Retaliation: An Alpha Billionaire Romance (10 page)

Melissa nods, and comes around the counter, hugging me. “This is going to be fun, Carson. I promise you.”

R
ed
. Okay, I can do red, and I have to admit it's a very sexy cocktail dress. And in my current situation, I can't exactly complain about anything.

“I thought you got rid of this thing,” I tell Katrina as she spreads it out on my bed. It's slinky, sexy, and the idea of wearing it sends a thrill up my spine that I can't deny. I can just imagine myself in this dress, and it's delicious. “It would have been too dangerous to keep, wouldn't it?” This dress is practically legendary at this point. Back when Katrina kicked off her plan to get revenge on Peter DeLaCoeur, she started by publicly humiliating Jackson... and she wore this dress, knowing she'd be guaranteed an invitation into Jackson's limo that night.

“Yes, but something kept stopping me,” Katrina says, looking down at the dress. “I'm glad I did. It's nice to know it's more than just a display piece now.”

“Oh come on, you'd still rock this like fire,” I tease her, looking over. “Fact is,
oneechan
, you're definitely in the hot mama category. Seriously, what's the difference for you, pre- and post-baby size?”

“I’ve definitely put some weight on. I’m not sure how much,” Katrina admits, not even bothering to say anything about my nickname for her. “Jackson doesn't seem to mind, though.”

“Why should he?” I joke, looking over. “What man wouldn't love being married to a hot hacker who's one hundred percent devoted to him?”

“Hmm, he does seem to like that,” Katrina admits, smiling.

“Anyway, are you sure I can wear it?” I ask. “I mean, you're what, six inches taller than me?”

“And I bought it to look like a borderline street slut,” she reminds me. She picks it up and holds it against my body, nodding. “It actually looks classy on you, we won't be able to see your panties in it. Come on, let's try it on.”

* * *

M
elissa looks
nervous as we get out of her car, but Nathan's a total pro in his dark suit, Katrina almost a copy of him, rocking a power suit that makes me jealous. Seriously, I've never looked that good in lightweight worsted wool, although I think the RayBans are a bit much. “You sure you need those?”

“I'm carrying a gun under this jacket,” Katrina says with a smirk, giving me a glance as she opens the back door for Melissa. She steps out, wearing her own dress although she looks decidedly more elegant than sexy, which is how I feel. Katrina's red dress hangs perfectly on me, the hastily purchased push-up bra and panties giving me just that extra little bit of support. I can feel men's eyes glancing at me while I stand in my also just purchased five inch heels, another gift from Katrina. “The sunglasses help with the image, and with staying anonymous, too.”

“And me?” I ask. “I'm not wearing anything to disguise myself.”

Katrina gives me a once-over, shaking her head and grinning. “Sweetie, I gave you that dress, and I barely recognize you. Trust me, you're turning heads right now. I gotta go work security. Enjoy.”

Our plan is simple. Nathan, after parking the car, is going to work the edges of the party with Katrina, the two of them acting as site security while I stay next to Melissa, who's going to enjoy being an artist for the night. Jackson's back at the farm with BA, enjoying a daddy-daughter night of playing and cartoons, while Carson's already here, working.

Katrina heads toward the edge of the gallery, which is huge. MCS French Quarter is big, not quite a converted warehouse, but certainly bigger than what you'd expect. Over five thousand square feet of paintings and sculptures are on display, with Melissa's being the central focus. There are four metal sculptures that dominate the center of the floor, and I have to do a double take when I see the tasteful, small display cards with prices near each display. “You can command a quarter million per piece?”

Melissa nods, her eyes are filled with wonder at the appreciation she sees from the crowd. “That's what Carson says, but I don't really worry about the money. I usually sell three sculptures or so a year, and about a dozen paintings. Then there's the commission work. But I like these more, because taking commissions means I have to follow someone else's ideas. These pieces, they come from inside me.”

I whistle, taking her hand. Like all of the pieces I've seen at the farm, there's a sense of growth, of life exceeding the limitations of the real world and becoming brighter, better than it was before. You want to live in this world she's created through these pieces. “You're an amazing woman, Melissa. Thank you for letting me into your life.”

We're interrupted when Carson's voice comes over a set of hidden speakers. “Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for your attendance at tonight's event. We have a very lucky bonus for you, as I've just been informed that MCS's featured artist of the evening, Melissa Sands, has joined us this evening. If you have the opportunity, we encourage you to say hello to Melissa, and we hope that she can share some of her unique insight to her creative processes. Thank you.”

There's a noticeable buzz in the crowd as Carson's announcement finishes, and I give Melissa a little glance. “Do you have unique insight?”

