Only Pleasure (2 page)

Anger flickered in his gaze with such a rush of intense light that it surprised her.

"Perhaps the friend so determined to tell the tales put her own lies to the story?" he suggested quietly, his voice hard.

To that, Kia shook her head. "No. I'll take the blame. I trusted her. That was my mistake. I'll deal with it."

Chase watched her, so vulnerable, her hair covering her face, hiding the tears he knew must be filling her eyes. Coming here had been the hardest decision he had ever made. It was the only time he had regretted fulfilling this part of his job as Ian's private investigator and the first defense against society's knowledge of what the club actually was.

Wounding this woman's pride made him feel like a damned animal.

"Kia." He whispered her name gently, the urge to take her into his arms, to hold her against him, to shelter her from that pain almost impossible to resist.

When her head lifted, he saw her eyes. Bright blue, damp with tears, but fierce with pride and with anger.

"Why did he do it?" she suddenly asked. "Why try to get me drunk and rape me? Why not just ask me?"

He would beat that explanation out of the bastard.

All he could do now was shake his head. "I don't know. But a divorce is the least of what he deserves from it. And demand a high settlement. I promise, you'll get it." He would make certain she received it for this blow to her pride.

"Why do you do it?" she asked him then, her expression vulnerable, a need for answers swirling in her eyes.

She made him feel like a bastard with that look.

He reached out to her, touched the hair that framed her face, and tried to smile back at her. "For the pleasure, Kia. For my lover's pleasure. For my own. Only the pleasure. And there's no pleasure in rape or in humiliation." He dropped his hand from the soft, warm silk of her hair and rose to his feet, staring down at her.

"There was no pleasure in what they tried to do to me." Her voice was choked with anger and with pain.

Chase nodded slowly, his expression tightening, anger pulling at him. "And he'll find no pleasure in the consequences of it, Kia. I promise you that. Help me fix that, and I'll make him pay, for you."

He left then. He couldn't stand there any longer and watch the tears fall from those sapphire eyes or see the evidence of that bruise on her face any longer.

He'd begin the process to take Carl Drew Stanton out of the club, and he'd do it as painfully for the other man as possible.

And one of these days, he swore, he'd show that son of a bitch how it felt to be backhanded across the face. And he'd add a punch just for the sheer pleasure of it. If he weren't careful, once he got started on the spineless little bastard he might not stop.

Drew Stanton had backhanded his pretty, delicate wife, and Chase wanted to kill him for it. The club had rules against this. No club member abused his wife, period, neither sexually nor physically. Those women were the basis for their greatest pleasure, for their satisfaction. They were not to be harmed.

And Drew had dared to hit his wife.

His teeth clenched as anger surged inside him, dark and savage. An anger he fought to keep contained, simply because there were other emotions, just as intense, just as dark, that came with it.

As he left the penthouse he drew in a hard, savage breath and promised himself he was going to stay as far away from that woman as possible. Because she made him want, and what he wanted, he knew, she could never give him.

He watched, and he considered what he saw. Chase Falladay wasn't a man known for his weaknesses, and he wasn't a man known for his stupidity. He had proved that many times, over and over again. He was a man who would be very hard to destroy.

Destroying Chase was imperative. Bringing him to his knees, forcing him to suffer. That was all that mattered.

But where was the best place to strike?

At the brother, perhaps? The brother was no better. Cameron Falladay was as much a blight on the world as his brother Chase was. At least, at one time he had been. Cameron had stopped his depravity, though. Cameron no longer shared his woman with his brother
—
otherwise, Chase wouldn't be keeping company with that half-Arabic bastard Khalid
.

No, striking out at Cameron would be wrong. What Chase had done wasn't Cameron's fault. What Chase had done rested solely on his own shoulders and he was the one who would have to suffer for it. He had to suffer for it; there was no other option.

Chase wasn't a man who knew remorse. He wasn't a man who understood the suffering others had to deal with. Because he cared for no one but himself. If only, if only there was a weakness to be found. Then justice would be done. Then, Chase would understand the blight he was on this world.

Destroying Chase Falladay was the objective. Now, to find the tool.

TWO YEARS LATER

It was snowing. Of course, it was December in Washington, D.C., and it was bound to snow eventually. The fat, fluffy flakes drifted like a wintry cape from the dark, cloud-laden sky. There was little wind, so it fell and piled, and in the time it took Kia Rutherford to escape from the hotel and the very boring party she had attended and to go to the little corner bar, it had covered the sidewalks.

The salt trucks were already running, their plows lifted for now. The heavily traveled streets of Alexandria would stay clear for a while yet. The sidewalks were another matter.

