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  A Night at The Cavern

  Anna Alexander

  Book four in the Heroes of Saturn series.

  The motto at the city’s most hedonistic nightclub, The Cavern, is all about receiving what you need, and at the moment Miranda needed to sober up and get the hell out of there. Her lame attempt at adventure was about to go down as the stupidest idea ever when the club’s über-hunky designer whisks her onto the dance floor and offers to make her sexiest fantasies come true. Maybe it was the overpriced drinks talking, but if she was going to fail, it might as well be in a blaze of glory. Leather cuffs, bondage and forbidden pleasure? She’s all in.

  Jorges finds Miranda’s self-deprecating humor refreshing and falls for her girl-next-door charm as he coaxes her inner sex goddess out to play. Who knew that within the wallflower lurked a sizzling siren? Before the sun rises, Jorges realizes one night of passion will never be enough. Now he must convince Miranda she is exactly what he needs.

  A Romantica® contemporary erotic romance from Ellora’s Cave

  A Night at The Cavern

  Anna Alexander

  Dedication

  Para mi familia. Siempre.

  Chapter One

  Whoever designed this bra needed to be strung up with the straps and stabbed repeatedly in the gonads with sharp sticks.

  Miranda sneaked a quick glance around the crowded nightclub. As she expected, not a soul was looking her way. She dug the underwire out from under her right breast and readjusted her blouse in a vain attempt to cover the generous amount of cleavage she had on display.

  Roxanne owed her. Big-time. Who cared if her best friend won the bet fair and square? Humiliation was not the objective, although Miranda had foreseen exactly how the night was going to go down and took the stupid wager anyway. The least Roxanne could have done was allow her to dress in clothes that were not so…streetwalkerish. She didn’t need to look cheap as well as desperate.

  “Another cosmopolitan?” The bartender gestured to her half-full glass.

  She waved her hand over the top and shouted over the pounding music, “No thanks. I’m good.”

  Two cocktails a night was her limit and she was currently nursing her third. Although why, she hadn’t a clue. The alcohol was only prolonging this torture.

  “Actually, can I have the check, please?” As soon as the buzz wore off, she was out of there.

  “Sure.”

  God, was she ever the fool. Realistically, how was the night supposed to have played out? She’d walk into The Cavern, the city’s most hedonistic nightclub, and…what? Find the perfect one-night stand? Find “the one” to live happily ever after with, in kinky bliss? Ha! Now there’s insanity talking because seriously, how many staid and upstanding men hang out in a nightclub where women jiggled like Jell-O shots and freely gave blowjobs in the middle of the dance floor?

  Stop, Miranda. Anxiety is making you catty. These people are probably quite lovely if given a chance to know them better.

  Yes, The Cavern did have an unseemly reputation as the go-to place for illicit encounters, but the furnishings were lush with dark mahogany and maroon suede fabrics that beckoned one to relax. Soft pools of buttery light illuminated intimate seating areas and made the shadows inviting for a secret rendezvous. As an additional bonus there appeared to be a large number of straight men in attendance, which might sound strange if she spoke the thought out loud. With her job as a coordinator in a party rental store, all the men she came into contact with were either engaged or gay. To be surrounded by this much hetero-ness was a novelty.

  If she had not been on her own, the techno music and half-naked people were actually quite welcoming for a den of vice.

  Den of vice? A short snort of laughter hurt her sinuses. When Tennessee Williams made an appearance in your thoughts, it was definitely time to go home.

  “Here you go.”

  The bartender placed her drink ticket next to her glass. The black ink was bold against the glowing white thermal paper under the black light.

  Forty-eight dollars for three drinks? Fuck that, she mentally sputtered and took a swallow of the sweet concoction, letting it linger on her tongue. After the liquid slid down her throat, she licked the sugar from the rim, savoring every drop of the overpriced drink. Even if she had to wait another hour for the alcohol to burn out of her system, no way was she leaving any moisture on the glass.