Melissa smiles and nods. “Yes. I just got done seeing a show on dolphins when I made that one, and that one reminded me of Carson working outside, so I wanted to make one about him.”

I look at the piece she's talking about, and I can see what she means. The figure, slim but not skinny, is still somehow heroic as he goes about his work, which you can't really see. He has a sense of quiet accomplishment, and in the eyes, I can see Carson for sure. “Looks more peaceful than Carson,” I remark.

“He doesn't have to worry about taking care of me,” Melissa says, still smiling. “I'm glad you can see the resemblance though. I wanted to talk to you about that.”

Before I can reply I see Carson approaching us. He looks devastating in a dark tan blazer and gray slacks I haven't seen before, and appears cultured and controlled as he speaks with a customer. But when he sees me for the first time, he trails off, his eyes going wide. “Excuse me a moment,” he says to his customer, coming over. “What are you wearing?”

I look down at my dress, then up at him. “What? I see three other women wearing cocktail dresses, and it's perfectly appropriate for this event.”

“Doesn't she look beautiful?” Melissa asks, and Carson looks at his sister, for the first time I think, with at least a little bit of frustration.

“She does,” Carson finally admits, turning away. “Excuse me.”

He storms off, leaving a confused Melissa behind, and a very pissed-off me. “What's wrong?” she asks, concerned she's the source of Carson's attitude. “What did I do?”

“Nothing you did, 'Lissa,” I reassure her. “I'll talk with him later.”

Someone comes up, a nice woman who recognizes Melissa from her picture near the entrance, and I keep watch as Melissa talks about art with her. The event continues, a waiter bringing around drinks, and I snatch one, downing half before I realize the orange juice is actually a mimosa. The next waiter that comes around, I take by the elbow and pull aside for a moment. “You guys have anything non-alcoholic?”

“I can bring you some regular orange juice, if you like, miss,” the waiter says, openly checking me out. Okay, at least
some
men appreciate what I'm wearing. He gives me a smile, and I return it just a little bit. Flirting can be fun, after all. “I don't think you'll be easy to forget.”

“You never know, I could disappear in a puff of smoke. But thanks.”

The waiter moves off, and I back off a little, watching Melissa talk with the patrons. She's relaxing more and more, and while she gives me little glances to reassure herself, she's in her element talking about her art. I decide to give her a little more space and look around, seeing Nathan and Katrina positioned near the doors, their eyes scanning the crowd constantly. I go back over to Melissa, who's talking with another woman about her painting style. “'Lissa, I'm going to go check in with Mercy,” I tell her, using Katrina's public name. “You okay?”

“I'm fine for now, thanks,” Melissa says sincerely. “I'm having a lot of fun.”

“Good. See you in a bit.” I head off toward Katrina, but before I get halfway there, Carson emerges from the crowd and takes my elbow. “Nice to see you again, too.”

“We need to talk,” he hisses, steering me toward the back of the gallery. He opens a door and we're alone in what is obviously the business office area of MCS. He half-guides, half-shoves me in the door and closes it behind him, his eyes blazing. “What the hell are you doing?”

“What?” I ask, rubbing my arm. It doesn't hurt, in fact it was hot to feel his strength, but it's even hotter seeing the fire in his eyes. “You got a problem?”

“Yeah, I got a problem,” he replies, his cultured voice trembling on the edge of control. “I tell you that I'm attracted to you just a few days ago, but that we can't do anything. Fine. Melissa tells me she wants to come here, and that you're coming with her. Fine, I can see that. But then you show up looking like you do...”

“What's wrong with the dress, huh? You pointed it out before, so you might as well just spit it out, you're giving yourself a coronary otherwise,” I shoot back, stepping closer. “What's got a stick up your ass?”

“That dress... for fuck's sake, Andrea! You know how sexy you look in it! I know it, I can see it in your face. You wore it for a reason!” Carson fumes, taking a step toward me. We're just a foot apart, his eyes shining with frustration and anger... but most of all, desire. “Then, when you flirted with that waiter...”

“I'd have flirted with you if you weren't being insufferable,” I growl, and Carson grabs my arms, his grip like iron on my upper arms. He pulls me to him, his lips finding mine, and they're hot, burning, and better than any other kiss I've had in my life.

