Tempted (16 page)

“Interesting” was all my sister said to that. She shoved the melon toward Alex. “Here.”

“Why is that so interesting?” I demanded. It was the same thing Alex had said, almost.

Claire shrugged. Alex let out a small, conspiratorial chuckle. I wasn’t happy the two of them seemed to be ganging up on me, especially since while Claire might feel mistakenly entitled to judge me, Alex didn’t know me well enough to have that right.

“Have you talked to Patricia lately?”

Leave it to Claire to change a subject she didn’t want to discuss.

“No. Should I?”

Claire gave an artless shrug. “I dunno. Maybe. I think we need to kidnap her.”

I gave Alex a glance, not sure I wanted this conversation to continue. It sounded like it was going to touch on private issues. He dug into his plate of leftovers.

“Kidnap?” he said around a mouthful of steak and rice. “Sounds like fun.”

“Our sister Patricia’s married to a big asshole.”

“Claire!”

“What? He is. Sean’s been an ass lately, Anne, you know it, too.” To Alex, she said, “She needs to get out away from her kids for a night. Besides—” back to me “—we’ve got to get together again to talk about the party.”

“You’re having a party?” Alex looked interested and stabbed another bite of steak.

“For my parents. My sisters and I are planning it for August. It’s their wedding anniversary.”

“The Four Musketeers,” Claire put in.

“More like the Four Stooges,” I said.

Alex swallowed his food and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “I have three sisters, too.”

I’d known he had sisters. Just not how many. “Really?”

“Poor you,” said Claire. “Your house must have been one big fucking PMS bitchfest growing up. But I guess that explains your taste in pajamas.”

They laughed together, leaving me out.

“Where’d you get those, anyway?” Claire tilted her head much like he’d done earlier to peruse her outfit.

“A friend bought them for me.”

“A girlfriend?” She reached over and snagged a bit of steak off his plate while I watched, appalled and half-envious at her easy manner.

“No.”

“Boyfriend?” She grinned.

Alex grinned, too. “No.”

“Tell me it was your mumsy, and I’ll have to barf.”

“Claire, God, what’s with the third degree?” I glared at her. She rolled her eyes at me.

“Oh, Anne, lighten up. Dude’s got on girl pajama bottoms and looks like sex on a stick. I’d like to know who bought them for him.”

Alex smirked and pushed away from the table. He took his plate to the dishwasher and refilled his coffee mug. I exchanged glares and “I don’t know what the big deal is” looks with Claire.

“It was a lover.” He lifted his mug toward Claire. “It happened to be my birthday. Hello Kitty amuses me.”

Claire gave him a thumbs-up, but his answer didn’t sit right with me.

“A lover isn’t a girlfriend?”

He looked at me, but it was Claire who answered. “Oh, Anne. C’mon.”

I gave her a look she couldn’t misinterpret. “C’mon, what?”

She shook her head. “A lover isn’t a boyfriend or a girlfriend. It’s someone you’re fucking.”

I looked at Alex for confirmation. He didn’t say anything, but his lack of answer was confirmation enough. He watched me over the rim of his coffee cup.

“Oh,” I said, feeling stupid. “I guess I’m just out of the loop.”

“Don’t worry, big sissy,” said Claire, getting up to pat me fondly on the shoulder. “You don’t need to worry about it, anyway.”

She gave me a squeeze. “I’m going to the mall. I heard that new boutique’s looking for help.”

“You’re actually going to get a job?” I wasn’t being sarcastic. I was genuinely surprised.

Claire scowled. “Yeah, well, having no money sucks. So does living at home. I’ve got one more semester of school and until I can get a real job or qualify for an internship, I guess working at the mall is the best I can do. Unless I meet up with some handsome sugar daddy who’ll support me in the manner to which I’d like to grow accustomed.”

She turned and batted her eyelashes at Alex whose sultry return stare made me want to turn on the ceiling fan. “You got someone in mind, darlin’?”

Claire laughed. “You offering?”

He was a flirt. She was a flirt. I knew that about both of them, and yet watching him make goo-goo eyes at my sister sent a barbed arrow of jealousy straight through me.

“I’m not sure I’m in the market for a love slave,” said Alex, his tone intimating he was, in fact, looking for exactly that. “What are your qualifications?”

“I’d tell you, but my sister’s in the room. We might burn her ears.”

That sultry stare shifted my way. “I bet she can handle it.”

Claire held up her hands, laughing. “Ew, ew. Ew. Dude. So not going there. Okay? Anne, I’ll see you at dinner tomorrow. Alex, nice meeting you. I’m outties.”