  From out of nowhere a wave of electric heat whipped up her back, making the glass falter in her hand. Her nipples tightened, scraping against the lace of her bra as she became achingly aware of the throbbing emptiness of her suddenly soaking sheath.

  Holy hell, what was wrong with her? Who knew that fifty bucks of liquor caused near orgasmic sensations? Had someone slipped something into her drink?

  Miranda glanced to her left and right and noticed she wasn’t the only one riding the wave of lust. A couple next to her was engaged in a lip-lock so deep Miranda swore they were sucking the enamel off each other’s teeth. The bartender gripped the edge of the small sink, his breath whooshed in and out in hard bellows. His eyes glittered with confusion and hunger as he stared out toward the dance floor.

  She followed his gaze and sucked in a sharp breath as she spotted a pair of dancers, who appeared to be in their own little world. The man stood head and shoulders above everyone on the floor. The fierce darkness of his features was a stunning contrast to the petite, silver-haired beauty in his arms. Through the sway of bodies Miranda could see him curled possessively around his partner. His tan fingers cupped her curvy backside as they flowed as one to the sensuous rhythm. The look of longing he wore on his handsome face made Miranda’s eyes tear up, for with it there was also a flash of pain so intense, she felt the punch in her chest. It was as if he were dying of thirst and unable to drink from the well in his hands.

  Suddenly his lips curled in a snarl and he wrenched the woman out of his arms. Instantly the sensual spell was broken and Miranda was able to draw a ragged, humid breath. Although she couldn’t hear what was being said, the effect his words had on his companion rippled through the crowd as if they all had been slapped in the face.

  With a stiff bow, the man walked away, disappearing into the shadows. The remaining dancers surrounded the woman, who must be mortified to have suffered such a humiliating rejection in public. Apparently the club’s motto, “All who enter will receive exactly what they need” was nothing but words etched into the mosaic tiles. Nobody needed to be treated like that.

  Miranda groaned and pressed her face into her hands. With each passing minute she wanted to curl tighter into a ball and wished with all her might that when she opened her eyes, she’d be in the safety of her bed with the sheets drawn up to her chin and this was all one of those horrible dreams, like the ones when you’re out naked in public.

  One eye popped open, revealing the cute bartender staring at her with a concerned frown. She offered a faint wave and a weak smile while calling herself an idiot ten times over.

  She had to sober up. With her drink almost empty, she really should give her seat up to another paying customer, but the thought of leaving the shelter of her self-made cocoon to traverse across the club nearly made her cry.

  With another furtive glance around the room she noticed a group of women dancing together close to one of the cage dancers. Perhaps she could slide up to them, pretend she’s part of their group to help burn the alcohol out of her system then—oh!

  Her jaw dropped and she looked away with a cringe. Right. Girl-on-girl-on-girl-on-girl French kissing was not part of that plan. Seriously, how can four women feel anything sensual when their tongues were flicking about as if they were licking the air?

  Hysterical laughter bubbled from her lips. Dear God. Sh
e covered her face again to hide her burning cheeks. What was she doing here?

  “Hello. Care to share the joke?”

  Miranda turned toward the raspy, dulcet voice and promptly choked on an indrawn breath as she gazed up at the Adonis standing by her side.

  If sin and impetuousness conceived a child, this man would be their progeny. White-tipped blond hair fell across his forehead and framed the bluest eyes she’d only ever seen in satin fabric swatches. His chiseled jaw looked so smooth, she wanted to lick the skin to test the velvet texture. A black scrollwork tattoo peeked out from the collar of his white cotton shirt. Under the thin fabric, the shadow of the body art ran across his chest and down his flat abs, disappearing under the waistband of his jeans.

  As she continued to gawk, his smile widened and those baby-blues sparkled as if her reaction was exactly what he expected.

  “I—” She licked her dry lips. “I, uh, hi. I…I was just laughing at myself.” She looked at her glass and rubbed the delicate stem between her nervous fingers. If she continued to gaze at him, something stupid was going to blurt out of her mouth, she just knew it.

  “Is this your first time here?”

  Obvious much? “Yeah.”

