Nana winks at me; she’s such a character.

  “Trick’s a unique name.” Rachel’s eyebrows furrow, eyes blinking.

  “It’s short for Patrick.”

  Her tongue brushes the inside of her lower lip as she gives a slow nod. “How did you meet?”

  “He’s been doing my makeup for these ‘required’ events.”

  “Well, you should bring him to dinner this week before I fly back to New York.”

  “Yes, dear, you should, and you should pick your nana up on the way.” Nana’s posture stiffens with an air of readiness.

  “Our schedules can be difficult to coordinate…” I glare at Nana for her encouraging this “…but I’ll see what I can do.”

  “Perfect. Text me, darling.” Rachel flips her hair and waddles away in her black satin mermaid gown.

  “Thanks for that.”

  Nana wraps her arm around my waist. “It’s going to be the highlight of my year. I can’t wait to see how your father handles an entire meal with your rebel artist.”

  “He’s not a rebel. That’s such a stereotype, Nana.”

  Okay, the fact that he could show up to dinner packing might qualify him for rebel status.

  “He’s a gay man banging the Senator’s daughter. If that’s not a rebel then I don’t know what is.”

  My chest hitches and my skin flushes as I huddle down closer to her ear. “He’s not gay, Nana!” I grit through my teeth.

  Her eyes light up. “Oh my, this just keeps getting better.”

  I’m sure it’s a hundred ways of wrong that I won’t vote for my own father in the upcoming election, but I detest the limelight, the deceit, the scandals, and the whole mockery of expectations that has jaded our political system. Everything is so elaborate and so … not me. Nana fits in only because she’s lived this life for so long, but she’s managed to navigate through it all while keeping a sense of herself.

  I can’t, not anymore. I’m tired of taking one for the team—a team I no longer want to be on. As our dinner plates are replaced with dessert plates, I push back my chair. The room is mammoth, but I feel so claustrophobic that I want to crawl out of my own skin. The orchestra, the numbing conversation, the eager waiting staff doing everything but wiping my ass—it’s too much.

  “I’m leaving,” I whisper to Nana as she listens to some lady with diarrhea of the mouth go on about the exhausting task of organizing luncheons, tennis matches, dinner parties, and how she hasn’t had a mani-pedi in over two weeks.

  That’s what the wealthy call slumming—pathetic!

  Nana nods, squeezing my hand while pretending to be enthralled in what the woman has to say. Nana’s a saint.

  My driver is summoned to the front of the hotel, and as soon as I get in I call Trick.

  “Hey.”

  “I’m leaving the hotel and I could use help with my zipper.”

  “Hmm, you didn’t stay long.” The vibrating edge to his hum lights a fire in my belly as the butterflies take flight.

  “Do that again.” I squeeze my legs together and close my eyes.

  “Do what?

  “That.” I moan. “God, Trick. When you talk it feels like you’re stripping me with your voice and leaving me naked—begging for just one more word.”

  “Darby—”

  “That’s it, keep talking.”

  He chuckles. “Grady invited a few friends over. Have your driver bring you here, but call me and I’ll come get you from the car.”

  “Trick, I’m physically overdressed, mentally naked, and in desperate need of a Trick fix. I’ll go home and you call me when everyone leaves.”

  “Trick fix? That’s my line. You’ll be asleep before that happens. Just come here. I’ll take care of you.”

  “What does that mean? You’ll have a change of clothes for me or you’ll give me what I need?”

  “Just come.”

  He ends the call leaving me a puddle on the seat. When the driver pulls up along the street, I text Trick to let him know I’m here.

  I open the door before the driver has a chance to get out when I see Trick appear around the corner. He’s decked out in black, including his guyliner, with his arm tats on display right down to his leather wristbands. Perfection!

  Tightening my wrap around my shoulders to block the wind, I clink over to Trick in my heels designed to torture my toes.

  “Come.” He wraps his arm around me, leading me inside where the warm air greets my chilled body.

  Before we get to the elevator I hear laughter and voices from above. “How many people did Grady invite over?”

