Violets & Violence (3 page)

The bathroom consisted of fancy urinals, an elegant, trough-like sink, and a counter with real towels, mouthwash, and gum. The private stalls had full-sized doors and locks. It was the kind of place my ex would’ve probably had sex in with the man she had chosen over me before he was cursed with ED.

You don’t know that, but it sure serves him right for stealing a married man’s wife.

For the record: I didn’t like the man she had chosen over me.

While I relieved myself at the urinal, I heard one of those stall doors open and close behind me. Then the clacking of heels; high-priced dress shoes, I figured.

But then I heard her voice.

“Mr. Carter.” I didn’t have to see the eyes or recognize her smile. “You come here often?”

I finished before I really got started and tucked myself back into my pants. Shy bladder.

“Only when I need to pee,” I answered. I turned around and had to remind myself to breathe. She was wearing those tight black pants, a mask straight out of a Batman movie, and a sexy blonde wig. Her eyes were just as I remembered, but different—smart and sexy with a little more gray in them.

Clearing my throat, I stepped around her to the sink to wash my hands; they were trembling.

“Violet, this is the men’s bathroom.” I smirked at her in the mirror.

She nodded, stepping up behind me. “I know.” She indicated the bathroom door, the hallway beyond it and the private rooms with their functions even farther. “I’m working this afternoon.” She punched me in the shoulder, from behind, and stepped back, crossing her arms over her tight shirt. “Just waiting for my cue.”

“In the men’s room?” I touched my arm, curious why she hadn’t struck me as firmly as she had at the airport earlier this week. Had I winced? She seemed like a different woman now, even though her grey eyes with the hint of green suggested I was wrong about that.

“Nobody expects me here, Carter.”

I wiped my hands with a towel, then tossed it into the dirty laundry basket. “But now I know.”

“I’m sure you can keep my secret.” She uncrossed her arms and stepped closer but kept a few safe feet between us. “I’ve missed you since last week. Here for business, or stalking me?”

I started to respond when we heard footsteps. She placed a finger over her lips and eased back toward the private stalls. But before closing the door, she reminded me, “You still haven’t called, have you?”

I smiled but before I could answer, she closed the stall door and a kid (teenager?) entered the bathroom. He was wearing a polo shirt and long shorts, roughly twenty-ish but likely a little younger.

Leaving the bathroom and the young tech-millionaire at the urinal, I started back down the hall and toward those wooden-block stairs when I was reminded of my new appreciation for the existence of magic.

Stepping down from the top floor, Violet moved with an elegant grace. She noticed my surprise and how I glanced back toward the men’s room, and the smile on her face, the same smile from the men’s room a few seconds ago only bigger, put me at ease. The space around us melted away like wax.

“Wow,” I said, stopping at the bottom stair, mostly because my legs refused to work. I clapped quietly. “Two places, one time.”

She kept smiling and stopped once she was close enough to me that I could feel her breath on my face. She stared down at me with those gorgeous eyes. “That’s my thing, Carter.”

“Can I call you tonight?” I asked, my voice raspy and quiet.

“I hope so,” she said, offering a nod that reminded me of my school years. “Because I might just have one more surprise for you before the day is over.”

I gulped. “Is that right?”

We stared at each other for what seemed like an eternity, the two of us on the stairs with nothing else around us.

“Maybe I’ll have a surprise for you, too,” I admitted, regretting the comment the moment it slipped past my lips.

A door opened behind us and reality flooded into our space. “That’s my cue.” As she stepped past me, her fingertip traced the forearm of my crisp, white shirt. Her touch numbed me, immobilizing my soul.

Magic, yes.

The finest.

Because that was Violet. She was magic.

And I believed in her.

Violet reeked of perfection. Sleeping, fucking, or even jogging with sweat dripping down her back and into the crack of her ass, she reeked of perfection. I inhaled that perfection as we stood in the middle of our half-moon driveway, walking off the exhaustion from our ten-mile run.

“I want to lick you,” I panted, leaning forward and placing my hands on my knees.

Tilting her head back so she could see the purple fading sky, Violet laughed. “I saw the guy from the show today,” she admitted. “At this corporate function you set up.”

The burn and ache from the run stretched up into my neck and formed a clenching fist at the base of my skull. “Carter Borden? What happened to James? Jesus.”

“Mmhmm.” She walked to the garage doors, flipping open the cover on the keypad. I watched her long, dark-polished nails hammer out the code. “Quite the coincidence, that’s all.”

“What does that mean?” I panted.

“I have to get ready.”

I jumped out of my crouched position, stretched those tight neck muscles and followed her into the garage. Hitting the close button on the keypad, I waited for the door to roll shut before stripping out of my shirt and stepping up to the pull-up bar that hung from the ceiling. I jumped up and squeezed out fourteen quick pull-ups, aware that Violet was watching me. I enjoyed tickling her appetite.

Lowering myself to the floor, I admired her stare on me. We stood like this, several feet apart, staring. At last, she pulled her workout shirt and bra up over her head. Her nipples looked light and withered from the physical activity. Our eyes remained locked, even as her thumbs slid into the waist of her pants and started easing them down.

