Chains and Canes (19 page)

“Now that’s an addition to the costume we didn’t discuss in advance,” he said, still sounding breathless and happily dazed.

“You complaining?”

“Hell, no.” Remy pulled her up from the desk and checked his watch. “We got twenty minutes to make it look like you haven’t been fucked by your latest and greatest.”

Naya’s heart clenched. He was becoming more important to her by the day, and to Daniel, but he insisted on deriding so much about himself. “You too,” she said, glancing down at the condom he still needed to ditch. “And unfortunately for our piece, your hair is back to normal.” She smoothed it back into the slightly sleek style that would accentuate the effortless cool of his suit.

“I got it, Naya. Been taking care of myself for a long time.”

Yes, he had. And yes, he could. But as Naya watched him move—less tense now, but even more emotionally distant—she exhaled so softly that he wouldn’t hear.

You’re ours, Sir.

Her heart skipped.
Oh, Daniel,
mi cielo
. Please be right about this.

Chapter Eighteen

When Daniel walked into Club Devant, his first impression was a shot of nervous excitement. He was keyed up on Remy and Naya’s behalf. This was their big night, though they didn’t know it yet. The men who flanked Daniel were his sort—art lovers who showed their appreciation through financial support. Some did so for philanthropy, while others expected certain benefits. Daniel occasionally wondered where he stood on that divide. After all, some part of him hadn’t been satisfied with Naya alone, although the thought made him look down at the finger where he’d believed he would wear her ring. Instead he was halfway to collecting Remy as a rescued artist—and becoming infatuated with the man.

He fell back into the safe realm of business, because his second impression was one of absolute confusion. How was Declan in such financial trouble? The club was clean, snazzy, energetic, and packed to the rafters.

Customers occupied every black chair at the tables and the booths lining the vast room. Lizzie and Dima Turgenev were just finishing a hot, up-tempo routine that blended Calypso, salsa and distilled, potent sex appeal. They bowed to the sound of rousing applause, while waitresses wove through a sudden standing ovation. Each one carried trays full of drinks.

What the hell was eating Declan’s profit margin?

Daniel was the shittiest friend ever for putting his nonwork energy into Naya and Remy’s project, rather than figuring out what was wrong with Declan’s livelihood.

Still, it wasn’t as if Declan was throwing open the books and begging for help. The very opposite. It was all Daniel could do to drag along two creative-yet-stubborn types. He had his hands full with his angel and her Sir.

Their Sir.

He held down a hot shudder as he and the investors arrived at a reserved table. “Thank you again for coming, gentlemen.”

Peter Hill sat with one elbow propped on the red-lacquered table. He craned his neck to assess the entire club. “I can’t remember the last time you’ve steered us wrong, Daniel. But I have to say, I have my doubts tonight.”

Across the table sat Jonas Bloomquist, a lanky beanpole of a man. “At the very least, we’ll get a hell of a show in a joint like this, even if it’s not worth an investment.”

“I can’t believe you let your fiancée work here,” Peter said.

He was leering at the passing waitress who wore a tiny pair of tap pants and a balconette bra. Along the bottom edge of the bra draped a sheer piece of fabric that might’ve been intended to turn it into a shirt rather than lingerie.

Daniel lifted his brows at Peter. “
Let
? That’s an interesting word to use for an adult woman.”

Let
took on new implications when it came to the trio they were creating, especially when the crimson curtain pulled up and a soft white light found Remy and Naya. Technically, Daniel and the woman he loved were
letting
each other indulge in the sexy Cajun. In so many ways.

Some part of him knew Remy was letting them too. He was so angry. His eyes were never clear of harder emotions, no matter his nonchalance and raunchy exterior. Every time Remy permitted more contact, Daniel was thankful he’d gone through with it. The man was that deeply hidden, perhaps even from himself.

He cleared his throat behind his fist and settled in, because Jonas was right. It was going to be a helluva show.

Remy’s casually cut suit didn’t stay on very long, as Naya stripped the jacket and tossed it aside. She coiled around and over him, dancing with seduction as her aim. He was seducing in return.

Their hips moved as if they were fucking—no,
making love
. Their trio was becoming more complicated. The type of emotion and connection Remy offered couldn’t be bought, which added unforeseen risks. This sexy, vulnerable dance was proof. His angel wasn’t just dancing. She was aching.

