The VIP Room (41 page)

E
mma was curled
up on the couch, a bathrobe wrapped around her freshly scrubbed body, her favorite show on the television. Sophie was at Jill’s, presumably studying for a big algebra test. It was the first time in weeks Emma had the apartment all to herself and she was determined to make the most of it. After all, she was celebrating, wasn’t she?

The fiasco at the tech expo was the lead story on all three of the local channels and she’d seen it headlined on two different internet news sites. There had been more reporters at the event than she had anticipated, some from national outlets who took the story and ran with it. If that didn’t put pressure on Dante to back off, she didn’t know what would.

It had been a good day.

She poured herself a second glass of wine from the bottle she’d had hidden in the back of the refrigerator for more than a year, enjoying the sweet taste of the pink moscato. She didn’t drink often, but when she did, she loved a nice glass of wine. And this…it was an appropriate reward for a job well done.

There was a heavy pounding on the door. Emma jumped, then laughed at herself, telling herself it was just one of the neighbors wanting to talk about the news stories. Three of her neighbors had already stopped by as excited as she was by the national coverage.

She set her glass on the coffee table and went to the door, resting her hand on the knob just as the pounding came a second time. She hesitated again, something telling her this wasn’t a friendly visitor.

“Who is it?” she called.

There was no answer.

She hesitated again, then told herself she was being silly. Who, but a friend, would be at her door this late in the evening? She opened the door and immediately regretted it.

“Fucking bitch!”

He grabbed her throat and pushed her into the apartment, slamming the door with the back of his foot as he shoved her up against the wall. Emma wrapped both hands around his wrist, tugging at his hand in an attempt to free herself. But his grip was stronger than anything she’d ever felt before.

“You did this. You ruined my announcement.”

She tried to shake her head, but she could barely breathe, let alone speak.

“I’ve worked nearly four years on this project. Today was supposed to be my pinnacle, my ultimate peak. But you…” He pushed her hard against the wall, knocking her head against it hard enough to rattle the dishes in the cabinet on the other side. “All anyone can talk about now is your banner, your stupid cause, these damn people.”

“Good,” she managed to croak out past the death grip he had on her throat.

He stared at her like he couldn’t believe what she had said. Anger burned in his eyes, a slow, bright burn that could have melted steal if it was a real fire. But then it changed, softened, as she stared right back with all the defiance she could muster. He leaned in close to her, his breath washing over her like a cool, summer breeze.

“What is it about you?” he hissed. “Why can’t I stop thinking about you?”

His grip loosened on her throat, but didn’t disappear altogether. But his thumb, instead of digging into the tender flesh just below her right ear began to stroke her throat, moving in slow circles against her bruised skin.

“Leave us alone,” she said. “Let these people keep their homes. Let me keep my home.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

Emma started to shake her head, but he was there, so close, she couldn’t move an inch without brushing her nose against his cheek, without becoming overwhelmed with the scent of his cologne. She couldn’t breathe without each breath coming mixed with the air from his lungs.

“Let me go.”

“Believe me, I want to.”

And then his lips were on hers. It wasn’t nearly as violent as it could have been under the circumstances, but it was heated, passionate. He didn’t just request entrance, he demanded it, tasting everything she had to offer in a breath after their lips touched for the first time. He explored with the same challenging attitude, going where he wanted to go without waiting for any sort of consent on her part.

It wasn’t like she was fighting him, though. He caught her by surprise, but that didn’t completely explain why she buried her fingers in his shirt, twisting them around the soft, linen and tugged him closer to her. It didn’t explain why her chest felt like it was about to explode, why her lower belly began to quiver, why her palms itched to feel his flesh, his skin and bone and muscle, underneath it.

His hand slid from her throat to the neck of her bathrobe, a small tug all that was necessary to pull it open. She’d made it easy for him, not bothering to put on much more than a pair of panties when she got out of the bath. His hand was instantly around her bare breast, her nipple standing on edge as he ran his hand hard against it, shoving it upward as he moved his hand up, then back down, then in a small circle that made her cry out against his hard mouth.