  “And you’re not enjoying yourself. At least you don’t appear to be. You’ve been staring at that dance floor an awfully long time. Why aren’t you out there?”

  He’d been watching her? Holy crap. How many other hunky guys were hiding in the shadows, watching her be a total goober?

  She waved her hand to encompass the environment. “This isn’t really my scene.”

  “And what scene would that be?”

  “Having a good time with a bunch of strangers.”

  His laugh was deep and seductive. In response her spine straightened, lifting her breasts in a subconscious effort to present her best posture.

  “Do you come here often?” she asked, then mentally smacked herself in the head. That was so lame.

  “Probably more often than I should.” He squeezed his lean, muscular body between her and the woman seated on the stool next to them. “I’m Jorges. I designed this club.”

  Heat burned her through their clothes where he pressed along her arm and side. His palm was just as warm as she clumsily shook his offered hand and felt her brain short circuit from his electric touch.

  What did he say? Right. Introductions. “I’m Miranda.”

  “Miranda or Mandy?”

  “Ugh, no. Just Miranda. Did you really design all of this?”

  “Yes ma’am. Every inch. Well, the owner, Amaryllis, she had a few ideas. She wanted a place where all who entered felt welcomed and had a safe place to fulfill their deepest desires.”

  “That’s a lofty expectation.”

  “If you’re going to aim, might as well aim high. So tell me, Miranda, what do you desire?”

  “I don’t think I’m the best person to ask that question to.”

  “Why not?”

  Maybe it was the alcohol, or perhaps it was knowing that the only reason a hunk like him was talking to her was because he was trying to keep the customers happy. Whatever the reason, she experienced the uncommon urge to confess her feelings to another.

  “Because I’m a chickenshit and can’t even admit them to myself let alone a stranger.”

  His booming laughter drew several glances their way, and when he laid his big hand over hers, she about swallowed her tongue. She froze, afraid to even breathe lest he pull away.

  “I find your honesty refreshing.” His bright smile drew her gaze to his firm lips. “Let me read your mind and take a guess at what you desire.”

  So many illicit ideas were running through her head right then, she couldn’t even keep track of them all.

  Jorges looked her deep in the eyes, mesmerizing her with his deep-blue gaze and the devilishness flittering in his smile. “I think…you want to dance. How about it?”

  How about what? Wait. What? She blinked hard. “You want to dance with me?”

  “Yeah. Come on.”

  Oh, okay. He wanted to brush that hard body against her? Yippee. “Let me pay for my drinks first.”

  “Don’t worry about it.” He caught the bartender’s attention and wadded her tab into a ball. “She’s with me.”

  “Sure thing, Jorges.”

  He was going to dance with her and take care of her bill?

  I think I love him. Miranda bit her lip, fighting down the surge of pleasure that shot through her.

  Her joy was tempered as the crowd parted for her gorgeous companion, and women, and some men, looked at Jorges as if they could already taste the salt of his skin on their tongue.

  Who was she kidding? Compared to Jorges, she was just a lump of nothing special.

  The Latin rhythm of the music pulsing through the speakers was perfect for hip rolling and booty shaking, yet Miranda felt as stiff and awkward as a ten-year-old boy forced to attend a cotillion. She sucked in her stomach and moved as little as possible to avoid shimmying like a bowl of jelly.

  Jorges slipped his arm around her waist and pulled her tight into the curve of his body. From breast to thigh, not even light passed between them and her knees trembled. His warm breath tickled her neck as he murmured in her ear, “Stop thinking. Pretend it’s just you and me, and let go.”

  As she inhaled in his man-and-soap scent, Miranda realized he was right. She was thinking too much. For some reason the cute-guy gods were smiling down on her and she was letting her crappy self-esteem ruin the moment. It was one dance. If she didn’t blow it, more might follow. All she had to do was enjoy the moment for what it was. Magic.

  With a deep breath she closed her eyes and soared.