She stepped carefully in her three-inch heels. They were perfectly safe to wear in the hotel, but here, on the slick sidewalk, was another story. She held the skirt of her winter white velvet dress to her ankles and wished she had just tried to grab a cab and risk going home rather than attempting to hide for a while.

There were few places she could hide where she wasn't well known. The bar was one of those places. She had been inside it several times in the past year. It was close to the hotels she was forced to attend events in, and those events invariably included her ex-husband, Drew.

She lowered her head as she ducked into the bar, pulling the wrap that was much too light for this weather around her cold arms.

She waved to the bartender and he nodded quickly as she headed to the table she always snagged. In the corner, where it was dark and shadowed and she could watch. Just watch the patrons as they chatted, laughed, joked.

Friends came in with friends or business associates. They could get a little loud, but they laughed and slapped each other on the back and had fun.

"It's a little cold out there tonight, honey." The barmaid, a young woman named Andrea, sat a chilled bottle of beer in front of Kia and smiled back at her in concern as she let her eyes rove over her evening gown.

Andrea was quiet, a dark brunette with laughing gray eyes and a smile for everyone. Her sweater and jeans attested to the fact that the chill in the air outside often seeped inside here as well.

"Yes, it is," Kia agreed as she accepted the beer. "They're saying several inches of snow tonight and much more in the morning."

"Ten inches, last I heard," Andrea agreed, "We should all just hunker down with a hot man and a hotter fire."

Kia smiled as Andrea turned away.

The pub wasn't very full tonight. It was only the middle of the week, after all. She sipped at her beer and pulled the wrap closer around her shoulders, repressing a shiver as she looked around.

From where she sat, most of the room was visible to her. Only the two back corners were as shadowed as her own. They were private, cocooned with darkness.

She sighed deeply as she played with the chilled bottle of beer, stared down at her fingers, and wondered why the hell she had come here. She could have gotten a room at the hotel. Drew would have known, of course, and getting her room number would have been easy for him, but he couldn't have gotten in. She could have just called security. Except she preferred to avoid a fight. Drew wasn't above causing a scene, and he hadn't yet realized that she didn't give a damn.

All fear of society's gossip had been burned out of her the day she was forced to retract her knowledge of exactly what her husband was, and what he had been a part of.

In two years, she hadn't forgotten that moment for even a single day. Or night. Some nights, she dreamed of it, and the dreams were much different than what had happened in reality.

She smiled at the thought. How brave she was in her dreams. And in those dreams Chase Falladay had tempted her to acts that her ex-husband could never have persuaded her to become a part of.

She picked at the paper label on the beer bottle and tried to tell herself that it was only the loneliness brewing inside her that made those dreams seem so very intriguing.

Two years. She had divorced and now she had no friends. She had learned that lesson quickly. She had had only a few friends, and once one of them started the gossip concerning the club she still wasn't certain about, the others had taken up the cause and added to it. By the time she managed to do the damage control Chase had requested of her, it had blown so far out of proportion that no one would have believed it anyway. And Kia had decided "friends" were more liability man advantage.

She had learned valuable lessons from her divorce. She had learned to trust no one. Except, perhaps, Chase. She almost smiled. She'd done as he told her and sued for a high divorce settlement. She'd gotten it easily. But it hadn't compensated for the pain, the humiliation, or the knowledge that her marriage had been a lie from the first day.

She tipped the beer to her lips once again, her gaze straying across the room. As she lowered the bottle she frowned, her eyes narrowing on that back corner.

It couldn't be him, she told herself. That devil's black hair reflecting in a sudden spear of light, a profile that was as strong and as determined as the man himself.

But it was him. She knew it was, and he had company.

She wasn't going to wonder at the sudden trip of her heart, the knowledge that her greatest sexual fantasy was in this bar with a man everyone in the free world knew had no problems whatsoever getting wild and depraved.

Chase Falladay and Khalid el Hamid-Mustafa, the bastard of some little-known Middle Eastern prince. He was in the news often, the gossip columns even more often. And he was sitting there with Chase.

As she stared, Chase's head lifted, his eyes narrowing through the smoky gloom, finding her instantly.

The breath left her. He couldn't know it was her. There was even less light here than there was in his corner. Then Khalid turned as well, his black eyes amused, his expression sensual as he lifted a glass and toasted her.

Shock raced through her. There was no way to run now, no way to hide. This wasn't a society ball or event where all she had to do was drift to another pocket of guests to avoid either of them.

Chase, because he was a temptation. Khalid, because he was known to help Chase tempt the women they had shared in the past months.

News of the club of men who shared their women may have died down over the years, but there were certain men rumored, always rumor only, to enjoy that particular pleasure more than any other.