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  “Come on. Go with me, Peach. It’ll be fun.”

  His dimples are far too persuasive. There’s no hope for me. I can’t resist. “Yeah, okay.”

  Chapter 4

  Anna James Bennett

  “What is the dress code for the dance club?” Surely that isn’t clothing optional as well. If it is, forget it. I don’t want to be in a place where naked body parts are jiggling.

  Meredith lifts a brow. “Depends on which one you’re referring to.”

  “I have no idea.”

  “There are two. One is on the dressier side while the other tends to be more casual. Sensual elegant works for both. Why do you want to know?”

  “I’m going with Beau.”

  “Then we need to be in my room. I saw what you packed and ain’t none of it gonna work for dancing.” Meredith moves toward the door.

  “I can’t go outside like this.” I’m still in my tank and boxer shorts.

  “Really, Anna James? You think what you’re wearing is inappropriate for stepping outside to go into the room next door?”

  I look down to inspect myself and point to the problem. “Yes. You can see my nipples through this.”

  “Again, you think that’s a problem for here?” She’s laughing at me.

  “It’s indecent for me.” I grab a T-shirt and pull it over my tank before following Mere to her suite. “I happen to like the clothes I brought. I bought most of them specifically for this trip.” My budget was basically next to nothing, but I found a lot of summer items on clearance.

  “The clothes you brought work fine for home but not here. You’ll stand out like a sore thumb. The vultures will circle if you look like a newbie and be quick to call dibs on you.”

  “Umm . . . not up for grabs here.”

  “They won’t understand that. And I know you’ll be annoyed if they bother you.”

  I don’t want to be harassed. “Then show me what you have.”

  She spreads an ensemble of at least fifteen dresses across the bed. “Shit. This collection looks like you beat a hooker’s ass and then stole her wardrobe.”

  “Shut up and pick something.”

  I choose a black one shoulder with slits in the sides. I hold it up for inspection. “Think I’d look okay in this?”

  “You’d look killer in any of them.” One of the great things about having Meredith for a best friend is that we’re very close in size. My butt is chunkier so this dress will fit tighter. Sometimes that’s good but I’m not sure with this one.

  “I don’t know, Mere. I’m afraid it’s going to be tight and ride up my ass.”

  She takes it off the hanger. “The only way to know is to try it on. If it doesn’t work, we’ll move on to something else.”

  I strip down and slip into the spandex sheath. She’s beaming so I know this one is a winner. “It’s a hell yes from me. What do you think?”

  I step in front of the full-length mirror for inspection. “I like it.”

  “Like, hell. You should love it. It looks fantastic. It’s way better on you than me.”

  I remove my ponytail holder keeping the messy bun on top of my head in place. “Okay. I admit. I love it. Hair up, down, straight or curly?”

  “Big loose curls. No doubt.”

  “I think so too.” I don’t do it often because it’s so much work, but I have plenty of time to get ready.

  Meredith’s eyes meet mine in the mirror. “You want to look great for this guy. I can tell.”

  I spin around to meet her face to face. “I do not. I like talking to him. That’s all.”

  She’s reading far too much into this.

  “You’re such a liar. A bad one. You really like this guy.”

  “I do, but only as a friend. He knows I’m not up for anything kinky.”

  I’m oddly comfortable with Beau but I think I know why. He reminds me of Grayson.

  “Be careful with him. He’s a different kind of animal you don’t understand.”

  I get it. Beau’s a beast of prey . . . just like her husband. I remember telling Meredith the same thing about Grayson when she told me about his sexual preferences.

  Look at how that turned out.

  Meredith was barely twenty when she walked into Grayson’s class at the culinary institute. Her spark for him was instantaneous, despite the thirteen-year age gap. Poor guy never had a chance. She saw him, wanted him, and was determined to make him hers.

  Meredith always finds a way to get what she wants.

  The swingers thing came as quite the shock to Mere, but she wanted G so badly she was willing to give it a shot. I still remember what she said about him when she told me he enjoyed swapping sexual partners. “Grayson makes me feel a little dirty. I fucking love it. And I fucking love him.”