She sauntered past him, reaching out to flick the end of the tie at his waist. “Your lover had good taste.”

Then she let herself out the back door, leaving Alex and me alone in the kitchen. He lounged in my kitchen like he’d always been there. On the one hand I was glad he felt enough at home to act that way. On the other…well, on the other he looked a little too much like he belonged in my house, and I wasn’t at all sure I wanted him there.

“So,” he said when the door slammed, “that was your sister.”

“That was my sister.” I got up. “We’re not very much alike.”

“You don’t think so?” He stepped aside to let me put my mug in the sink. “I see a resemblance.”

“I didn’t mean the way we look.”

There we were, dancing again, and I straightened, determined not to let this rattle me. I held out my hand for his mug, which he handed me, and I put that in the sink, too. He leaned back against the counter again.

Sleep rumpled hair. Nipples like two copper coins against skin the color of expensive linen writing paper.

Small tufts of hair beneath his arms and a thin line of the same starting just below his belly button and disappearing into the waist of his cartoon-printed drawers.

Damn it.

“It’s Friday,” he said, and I tore myself away from my mental cataloging of his body.

“Yes?”

He smiled, and though I tried not to let myself be sucked up into it, I failed. Miserably.

“A friend of mine’s DJing at a club in Cleveland. Let’s go tonight.”

I hadn’t been dancing in ages. James and I went to dinner and the movies, and he sometimes went out for wings at the local sports bar, but dancing…

“I’d love to. It’ll be fun.”

“More than fun,” Alex said. “It’ll be fan-fucking-tastic.”

The line of people waiting to get in reminded me of an amusement park queue, though here the people themselves were the entertainment. Most wore black. Leather. Vinyl. Spandex. Many of them wore sunglasses, even though it was night.

“Should I be wearing a garlic necklace?” I muttered to James, who laughed.

We didn’t have to wait in line. Alex flashed a card and mentioned the name of his DJ friend, and we were waved immediately inside to an almost pitch-black anteroom. At one end was an arched alcove flanked by two burly, bald men dressed in black and wearing the obligatory sunglasses. Inside the alcove, floor-to-ceiling hooks and racks held what I hoped were fake weapons.

“Guns. We need lots of guns,” said Alex with a laugh.

“Welcome to Wonderland,” said a voice from just inside the door. “Care to take the red pill?”

The voice belonged to a very tall man in full drag regalia, including two-inch-long eyelashes and glittering red lipstick. He looked like a cross between Dr. Frank-N-Furter from The Rocky Horror Picture Show and a character from The Matrix. Which, I suddenly realized, the club was supposed to represent.

“I thought it was Wonderland like Alice,” I said. “Boy, do I feel stupid.”

Our “hostess” chortled. “Don’t eat any mushrooms inside, honey. Ooh, look at the three of you! Thing One, Thing Two and Miss Thing!”

Alex, who was already handing her a couple of bills from his wallet, grinned. “You like?”

“Mmmhmm,” she said. “Bookends. Can you handle them, Miss Thing? Because if you can’t, I’d be happy to step in and offer a…hand.”

Her leer suggested just what sort of hand she’d like to offer. I laughed, not sure what to say. I hadn’t paid attention until just now that Alex and James had dressed a lot alike. White T-shirts and black pants, though Alex’s were leather and came with a studded black belt. Both had slicked back their hair, and in this weird lighting the difference in color wasn’t as easy to see. Similar though not identical in height and build, they did look like bookends.

“She can handle us,” said Alex when I didn’t answer. “But we’ll keep that in mind.”

The hostess handed Alex three red tickets. “Take these to the bar, sweetie. And I’ll hold you to that. You come find me if you need anything, you hear? N. E. Thing.”

That was, I realized, her name. She blew us a kiss as we walked toward the alcove and the guards.

“No weapons in the club,” one said, and if the weapons on display were just for show, they were utterly serious in patting us down.

“That’s more action than I’ve had in months.” Alex nudged James with his elbow.

“Have a good time,” said the other guard.

They stepped aside, and we pulled open the large, ornately carved double doors and went inside the club itself.

It really was Wonderland. Outside in the antechamber it had been dark and fairly quiet, the benefit of superb soundproofing. Once we opened the doors, however, the heavy thumping bass was enough to pound the pulse in my wrists and throat, to reverberate in the pit of my stomach. Flashing lasers bisected the multiple dance floors. There were cages in which scantily clad figures writhed, and raised platforms where more of the same gyrated. It took me a second to figure out these weren’t paid performers, but regular club-goers taking their turns on display.

