Chains and Canes (29 page)

Daniel’s chest was tight. The dim, dim lights turned the tears on Naya’s cheeks to liquid gold.

“Nice thing about that rural piece of shit was that even the schools lost track of me. In Baton Rouge I enrolled in a junior high, using Momma’s signature again. I made up an address in the district and a faked whole new family. No one ever checked. I had good intentions to go, but no one much cared when I didn’t show up.”

Naya cupped his face, so that they were touching lip to lip. “Where did you really live?”

“All over.” His voice was a rasping whisper now. Private and painful and never to be said again. His eyes were pinched shut, mouth brushing Naya’s with every word. “Streets. Alleys. Shelters. Always the same. I was a thirteen-year-old boy who’d rather take some abuse than let a shithead find the money I’d stashed. Sometimes I even got paid when I let them, rather than trying to fend them off. It was all I had.”

Daniel kept his supporting hand at Naya’s waist, but he wanted to make fists and beat old, evil demons—real demons that had taken advantage of an innocent boy.

“I wound up at a Boys & Girls Club where a woman named Tracey must’ve…
seen
. The truth. She let me sleep in the club, as long as I went to school every morning. Eventually I trusted her well enough to tell her about my money. She helped me open a savings account.”

He exhaled deeply. “I already loved dancing, no matter what my family said. The club had classes, and some I learned at school—the black kids at recess, showing off. I had a knack. Only took me a few years to learn what I needed. My sophomore year, Tracey and these idiots at a live-in performing arts high school thought I had it in me to deserve a scholarship. Can you imagine? Of all the dumb luck.”

Naya must’ve felt Daniel tense, because she hooked her feet around his ankle and squeezed. A silent warning to keep quiet.

“Tracey got married to some guy with four kids. I… It was shitty as hell of me, but I felt betrayed. She was mine, and then she wasn’t. I left the club without saying goodbye. Spent two and a half years at the high school, almost believing I belonged there—cuz I had it
all over
the other dancers. I worked harder. I didn’t stop except to eat and sleep and muddle my way through classes. I soaked my blisters in Epsom salt to toughen them up, then kept dancing when they bled.” He shivered hard enough to shake the mattress. “The other half of me knew it was a sham. That it wouldn’t last.”

“High school doesn’t last,” Naya said, sounding confused.

“
Perfect
doesn’t last. That place was as much another planet as my meemaw’s house in the swamps, just a prettier planet that hurt worse to leave.” He shrugged, and Daniel could tell he was coming back into himself. He’d turned to face the ceiling, and he’d pushed Naya’s hand off his chest. “So, New York was almost a relief. Familiar rules. People trying to pull the same ol’ shit over on me. That’s when I learned how to beat folks—some so well that they paid me. Not the nicest way to find out you’re a sadist and a Dom, but there it is.”

Naya kissed his cheek, as if she too knew not to press. “You’re a dancer first, Remy.”

“I’m a survivor first.”

“Dancer,” she whispered, with her quiet, unflappable assurance. “And a good man.”

All at once, Daniel knew two things. He knew that Remy wouldn’t stay the night. He might fall asleep for a few hours, but he’d be biding his time. Daniel resolved to keep his disappointment in check when he and Naya awoke without him.

He also knew that he was in love with Remy Lomand.

The uncertainties borne of this trip to Hong Kong disappeared in a flash. Remy was a man to be admired, protected, worshipped, obeyed and loved for the rest of their days. Naya was his woman, but he didn’t think she’d mind if he made room in his heart for another angel.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Naya’s hair was damp, curled into a French twist, and her body was still buzzing from having danced her heart out. She’d left everything on that makeshift stage in a rehabbed factory. Nothing held back.

The rest of the company had performed as if their lives depended on every precise step and every ounce of emotion mined from the deepest wells of hope, ambition and shared enthusiasm.

When it came to dance, Transit was a success. They couldn’t have pushed harder. They couldn’t have been more amazing. Everything had gone according to plan, with more passion than Naya could’ve imagined.