“Wait,” I said.

She stopped.

I stepped up to her and grabbed her workout gear up off the garage floor where it had left a bit of a mark from the sweat-dampness. Holding it to my face, I inhaled Violet’s post-workout aroma. Perfection.

“You stink,” I said, grinning and tossing the wet, dry-fit gear at her.

She dodged the workout clothes with a grin, shook her head, and then leaped at me, taking me by surprise and knocking me onto my back on the cold concrete floor. Pressing her lips to mine, her hand fumbled with my pants and grabbed my dick, stroking it quickly.

“Oh, man,” I groaned, but her lips didn’t give me much room to breath, let alone strike up a conversation.

When she finally pulled back, she rolled over, yanking me on top of her, and then she pressed down on my shoulders while raising her crotch toward my face.

“Now?” I asked. I felt gross after our run. I couldn’t imagine how she felt.

She pushed my face against her wet pants. “Luke. Now.”

I hooked my fingers over the waist of her pants and peeled them off her legs. Before she could say my name again, my lips found that mole on the inside of her knee. I kissed it gently, then licked a salty trail up her thigh.

She moaned as I reached her pussy. Her folds looked wilted from the run, but I knew she was juicy. I slipped my finger inside her and confirmed just how well I knew this woman. I made another pass, a little deeper this time.

Violet squirmed underneath my touch.

As I leaned forward, closing my eyes and opening my mouth, she stopped me.

My eyes shot open. “What is it?”

She crawled backward, away from me, then rose back up to her feet and headed inside, leaving me on my hands and knees with a rock-hard erection.

Inside the house, I found her in the shower, stripped out of my Asics and joined her, wrapping my arms around her from behind and letting her feel the stiff, unresolved mess she had left in the garage. And then my finger found its way back to her clit.

“No, Luke,” she said, stretching her neck the same way I had earlier. “I can’t now. Not now. I have to get ready.”

Her tone said enough. Backing away, I turned to my showerhead, got its spray nice and warm and started polishing off what she had started. I was still working at it when she killed her own showerhead and stepped past me, slapping my butt.

“Go easy, champ,” she giggled. “I’m going to need some of that energy once I get home.”

I watched her grab a towel and wrap it around her perfect ass before focusing on
me
again.

“Come on,” I begged, indicating the semi-erect dick in my hands. “Don’t leave me like this.”

She gave a shrug, but I could see the mild hunger in the way she started at my naked body with the water dripping down my chest and abs. “I promised I would be there.”

“Violet…”

Shaking her head, she swiveled around on her heels and walked away.

I never did finish what she started.

And neither did she.

Seated at the desk with the computer monitors humming and the iPhone alarm set to tell me when I needed to leave for tonight’s performance, I jumped when the ringer started. I checked the display—212-944-3700
,
New York
City—and my stomach tightened.

Before answering the call, I wiped my hands along my thighs to dry them out and took a deep breath.

“Violets & Illusions,” I barked. And then waited. And waited. It seemed like forever, a long road of silence between now and when I finally received a response.

“Luke Kemble,” a curt female voice said.

I grunted an affirmative.

The line was quiet for a moment, occupied with the background sounds of keyboard clicks and breathing. “I’m Lindsey with the Shubert Organization. You were inquiring about theater bookings for a…um…magic show?”

My heartbeat picked up pace. “That’s right, of course.” I had made the request over a year ago. Broadway offered plenty of opportunity to turbocharge Violet’s show to Vegas, exactly where she needed to be, where she deserved to be. Violet and I had expected it to take years to receive a response from the Shubert Organization, to book one of its seventeen or so New York City venues.

“I know you were looking for long-term arrangements,” Lindsey said. “But we have a ninety-day window available in February next year.”

“February,” I repeated, my mouth numb. That was five months away; it would overlap with the show here in Detroit. That meant flying back and forth. Frequently.

“We’ve heard a lot about your show, and we’re interested in working with you and Violet.”

“Thank you.”

“So, when might you be in New York to come by and walk through the Imperial?”

“The
Imperial
?” I pinched my arm to make sure his wasn’t some sick dream. “Isn’t Les Mis booked there?”

“Yes, the show has just ended. And I assure you, as a result of the investment by the operator, the accommodations here are excellent. But we need you to see if the stage will meet your show’s requirements.”

I flipped the screen to my calendar. “I could swing by next week,” I blurted.

“How about I arrange a time for you to meet with the stage manager on Tuesday morning? She takes Mondays off.”

I nodded, my mouth dry. “Perfect. Tuesday morning. I’ll be there at ten.”

We finalized the details and, the moment we hung up, I jumped out of my seat and danced at the desk. Things were finally happening for Violets. Amazing how two hundred thousand dollars had created a new life for herself. For all of us.

And she had proven that magic truly does exist, that all you needed was a dream. You chase that dream, you chase it hard and all your fears and tears will go away. Violet, a true
magician
. A savior, a guardian angel, all things perfect and sane and true.

But before I could expel the excitement, the alarm started. The iPhone vibrated, chimed, and I realized that it was time to leave for the show. The
illusion
show.