“Let’s go get some drinks!” James shouted in my ear. “The bar!”

Alex was already heading that way. He held out his hand without looking to see which one of us grabbed it. James did, then grabbed mine, and we made a chain through the crowd toward one of the three bars set up around the club’s outer walls.

“Don’t waste a ticket on my drink,” I told James. “Just get me a soda.”

Alex had already ordered, two rounded glasses of something red, and a squat glass of brown fizzy cola. “Cheers,” he leaned over to say into my ear with a tickling whisper. “Drink up, Miss Thing.”

“What do you guys have?”

“They’re called Red Pills,” said Alex. “Want one?”

James sipped his and let out a little oof. “What the hell’s in this?”

“Vodka, grenadine and cranberry juice.” Alex grinned. “Anne, you want one?”

“No.” I held up a hand. “I can smell it from here.”

Their identical smiles disturbed me less than before, maybe because here with the music pounding away at us nothing seemed too important. Maybe because they both looked so handsome. More likely was that they both were directed at me.

Alex tossed back his drink and put the glass on the bar. James followed suit. Not wanting to be left behind I finished my drink, too, though the carbonation sank directly to my stomach and wanted to lift itself right away. I stifled a burp with the back of my hand, not that anyone could have heard it over the music.

“Let’s dance!” Alex pointed toward a small section of the floor less crowded than the others. Again, he held out his hand, this time grabbing mine. I grabbed James.

We hit the dance floor just as a remix of Soft Cell’s “Tainted Love” began its distinctive beat. The crowd surged around us, bouncing, wiggling. Grinding. Clusters of dancers joined and broke apart, making starfish patterns. Couples and triples moved in unison. The entire atmosphere had gone feral. I’d joked earlier about wearing garlic, but looking at some of these people, I really expected to see fangs.

I didn’t worry about it, though. Snugged up between James to the front of me and Alex to the rear, not even a blood-sucker could’ve reached me. It really was fan-fucking-tastic.

I’d danced with James at weddings and holiday parties and sometimes in our living room. A few times we’d gone out to clubs but had never been to a place like Wonderland. So, though I’d danced with him before, we’d never really…danced. Not like this. Not this undulating, rocking, fucking with our clothes on.

James put a knee between my thighs, his hands on my hips. Behind me, Alex at first kept a bare distance, but as the music kept coming and the crowd kept growing, he moved closer until he was as tight against me in the back as James was in the front. Alex put his hands on my hips, too, just above James’s.

Me, I had to do nothing but let them both move me. They found a rhythm, somehow. Something that worked for three. One pushed as the other pulled, keeping perfect time.

If I’ve had more fun in one night, I can’t tell you when it was. With two gorgeous men pulling me onto the dance floor, bumping and grinding, one in the front and one in the back, I’d have had to be dead not to enjoy myself. Laughing, I looked at my husband. Grinning, he bent to kiss me.

No sweet, gentle peck, either—a full-blown, mouth open, tongue-searching kiss. He’d always been affectionate, hugging or holding hands in public. But I couldn’t remember him ever French-kissing me in front of other people. I’d have been embarrassed if a dozen other people around us hadn’t been doing the very same thing.

I should’ve felt more awkward about being ground like coffee by my husband’s friend, and if James had shown any sign that it bothered him, I’d have stopped. Not only did James not seem to mind, he pulled me closer, which moved Alex closer. Their hands slid together on my sides and then…they linked. Their fingers tangled, thumbs pressing my back and belly. Against my back I felt the chill kiss of Alex’s belt buckle as the hem of my shirt rode up. Against my front, James’s thumbs stroked along my bared belly.

Everything was heat and sweat, bump ’n’ grind. Stroke and sigh. The music changed to something with a more Latin beat, sensual, urging hips to shake. James let go of one of my hips to cup the back of my neck. He tugged the clip holding up my hair. Kinky curls tumbled down around my shoulders, and he stroked his fingers through them for one moment, making them frame my face.

Neither of them faltered. Other couples and triples around us merged and broke apart as the music flowed from one song to the next, but the three of us stayed perfectly in rhythm. Together they moved to bend my body back, supported by Alex, while James licked my throat. Together they pushed me up again, effortlessly. I was never once afraid I’d fall. Together they turned me in the circle of their embrace so I faced Alex, and James pressed his face to the slope of my neck from behind. He pressed his teeth against my skin, and the music swallowed the sound of my cry.