  Her wry smile betrayed her and I knew she had agreed to try it. Turns out, swapping suited her.

  That was almost four years ago and their relationship is stronger than ever.

  Married. Successful. Happy. They have it all. It’s difficult to not envy them.

  They’re happier than a tornado in a trailer park. But sharing would never suit me. Ever. So, that means Beau Emerson is off limits.

  And that’s . . . very disappointing.

  * * *

  I hardly ate anything at dinner. The thought of going out dancing with Beau tonight has me in knots. Of course, Meredith noticed and gave me shit about it. I’m grateful Grayson stepped in and told her to cool her jets about the whole thing.

  I appreciate her concern, but I’m a big girl. I can handle whatever comes my way.

  Beau knocks and my heart instantly speeds. It’s been more than four years since I’ve opened the door for a date, other than Drake, and it’s still a dreaded moment for me. The guy is obligated to remark on how great you look. It’s awkward.

  Shit. I just referred to this as a date. It’s not.

  I open the door and begin chattering so we can avoid that uncomfortable moment where he’s obligated to comment on how I look. “Hey, I’m ready. Just give me a sec to grab my clutch.”

  I go to the bathroom to fetch my bright pink lipstick and take one last look at myself. Loose curls. Smokey eyes. Slutty dress. Ridiculously high fuck-me pumps I’m going to regret after about a dozen steps. I’m primed and ready to dance my ass off.

  “Just so you know, I haven’t been dancing in years. I may be a little rusty.” Drake hated clubbing. Every time we went, he’d sulk in the corner so I eventually stopped asking to go.

  Wanker.

  I chuckle, thinking how Sweetie Pie Caitlyn must be coping with Mr. Snooze Fest.

  I come out of the bathroom to find Beau inside my suite instead of where I left him at the door. This is another thing I’ve not done in a while—been behind a closed door with a man who isn’t my husband.

  I hold up my clutch. “Got it. I’m ready.”

  He’s unmoving. “Something wrong?”

  He twirls his finger in a circle. “Spin.”

  I do a three-sixty, stopping to face him. “Up to snuff?”

  He’s unblinking. “So fucking beautiful it hurts.”

  Total. Panty. Dropper.

  I’m taken aback by his words; I’ve never been told anything like that before. Drake seldom complimented me, but when he did, it always felt . . . forced.

  Shouldn’t a husband find his wife beautiful, because she’s his precious treasure, and tell her often? My father did. I heard him tell my mother countless times how lovely she was.

  So fucking beautiful it hurts. Geez. Those words make my skin warm and my heart skip a beat.

  But I can’t afford to be carried away by pretty words. Beau Emerson is fluent in charming woman. In fact, he has to be twice as good as any other man if he’s to charm two women at once.

  I look down and dig through my clutch. I’m not looking for anything in particular. It’s a diversion so he won’t see how affected I am by his words. “Thank you.”

  He lifts my keycard from the tab
le and twiddles it between two fingers. “Looking for this?”

  “Yeah, thanks.” I take the plastic card from him and drop it into my purse.

  Beau gets the door for me, another thing Drake seldom did. “You’re quite the gentleman.”

  His hand comes to rest on my lower back as we exit, and chills erupt all over my body. No man’s touch has ever done that to me. I don’t think there was ever a time when Drake’s made my body react this way.

  “Gentleman in public. Alpha in the bedroom.” His words are accompanied by a seductive chortle.

  Alpha in the bedroom?

  That sounds hot, not like anything I experienced with my four years of mediocre, missionary-position sex.

  Sheez. That gives me way too much to think about tonight.

  The club is already packed when we enter. “Is this normal or is it extra crowded because of Wicked Week?”

  “I’ve never seen it this full.” He takes my hand to lead me through the mob. “Come on. Let’s get a drink.”

  He pushes his way to the bar. “What do you want?”