I push him away, my heart thudding in my chest, staring at him, but before he can say anything I grab his jacket and kiss him again, our lips and tongues battling for supremacy. It's hot, and I feel that underneath the cultured exterior, behind the control of the sniper I saw in the back field, there's a passionate, strong man who wants me. My fingers dig into his shoulders as he pushes me against the wall, his mouth sucking hard at my neck and his hands kneading my ass through my dress. I'm liquid, molten heat filling my body thinking about the hard cock I feel pressed against my thigh, he wasn't lying about being a solid eight or more. I reach down to cup his cock, but before I can, a knock comes at the door, and we step apart, our eyes blazing.

“So you do like me,” I say smugly.

“No fucking shit,” he hisses before turning to the door. “What the fuck do you want?”

A waitress opens the door and sticks her head in, obviously freaked out at seeing the gallery owner and a guest so heated and disheveled. I'm sure she knows exactly what we were up to before she knocked, but to her credit she recovers quickly, asking him a question in a brisk, professional manner. “Mr. Sands, we need more drinks out there. Is there any champagne left?”

“Check in the storage room, ask Robert to help you,” he growls, pointing. The door closes, and he struggles as he tugs at the hem of his blazer. “We'll talk about this later.”

“I'm done talking,” I reply, fixing my dress. I want to do much more, I want to pull it off my shoulders and give him everything I have, but I can't. Not yet. “I want you, you want me. We got that. Everyone in the fucking house knows it, I think even Melissa maybe suspects it. The only talking that needs to happen is that we need to make sure 'Lissa's cool with it. Other than that, I'm not going to dance around the issue anymore. So the question you need to ask yourself is, are you ready to stop this bullshit dance?”

Carson considers me for a moment, and adjusts his pants. “Give me a minute to get myself under control. It'd be better if you left first.”

I head out, trying not to be pissed, and at the same time fighting the hormones flooding my body. I need a drink, and maybe orange juice won't be enough this time.

M
y breath is heaving
, and my heart feels like I just got done running a mile at full sprint. Her lips were soft, and the feel of her body in that dress...

I've got to think of something, anything else. I'm hard as a rock in my pants right now, and they're slim-fit pants, fashionable for this event. There's little left to the imagination even when I'm not aroused, and I'm about ready to blowout my fucking zipper.

I could whip my cock out and spank it, I'm just about so close I'm pretty sure I could blow a load in thirty seconds or less if I wanted to, but I've got to have more self-control than that. Instead I close my eyes, taking deep breaths and thinking about archery. Control, damn you, control. Breathe...

It takes me three minutes at least, but I finally calm down enough that my jacket covers what's left of my hard-on. I take a deep breath and leave the room, heading out into the main gallery. I don't see Andrea anywhere, which at the moment is good. I look for Melissa instead, hoping that maybe by talking with her I can gain a little bit of clarity.

I walk toward the sculpture that Melissa's standing next to, a recent piece of hers she calls
Effort.
I know she used me as the inspiration for a man who's working in the piece, and it's my favorite sculpture in the exhibit. Call it a bit of ego stroking, but to be the subject of one of the best artists in the world feels good. Besides, in steel and aluminum, I'm one sexy motherfucker.

As I approach I see that Melissa's talking to someone, a blond man with hair so white I almost think he's either prematurely gone gray, or perhaps it's a dye job. The ice cream white suit he's wearing adds to the effect, to the point where he's almost white from head to toe. I get closer, but stop when I hear him talking to Melissa.

“It's so amazing, you must have had a model who was quite close at hand,” the man says, his voice aristocratic with an accent that I can't quite place. It's very faint, but if I had to lay money on it, I'd say he's Northern European, or perhaps slightly Slavic. Strange, I know, but that's what I hear. “Please, tell me who you used. I can see the love in it, is it your boyfriend or husband perhaps?”

Melissa actually blushes, and I can see why. This guy knows how to charm, and by the twinkle in his eyes, he knows it, too. If there's anything I don't like about him, it's that he smiles a bit too much, like he's trying out to be the Joker or something. The smiles never touch his eyes, which look cold as ice. It's like he's observing and looking down on the world, or perhaps he's just smiling because he knows he's supposed to. Melissa though doesn't have the same instincts that I do, and takes the smiles as genuine.

“Oh no, I don't have a boyfriend or anything like that,” she says, somewhat wistfully before adding, “It's my brother. He helps take care of me, and I adore him with all my heart.”

“Your art reflects that,” the man says, reaching out and touching Melissa's arm in a more than friendly manner. This is fucking weird, and I've got all sorts of alarm bells going off in my head. “How did you get so many views of him working like this though?”

“We have a farm,” Melissa says, more red flags popping up. I want to step in, but I'm not sure how to do it without freaking my sister out, which is the last thing I want to do. “It's just outside town, and he works hard to keep it cleared out. We don't grow anything, but it helps to keep some of it nice for walks, or when Carson goes out to practice his archery. I think he likes it too because it helps him stay in shape.”

