care of mundane tasks for him, the farther apart our worlds seem.  This is further evidenced by the fact that we don't enter through the front door but through the backstage entrance where a huge, muscular bouncer opens the door for us, no questions asked, no tickets required.

Cain leads me straight through the backstage area, up a staircase and to a completely private loge with a door separating it from the hallway and drawn curtains on the front.  We have a table and comfortable chairs, and though the music is still too loud to have the conversation we came here to have, at least I won't have to scream everything I say up here.

"Do you own this place or something?" I ask.

"Just this little box," Cain says deliberately.

"I see," I say, enjoying his innuendo.  I guess if I insist on continuing this friendship charade, I'll have to get used to him trying to insinuate himself into my baser thoughts.  I change the subject, directing his attention to the stage.  "So is this the band we've come to see?" 

"No."

"Are you going to tell me who we've come to see?" I ask.

"No," he says with that smug grin that makes me crazy as I hear the door open behind us.  It's a waitress coming for our drink order.  Cain defers to me, and joking, I order his staple drink, thinking Asgård is priced way beyond the top shelf of a place like this.

"Make it two," he says.

"Very good, Mr. Ballantyne."

Of course, they have it.  What
was
I thinking? 
I'm with a guy who gets everything he wants anytime he wants it, and the fact that he can't have me must be driving him insane.  I'm surprised how much that thought excites me.

When the opening act finally says goodnight, the crowd on the floor is restless.  I am, too, wondering what's behind Cain's knowing smile as he leans back in his seat, one leg squared over the other.  He's so fucking sexy I almost hate him for it, and as I watch him watching me, I don't notice what's happening on the stage until I hear music suddenly come on loud and strong.  It's Sweet Mary.  I recognize every note from the very first, and I don't even need to look to know it's the real thing.  I just can't figure out why they're here. They headline arenas, not little places like this.  I look at Cain suspiciously.

"This is my favorite band," I admit.

"I know," he says.

"But how?"  He only smiles and nods his head toward the stage to redirect my attention.  I really want to watch the band, but I can't stop watching Cain and wondering how all of tonight's events lined up so perfectly.

When the waitress comes, I ask for water because it's definitely time for me to switch as I watch the insanely hot lead singer I've considered the sexiest man alive from the first moment I saw him.  That is, until the first moment I saw Cain Ballantyne, and if Cain can outshine Mason Steel, I am completely fucked.

"That was amazing," I say as the band leaves the stage after the last encore.

"I thought you'd like it," Cain says.  "So shall we get this talk
out of the way?"

"Actually, right now I'd rather talk about how I could have missed that one of my favorite bands would be playing in my city tonight," I say suspiciously as I hear the door to our private box open.  I look up, and...
oh, dear God.

FUCK.  ME.

Waltzing to our table looking down at me with a lascivious grin is Mason Steel, shirtless and bathed in the sweat of the stage.

"No one knew," he says in a soft, sexy voice with a British accent, brushing his shoulder-length, wet, dark hair behind his ears as his ice blue eyes look me up and down with haunting precision.

"Mason Steel, Evan Lucien," Cain presents me.

"Evan," Steel says, treating my name like a delightful taste in his mouth.  "Well, Evan, tonight's performance was a last minute surprise just for you, my sweet.  Why didn't you tell me your girlfriend was so ravishing, Ballantyne?"

"She is
ravishing
," Cain says, annoyed.  "But I'm very sorry to say she isn't mine." 

"No?" Steel says, his eyes flashing at me.

"We're just friends, aren't we, Evan?" Cain says, his voice almost venomous.

"Then the fair Evan is fair game," Steel says, and he turns a chair around backwards to sit facing me, his legs spread, emphasizing what he has beneath his tight, black jeans.  I steal a quick look south but find myself disappointingly unfazed by this god of sex and rock music that had always stirred so much in me in the past.

"I suppose she is fair game," Cain says, giving me a smirk. 

"Well, then, little bird, what are you doing for the next twelve hours?" Steel asks.

"Our talk can wait," Cain says, his voice flat.

"Actually, it can't," I say, looking Cain directly in the eye before turning my attention back to Mason Steel, "but it's been a real pleasure to meet you, Mr. Steel."  I give him my hand to shake, but he kisses it instead.

"Then it is my loss," he says staring into my eyes as he emphasizes each word.  I can see how this routine could work for him.  Ten days ago, it might have worked on me.

Both men stand up, and Mason gives Cain a handshake, pulling him in for a partial hug.

"Just friends, my ass, Ballantyne.  I think she likes you," Steel whispers loudly.

"It's good to see you, man," Cain says back.  "Thanks for doing this."

"Good to see you too," Steel says, then he turns back to me, looking me up and down.  "And it was
very
good to see you."  I smile and give him a slight wave, then he's gone, the door closed behind him.

"I won't stand in your way," Cain says as he sits back down.  He sounds like he's joking, but I think he's actually jealous.

"Cain Ballantyne, if a woman can resist you, resisting Mason Steel is child's play," I say.

"I'll try not to read too much into that," Cain says.

"I assumed that was the reason you put him up to coming onto me," I say.  Cain laughs incredulously.