  “Fifty or so.”

  “Fifty? Ten is inviting a few friends over. Fifty is a party.”

  He shuts the gate to the elevator, grabs my hands pinning them behind my back, and pushes me into the wall, my chest pressed against his. “So tell me about this fix you need.” The elevator jerks into motion as his lips hover achingly close over mine.

  I swallow hard then lunge for his lips, but he pulls his head back, denying me.

  “Tell me.” He ducks his head, lips ghosting over the swell of my breasts. “Tell me what you need,” he whispers.

  “I-I—”

  We jolt to a stop and someone slides open the gate, but my eyes don’t leave his. And there it is—the lip twitch.

  “Too late.” He winks.

  “Darby!” Grady yells.

  Trick steps back dragging his eyes the full length of my body—tempting me, teasing me, torturing me. A mob of people I’ve never seen pull him off in one direction while Grady kisses my cheeks.

  “Well look who just walked off the cover of Vogue!” He holds me at arm’s length. “Remember, Trick’s mine tonight,” Grady leans in and whispers into my ear. “Now, get a drink and mingle.” He pushes me into the crowd toward the kitchen.

  Trick’s mine tonight?

  I catch a lot of interesting looks, some a little creepy, as I navigate to the kitchen. This eclectic gathering has it all: goth, runway model, tattoos, piercings, shaved heads, fancy hats, and even the beanie-cap-saggy-pant-rapper look. The only thing missing is an over-dressed Senator’s daughter.

  Here! Let the fun begin.

  “Don’t mind Grady…” I turn to a friendly smile from Tamsen “…the gay masquerade has been a symbiotic relationship between Trick and him for years. So even if Trick decides he’s ready to come out of the reverse gay closet, Grady still needs his favorite decoy.”

  “Decoy?” I laugh because there’s nothing normal about Grady and Trick.

  “Grady’s my brother and I love him, but he’s a man’s man-whore.”

  I look around for Grady and Trick and to see who else is listening to Tamsen. “So what does that have to do with Trick?”

  Tamsen loops her arm around mine, pulling me out of the congregation of people and off to the side. “Grady has a knack for falling for married men, usually ones who have lots of money and a reputation to protect.”

  “Married men?” I’m feeling dense, completely incapable of following what she’s saying.

  Tamsen laughs. “Yes, married men who live two lives. The socially acceptable one with the wife, three kids, and a dog, and the one that involves Grady booking fancy hotel rooms for the weekend so they can be who they really are.”

  “But Trick—”

  She holds up one finger. “I’m getting there. Trick … well look at him; who cheats on a guy that looks like that?” Tamsen winks at me. “So nobody ever suspects that Grady is a home wrecker and Trick gladly vouches for him whenever he gets into a sticky situation. He’s the perfect decoy and always willing to offer Grady an alibi because Trick’s fine with people thinking he’s gay, especially women.” She giggles. “However, it’s quite fun to see guys hit on him.”

  “I-I don’t know what to say …”

  “Well, you’ve swooped in and turned Trick completely inside-out so Grady knows their mutual agreement is about to expire. He’s just buying time, that’s all.”

  “So I’m supposed to pretend that I’m not with Trick?”

  Tamsen shrugs. “No.” Lifting up on her tiptoes, she looks around the room and grins as her eyes fix on something or someone. “As you can see, the women are all over Trick. They always are, like they think they can convert him, but he ignores them like any gay guy would.” She purses her lips to contain her smirk. “However, if it were me, I would play it up to my advantage.” Looking me over, her grin widens. “You look hot tonight and there’s not a straight guy in this room who hasn’t noticed you, so I’d find my own group of attention. At least if it were my man, I’d make him sweat it out for a while.”

  “You think I should flirt with other guys?”

  “Flirt, no. Trick’s not flirting. In fact, if you asked him he’d say he’s just not making waves. So you should wade through the pond, and if you catch a few fish along the way, so be it. Just don’t make waves.”

  I love Tamsen. She’s the girlfriend I never had but have always wanted. “You’re evil … but brilliant.” I grin.