Sex aside, Daniel had put a hell of a lot of trust in Remy’s hands. After a rocky start, they’d proven very competent hands. Remy’s synergy with Naya had helped convince her it was time to reach higher, to make real her secret dream of leading a dance company. That was a miracle in itself. Daniel had been working on her for years. Literally years. He’d known from the first time their eyes had met—with Naya on stage and Daniel in the front row—that she had a unique style and the power to become a megawatt star.

Remy had been the one to spark the idea in her head.

In fact, Remy had established more pull on Naya’s decisions in a few weeks than Daniel had been able to exert in a few years. A tremor of worry touched his heart. He hadn’t worried before. His instincts were true and his decisions were sound.

This… The more closely he examined all angles, the less he trusted his judgment. Too many conflicting emotions were binding them with ropes that might not hold.

“They’re sex on a stick,” Peter said, his cheeks flushed.

It was crude but it was true. Naya flowed like water. They fed off each other. She fell back into Remy’s arms before he twisted her up onto his shoulders. The lift should’ve revealed a hint of effort. Instead, each move was liquid and lovely.

Until Naya was on her way down.

The mistake was subtle. Most of the patrons wouldn’t have noticed, so distracted by their wet panties and hard-ons. It was the awkward position of her foot in Remy’s hand, and the way she needed to adjust her center—either that or lose her balance completely. They saved the botched move and hit the next count, but Peter and Jonas exchanged a look. They’d seen it and were obviously surprised.

Naya and Remy finished the dance in a curled-up knot, kneeling as one, with his arms wrapped around her back. His hand had swept up her spine left bare by her skimpy, rucked-up gown. He taunted the audience with how easily he claimed her ass and stroked the tempting muscle of her thighs.

Jonas seemed sufficiently moved. “Considering the constraints and the venue, I’d say that was rather remarkable.”

“There was that bobble to consider,” Peter replied with a little too much relish. The man had been jealous of Daniel’s position on the board of The Artists’ Consortium for years.

Peter and Jonas debated back and forth as applause gave way to dance music. Daniel stayed out of the discussion, sure that he’d interject too much of his personal dedication to the project—and to the dancers.

His caution was justified when Peter turned to him wearing a somewhat predatory expression. “Daniel, you seemed very committed to this project when you invited us. What did they want to call this company?”

“Transit. And it will be worth the investment.” He spoke with conviction, drawing from years of experience selling new ideas and concepts when no one else had the vision. “Not only will Transit be the envy of others in terms of innovation, it’ll be marketable. You saw the two of them. They put that passion in every move, and they can shape other dancers into that same sexy, buzzworthy image.”

“That certainly was a lot of passion.” Peter managed to hold back his leer this time.

Good thing. Daniel was already tempted to plant his fist in the smirking man’s mouth. “Do I have the investment of the consortium?”

“You do,” Jonas said.

Peter cut in. “So long as you put your money where your mouth is. We want a forty-percent investment from your own funds. This is risky and you know it.”

Daniel did fast calculations in his head, counting up the rent for acceptable studio space and wages for the number of dancers Remy and Naya had discussed. “I’ll take fifty perfect, as a show of faith. Don’t come crying to me when that means I’m taking fifty percent of the profits too.”

A gasp was his first hint that Naya stood behind him. The way Peter’s smile curved into another smirk was his second. She still wore the tiny dress that appeared more lingerie than costume, and Remy wore his dark slacks and a white shirt. He stood like a protective wall at her back—the role Daniel usually occupied.

Naya’s dark eyes blazed, while Remy’s ocean waters were turbulent. Daniel was going to catch hell as soon as they were alone.

That didn’t change his decision.

“Peter, Jonas, please allow me to introduce Naya Ortiz and Remy Lomand. Dance geniuses.”

“Please.” The sloppy French in his voice was on the upswing. “Don’t blow us up too big. We’ll never live up to the hype.”

“Of course we will.” Naya’s confidence shone in her artless grin, although the glare she aimed at Daniel promised retribution. She set about charming both Peter and Jonas for the next half hour, a talent as effortless to his angel as was dancing.

