ANightatTheCavern Read online

  Jorges bent his knees and rocked against her belly. He wanted to see her trapped between them, naked and panting as both men rode her to the edge of pleasure and dropped her over the edge.

  But not tonight.

  No, this evening he wanted her all to himself. He had a sixth sense that she had given herself permission to behave out of the ordinary while inside the club. She was going to cross boundaries she never thought existed, and he wanted to be the one to set her spirit free.

  “Not tonight, Ry. She’s all mine.”

  “Are you serious, man?”

  He answered by cupping her hips and pulling her away from the handsome cowboy.

  “Let me know if you change your mind.” Ryan parted with a kiss to her cheek. “Catch you later, sweetness.”

  Miranda trembled in his arms. Her gaze was fixed on his Adam’s apple and she measured her breathing as if she were pacing herself during a 5K run.

  “I’m sorry if he upset you.”

  “H-he didn’t.” She peeked up at him with a quivering smile then glanced back down.

  The delightful scrape of her hardened nipples against his chest intrigued him. “Did you want him to stay?”

  “Only if you did.” She bit her lip then said, “It sounded as if you two share…dance…partners often.”

  The subtle innuendo in her observation made him smile and his cock twitch. “On occasion.”

  Her breath whooshed out and she stumbled. He was about to probe her interest further when the music changed to a throbbing hip-hop number with a booming bass line and guttural shouts, which made it difficult to hear his own thoughts, let alone ask her any questions.

  Taking her hand, he gestured to his ears and mouthed the word “loud” before motioning for her to follow. He led her through the crush of bodies and up the sweeping staircase to where he didn’t have to compete for her attention.

  The cove was designed for patrons to enjoy the music of the dance floor but in a more private setting, which allowed for intimate conversations. Swaths of silk in reds and browns hung from the ceiling in tracks that could be maneuvered around to create even more seclusion. Curved couches in soft tan suede resembled the dips of a woman’s body and were just as luscious to sit upon.

  He chose a quieter spot in the corner and held up a bottle he pulled from an ice chest near the couch. “Water?”

  “Yes, thank you.” She pressed the cool bottle to her cleavage.

  “Please, sit.”

  “Okay.” She perched on the edge of the seat at the farthest end of the couch from him.

  He bit the inside of his cheek and scooted a few inches closer while Miranda read the label on the bottle as if it held all of life’s secrets. He stretched his arm along the back of the couch, sweeping her hair off her shoulder with the motion.

  “Do I make you nervous?”

  “What? No, uh…” The plastic crunched in her grip as she brought the bottle to her lips and drank. And drank. And drank. When she lowered the bottle she nodded. “Yes. Yes, you do. Frankly, you terrify me.”

  “In a good way or bad?”

  “Both.”

  “What can I do to put you at ease?”

  “Not be so good-looking? Seriously, I don’t think we’re even from the same species.” In the low light he saw a flush bloom up her neck to kiss her cheeks. “And I’m babbling. Sorry. I just don’t meet men like you every day. If ever,” she finished under her breath.

  The compliment stroked his ego, and while he was dying to know what kind of man she thought he was, he refused to ask. This night was about her, not collecting compliments about himself. “I don’t meet women like you very often either.”

  “You mean like socially inept?”

  He laughed. “I mean genuine. And your smile is amazing, and the way you dance, you’re so sensual. I want to fill my hands with you and feel you move against my body.”

  “Wow.” She sighed and blinked at him with wide eyes. “That’s quite a line.”

  “It’s not a line. If I didn’t think you’d jump out of your skin, I’d take your hand and prove how much you affect me.”

  Her gaze shot down to his lap, where he didn’t bother to hide his growing erection, then skidded to the side. She brought the bottle back to her mouth and guzzled ’til empty.

  Damn, she was adorable when flustered. Perhaps a change of subject was in order to help her relax. “Tell me, Miranda, what brought you to the club tonight?”