"Mason came onto you because you're a beautiful woman and he's a dog."

"But the way you thanked him when he left seemed like..."  I stop midsentence, realizing that my paranoia is ridiculously unfounded.

"I thanked him for doing the show, not for coming up here, though I had planned to take you backstage.  We can still go if you like."

"Are you kidding?  I've already been hit on by Mason Steel.  It's all downhill from here," I tease.  "Well, that is unless someone truly arranged this show just for me."

"You heard Mason," Cain says.

"I thought it was just a line," I say.  "How did you...are you and Mason Steel really friends?" 

"Since high school."

"So his accent is fake?" 

"No.  His family moved here from Sheffield sophomore year."

"You went to high school together?  Somehow I just can't picture Mason Steel at La Jolla Rich Kid Prep," I tease.

"Actually, I went to public high school."

"Are you telling the truth or is this another case of borrowing a old Toyota to impress me?" I ask.  Cain laughs.

"It was important to my father that we not be isolated from the real world." 

"Yet here you sit in this private box above the common, unwashed masses isolating yourself from the real world."

"I'm isolating you...from people like Mason Steel," he says.

"Yet you offered me to him, saying I'm not yours when only this morning, I received flowers with a poorly coded message that said the opposite.  I don't think you know what you want." 

"Little girl," Cain begins, moving in close and speaking deliberately.  "I know exactly what I want, but as long as you insist on continuing this charade, I will not claim you as mine again until you beg to hear those words from me."  I stare at him, stunned at how the same cocksure attitude that floods my mind with contempt floods my body with excitement as he leans back, a satisfied smirk on his face.

"I don't beg," I hiss.

"Not yet," is all he says.

"Are you hungry?" Cain asks, abruptly changing the subject.  "We may as well have dinner while we talk."

"I am, but I don't want to be in a restaurant right now.  Can we just drive through somewhere or something?" 

"We can stay here."

"Aren't they closing?"

"I can leave whenever I'm ready.  What are you in the mood for?" Cain asks as he stands and draws the curtains at the front of the box.  There are still stragglers down on the floor who haven't accepted the waitress' chant "you don't have to go home, but you can't stay here."

"Do you have a menu?"

"We don't need a menu." 

Okay, then... 
I narrow my eyes.  "Soft shell crab with Creole choron sauce."

"What do you like with it?" Cain asks, unfazed.

"Surprise me," I say, annoyed with myself for thinking I could stump him.  I'm talking to a man who can get an internationally successful rock band here on a few hours notice.  Soft shell crab after 10:00 pm on a Monday is nothing.

"Well.  Let's hear it," Cain says after texting our order.

"Impatient, aren't we?"

"I have shown boundless patience with you already," he asserts, the heat in his eyes and the coldness of his tone a heady mix that makes me feel desired and dismissed in the same moment.  There's something about it that makes me want to please him, and there's something about that that disturbs the fuck out of me.  When I open my mouth to speak, no words come out, and seeing me struggle, Cain takes charge.

"I agreed to be your friend, Evan, and that's just what I'm doing.  I promised never to claim you again until you beg for it, and I will honor that to your own detriment.  Now you want to remind me that although you are very much enjoying my company, I am to have no expectations of you.  Does that about cover it?" 

"Uh-huh," I say meekly as he reads me like a book.

"I refuse.  I do have expectations of you and will continue to have them.  I expect you to be irrational.  I expect you to be unreasonable.  I expect you to be difficult, uncooperative, and a complete pain in my ass who fights me at every turn, but I also expect you to come around in the end, and when you do, I expect that any effort I've put into seducing you will have been
well
worth it."

Wow! 
I've never seen anything like him.  He's condescending as fuck, yet he spins it so well, I sit here, feeling like I've been given the highest of compliments.

"You don't have to say anything," he says after a moment, but he's wrong.  I just don't know how to make him understand why I'm afraid without revealing too much because no matter what happens between us, I will ultimately lose him.  I feel it.  I know it.  I
expect
it.

"Cain, there's just..." I sigh.  "There's just no way this could possibly end well."

"So who says it has to end?" 

"Look, I want to be here with you right now, but I just can't promise you anything more." 

"Then I'll leave it all up to you," he says.  "In fact, as testament to my dedication to our friendship, I promise never to even kiss you unless you beg for it."

"You seem awfully sure you can get me on my knees, Ballantyne," I scoff.

"I can, and I will," he says just before we hear a knock at the door, and the same tall, stunning brunette who parked Cain's car earlier comes in wheeling a cart of covered dishes as if we've ordered room service from a luxury hotel.

"Thank you, Lucy," Cain says as she steps back from the table when finished.

"Is there anything else, Mr. Ballantyne?" Lucy asks.

"Evan?"

"I don't think so."

"Call me if you need me," Lucy says as she wheels the cart back out the door.

Cain opens a bottle of Riesling, pours two glasses, and we have a very enjoyable dinner followed by a rich chocolate crème brûlée that Lucy brings in right on time for dessert.  Though Cain and I talk about various things, I am barely cognizant of the words coming out of my mouth as the sexual energy between us is so palpable that I need my focus almost entirely on resisting the urge to break my rules with him right here on this table.  But wanting sex has never been my problem.