After the men bid their farewells, she slid onto Daniel’s lap. He pushed away from the table to accommodate her snug little body, then slid his gaze toward Remy, who sprawled in Jonas’s abandoned seat. The dancer stretched his legs. His feet flanked both of Daniel’s. Subtle but telling.

Naya wrapped her slender arm around his shoulder. “Fifty percent? That’s so much. How can you commit that?”

He skimmed a lock of hair back from her forehead and tucked it behind her ear. “How can I not, angel?”

Parts of their triangular puzzle didn’t always make sense, and didn’t feel safe. But Daniel trusted their respective talents.

He swept his hand down her back to squeeze where her hip met the flesh of her ass. She winced. Instantly Daniel’s mind jumped from the sensual dance to the way they connected as a trio on such unbelievably filthy levels. Their dynamics. The way Naya gave and Remy took…and the way Daniel loved every minute.

Her lips were flushed nearly to the point of bruises. She’d been kissed hard and not long ago. Maybe right before they’d danced?

Without Daniel.

Without him there to kneel and admire.

Instead he’d been another patron in the club, with their sex implied rather than consumed by his avid, lustful appreciation.

If Peter had gotten wind of the situation, he’d have assumed Daniel’s prize dancers were sneaking around. Then again, Peter was an asshole—an asshole who recognized good dance and had deep pockets. A jerk nonetheless.

Peter would never comprehend what was going on between the three of them. Christ, Daniel didn’t know. He was following the same blind instinct that had led him to sink fifteen years into Louis’s tech ideas—to astonishing success. In the art world, his gut had known Gabriel Chavez would become a phenomenon. Now that man’s art adorned T-shirts and purses and entire fashion collections, creating an international style icon out of a street kid with a can of spray paint and two convictions for graffiti.

Daniel firmly believed that what was good could be amazing. He’d never imagined applying that philosophy to his personal life.

Sink or swim now.

“You two had…”

He didn’t know what to call it. He didn’t want to assume they’d had sex, because that was different than the beatings Naya craved. His cock stirred. He wasn’t sure if it was from his storm-cloud thoughts, Naya’s ass on his lap or the way Remy trapped his feet and stared him down from across the table.

“You two spent time together this evening,” he finished.

Remy’s mouth curved in a devious smile. “Your girl insisted I take her in Declan’s office.”

Naya nestled her forehead against Daniel’s temple in a soft, warm weight. “I wanted his belt, but he wouldn’t let me have it. The strap of a duffel bag just isn’t the same.
Pendejo
.”

“Don’t pout,
chère
. It’s unbecoming. Unless acting like a brat is what you’re going for. I can work with that.” He gave her a filthy smirk. “And don’t pretend you didn’t love the hell out of what followed.”

Daniel chuckled. “If you insist on spanking the insolence out of her, I definitely get to watch.”

Remy’s smirk softened into a lenient grin. “And now a mouthy boy. I’m losing my touch.”

Naya poked Daniel in the stomach. “Don’t you think you can distract me,
mi cielo
. Fifty percent! You’ve never, ever been asked for that much before.”

“It’s because they saw me screw up the lift.” Remy’s jaw turned to granite.

“You weren’t the only one up there,” she said, her voice soft with concern.

“Quit it. Both of you. At least half of this is politics.” Daniel shrugged. “Pete Hill has always wanted the opportunity to twist my balls.”

Remy smiled at that one. “Don’t he know I’m the only one who gets to twist your balls? Even Naya isn’t into that.”

Daniel gulped. Hard. That didn’t banish the rock in his throat, and it had nothing on the buzzing power sweeping through his veins. “You haven’t tried either.”

Remy’s smile became a blade. Promise and threat. “Gimme time, boy.”

“But not tonight, I’m afraid.” Daniel wasn’t sure if the droop he felt was relief or disappointment. Remy could…
torture
him. Daniel had never been into S&M like Naya was, but as he was quickly learning, he wasn’t certain of much. Everything was on the table. Everything was possible, good or bad. Right then, he’d have been happy to let Remy do it. Do anything to him. “I need to pack for Hong Kong.”

“I’d forgotten.” Naya’s disappointment was easy to hear. “Another hideous middle-of-the-dark departure?”