ANightatTheCavern

Anna
Alexander

Book four in the Heroes of Saturn series.

The motto at the city’s most hedonistic nightclub, The
Cavern, is all about receiving what you need, and at the moment Miranda needed
to sober up and get the hell out of there. Her lame attempt at adventure was
about to go down as the stupidest idea ever when the club’s über-hunky designer
whisks her onto the dance floor and offers to make her sexiest fantasies come
true. Maybe it was the overpriced drinks talking, but if she was going to fail,
it might as well be in a blaze of glory. Leather cuffs, bondage and forbidden
pleasure? She’s all in.

Jorges finds Miranda’s self-deprecating humor refreshing and
falls for her girl-next-door charm as he coaxes her inner sex goddess out to
play. Who knew that within the wallflower lurked a sizzling siren? Before the
sun rises, Jorges realizes one night of passion will never be enough. Now he must
convince Miranda she is exactly what he needs.

A
Romantica®
contemporary erotic romance
from Ellora’s Cave

Dedication

Para mi familia. Siempre.

Whoever designed this bra needed to be strung up with the
straps and stabbed repeatedly in the gonads with sharp sticks.

Miranda sneaked a quick glance around the crowded nightclub.
As she expected, not a soul was looking her way. She dug the underwire out from
under her right breast and readjusted her blouse in a vain attempt to cover the
generous amount of cleavage she had on display.

Roxanne owed her. Big-time. Who cared if her best friend won
the bet fair and square? Humiliation was not the objective, although Miranda
had foreseen exactly how the night was going to go down and took the stupid
wager anyway. The least Roxanne could have done was allow her to dress in
clothes that were not so…streetwalkerish. She didn’t need to look cheap as well
as desperate.

“Another cosmopolitan?” The bartender gestured to her
half-full glass.

She waved her hand over the top and shouted over the
pounding music, “No thanks. I’m good.”

Two cocktails a night was her limit and she was currently
nursing her third. Although why, she hadn’t a clue. The alcohol was only
prolonging this torture.

“Actually, can I have the check, please?” As soon as the
buzz wore off, she was out of there.

“Sure.”

God, was she ever the fool. Realistically, how was the night
supposed to have played out? She’d walk into The Cavern, the city’s most
hedonistic nightclub, and…what? Find the perfect one-night stand? Find “the
one” to live happily ever after with, in kinky bliss? Ha! Now there’s insanity
talking because seriously, how many staid and upstanding men hang out in a
nightclub where women jiggled like Jell-O shots and freely gave blowjobs in the
middle of the dance floor?

Stop, Miranda. Anxiety is making you catty. These people
are probably quite lovely if given a chance to know them better.

Yes, The Cavern did have an unseemly reputation as the go-to
place for illicit encounters, but the furnishings were lush with dark mahogany
and maroon suede fabrics that beckoned one to relax. Soft pools of buttery light
illuminated intimate seating areas and made the shadows inviting for a secret
rendezvous. As an additional bonus there appeared to be a large number of
straight men in attendance, which might sound strange if she spoke the thought
out loud. With her job as a coordinator in a party rental store, all the men
she came into contact with were either engaged or gay. To be surrounded by this
much hetero-ness was a novelty.

If she had not been on her own, the techno music and
half-naked people were actually quite welcoming for a den of vice.

Den of vice? A short snort of laughter hurt her sinuses.
When Tennessee Williams made an appearance in your thoughts, it was definitely
time to go home.

“Here you go.”

The bartender placed her drink ticket next to her glass. The
black ink was bold against the glowing white thermal paper under the black
light.

Forty-eight dollars for three drinks? Fuck that, she
mentally sputtered and took a swallow of the sweet concoction, letting it
linger on her tongue. After the liquid slid down her throat, she licked the
sugar from the rim, savoring every drop of the overpriced drink. Even if she
had to wait another hour for the alcohol to burn out of her system, no way was
she leaving any moisture on the glass.