  The question was asked to put her at ease, but appeared to have the opposite effect as her posture shot up straighter and her eyes stayed downcast as she picked at a nonexistent spot on her short skirt.

  “I lost a bet,” she finally admitted in a voice so small, he was only able to hear her because he was focused on her full lips.

  “And coming here was some sort of punishment?”

  “No.” She laughed, then shrugged. “More like a kick in the ass. See, my friend Roxanne has this amazing voice and for years I’ve been trying to get her to audition for one of those television talent shows. We work for the same event supply company, you know, where you can rent tables and dishes and linens and stuff, and every time we do a big event, I mention how unexciting my life is. So, Roxanne proposed a bet. Highest sales of the quarter won. If I won, she had to go to the next audition. If she won, I had to come here for some excitement. I lost by nine dollars and eighty-two cents.”

  He inched closer and fingered a lock of her hair. “Do you still think you lost?”

  The tops of her breasts shimmied with her stuttered breath and the smoldering gaze she sent him through her lashes had his muscles tightening. With her slightest provocation his body was ready to leap upon her and take what her pouty lips promised.

  “Jury’s still out,” she whispered then swept her tongue across her lower lip.

  If she had been any other woman who came into the club, he’d have thought this sultry innocent act was fake, however, the way her knee bounced and how she trembled as if she’d taken a hit of pure caffeine made him see her for what she really was—a woman who didn’t believe in her own power. Whoever instilled in her such low self-esteem needed to be beaten repeatedly, and he’d be happy to apply the whip. Fortunately, he found her before any damage became irreversible. By the time the sun rose, he’d make sure Miranda never doubted her power again.

  “So, you’re a designer?” she asked, breaking into his thoughts of vengeance on her behalf.

  “Yep. I specialize in nightclubs and restaurants. I’ve been fortunate enough to have worked with some of the premier restaurateurs in the world.”

  “Do you have a favorite location? Or is each one like a child? Too difficult to pick.”

  “I have a few, for different reasons. But truthfully, this one here is my favorite. I worked with the owner, Amaryllis, before on her restaurant, Tutala. Have you heard of it?”

  “Of course I have. My company has worked with her before on special events. It’s how I heard about The Cavern. You designed Tutala? It’s gorgeous. So romantic and elegant. Wow. I would have never guessed it was designed by the same person. It’s so much different here. No, I mean—” Streaks of red bloomed on her cheeks. “Not bad different, just different.”

  He put his arm around her shoulder and inched closer. “I understand what you mean. Amaryllis gave me free rein to make her dream of the ultimate adult playground a reality, which allowed me to put more of my own personality into the design. At a time when I was getting bored with my work, that freedom was exactly what I needed to become inspired again. Amaryllis is good at that, getting people what they need.

  “Oh.” She shifted away. “Is she your girlfriend? You sound like you’re close.”

  “Amaryllis? No, she’s—” Uh, hmm. How to define their relationship? Since they did hit the sheets on occasion, familial sounded too incestuous. But friends was not adequate enough. “I guess you can say she’s a friend with benefits.”

  Miranda nodded. “I can see how you may hav
e a few of those.” Her eyes widened. “I didn’t mean that like it sounded. It’s just that you must meet a ton of women here, and I’m sure you have favorites and—oh God, just shoot me now.” She dropped her face into her hands.

  “No, no. Don’t worry about it,” he said, even though the innocent remark struck him like a left jab to the gut.

  How could he be offended when in his heart he knew she was right? His relationships ran more toward the “for a good time call” than anything remotely resembling a commitment. He was young, single and willing, eager to sample from the buffet of women who frequented the club. There was no shame in tasting from life’s banquet, but having it acknowledged in Miranda’s voice unsettled him more than he thought possible.

  What was is about her that made her opinion matter so much? Was it her wholesomeness he found fascinating? The girl next door with a hint of rebel that ensnared his interest? She was like gourmet comfort food. Simple. Classic. A meal you craved because it satisfied and made you feel secure like a good hug.