He pulled her forward, jerking the bathrobe from her shoulders. And then his hands were on her back, on her ass, his hands kneading her flesh like it was a glob of bread dough. His mouth moved down to her throat, drawing another moan from between her lips as he nibbled along the solid edges of her tendons. She was against the wall again, her knees growing weak even as she tugged at his shirt, as she slid her hand underneath and touched flesh that quivered beneath her hands.

He lifted her, his mouth coming back to hers, capturing it like a cop nabbing his perp. She wrapped her legs around his waist, her hands dragging the jacket from his shoulder, tugging his shirt up over his head, buttons popping and flying all around her small kitchen. He pulled his lips from hers and she instantly felt naked, as though someone had ripped an important element of her soul away. And when he came back, his roughness, the power behind his touch, made her feel oddly protected. She should have been frightened. He had his hand on her throat when he barged his way into her home. But, somehow, that didn’t matter.

He ripped her panties away, the flimsy cotton material no match for his powerful hands. When he touched her, reality disappeared. Everything was gone but his fingers, his lips, his hands. She couldn’t think of anything but the pleasure that was dancing through her body, but the need that burned so deep inside of her that she was positive nothing could ever quench it. She moved her hips slightly, groaned as his fingers grazed her clit, as they sank deep inside of her before sliding back out, repeating the motion over and over again.

She couldn’t…she couldn’t take much more.

She wasn’t even aware of him undoing his pants. She didn’t know he’d freed himself until she felt his head kiss her lips for the first time. When he slid inside of her, her body was so ready that he encountered no resistance. He groaned, the sound of surrender, his admission that this was the one thing that could ever have power over him. He rolled his hips, another groan slipping between those perfect lips before they once again devoured hers.

They rocked together, there against the wall, both so lost in their own pleasure, in each other’s bodies, that the building could have fallen down around them and they wouldn’t have noticed. In fact, it would not have surprised her to know that an earthquake shook the country while he was inside of her. That’s what it felt like, like a natural disaster that brought with it more pleasure than she had ever known in all her twenty-five years.

She clung to him, to this man who was on a mission to ruin her life. Wrapped her arms tight around his neck and buried her fingers in his dark, deceptively soft hair, tugging him as close to her as she could get him. She wanted his kisses, wanted his determined explorations. She wanted to feel his pleasure, to taste his breath. And…oh, she wanted the tension that was building deep inside of her, the orgasm that would change her life irrevocably.

She screamed when it came.

She’d never understood screamers. She watched an erotic movie with a friend once and couldn’t figure out for the life of her why the female actress insisted on screaming every time she was supposedly in the throes of an orgasm. In her limited experience, orgasms were not a scream worthy event.

But that was before Dante.

“
D
o
you know you have bruises on your throat?”

Emma looked up from her breakfast, her fingers automatically pulling the light scarf she’d tied around her neck back into place. “It’s not a bruise.”

“It can’t be a hickey,” Sophie said, chuckling at her own joke. “Unless you snuck some guy up here while I was at Jill’s last night.”

“Would I do that?”

“No. That’s why it’s so funny.”

If only you knew.

Emma’s gaze moved to the far wall, on the other side of which she and Dante stood for their heated exchange. It made her blush to think about it. A reckless, stupid mistake. Even he seemed to understand that. The moment it was over, he pulled away, snatching up his shirt as he stormed to the door. He didn’t say a word, didn’t even look back at her before he left, slamming the door behind him as though the last moments of their encounter hadn’t happened.

She cleaned up, gathered all the small buttons from his shirt and hid them in her dresser drawer, not sure what else to do with them. Then she went to bed, her body sore in places she wasn’t accustomed to. All she could think about was him. All she could smell was the scent of him. She finally had to get up and take another shower before she was finally able to steal a few minutes of sleep. But even then, he filled her dreams.