In my head, my little mental control center is screaming for me to be at DEFCON 2. This guy is clearly pumping Melissa for information. I can see it in his eyes; he's absorbing everything and forgetting nothing. “I see. And the pretty young woman who was with you earlier, in the red dress? Is she a friend?”

“Ah, well, something like that,” Melissa replies, and I sneak my hand down to my pocket, taking out my phone. I pretend I'm getting a call while I engage the camera, setting it for burst mode, which I've never used before. In any case I position the camera toward Melissa and the blond man and tap, still pretending I'm talking on the phone while the camera snaps away. I walk toward the door after I count to ten, heading for Nathan, who I can see is still working security.

“Nathan.”

“Carson,” he greets, his eyes unreadable as he scans the crowd. “Is something wrong?”

“Maybe,” I admit, handing him my phone. “I just took a series of pictures. They're of Melissa talking to a man.”

“What is so wrong about that?” Nathan asks, giving me a little smile. There's tension in it though, like he'd be happier if I'd told him that Melissa wasn't talking to anyone, especially not a man. “It's not like she is unattractive, and she is the featured artist.”

I shake my head, turning around and leaning against the wall next to him. “There was something... off about this guy. First of all, he seemed to be pumping 'Lissa for information, like he wanted to know where we lived, things like that. But second, there was something about this guy's eyes. Listen, can you get the photos off of my phone, check this guy out? I'll cover Melissa for now, I think he just wanted info, but have Mercy on the lookout, too. Where is she?”

“Potty break. Even us badasses have to take a piss once in a while.”

I nod. “And have you seen Andrea?”

“You mean after she came out of your back offices looking both disheveled and pissed off? She grabbed a drink and went outside, I think she is looking at the river. What happened?” Nathan asked, slightly concerned. “I hope you two did not have a fight.”

“No, but... let me go check on 'Lissa. Thanks, Nathan,” I say, heading back toward Melissa. She's still talking to the man, whose smile hasn't changed a bit.

“So you work out of your barn, how fascinating,” he comments, Melissa looking just a little starstruck. I can understand it, sadly enough. Despite his slightly strange demeanor, he's almost perfectly handsome, in that sort of way that works for supermodels or television personalities. And he's got a charming way of speaking. I'm pretty sure he could walk into any bar or club in New Orleans and walk out with his choice of companions for the night. “But you say you're having visitors, so you cannot work so fast?”

“Ah, Melissa, there you are,” I greet them, just a little too loudly in order to interrupt any answer she may have given him. “I've been looking all over for you, I had a good friend who was interested in one of your paintings and I need your help.”

“Oh, Carson, I didn't see you come up,” Melissa says, turning to me. She shrugs off the man's arm as she does, and I see his eyes narrow, he didn't like that at all. Well fuck you Jack, I don't care if you think I just cockblocked you, she's my sister, and you do not have my permission to touch her that way. “I'm sorry, I'm being rude. Carson, this is Victor Orton, who was just admiring
Effort
so much. Victor, this is my brother, Carson Sands.”

“It is a pleasure,” Orton says, shaking hands. He's got a crushing grip, but I've dealt with crushing grips before, and I think he's a little surprised when I don't wilt under his fingers. “Your sister is quite extraordinary.”

“I agree, Mr. Orton. It's why I protect her so much, it's a weakness of mine,” I reply, hint and threat included subtly. Orton's smile comes back, like he's amused that I would even think of saying such a subtle threat to him, but he nods anyway.

“Well, in any case Mr. Sands, congratulations on a wonderful show. I'm certain that your business will continue to grow by leaps and bounds. I must see the rest of the pieces, so I bid you farewell,” Orton says, walking away. I watch him go, my stomach still not feeling good about what I watched.

Melissa though doesn't quite understand. “So who did you want me to see?”

“Actually, 'Lissa, I just wanted to get that guy away from you,” I explain gently, taking her hand. “He was asking questions that I'm not sure we should be answering considering who's hanging out back at the farm.”

Melissa opens her mouth, then closes it, realizing what all she told Orton. “But he seemed like such a nice man.”

“I'm sure he did,” I say, patting her hand. “And there's a ninety percent chance that I'm just being paranoid, and he really is just an art lover who was also hitting on you a little bit. But still, it'd do my nerves a ton of good if you'd hang out next to Nathan and Mercy for the rest of the night. I'm going to look for Andrea. Nathan said she's maybe outside looking at the river.”