  Firecrackers were spectacular and brilliant, but also fizzled quickly. A steady flame was constant beauty, welcoming and warm. Perhaps that was why he was so drawn to her. Perhaps his soul was cold and languishing, in need of some of her heat, if only for the night.

  “Miranda.” He pulled her hands away from her face and held them in his grasp. Leaning close he asked, “Of all the clubs, why did you choose to come here?”

  When she laughed, her breath ghosted across his lips. “I don’t know.”

  “You do know. Don’t be afraid to go after what you want.” He closed the scant distance between them and pressed his lips to hers.

  He kept the pressure light, familiarizing her to his touch and savoring the softness of her mouth. Only when he felt the warm exhale of her breath on his cheek did he turn his head to deepen the kiss, fitting them together like salt on a margarita glass.

  The tip of her tongue flirted with the seam of his lips then pressed inside his mouth, sharing the sweetness of her flavor.

  “God, you can kiss,” he broke away long enough to murmur then went in for another taste.

  She stole his sanity and the air from his lungs with her supple mouth and the scrape of her nails down his chest. His palms stroked her from shoulders to waist then back up, over and over again, skimming her sides but avoiding the heaving swells of her breasts to heighten the anticipation of when he’d claim the mounds as his own.

  When was the last time he had enjoyed a good, old-fashioned make out session?

  Ah, yes. Tenth grade. He and Michelle LaMarsh went at it hot and heavy on her front porch the night before he left for soccer camp. The thrill of young love fueled with the possibility of being caught by her parents had blown his teenaged mind. He might have only gotten to second base, but that moment had lived on in his dreams the two weeks he was away and after he returned. The memory of her 38Cs filling his hands was worth the heartache he felt when he found out she had hooked up with the running back from the high school football team while he was away.

  Amazing. Here in this house of debauchery, where he’d seen and done a…well, he’d done, he found a spark of new. Miranda was an unknown and he wanted to find out if she was as innocent as she appeared or if there was a temptress inside begging to be set free. Either way, he wanted to be the man to discover her secrets.

  The flush across her cheeks was a beautiful sight to see as he pulled away and looked into her eyes.

  “Miranda, I was born and raised here in the city. My parents are divorced, which was really best for all, and I have an older brother who still treats me like I annoy him but doesn’t make a financial move without my opinion.”

  Her brow furrowed. “Why are you telling me this?”

  “Because I want to take you to where you’ve never been and I want you to trust me.”

  “And you think I’ll trust you if I know about your family?”

  The swollen pout of her mouth beckoned him and he swiped his tongue over her lips. “I want you to know I have a life outside of these walls and people who depend on me.”

  “Oh, Jorges.” She sighed and blinked up at him with passion-filled eyes that made the golds and greens sparkle like gemstones. “Do you have any pets?”

  “Nope. I travel too much to care for one properly.”

  “Kids?”

  “No.” Well… “At least, none that I know of.”

  “And if you did?”

  “I’d take care of them, and with more than a check.”

  She nodded. “When did you last speak to your mother?”

  “Last Tuesday.”

  “How is she?”

  “Fine. She thinks she’s met husband number four. She and my aunt are planning a trip to Boca next month.”

  She laughed and smoothed her hands down his chest. “I trust you, Jorges. I’m all yours.”

  “No.” He kissed her again. “Tonight I am yours.”

  Chapter Three

  What lottery had she entered to have won Bad-boy Ken as a prize? Holy hell, this had to be a hallucination caused by overpriced drinks. Hunky men offering hedonistic delights was not the norm in her world. So what if he had a bit of a playboy vibe about him? She didn’t want to marry him, just ride him like a mechanical bull for a while.

  The night was about living the fantasy and Jorges, with his muscles, tattoos and fuck-me eyes fit the bill to perfection. He was hard in all of the right places, and his hands felt so good on her curves that for the first time she didn’t mind the extra padding on her hips for it gave him something to hold on to while he ravished her mouth.