  I feel like a beer. “Stella.”

  “Nice choice. I think that’s what I’ll have too.”

  I move away from the bar to stand out of the path of drink seekers. I feel safer in the corner. I’m not a fan of how some, men and women, brush against me as they pass.

  I wave my hand when I see Beau searching the crowd. He gives me a quick upward nod of acknowledgement when he finds me.

  He holds out my Stella. “We’re not going to get a table . . . unless you want to be a little friendlier.”

  “No, thank you.” I’m good.

  “You might change your mind after you stand in those heels for a while.” I’m predicting he’s right. I’m already experiencing some discomfort.

  “I’ll be okay.”

  We move to the quietest spot in the club, but we’re still forced to yell over the music. We chitchat about this and that. Before I know it, we’ve each had four Stellas. “You drink beer like a man.”

  I shrug. “I’ve always been able to keep up.”

  Beau passes off our empty bottles to a waitress as she walks by. “Dance with me.”

  Four doses of personality enhancement. I’m so in. “Sure.”

  A fast-paced song with a lot of bass is thumping. It’s a great tempo for moving my hips. I know the lyrics by heart so I sing along. Of course, it’s too loud for Beau to hear me, which is good since I can’t sing worth a damn, but he watches my mouth and facial expressions. He grins and I’m reminded of how animated I can be when I get carried away over a great song.

  I move close to Beau. Very close. The dance floor is the one place in my book where it’s deemed acceptable to dry hump in public so I take advantage.

  I turn around and sway my hips, wiggling my bottom against him. He hooks his hand around my waist and pulls my body firmly against his. He grinds hard and there’s no question about what I’m feeling pressed against my ass.

  Being with someone like Beau is a game I don’t understand; I’ve not been taught the rules. I only know I like him and what’s happening between us.

  Beau holds my shoulders and guides me to turn around. He then moves his hold to my waist and drags his mouth down my front as he lowers himself in front of me. He moves his hands to my ass and pulls me against him so his face is pressed to my groin. I can feel his warm breath between my legs through the thin fabric of my dress.

  Oh, fuck. This is hot.

  He rises slowly. On the way up, his mouth hovers over mine. So close, yet so far away.

  The intimacy of the almost kiss is often times more powerful than the kiss itself.

  I want his lips on mine so badly. And I think he does, too. There’s a hunger in his eyes, but even if I couldn’t see it, I can feel it pressed against my stomach.

  My heart is pounding in my chest. He’s looking at my mouth so I lick my lips in anticipation. I’m waiting, expecting it any second, but the moment is lost when I feel someone dancing behind me. Or rather on me.

  I look over my shoulder and see some random guy thrusting his cock against my ass. Gross.

  I look at Beau to gauge his reaction. Does he like watching another man do this to me?

  This is a telltale moment. It will define this relationship and the immediate place it’s going because I’m not at all into what this guy is doing behind me.

  Beau leans forward and says something into his ear. The man gives me a nod and swiftly leaves.

  “I don’t know what you said to make him move along, but thank you.”

  “Some fail to recognize, or acknowledge, when their advances are unwelcome so they need a little push in the right direction.” He takes my hand in his. “Come on. I want to take you somewhere special.”

  “Are we leaving?” I’m having a good time. I don’t want to go yet.

  “No, but I know places where we won’t be bothered by people like that.”

  He leads me to a staircase where we run into a huge, muscled man with a head shaved slicker than an onion. He steps out of our way when he sees Beau. “Welcome back, Mr. Emerson.”

  “Thanks, Romario. This is Anna James Bennett. She’s my guest tonight.”

  “Welcome, Miss Bennett.”

  “Thank you.”

  Beau holds my hand as we ascend the staircase. “Where are we going?”

  “Can’t tell you. You’ll need to see it to understand.”

  We enter a dark room. The wall to my immediate left is made entirely of glass overlooking the dance club. “I didn’t notice this when we were downstairs.”

  “Most people don’t.”

  I’m confused by what I’m seeing.

