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Lana blinked back tears, hating that she was dogged by this incessant fear of everything and everyone because of what’d happened to her. The old Lana would’ve been delighted to spend an evening with a hot, rich guy. And that was exactly the kind of thinking that’d almost gotten her killed. She stiffened. “Sorry but I’m not going then. I don’t want to go on any dates, pretend or otherwise and frankly, Emma, I’m hurt that you would push this on me unexpectedly.”
“It’s just one night,” Emma implored. “You have to start somewhere. If you’re not willing to go to therapy and you say you want to do things your way, you have to actually start doing something! Closeting yourself in your apartment is not accomplishing anything aside from making things worse!”
“It’s not your job to make sure that I’m okay,” Lana shot back, wiping away the tears. “Just leave me alone and let me handle things my way.”
Emma fell silent and then grabbed her purse but before leaving, she said, “I would never say that you’re throwing yourself a pity party but you’re definitely nursing the damage instead of rooting it out. Please do yourself a favor and get some help…some real help — before you end up an old, bitter woman because that’s the direction you’re heading.”
Lana watched as Emma let herself out and she wanted to shout at her sister for being so insensitive but there was a ring of truth to her words that even Lana couldn’t deny.
Was one night harmless enough? It wasn’t as if her date would expect some kind of romantic attachment. And if she were being brutally honest with herself, the idea of dressing up and attending an event for a good cause was something that appealed to her ragged heart. When Emma had told her about Gage’s Watch, she’d been instantly intrigued. A watch dog nonprofit, started by former motorcycle gang members, who make sure that foster kids aren’t being abused in their respective foster homes…who wouldn’t want to support that? And she supposed that if Emma had managed to find her a date who would be amenable to making a nice donation she could find her way to be pleasant company for the evening, right? She shook out her suddenly clammy hands and blew out a short breath at the idea of putting herself out there in the general public. It’d been nearly a year since she’d been assaulted. Her physical wounds had healed but her emotional wounds…well, they seemed as raw as ever. But Emma might be right in that if she didn’t let some air hit that wound, it would never scab over. She worried her bottom lip, caught between wanting to take a chance and breaking outside of her comfort zone and turning tail and hiding. Well, she’d been hiding for almost a year and nothing much had changed.
Emma may have a point.
Unbidden, Laird Tiechert’s face bloomed in her mind and she ignored the tiny flutter that tickled and frankly, scared her a little.
Why on earth had she thought of him?
Not a single call or text even since the day he’d dropped her off at her apartment and waved cheerfully goodbye as if he were just going to the market and would be back soon. Not that she ought to care. For all intents and purposes, he’d practically kidnapped her — in the nicest way possible — but still, he’d definitely disrupted her life and then disappeared as if it were no big deal.
Maybe because that’s all she’d been to him, a passing diversion.
So what? It wasn’t as if she wanted or welcomed a relationship with someone like Laird. She suppressed a half-hearted shudder. Laird? In a relationship? Laughable. He was as big a whore as Vince had ever been, right? She’d heard stories. Truthfully, it’d been those wild stories that’d convinced her to procure an invitation into Malvagio. She’d been drawn by the taboo nature of the super secret high society sex club. Her cheeks burned. Things certainly hadn’t turned out the way she’d imagined. Not that she’d had a plan, exactly.
She’d been down for some wild times. The idea of a threesome had intrigued her and what better way to make it happen without the inevitable weirdness that happened afterward, than in a sex club where everyone wore a mask and used false names? In her private thoughts and fantasies, she’d indulged in the scenario where she went down on some hot, nameless guy in a dark corner of the club or even better, some hot nameless guy went down on her, making her come while pressed up against a wall, in full view of anyone who happened to walk by. Lana released a shaky breath and recognized, of all things, the touch of arousal — something she’d refused to allow since the assault. Somehow it felt wrong to enjoy sexual gratification now. Her feelings were all twisted up in her head and it was just easier to shut everything down than to sort good from bad.
You can do this. It’s a good cause, right? That tiny voice, one she hadn’t heard in a long time, prompted her to pick up her cell and call Emma before she lost her nerve. As Emma answered, she said quickly, “Okay, I’ll do it. But first I want to establish some ground rules.”
“Anything,” Emma agreed eagerly. “Name it.”
“No expectation of anything romantic. I will be pleasant and civil but I am there to support the fundraiser, not find a hook-up. Got it?”
“Absolutely. Anything else?”
