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“Okay,” I concede.
I turn back to the bench, grabbing one of my favourite pieces of artwork hanging over the back for something to do with my hands. It’s a piece of driftwood I found on the beach about a year ago. The wood looks like it’s been burned on the end, and the bottom, but it’s in perfect condition otherwise. I can’t remember the actual beach that I found it on, but I know it was on the edge of a coastal forest, almost like it’d been carried there by a tree. I run my hands over it, allowing the smoothness to ground and calm me.
“Tell us what happened,” Dash urges.
“There’s nothing to tell,” I answer back, still skimming my hands along the wood that’s been smoothed and sanded by the ocean. No tool or craftsmanship can produce this sort of effect. Nature really is the best creator. But instead of distracting me from Candy, I find myself comparing the smooth lines of the wood with her curves, the satin polish of the ocean to her velvet flesh.
“There’s plenty to tell,” Wint says. “You left the club with her, didn’t return, slept in her bed, and by the sounds of it, fucked her this morning outside of the club’s rules and now you’re mad as hell about it and taking it out on us.”
“So did Don,” I mutter, even though it’s childish.
“That was before we agreed to…work with her in the club,” Wint replies carefully. Ha! That’s putting it diplomatically. Don has claimed her as his, Dash all but fucking marked her as hissub at the club when he hauled her into his lap in front of the VIPs, and I know that Wint’s obsessed with her – even if it’s just finding out who she is and what secrets she’s hiding – though I suspect there’s more to it than that. Even Frost is fucking enraptured, and if I’m absolutely forced to be honest with myself, I am too.
“It doesn’t matter. It was a mistake and it won’t be repeated,” I say tightly, ignoring the uncomfortable feeling in my chest and the sour taste of the words on my tongue. I don’twantthat to be my only interaction with Candy – at home or at the club – but what choice do I have? Clearly one of us has to put the business first and the other four fuckwits don’t seem to be able to where she’s concerned. So that leaves me, heading the team as always, there to clean up their messes when it all falls apart.
Dash shrugs and gives me an easy smile. “You’re two consenting adults, if you want to fuck at the club or at the house, it’s all the same to me.”
It’s not though, is it? The club is different. It’s work. What did I tell Candy?Entertainment. Fucking behind closed doors in the privacy of my own home, not to mention letting her top from the fucking bottom, well, that’s a lot more like something close to a relationship and I’m not okay with that.
Memories of Tess flood my mind and I grit my teeth, forcing them out. This is why I only scene with women at the club. Why I tie them up, or lash them down, and force them to the very edge of their limits. It doesn’t matter that they come crawling back for more, begging for another taste, and already half in love with me because I make their bodies sing in a way that their partners can’t. I don’t do real connections. Only transactions.
But what happened upstairs with Candy wasn’t transactional. It was wonderful. And it’s left me craving more.
Tossing the driftwood aside, I move to the jar filled with coffee beans which is directly behind the bench. I love the smellof fresh coffee beans. It’s better than the coffee itself. But it doesn’t fucking work. Even inhaling deeply, it can’t drive the scent of her from under my nose. She’s infected my bloodstream and intoxicated me.
I’m so fucking fucked.
“What do we need to discuss?” I ask, changing the topic to something work related.
“Our plans for tonight with Candy.”
I groan.
“And obviously, tomorrow’s Christmas – so we need to just go over the program of events for that,” Wint explains. “There’s also the matter of Christmas gifts—”
“Fuck. I didn’t think of that. Do you think we have to get her something?” Don asks, scrubbing a hand through his hair.
See? Pussy whipped. Since when have any of us brought a gift for a woman we’re fucking? Never.
“You’re not buying her a gift,” I warn. God knows we don’t need her getting the wrong idea.
“I wasn’t thinking ofbuyingher one. I just haven’t figured out what to get her…I was thinking something for the club,” he replies.
“Nothing,” I say. No way am I going to let her put her fucking mark on us. We don’t need it. Gifts are a mark of a relationship and this is fucking not. “She’s a temp, not staff.”
“There’s always a gift exchange between staff,” Dash points out.
“Yes, and names were drawn at the start of December. It’s too late,” I insist stubbornly. I can sense I’m on my own with this battle, my brothers are all against me and I’m outnumbered.
“But we lost staff, so—”
“I said no!” I bark, slamming down the jar of coffee beans onto the table top, causing some to spill out. “Fuck.”
“Fine,” Dash huffs, shooting me a dark look.
“How about a solution?” Wint offers, leaning forward.
“Go on,” I say, because I know I’m behaving like a dick for no good reason. I avoid eye contact as I pick up the beans I spilled. I need to get my shit together. Get these feelings under control.