After less than an hour to clean up, which explained her wet hair, Naya and Daniel entered a sleek, intimate bar three doors down from the converted packing plant. No matter what happened, she would always think fondly of that big old building. It was like Remy’s crappy studio apartment and Declan’s office and the decadent bedroom she shared with Daniel—not the spaces themselves, but the memories they held.

Daniel was immaculately dressed in a tailored business suit of dark navy wool. He was powerful, his features striking and commanding. Long ago, she’d learned that walking into a room on his arm meant becoming the instant center of attention. Vicariously, she got to experience how it felt to be successful.

Only that night,
she
felt successful. She was made of titanium. Of course she would be disappointed if Transit failed to secure more backers. In fact, within her professional sphere, she couldn’t imagine anything more disappointing. Daniel, the dancers, and oh,
Dios
—Remy.

And her. After so many years putting off what she really wanted, Naya knew her heart would break if this venture failed.

No, she wouldn’t think that way. Second chances happened if you tried hard enough. Now that she’d had a taste of independence and the purity of creation, she wouldn’t stop fighting.

In the meantime, she celebrated.

Almost as soon as Daniel led Naya to the long chrome bar, Tara Jean engulfed her in an artless hug. “I know that
jeté
was a mess—what was I thinking? Such an idiot. But oh, I can’t even tell you what this meant to me!”

The young woman was ugly crying in that adorable way only beautiful girls could get away with. Her face was a trembling mess of wobbling chin and scrunched nose. She laughed, yet she held her index fingers beneath her eyes to keep heavy mascara from running. Naya couldn’t help but fall for Tara Jean Folsum. No one could.

She grabbed the woman’s upper arms and gave her a friendly shake. “Not an idiot and not a mess.
Melosa,
you were fantastic. Now find a compact and clean up. If you don’t charm the wits out of at least five very wealthy men tonight, I’ll know you weren’t trying.”

“Now
that
I can do.”

Daniel’s gaze followed Tara Jean’s progress as she sidestepped through the heavy crowd. She wore black short shorts, a wide silver belt, knee socks, elevated hip-hop sneakers, and a trio of carelessly overlaid lace tank tops that showed off her strong back and generous breasts. Her smile was a magnet so powerful that she had a man on her arm before Daniel’s quiet, “Wow.”

“Uh-huh.”

“What’s her name?”

“Tara Jean.” Naya grinned up at him. “She’s a whirlwind, no? Self-esteem even worse than mine was when you met me.”

“And now look at you.” He held her arms to the side so he could take in the sight of her, head to toe. “The queen of the night.”

“Daniel?”

He frowned. “Damn. That sounds serious.”

What had been building inside her for weeks spilled out without plan or grace. “Why me? Why all of this?
Necesito
…I need to know why you worked so hard to make this happen.”

“Artists,” he said with a forgiving smile. He cupped her face and kissed her softly but so insistently that she curled her toes in her ballet flats. “You work your asses off for pennies. Money isn’t the payoff it is for me. It couldn’t be, or you’d never devote your life to something with so little reward. That means you need a helluva lot of validation from the outside. Applause. Praise. Kisses.”

He touched lip to lip again.

“The first time I saw you at the Gramercy, you were in the middle of run-throughs. Doing a number with a Latin flair. Then you smiled, and somehow your gaze caught mine. You probably don’t even remember it. I was dumbstruck.”

“You never told me. You only…introduced yourself at the cocktail party afterward.” She glanced around. “One like this. I was playing Tara Jean, another girl trying to impress the nearest rich
mamalón
in a suit.”

“Are you calling me clueless or a cocksucker? Either way, I never wear just any suit.” He grinned as his hands slipped to her waist. “You have no idea how quickly your dreams tangled up with mine.”

“You’ve never wasted time with dithering.”

A shrug lifted his wide shoulders. “A guy loses opportunities that way. You think I was going to let you go that night? Not a chance. I wanted your smile for the rest of my life.”

“You knew no such thing.”

“I did. And so yes, in all honesty, I did this for you.”

A blade cut into her heart. She’d coasted along the path of least resistance for years, maybe to avoid this exact conversation. “My sugar daddy.”

“Maybe at first. You can’t deny that and neither can I. I’ve always wanted you to have the best, because I’m a stodgy, ordinary businessman with little else to give.”

“Now don’t you start!”