“Yes, what’s this guy’s name and what should I know about him?”
“Um, actually…you already know him and he’s promised to be a perfect gentleman.”
Lana frowned. “I know him? Who is it?”
A pregnant pause followed before Emma answered in a rush, “Okay, it’s Laird Tiechert but before you say anything just know that Vince has made him promise to be the ultimate gentleman and there won’t be a single moment of pressure on his end or else Vince will pummel him into the ground.”
Laird? Her blood alternately heated and chilled. Why Laird? “There was no one else?” she asked, almost desperately.
“Well, it’s partly my fault. I asked Vince to find a friend with deep pockets to be your date and he came up with Laird and honestly, I told him no at first but he did seem to be really nice when he was taking care of you during that time when I was…you know…and so I thought maybe Vince was right and Laird was a perfect fit.”
A perfect fit. Odd choice of words. “I…” she didn’t know what to say because her thoughts were going in opposite directions at once. “I guess…it’ll be fine. At least I know Laird won’t be pestering me for anything more when the evening is over.”
That much was true. Laird hadn’t once pressured her into doing anything she hadn’t wanted to do. In fact, he’d made her feel safe and protected…until he’d bailed and then she’d realized that he’d been simply playing a part and had felt stupid for almost succumbing to the desire to kiss him.
Thank God, that hadn’t happened!
“Okay, but I don’t need him picking me up. I’ll drive myself to the event,” she said, trying to find some solid ground beneath her feet. “Understood?”
“Of course!”
Lana could almost see Emma doing a victory dance. “And one more thing…no more setting me up on dates, got it? Not even for a good cause.”
Emma sighed. “Fine. I’ll have your tickets at the front desk. Be there at 7 p.m. Okay?”
“Sure.” Emma gave Lana some more last minute details and Lana clicked off, unsure of what she was getting herself into but fairly certain she was terrified. Of Laird? No.
Of herself.
***
Laird adjusted his cuffs for the third time in as many minutes and realized he was fidgeting. The Pavilion was lit up in a wash of twinkly lights appropriate for the Christmas season and everywhere he glanced, there was some kind of festive holiday decoration. He withheld a sigh. Christmas. Not his favorite season. He preferred the summer — much easier to support the ‘clothes optional’ bent of his lifestyle than being bundled up in sweaters and jeans. But the best time to hold a fundraiser was when people were feeling guilty for their privilege and Christmas was the perfect season for being altruistic. Well, time to get this over with, he thought silently as he walked up the marble steps to the grand entrance, scanning the large ballroom for Lana.
The last tim
e he’d seen Lana, she’d been wearing old jeans and a ratty T-shirt that’d seen better days. She wore no make up and her hair was twisted up in a messy pony-tail. She’d looked a lot like a bedraggled mouse tossed from a hay bale. Complete with the forlorn expression and the skittish disposition.
Which probably explained why he didn’t realize he was staring right past her until she cleared her throat purposefully and murmured his name.
“Lana?” he couldn’t stop the surprise in his tone because, hot damn, this was not the woman he remembered. This woman was beautiful and sophisticated in a black-as-sin dress that clung to her gentle curves and made him forget the promise he’d given to Vince about not trying to seduce her. Why had he made such a stupid promise? He remembered to swallow and smiled, taking her hand in his to press a soft kiss against her smooth skin in his most charming effort to date. “You look…different.” You look different? Nice, Casanova. Real smooth. He recovered quickly to say, “What I mean is, it’s a pleasure to see you again.”
She smiled, the tiniest tremor in her lips betraying her nerves, as she withdrew her hand from his grasp. “I appreciate you falling on the sword to escort me tonight,” she said with a touch of mockery and he suppressed a wince. He should’ve called to check in, social niceties and all that — something that wasn’t entirely his strong suit. His skill was in the conquest, the challenge, not the keeping up afterward. And since he knew Lana wasn’t a kill he could claim, he hadn’t put much effort in once he was released from service. And now he was going to pay for that choice. Her voice, a sweetly smooth timbre that flowed with mystery, made him wonder how he’d missed this swan hiding beneath the drab feathers. “I’m sure you had plenty else to do with your time,” she added.
How to play this? Honesty? Scratch that — when had honesty ever served him well? How about a little humble pie? Chicks dig vulnerable guys, right? He affected an apologetic expression as he offered his arm to lead her deeper into the room. “I should’ve called. How have you been?” he asked solicitously.