  She hands me a glass of wine and nudges me toward the crowd. “Nope, just experienced. Now go get ’em.”

  Squeezing through the crowd, I look for a friendly face.

  “Hey there.”

  I turn. Bingo! I’m not proud of the fact that I’m quite familiar with knowing when a guy’s interested. After I grew out of my nerd girl phase in high school, I rebelled … really rebelled. I lost my virginity in the restroom of a pub on campus to a guy I met two hours earlier—not my proudest moment. I never saw him again after that night. With rebellion comes the stubborn attitude that all your bad decisions are someone else’s fault. Those first two years, everything was my father’s fault.

  “I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure yet. I’m Drake”

  I grin inside. Drake has a few too many piercings for my taste, but the tats on his brawny arms and up his thick neck rival Trick’s. His head is shaved, but his blue eyes mirror mine and so does his friendly smile.

  “I’m Darby.”

  Drake plays into Tamsen’s plan as if he’s been hired to do so. Placing his hand on my bare lower back he pulls me closer to his side. “Phil, Bradley, Todd, meet Darby.” The skinheads circle me with greedy eyes.

  “Darby, your dress is the shit!” Todd licks his lips while his eyes take liberty with my body.

  “Thanks, I just came from another event so I feel a little overdressed.”

  Bradley shakes his head, eyes glassy. “Nope you’re fucking perfect.”

  “She is isn’t she?” Drake’s hand slips an inch lower.

  Don’t make waves. Don’t make waves.

  “How do you know Grady and Trick?” Drake lightly teases circles on my skin.

  I look around and spot Trick among a crowd of women, but his eyes are fixed on me. The petite brunette on his right teases the tips of her fingers along Trick’s waistband just under his shirt.

  Yeah, this is bullshit!

  “I’m a client of Trick’s,” I mumble, keeping my eyes on Trick.

  “I see. Well, have you seen the upstairs? If not I could give you a private tour.”

  Drake’s words are a distant echo over my mind’s attention on Trick. “Um … will you excuse me for a moment?”

  I step away from the pack and head straight to Trick, who is leaning on the back of the couch acting like a llama at a petting zoo. There are so many women around him he’s untouchable to me. It’s like he’s some rock star and I can’t see over his groupies.

  “Pardon me. Excuse me. Step aside please.” I elbow my way through the women, earning a slew of nasty looks and catty hisses. As I steal the position directly in front of Trick, he crosses his arms over his chest. I cross my arms mirroring him, like we’re seconds away from a showdown.

  I don’t know if it’s the little bit of wine I’ve had, my worn nerves from the gala, or my need to be alone with Trick, but something snaps and my mind forgets all reason and my words escape all censorship. “I think Drake wants to take me upstairs for a quick fuck. What do you think about that?”

  Our small circle of spectators falls silent with the exception of a few gasps and whispers. Trick has dominant control over his emotions, but I can see in the slight tensing of his jaw that it’s wavering.

  I purse my lips, tilting my head to the side. “So you don’t have any thoughts on the matter?” I raise my shoulders. “Okay then, he seems like a nice enough guy and I’m horny as hell right now so have a pleasant evening, Mr. Roth.” Turning on my heels, the crowd of women part like the Red Sea and I strut my stuff straight toward Drake.

  “Come!” A strong hand with a painful grip clasps my arm, jerking me in the opposite direction.

  Practically dragging me onto the elevator, Trick slams the gate shut and flips the switch down. I try to free myself from his hold, but he tightens it, yanking me into his chest. Releasing my hand, he grabs my head and kisses this life and maybe my next out of me. His tongue demands all of my mouth and his lips possess mine in a frenzy of emotion that’s filled with such passion my whole world spins on his axis.

  The elevator stops. His mouth and unforgiving stubble make a punishing trip down my neck as his hands clench my ass so tight I can already feel my skin bruising. “Don’t ever fuck with me like that again,” he warns, each word feels like lightening cracking through the air sending chills along my spine.