From out of nowhere a wave of electric heat whipped up her
back, making the glass falter in her hand. Her nipples tightened, scraping
against the lace of her bra as she became achingly aware of the throbbing
emptiness of her suddenly soaking sheath.

Holy hell, what was wrong with her? Who knew that fifty
bucks of liquor caused near orgasmic sensations? Had someone slipped something
into her drink?

Miranda glanced to her left and right and noticed she wasn’t
the only one riding the wave of lust. A couple next to her was engaged in a lip-lock
so deep Miranda swore they were sucking the enamel off each other’s teeth. The
bartender gripped the edge of the small sink, his breath whooshed in and out in
hard bellows. His eyes glittered with confusion and hunger as he stared out
toward the dance floor.

She followed his gaze and sucked in a sharp breath as she
spotted a pair of dancers, who appeared to be in their own little world. The
man stood head and shoulders above everyone on the floor. The fierce darkness
of his features was a stunning contrast to the petite, silver-haired beauty in
his arms. Through the sway of bodies Miranda could see him curled possessively
around his partner. His tan fingers cupped her curvy backside as they flowed as
one to the sensuous rhythm. The look of longing he wore on his handsome face
made Miranda’s eyes tear up, for with it there was also a flash of pain so
intense, she felt the punch in her chest. It was as if he were dying of thirst
and unable to drink from the well in his hands.

Suddenly his lips curled in a snarl and he wrenched the
woman out of his arms. Instantly the sensual spell was broken and Miranda was
able to draw a ragged, humid breath. Although she couldn’t hear what was being
said, the effect his words had on his companion rippled through the crowd as if
they all had been slapped in the face.

With a stiff bow, the man walked away, disappearing into the
shadows. The remaining dancers surrounded the woman, who must be mortified to
have suffered such a humiliating rejection in public. Apparently the club’s
motto, “All who enter will receive exactly what they need” was nothing but
words etched into the mosaic tiles. Nobody needed to be treated like that.

Miranda groaned and pressed her face into her hands. With
each passing minute she wanted to curl tighter into a ball and wished with all
her might that when she opened her eyes, she’d be in the safety of her bed with
the sheets drawn up to her chin and this was all one of those horrible dreams,
like the ones when you’re out naked in public.

One eye popped open, revealing the cute bartender staring at
her with a concerned frown. She offered a faint wave and a weak smile while
calling herself an idiot ten times over.

She had to sober up. With her drink almost empty, she really
should give her seat up to another paying customer, but the thought of leaving
the shelter of her self-made cocoon to traverse across the club nearly made her
cry.

With another furtive glance around the room she noticed a
group of women dancing together close to one of the cage dancers. Perhaps she
could slide up to them, pretend she’s part of their group to help burn the
alcohol out of her system then—oh!

Her jaw dropped and she looked away with a cringe. Right.
Girl-on-girl-on-girl-on-girl French kissing was not part of that plan. Seriously,
how can four women feel anything sensual when their tongues were flicking about
as if they were licking the air?

Hysterical laughter bubbled from her lips. Dear God. She
covered her face again to hide her burning cheeks. What was she doing here?

“Hello. Care to share the joke?”

Miranda turned toward the raspy, dulcet voice and promptly
choked on an indrawn breath as she gazed up at the Adonis standing by her side.

If sin and impetuousness conceived a child, this man would
be their progeny. White-tipped blond hair fell across his forehead and framed
the bluest eyes she’d only ever seen in satin fabric swatches. His chiseled jaw
looked so smooth, she wanted to lick the skin to test the velvet texture. A
black scrollwork tattoo peeked out from the collar of his white cotton shirt.
Under the thin fabric, the shadow of the body art ran across his chest and down
his flat abs, disappearing under the waistband of his jeans.

As she continued to gawk, his smile widened and those
baby-blues sparkled as if her reaction was exactly what he expected.

“I—” She licked her dry lips. “I, uh, hi. I…I was just
laughing at myself.” She looked at her glass and rubbed the delicate stem
between her nervous fingers. If she continued to gaze at him, something stupid
was going to blurt out of her mouth, she just knew it.