  The room is completely black and white and accented with pops of red. Sin’s palette colors, again.

  To my right are rows of booths, very much like restaurant seating but with one huge exception. Beds are in place of tables. “What in the world is this place?”

  “A private couples lounge. Only guests who pay an access fee are allowed inside.”

  Each space is enclosed on three sides by walls with an opening facing the glass over the club. I notice several are closed off by thick velvet drapes.

  He’s still holding my hand when he leads me down the aisle in front of the first row. We pass several occupied booths. Some couples are having drinks as they observe the dancing below while others are involved in their own activities.

  Shit. I can’t wrap my mind around what’s happening publicly inside the enclosure we just passed.

  Beau stops at the booth on the end, right next to the couple having oral sex.

  Great. I’ll never unsee that.

  “This one is mine.” He tilts his head in the direction of the cunnilingus couple. “I lease it by the year so I don’t have to share a space with people like that.”

  Can’t say I blame him for that.

  I’m not able to resist peering over my shoulder at the show. It’s like a car wreck you can’t look away from. “They get off on being watched. That’s why their drape isn’t closed.”

  I feel dirty for looking.

  Beau gestures for me to go in first. “After you, Peach.”

  I ponder the best way to get inside. I’d get on my hands and knees and crawl in if I were wearing pants. That’s not a possibility with this dress so I guess it’s sit and scoot.

  I slide back a few inches at a time, pulling my dress down as I go so I don’t show him everything I have beneath.

  “I’ll get these for you.” Beau grasps the backs of my heels and slips them off. “Better?”

  “Yes! It was sort of dumb to wear them out dancing but I love the way they look with this dress.”

  “The dress. The shoes. You. All perfection.”

  Is that a line? If so, it’s a great one. And I’m falling for it. “You’re sweet.”

  He crawls in beside me on his hands and knees. “I’m being honest. You’re one of the most stunning women I’ve ever seen.”
r />   Swoon.

  Beau Emerson makes me feel like a woman. A desired woman. His words. The way he looks at me. His body language. Everything he does is a huge turn-on.

  We’re sitting close. All he’d have to do is lean over to kiss me. And I realize I want him to.

  “Drinks?” I jolt when a cocktail waitress appears at the foot of the bed. She’s dressed, if you can call it that, in what looks like an ensemble made from black electrical tape. There are a few strips here and there with very little left to the imagination.

  Beau doesn’t appear the least bit interested in her near bareness. He’s overlooking her because his complete attention is on me. I like that. “Beer?”

  “Sure.”

  We sit at the head of the bed, our backs resting against the stacks of pillows while having another Stella.

  Marian Hill’s “Got It” thumps below. Moaning from the neighboring couple carries into our booth. My every nerve ending is stimulated. Humming. Buzzing. Craving.

  I need a distraction.

  “Is Beau short for something?”

  He shakes his head. “It is but we’re not going there.”

  “Beaumont?” It’s the obvious choice. Maybe.

  He says nothing so perhaps not. “Beaudon? Beauchamp?” No response so I elbow him. “Tell me.”

  He chuckles while saying, “Big Beau.” I barely know him but I’m not the least bit surprised by his big cock remark.

  I giggle and choke on my drink. My mishap sends beer into my sinuses, causing me to accidentally snort. I cup my hand over my nose but do it again. “Sorry. I really didn’t mean to do that.”

  “This is a tight space. If you fart next, you’re outta here, Peach.”

  Omigod. I’m laughing so hard I lose my breath and tears pool in the corners of my eyes. “Dammit, you’re going to make me mess up my makeup.”

  I love Beau’s sense of humor but he’s trying to distract me from guessing his full name. “I think Beau is short for something dapper. Regal. And you hate it.” I rack my brain for a minute. “I forgot about Beauregard.”

  He chuckles, a low sound deep in his chest. “I’ll never tell.”

  I think I’ve hit the nail on the head. “Beauregard. That’s what I’m calling you unless you tell me otherwise.”