  I take two fists full of his hair and jerk his head away from my neck. “Don’t ever let another fucking woman touch you like that again.” I grit each word through clenched teeth, chest heaving, eyes wild.

  He leers at me with such intensity I swear he’s seeing more than I see in myself. Then his expression surrenders: lips soften, jaw relaxes, eyes come to life. His hands cover mine until I release his hair, and he guides them to his face, closing his eyes like he’s feeling my touch in his soul. He nods. “These hands … only these hands …”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Darby Carmichael does what I swore no woman would ever do—she owns me. Period. I offered nothing, yet she took everything, and I don’t fucking ever want it back.

  “Let me,” she whispers as I start to remove my shirt.

  I raise my arms, surrendering to her as the dark material is pulled from my body. Her eyes explore my marked flesh, and when her pink tongue slides out to wet those perfect cherry lips … dear God, I want to fall to my knees right here in her bedroom and beg for redemption. I’ll worship her until the day I die because only her touch can take away the sins that plague my jaded soul.

  I clench my fists as she pulls down my pants. She wants this … me. She wants to see all of me. My control wavers on the edge of insanity because all I want is to touch her, taste her … inhale her like the addict I never knew I was. The addict I … Never. Knew. I. Was.

  For a brief moment I squeeze my eyes shut, fighting to remember, dying to forget.

  She’s clueless to the depths of her own beauty. I’ve hidden myself behind ink and makeup just like I’ve done for so many other people. But Darby has the purest, unmarked skin I’ve ever seen. Her auburn hair pulls the most incredible hues of blue from her eyes. She’s … stunning.

  When she reaches behind and unzips her dress, letting it pool at her feet, I die a little. Subtle curves with definition and purpose exemplify the essence of female beauty exactly how it was meant to be. Stepping out of her dress, she moves behind me. I suck in a breath as her lips press to my back, fingertips tracing the ink all the way to my shoulder.

  “This …” she whispers “…the colors are exquisite…” she moves her lips along my tattoo, “…but why a vulture?”

  Pump, pump, pump.

  I continue to clench my fists, feeling all my muscles go rigid in response. My God, the need to touch her is excruciating. “Unconventionality … destruction … death, but also patience…” I swallow “…renewal … protection.”

  Her fingers ghost down my arm as she moves in front of me again. The softest gaze follows her touch over my diverse palate of feathers, flowers, and a river of flowing black letters and symbols all the way to my hand.

  How will I ever tell her that I don’t know what half of them mean? How will I show her what I can’t see?

  “I love you, Trick.” Soft eyes find mine, then fall to her finger tracing over the wide black sanskrit from my lower abs around to my back. “What does this mean?”

  “Don’t look back in anger,” I whisper.

  Her delicate brows tense as she moves her head in a slow single nod. “You and I …” she presses her lips to my chest “…we’re not a game. No more pretending.” She looks up at me.

  “No more pretending,” I confirm.

  Turning her back to me, she removes her panties then draws her long hair over her shoulder. I kiss her neck and die a little more as her body shudders from my touch. Unhooking her bra, I whisper in her ear, “Do you wonder what you’re doing with me?”

  Her breath catches in her chest as she turns to me. “Sometimes …” Her eyes flit between my eyes and my mouth.

  I devour the lips I crave while laying her on her bed. Her fingers make a deep claim into my back while her legs clasp around my ass, drawing me inside. Heavy eyelids surrender; she moans my name. Resisting the urge to move, my jaw relaxes to release my labored breath as I wait for her to look at me again.

  Opening her eyes she moves her hands to my face. “But most of the time…” she kisses me and I rock my hips into her beautiful body “…I wonder what I’d ever do without you.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Trick plays every part of my body with the expert precision of a concert pianist playing ten sheets of Bach—soft, hard, fast, slow, and an infinity of beautiful in between.

  “Trick … please …. oh please … I-I’m so close … oh … God … there, right … there …” I arch my back, sitting astride him as our bodies sync in rhythm, seeking the pinnacle of sexual pleasure.