“Especially when we learned you still needed pain in bed. My prick and I took a pretty hard hit to the ego. The fact of what you need—and what I can’t give you—has always been there, even as we talked things through and made do with what we could. I was determined to fix it. Damn.” He shook his head. “I’m always trying to fix things.”

“I happen to adore your prick.”

“But alas, not me,” he said with a grin that belied the words, “stodgy, ordinary businessman.”

“Shut your mouth,
estúpido
.”

He tilted her chin and wouldn’t let her look away. “You and Remy stood up to me. You knew what you wanted out of this performance, warehouse and all. This…” He waved a hand toward the bar, but Naya suspected he was including their weeks with Remy in the inarticulate gesture. “It’s taught me to let go. Trust. Always coming back to trust. You’re brilliant. Remy is brilliant. I did this for you and for him, both, because the world needs to see what you can create together.”

Naya tried to draw the words into herself, into her soul, and knew that she needed to. She saw brilliance all around her. Remy and Jack. Tara Jean and the rest of their company. Yet each and every one doubted what they brought to the mix.

“Now,” Daniel said, “ask yourself
when
I made this happen.”

She took a deep breath as comprehension dawned. “When I was ready.”

“Exactly. If you’d never been ready, then I hope I would’ve backed off and supported your decisions. As it was…”

“As it was, I was ready to be awesome.”

He crisscrossed his arms at her low back and gave her a spin. “You were very awesome. But if we
ever
have this sugar-daddy conversation again, I’ll take it back and
you’ll
be
la estúpida
.”

“Can’t have that.” Her smile was as overwhelming now as when she’d bowed before fifty cheering spectators, her fingers laced with Remy’s. She couldn’t hold back her relief and happiness. To think she’d secretly doubted their foundation after so many years. Easy years. But years underlain with insecurity.

Puñeta.

Fuck it.

She didn’t need that baggage anymore. And after learning what she had about Remy’s childhood, she’d be insulting him if she let her doubts cloud her thinking any longer.

Speaking of Remy…

“And our Sir? What do we do? I’d wait for him forever to guide us through this, but you know that won’t happen.”

Daniel leaned down so that his mouth brushed her ear. His words were more breath than sound. “I love him,” he whispered.

Naya sucked in a slow breath, then released it along with the tension she’d been carrying for weeks. Always, she’d been balancing her feelings for the two men in her life, wanting them to weigh in favor of Daniel—for stability’s sake—and wishing they could hold equal sway over her heart. This was like the clouds parting and the heavens shining a brighter path.

“Can you accept that, angel?” His hands were tense at her hips, his whole body held tightly.

“
Mi cielo, mi amor.
” She bundled her arms around his neck and held on as if the floor had fallen out from beneath her feet. “I would do anything for you—anything but lie to you. I would’ve given him up had you asked. If you’d felt threatened or if you wanted only me, I would’ve let him go. But I don’t want to. Not at all.
Lo amo, también.
I love him, and I want him with us forever.”

“Then that’s what will happen.” He squeezed her against his chest, where she could feel his heart beating as frantically as hers. “He’s Remy. Our Sir. And not even that thick skull of his will prevent us from keeping him. In all ways. It’s not just about sex anymore.”

Naya pulled away, her smile brimming with happy tears. “I dare you to say that it was ever
just
sex.”

“You know my business. I don’t take dares. And now, I’m cleaning you up like you did Tara Jean. No crying.” He flashed a quick grin. “Never outside of our bedroom, got it?”

She nodded as Daniel smoothed two last tears from her cheeks.

“Well, well. I knew I’d find you two together.”

They turned in unison to find Remy sauntering toward the bar. He was holding a tumbler of some sort of liquor, which appeared radically out of place in his hand. Nothing about him said
drunk
. Everything about him said
angry
.

What did he have to be angry about? They’d just pulled off the impossible. They’d put together a company in under a month, and the enthusiasm of the investors in the room—all buzzing with happy chatter among the dancers—suggested their performance that evening wouldn’t be their last.

“No smiles, Remy?” she asked, forcing lightness into her voice. After the emotional conversation she’d shared with Daniel, that was no easy feat. “We killed it.”