  As the blood boiled in her veins and her panties dampened with need, self-doubt made her tremble in his hot embrace.

  Come on, the man designed the most seductive nightclub in the country. By comparison, her ideas of wild and crazy were probably very vanilla. And not the good kind of vanilla either, but like the cheap, imitation vanilla that tasted nothing like the bean.

  God, she was going to embarrass herself.

  She broke away from the hot kiss and buried her face against the curve of his neck. Lordy, he even smelled exotic, like man and sexy and fast sports cars. She wanted to throw caution to the wind, but wanting and actually taking action were too different things.

  “What’s the matter?” Jorges slipped his hand under the hair at her nape and tugged, forcing her to face him. “You’re shaking.”

  “I’m nervous,” she admitted in a small voice.

  “Don’t be. Whatever you want to do, I’m game.”

  “That’s just it. I don’t know what I want.”

  Pure sin colored his smile. “Do you want to have sex with me?”

  “Yes.” Why bother lying?

  He planted a string of soft kisses from the corner of her mouth to her ear where he asked in a husky murmur, “Do you want to fuck me?”

  Another tremor shook her. “Yes.”

  “Good.” She felt his smile against her cheek. “Because I want you too. I want to sink inside you, mind, body and soul and feel you come undone.”

  “No. Don’t say things like that.” She tried to pull away. “I’m not that limber and I can’t hang from chandeliers. By comparison, I’ll bore you to death.”

  He took her hand and pressed her palm to the impressive erection. “Believe me, the last thing I find you is boring.”

  Apparently so. Wow. Her fingers curled around the thick shaft and her thumbnail scraped along his hot length. She wanted to rip away his jeans as if he were wrapped in Tiffany blue to get to the treasure inside.

  “Whoa, baby girl.” He drew her to her feet, pausing to adjust his erection, which delighted her to no end. “I think you need a lesson in confidence first. Follow me.”

  He led her to the catwalk that overlooked the dance floor. From this height she spotted a small stage no more than five feet across. Ropes of gold beads created a sparkly backdrop that twinkled with titillating promises.

  The lights dimmed and the crowd
whooped and clapped in time to the primal drum beat of swing music.

  Jorges placed his hands on her hips and pressed his front to her back. He swept aside the hair clinging to her neck to whisper in her ear, “Showtime.”

  A woman burst through the curtain of beads and struck a sultry pose in the spotlight. Hot-pink taffeta sluiced down her curves like Kahlúa over ice and matched the satin elbow-length gloves gracing her arms. Her dark hair was styled à la Marilyn Monroe and the look was completed with giant diamond earrings and a pink feather boa.

  A saxophone-heavy version of Irving Berlin’s Heat Wave began and the dancer rolled her hips, proving she certainly can can-can. Feathers flew as she shimmed and swayed across the stage, dropping bits of her dress with each downbeat.

  Miranda tried to find the provocative dance offensive, but the old-school burlesque number was a sophisticated celebration of the female form. Sexy without being sleazy. Oh how she wished she knew how to sashay across the room like that and have every eye follow her movement. If that were to happen, more likely it was because she had something stuck to her backside.

  Chills erupted over her skin as Jorges ran his fingers up the inside of her arm. His warm body pressed harder behind her and his lips hovered near her pulse. “What do you see?”

  “A gorgeous woman who has these men hypnotized.”

  “Really? You think she’s gorgeous?”

  “Don’t be cute. I’m not blind.”

  He laughed. “Yes, Helene is stunning. Just like you.”

  “Okay, then you’re the blind one.”

  “Come on, Miranda. Look at her closely. You’re a woman. Be catty.”

  “I will not,” she gasped. At least, not out loud.

  So, yes. Helene did have a little jiggle around her tummy, and her pasties pointed more toward the ground than the sky. But who cared? The woman was mesmerizing.