“I can do that,” Melissa agrees, and I lead her over to Katrina and Nathan. “Okay, you hang out with these guys, I'll find Andrea, and then, maybe it's time to call it an evening? I'll handle the formal farewells, and Robert can wrap up the rest of the show himself. All the A-listers are pretty much gone anyway.”

“This town has A-listers?” Katrina wisecracks, then goes serious. “We'll take care of it, Carson. Don't worry.”

I lean in close to Katrina, curious. “What're you carrying?”

“Glock 19. You have a good selection.”

“Thanks.”

I find Robert next and tell him my plans before leaving. The path to the river is pretty short, we're only a block away, and there isn't a lot in between that would be in any way interesting at this time of night. We're not actually on Bourbon Street, there's no way in hell I could run a gallery on that insane asylum. Instead we're a couple of blocks toward the Mississippi, still in the Quarter, but off the worst of the tourist paths.

Leaving the gallery I give Nathan a nod, and he peels off to get the van while I go for Andrea. As I walk I get more and more pissed off, her little stunt to try and cocktease me left Melissa vulnerable. Regardless of what I might feel for Andrea, and no matter what she might say she thinks about me or what she feels for Melissa, that shit doesn't fly in my book.

I find her standing on the concrete walkway that borders the river watching a riverboat go by, its lights twinkling in the darkness. “You done?”

She turns, and despite being pissed, I still want her. She gives me a measured look, then turns back to the river. “What do you want?”

“Your little stunt and the way you stormed out left Melissa open to be quizzed by some Don fucking Juan,” I seethe, my anger at least keeping my horniness under control. “She spent five minutes at least talking to some guy who got her to give him everything but our address and phone number. You happy now?”

“What? This is somehow my fault?” she asks, getting pissed. “You're the one who dragged me into the office to lay one on me!”

“You weren't exactly fighting me off, either!” I yell, losing my temper. “Goddammit Andrea, regardless of what you and I might want to do, Melissa's safety was supposed to come first! What were you thinking?!”

“What the fuck were
you
thinking?” she shoots back, angry. “Maybe I fucked up, but you fucked up, too! You think I'm happy about this? In case you haven't noticed, Melissa's not a target. I am! My brother, his wife, and his daughter are! You two aren't!”

“Then why protect her? Or at least try to?” I ask, and Andrea shakes her head in exasperation. “What?”

“I went with her because I love her too, okay? It's nice to have a sister, a real one. And I've got twenty-one years to try and catch up with her, and I'm sorry I haven't been watching her and protecting her since before I was born, seeing as how I only found out about her like goddamn yesterday. I'm going to fuck it up sometimes, despite my best efforts. I'm trying, so you should cut me some slack!”

I nod, accepting what she said. I'm still pissed, but she's got a point. “You're right. Okay, fine. We both fucked up. I should have just ignored what you're rocking and kept myself under control. I'm sorry about that.”

“And are you sorry about what we did?” she asks, and I can hear the tension in her voice. She's opening herself a bit to me, and I can't ignore that either. The vulnerability, the hidden hope in her tone of voice is a reflection of my own, but still, we can't do anything about it right now.

“If you mean do I regret kissing you, no. The timing I regret, but kissing you? No. If you're asking if I'm ready to do what you challenged me to do... the answer to that right now is no. I need to know I can control myself enough to protect 'Lissa, you, and the rest of my family. Call me a big softie, but I want you all to be safe, too,” I say, my anger somewhat evaporating. “Still, you need to get back. I asked Nathan to take Melissa home, and I'd appreciate it if you could help her on the way back. She needs to know that her mistake isn't her fault.”

Andrea nods, and runs her hand through her hair. “I understand. I'm sorry, Carson. I really am.”

“I know. We'll talk about this later, but I'm sorry, too.”

Andrea walks back toward the gallery, and I take a moment to watch the riverboat ease around the bend of the river, headed upriver for the evening. I know on board there's people gambling with money, thinking it's all sorts of fun to drop some chips on the felt to see what the next card to come out is. I've done it myself once or twice.

But tonight the stakes in my own personal gamble just increased, and the odds are looking like they're not in my favor. What am I going to do? I wasn't lying to Andrea. I want the new members of my family to remain safe just as much as Melissa does, and I can't imagine sending them away to take their risks with Peter DeLaCoeur's fury. But in an increasingly dangerous game, I'm worried I'm out of my depth.

And then there's the game between Andrea and myself. Can I trust her with my intense needs? She seems like the woman who can accept what I demand, and the woman who can be everything I require. She's perfect for me in every other aspect of her life pretty much, so am I just hoping for total perfection as well?

What the hell am I going to do?