“Is this your first time here?”

Obvious much? “Yeah.”

“And you’re not enjoying yourself. At least you don’t appear
to be. You’ve been staring at that dance floor an awfully long time. Why aren’t
you out there?”

He’d been watching her? Holy crap. How many other hunky guys
were hiding in the shadows, watching her be a total goober?

She waved her hand to encompass the environment. “This isn’t
really my scene.”

“And what scene would that be?”

“Having a good time with a bunch of strangers.”

His laugh was deep and seductive. In response her spine
straightened, lifting her breasts in a subconscious effort to present her best
posture.

“Do you come here often?” she asked, then mentally smacked
herself in the head.
That was so lame.

“Probably more often than I should.” He squeezed his lean,
muscular body between her and the woman seated on the stool next to them. “I’m
Jorges. I designed this club.”

Heat burned her through their clothes where he pressed along
her arm and side. His palm was just as warm as she clumsily shook his offered
hand and felt her brain short circuit from his electric touch.

What did he say? Right. Introductions. “I’m Miranda.”

“Miranda or Mandy?”

“Ugh, no. Just Miranda. Did you really design all of this?”

“Yes ma’am. Every inch. Well, the owner, Amaryllis, she had
a few ideas. She wanted a place where all who entered felt welcomed and had a
safe place to fulfill their deepest desires.”

“That’s a lofty expectation.”

“If you’re going to aim, might as well aim high. So tell me,
Miranda, what do you desire?”

“I don’t think I’m the best person to ask that question to.”

“Why not?”

Maybe it was the alcohol, or perhaps it was knowing that the
only reason a hunk like him was talking to her was because he was trying to
keep the customers happy. Whatever the reason, she experienced the uncommon
urge to confess her feelings to another.

“Because I’m a chickenshit and can’t even admit them to
myself let alone a stranger.”

His booming laughter drew several glances their way, and
when he laid his big hand over hers, she about swallowed her tongue. She froze,
afraid to even breathe lest he pull away.

“I find your honesty refreshing.” His bright smile drew her
gaze to his firm lips. “Let me read your mind and take a guess at what you
desire.”

So many illicit ideas were running through her head right
then, she couldn’t even keep track of them all.

Jorges looked her deep in the eyes, mesmerizing her with his
deep-blue gaze and the devilishness flittering in his smile. “I think…you want
to dance. How about it?”

How about what? Wait. What? She blinked hard. “You want to
dance with me?”

“Yeah. Come on.”

Oh, okay. He wanted to brush that hard body against her?
Yippee. “Let me pay for my drinks first.”

“Don’t worry about it.” He caught the bartender’s attention
and wadded her tab into a ball. “She’s with me.”

“Sure thing, Jorges.”

He was going to dance with her and take care of her bill?

I think I love him.
Miranda bit her lip, fighting
down the surge of pleasure that shot through her.

Her joy was tempered as the crowd parted for her gorgeous
companion, and women, and some men, looked at Jorges as if they could already
taste the salt of his skin on their tongue.

Who was she kidding? Compared to Jorges, she was just a lump
of nothing special.

The Latin rhythm of the music pulsing through the speakers
was perfect for hip rolling and booty shaking, yet Miranda felt as stiff and
awkward as a ten-year-old boy forced to attend a cotillion. She sucked in her
stomach and moved as little as possible to avoid shimmying like a bowl of
jelly.

Jorges slipped his arm around her waist and pulled her tight
into the curve of his body. From breast to thigh, not even light passed between
them and her knees trembled. His warm breath tickled her neck as he murmured in
her ear, “Stop thinking. Pretend it’s just you and me, and let go.”

As she inhaled in his man-and-soap scent, Miranda realized
he was right. She was thinking too much. For some reason the cute-guy gods were
smiling down on her and she was letting her crappy self-esteem ruin the moment.
It was one dance. If she didn’t blow it, more might follow. All she had to do
was enjoy the moment for what it was. Magic.

With a deep breath she closed her eyes and soared.