Sweat gleamed on Alex’s face and molded his white T-shirt to his chest. His belt buckle, so cold against my back, now pressed my belly. James snugged up tight against my ass. Nobody but James had touched me this way in a long time. I hadn’t wanted anyone to.

Maybe it was because they’d dressed so much alike, or because they had such similar mannerisms. Maybe it was because James had given me unspoken permission to enjoy Alex’s hands upon me. Or maybe it was Alex himself, his charm and innate sensuality that kept me there. Maybe in the end, it had nothing to do with James.

Alex didn’t kiss me. I think that would have been too much of an assumption, even for him. He did, however, put his face to the side of my neck not being tantalized by James. Two men, both nuzzling and groping and writhing against me. I was, indeed, well and fully bookended.

I loved it.

What woman would not? Two sexy, gorgeous men paying her the utmost attention? Four hands, teasing? Two mouths, tickling? The music filled us all and swept us away.

We couldn’t go on like that forever, and the next time the song changed, Alex disengaged himself from our cozy little pretzel.

“Drinks,” he shouted toward James, who gave him a thumbs-up.

With Alex gone, it felt somehow odd to dance with only one person. James put his hands back on my hips and kissed me again. He dipped me low and back up, the way Johnny does to Baby in Dirty Dancing, a move that made the people around us hoot and holler. Laughing, I gripped his shirt when he tried to do it again, forcing him to keep me upright. We moved off the dance floor, toward a dark corner.

“Are you having a good time?” James wiped his forehead with the hem of his T-shirt, exposing a stripe of muscled belly I wanted to lick.

I nodded. James leaned against the wall and pulled me against him. We aligned just right, my cheek to his chest, his thigh between mine. His hands were strong on my back, holding me close, and as always in his arms I felt safe.

It took me a second to realize that I’d been feeling unsafe.

James buried his face in my hair and breathed deep. “Mmm…I hope Alex gets here with the drinks.”

I looked up at him. “James—”

I meant to ask him if it was really okay, what we’d been doing. If it didn’t bother him that another man had been putting his hands all over me. I meant to ask him why he didn’t mind…and why he didn’t seem to care that I didn’t mind. Before I had the chance, Alex appeared with two more Red Pills and another cola for me.

“Thanks, man.” James dug in his pocket for his wallet, but Alex waved him off.

“My treat.”

“Oooh,” said James with a laugh, lifting his glass. “Big spender.”

“Hey, you guys are letting me stay in your house. A couple of drinks is no big deal.”

They both drank. I drank my cola, which was too sweet and didn’t quench my thirst, though I downed it in almost one gulp.

“I’m going to get some water,” I said, and held up a hand when both men started offering to serve me. “I have to go to the ladies’ room, anyway.”

“Hurry back,” said James.

“I’ll keep him out of trouble,” promised Alex with a smug smile that was a kind of trouble all its own.

“Be good,” I told them both, and wove my way through the crowd toward the restrooms.

Two doors faced me, one marked with the symbol for female, the other for male. And, wonder of wonders, there was no line of the sort in which women are accustomed to wait. As I pushed through the women’s door, I saw why at once.

The doors might have been marked to separate the sexes, but the occupants themselves didn’t appear to give a damn. Men and women mingled at the sinks and used the stalls. When I bent to peer under the doors to see which were open, more than one showed two pairs of feet…and some more than two.

“Well, hello, Miss Thing,” drawled a familiar voice from the leopard-print sofa along the wall. “We meet again.”

I flashed her a smile. “They let you take some time away from the door?”

“Listen,” said N. E. Thing, “a girl’s got to use the facilities once in a while, if you know what I mean.”

I wasn’t going to argue with the fact she wasn’t exactly a girl. “Yeah.”

“Hurry up in there, you sluts!” she hollered, reaching over and banging on the nearest stall with a strong-knuckled hand. “Someone out here actually needs to take a piss!”

Laughter from inside the stall echoed—the door opened and two slender young men stumbled out. N.E. snorted and rolled her eyes. They both gave her the finger.

“It’s all yours, sweetie,” she told me. “I can hold it.”

She burst into a gale of infectiously throaty laughter at that. “And when I say I can hold it, I mean it, honey.”

Laughing, I went into the stall and was relieved to discover the lock functioned, and no matter what had been going on in there before I entered, it was reasonably sanitary. I did the squat-and-spray quickly, glad I’d worn a skirt that I could hold up out of the way instead of having to risk dropping my pants on the floor of dubious cleanliness. It only took me a minute or two, but by the time I came out, the bathroom had become jam-packed.