“Finish your oatmeal, Em,” Sophie said, pushing her bowl a little closer. “I’m going to be late for school.”

Emma stuck her tongue out at her little sister, and then did as she was told.

T
he store was
slow over the next few days, making it easier for Emma to get her homework done. She brought up her Biology score with a paper on cytoplasts, so that was one last thing to worry about, too. Not that school was really her biggest priority right then.

The news stories about the fiasco at Dante’s announcement were already dying down. DJC released a statement that, in essence, lied about the situation. They said they had been dealing with a few disgruntled tenants, but that deals had been reached and that no one was being evicted unfairly. And then they made their announcement, though Dante’s thunder was gone.

DJC was releasing their own line of smartphones.

The whole thing made Emma nauseous. The lies, the greed, the way the richer got richer and the poor just got screwed.

She started to look for a new apartment, but all the prices were so much higher than what she was already paying. Getting a two bedroom seemed to be impossible. She and Sophie were either going to have share a bedroom, or get a loft and create personal space for themselves out of modified curtains, or something. And that, she was pretty sure, would not go over well with her sixteen year old sister.

Her shift ended. She grabbed her book bag and headed out, leaving through the back doors because they were closer to the bus stop. She saw him immediately, standing there against his fancy car. It crossed her mind to turn around, to go back inside where she knew there was a security guard within ear shot. But she didn’t.

“I’d like to give you a ride home,” he said.

Emma lifted her chin to indicate the bus stop several yards behind him. “I have a ride.”

“Don’t you think my car would be a little more comfortable than the bus?”

“Probably. But the company’s better on the bus.”

He didn’t look away. Didn’t really react to her rude comment at all. He just studied her, his hands clenched in front of him almost like a good, southern boy wringing his hat to death.

“I thought we should talk about what happened the other night.”

“Which part? The part where you shoved your way into my apartment with your hand around my throat, or the part where you…” She had intended to use a vulgar word to describe what happened next, but she couldn’t quite get it to jump off her tongue.

Some color came to his cheeks. “I didn’t intend to hurt you. I was angry.”

“I get that.”

“And frustrated. And confused.”

“I’m sorry for you.”

She stepped off the curb and started to walk around his car. She could feel him watching her, but she didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of looking.

“Did I hurt you?”

There was something in his voice. Hurt. Fear. She wasn’t quite sure what it was, but it successfully stopped her. “Would you care if you had?”

He pushed away from the car and approached, but he didn’t touch her. “Why do you do that?” he asked. “Why do you have to challenge everything I say?”

She turned toward him, facing him again. “Because you’re trying to ruin my life.”

“You were defiant before that.”

“Yeah, well, not all women are subordinate.”

“I’m beginning to understand that.”

He started to smile, but the smile died before it fully reached his lips. He touched her neck, his finger brushing one of five bruises that had appeared on her throat the morning after their last encounter. She pushed his hand away and tugged at the scarf that was supposed to be hiding the bruises.

“Emma…”

“Don’t do that.” She pushed him, shoved his chest harder than she intended to do. “Don’t feel sorry for me.”

“I don’t. I just—“

“I don’t need you to put your guilt on me. They’re just a couple of bruises. I’ve had worse.”

His expression tightened. “Yeah?”

Before she could answer, the city bus’ airbrakes hissed behind them. Emma turned, but could already see that by the time she got across the parking lot, it would be gone.

“Great,” she muttered.

“I’ll drive you home.”

She glanced at Dante. It wasn’t like she had much choice.

She let him open the door for her, but she wouldn’t take the arm he offered to help her inside. He closed the door, and she found herself struck by the wonder of such a luxurious car. There were buttons and gadgets she’d never seen before, things she wouldn’t even begin to know how to use even if she had her driver’s license. That was another thing on her to-do list, along with saving the money to buy a car.