  Chapter Two

  Jorges watched the caterpillar in his arms turn into a gorgeous butterfly and laughed with delight. Miranda was unexpected in so many ways. When Amaryllis had pointed out the nondescript woman earlier, he had only seen a girl who was so out of her element, her plainness had actually drawn attention. But his friend had seen right to the heart of Miranda to what Jorges had been too dense to notice, and that was a woman who had not been given the opportunity to shine.

  “Every woman deserves to feel beautiful, Jorges,” Amaryllis had said.

  Being beautiful and feeling beautiful were entirely different entities, which he was now beginning to understand. He designed a nightclub where sex was enjoyed however and whenever a person wanted, so he had grown accustomed to women who reveled in the power they wielded with their sexuality, and even those who didn’t learned pretty fast. With a face and body like his, he was used to receiving flirtatious glances and sexy banter, and Miranda had behaved exactly the opposite.

  She hadn’t played coy, leaving it to him to decide to be the aggressor or the prey, and she was herself, honest and beautiful. His curiosity about her had grown as they stepped onto the dance floor and her posture stiffened. Her movements jerked unnaturally as he saw self-doubt flitter through her mind in her wide eyes. But now that she let go of the fears that held her in check, she glowed from within like a thousand candles igniting at once.

  Her brown eyes sparkled as her full, pouty lips parted with her lyrical laughter. She lifted her arms and her head tipped back, the soft length of her dark hair caressing his hands where they rested low on her spine. Dance steps that were once timid liquefied as she rolled her hips and swayed with the beat. She moved in a smooth mambo rhythm and when he led her into a tight box step, she followed as if they’d been dance partners for years.

  “That’s my girl,” he murmured in her ear so he could be heard over the music. “I knew this vixen was hiding in you somewhere.”

  “I wouldn’t go that far.”

  Jorges pressed his planes into her curves and cupped her hips with his hands. She had a full, hourglass shape that was so very feminine yet strong at the same time. A warm current of arousal ran down his spine and settled in his groin. A sensual reaction he couldn’t remember the last time he experienced, if at all, i
n his life. Usually when he spotted a woman he was attracted to, lust would strike fast and he’d be hard as a baseball bat, immediately ready for action. But this was different. The sensation was effervescent, like sitting in a Jacuzzi with a jet of water stroking gentle bubbles along every erogenous zone. The feeling was so…pleasant. Such a pedestrian word, but true.

  There was no doubt in his mind that before the night was out, the two of them were going to bring the roof down together, but he was in no rush. This slow simmer was an aphrodisiac of its own, which whetted his appetite for the lovely Miranda all the more.

  A hard hand clapped him on the shoulder. “Jorges, my man.”

  “Ryan,” he greeted the newcomer who stepped around them to spoon behind Miranda.

  “Who’s your friend?” He flashed Miranda a wolfish grin and matched the sway of his lean body to the smooth rhythm of their dance.

  On any other night, Ryan’s presence would have added an extra element of excitement to the possibilities of the evening. The former bull rider liked to manage his women like he had his cattle. Add in his wicked imagination and you had some of the craziest nights Jorges had ever had. But this time annoyance tightened over his brow as he watched the cowboy sweep aside Miranda’s hair to drop a kiss on her shoulder.

  “Damn, girl, you’re a luscious handful,” Jorge heard Ryan say over the booming music. “Is my boy here showing you a good time?”

  Miranda licked her lips and nodded. Her steps lost a bit of their fluidity as Ryan gripped her by the hips and ground his groin into her backside.

  “If you give us a chance, we could give you the night of your life, sweet thing.”

  She jumped when he nipped at her lobe, and Jorges monitored her reaction carefully. How far could he push her this night? Would she run from the idea of engaging in the forbidden or would she embrace the dark half of her desires?

  Blood and fire raced to his cock as Miranda melted in his arms. The hard points of her nipples pressed against his chest and her lips parted on a ragged breath. Her nails bit into his shoulders as she looked up at him with those big, dark eyes that softened with sensuality. She licked her lips again and swiveled her hips, teasing their cocks with the softness of her curves.