It certainly wouldn’t be one like his.

He climbed into the car and started it with the push of a button. In seconds, they were speeding across the parking lot at a speed that she was pretty sure was too fast for the number of pedestrians crossing back and forth from the parking lot to the stores. And then they were on the interstate, barreling past all the other cars unfortunate enough to choose that moment to want to get to their planned destinations.

“Has anyone ever told you that you drive too fast?”

“Rainy. My personal assistant.”

“Rainy?”

He glanced at her. “The blond that was with me that day…at the diner.”

Emma nodded. “The name suits her.”

“I always thought so.”

There was something there, a kind of affection. Emma again found herself wondering if there was something more between him and his assistant.

“We’ve dropped the eviction case.”

“Oh?”

“We’ll let everyone live out their leases.”

“Generous of you.”

“I thought you’d be pleased with that.”

“I would be more pleased if you would drop the idea of demolishing the building and just let everyone remain in their homes as long as they wish.”

“That building was weeks from being condemned, Emma. By buying it, we saved you and all those families from living in a death trap.”

“Somehow, I don’t believe that.”

“I could show you the building inspector’s reports.”

“You could have had those faked.”

“Could have. But I didn’t.”

Emma glanced at him. He was holding the wheel with both hands, his knuckles white from his tight grip. She had a flash of memory, of those hands moving over her body, and she had to look away again.

“You don’t understand what you’re doing to those people by evicting them.”

“To them? Or to you?”

“Both.”

“I noticed your picture wasn’t on any of those posters. It wasn’t on the banner, either.”

“It wasn’t about me.”

“It’s always been about you.”

He slowed the car as he took an exit, navigating the car down the few, long blocks that would take them to her apartment building. She stared out the side window, stared at the sad, lost people wandering the streets. She’d never really noticed just how rundown this part of town really was. She didn’t like it, this magnifying glass he’d put on her life.

“Why did you start this?”

He pulled to the curb and put the car in park. “You threw coffee in my face.”

“You were being an asshole.”

He was quiet for a minute. Then he nodded, his hands gripping and releasing the steering wheel in a manic pattern.

“I had my reasons,” he finally said.

“Yeah, well, life isn’t all about you. And it isn’t all about me.”

“That’s not the way it feels to me.”

She started to object, her hand on the door handle so that she could escape the moment she’d had the last word. But then his hands were no longer punishing the steering wheel. They were on her, his fingers burying themselves in her hair as his lips stole hers with the same determination he’d displayed earlier. Funny, how quickly the feel of him could become familiar.

His hand found the bottom edge of her shirt, his fingers dancing over her ribs. She knew this would only lead to heartbreak, that he would hurt her and destroy what little was left of her life. But she couldn’t help the ache that led her to bury her fingers in his hair, to constantly pull him closer, to want him inside of her every way possible.

Her shirt was about to hit the floor when her cellphone’s ring tone began to float around the car like a pesky fly that simply wouldn’t go away. The last little spark of thought that was left in her mind recognized the preprogrammed tune as Sophie’s. And if Sophie was calling, it had to be something serious.

“I have to…” she muttered, pushing him away as she reached for her bag, her fingers refusing to cooperate for a moment. She managed to get the pocket open, tugging her cellphone from the confines of its special little pocket.

“Sophie?”

“No, Ms. Allred. This is Cathy Smith, Jill’s mother. I’m afraid there’s been an incident.”

Dante’s lips slid across the back of Emma’s neck, but her thoughts were completely back now. She brushed him away and leaned forward, pressing a hand to her ear so that she could hear clearly.

“What happened?”

“I’m not quite sure. There was something about a malfunction in Sophie’s insulin pump. The ambulance had already arrived by the time I got to the school to pick them up from Spanish club.”

All she heard was an ambulance. She snatched up her bag and pushed at the door.

“I have to go.”

“Emma—“

But she was gone, running, because that was all she could do.