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  I glance at Beck, hoping to see the same misgiving I’m feeling. But all I see in his face is hope, even desperation. I see a determination that’s not going to take no for an answer, even if I were inclined to turn down his request.

  “I realize it’s asking a lot, Gabe. But there’s no one else I’d trust to keep her safe.”

  My denial is perched on the end of my tongue. Hell, I’ve got plenty of reasons to decline, not the least of which being the eager way my cock responds to the idea of spending more time around Evelyn.

  I know I can keep her safe better than anyone else. That’s not a brag; it’s a fact. A promise I’ve already made to myself, if not her brother.

  I know I can protect Evelyn from any threat--even if it means protecting her to my dying breath.

  What I’m not sure of is how I’m going to accomplish any of that without ending up in her bed.

  14

  ~ Evelyn ~

  Dance music pounds so hard in Club Muse, I feel it vibrating through every bone in my body.

  Even for a Sunday night, the massive converted warehouse in the Meatpacking District is stuffed to the rafters, with a line of people snaking around the block. If not for Paige knowing the bouncer from another club she used to frequent in Brooklyn, she and Melanie and I might still be waiting outside instead of staking our claim on a tall cocktail table near the dance floor.

  With her choppy black pixie haircut, knockout body, and stunning face, Paige’s magazine-perfect looks alone have always opened doors wherever she goes. Tonight, my fellow former model has wrapped all her assets in a black leather miniskirt and backless silver top that’s been turning heads ever since we arrived about an hour ago.

  I opted for black too. My dress is sleeveless and simple, hitting just above my knees with a zipper running down the front of it. Mel’s the only spot of color in our little group. Her fiery red hair gleams like copper in the swirling lights and strobes of the club, her pale blue silk blouse and skinny white jeans seeming almost innocent amid the sea of black and flashy metallics. Although she’s never stepped foot on a runway or in front of a fashion photographer’s lens, Mel’s got a fresh-faced, girl-next-door beauty that belies the terrible hardships of her upbringing.

  Paige downs the dregs of her fourth Cosmo, dancing where she stands. “Isn’t this place amazing?”

  Melanie and I nod, both of us having almost given up on talking over the din of the music and the crush of bodies all around us. The energy is infectious, though, and it’s hard not to get swept up in the throbbing dance beats and the dizzying spectacle of the lights and special effects.

  Muse is a feast for the senses, and an unapologetically erotic one at that. Nearly every wall is a mirror, from the ground level to the gallery overlooking the dance floor below. The effect makes the club seem to stretch on toward infinity, replication after replication of dancing bodies and sparking, colorful lights.

  Intermittently, in varying places around the club, the mirrors flash with a backlight, silhouetting moving shapes of human bodies that seem to live behind the reflective glass. Some of the shapes are dancing, some of them are engaged in BDSM and sex acts. It’s impossible to catch more than a glimpse of any one vignette before it’s gone, the light doused and the mirror reflecting back on the rest of the pulsing club.

  “Do you think it’s real?” I ask Melanie, leaning toward her as Paige turns away from us, losing herself in the rhythm of the deejay’s latest track.

  Mel shakes her head, chewing on the straw that came in her soda. “Can’t be real, right?”

  Since she started back at university last year, Melanie doesn’t drink. Tonight, I’m glad for that, because Paige has been making sure the drinks have been nonstop since we sat down. She raises her voice to be heard over the din of the music and conversation all around us. “I mean the name of the club is Muse, so maybe that’s just part of the game. Erotic illusions meant to inspire a sense of freedom and abandon. Or to tempt with the possibility of it existing just outside the grasp of us mere mortals on the wrong side of the glass.”

  I grin at her, more than a little tipsy, and take the final swig of my martini. “You and your big sexy brain, Mel. I hope Daniel appreciates that you’re not only gorgeous but smart as hell too.”

  She smiles, rolling her eyes. “Well, I could be wrong. Those could be actual people behind those mirrors having actual sex all around us.”

  “Who’s having sex?” Paige swings back to the table, an eager look in her eyes. “Eve, are you holding out on me? If you got naked with your hunky Baine security chief without telling me I’m going to be seriously pissed.”

  “You’re already seriously pissed,” I tell her, moving the empty glass out of the way of her hands. “And, no, I haven’t gotten naked with anyone.”

  “But you want to.” She sing-songs the words, wagging her finger and giggling.

  It’s true, I did want to. Still want to.

  But unlike Paige I’m not so free-spirited and lacking in inhibitions that I’m going to throw myself at a man. I’ve come close enough to that as it is with Gabe. And he still said no.

  I can’t deny that when the doorman called up to tell me someone had delivered my Volvo, I’d been hoping I might find Gabe waiting for me in the lobby. His cousin Len seemed nice enough, but I’m sure my disappointment was obvious when I went down to thank him.

  And while I’m enjoying spending time with my friends tonight, I can’t pretend I’m the least bit interested in meeting someone here at the club. Unfortunately, being in a meat market like Muse means dealing with a lot of unsolicited advances. The three of us have shooed away several men and even a couple of women since we arrived, but the flybys have been steady and persistent.

  Paige handles them all like she’s directing air traffic at JFK. She’s been back and forth from the dance floor dozens of times, apparently discarding each prospect in turn, and for reasons I can only guess at. She’s got her standards, loose as they are.

  “All right, ladies. I’m going on the hunt.” She pulls a small scrap of red lace from the pocket of her skirt and twirls it on her index finger.

  Melanie gapes. “Are those your--”

  “My calling card,” she interjects, smiling shamelessly. “He doesn’t know it yet, but one lucky son of a bitch on that dance floor is going home tonight with a smile on his face and these panties in his pocket.”

  I practically choke. “You’re crazy.”

  She laughs, unrepentant as she dances away from our table. “You should try it sometime, Boo.”

  Paige melts into the crowd, and I glance back at Mel. “I worry about her.”

  “Yeah. Me too.” She goes quiet for a moment, using the chewed end of her straw to chase some of the ice around in her glass.

  “I’m really glad you came tonight, Mel.”

  She looks up at me and smiles. “God knows Paige needs a DD. Not to mention a chaperone.”

  I laugh, but Mel’s being with us means more than just her sobriety and willingness to drive. “How are things with Daniel?”

  “Good. Great.” She nods enthusiastically. “He’s such an amazing man. So talented and ambitious. And he’s good to me.”

  “I’m glad, Mel.” I reach over and squeeze her hand. “He’d better be good to you, or he’ll be answering to both me and Paige.”

  Her smile seems fleeting, as does her gaze. “I know that.”

  “Where is he tonight, anyway?”

  “Las Vegas.”

  I frown. “I thought you guys just came back from a Vegas trip.”

  “We did. But Daniel’s got business there.” She abandons her straw and leans back on her stool, arms folded over her breasts. “He had to go back and take care of some things.”

  “New building project or something?”

  She nods. “I guess so. He doesn’t like to talk about the specifics of his work.”

  I want to ask why the hell not, but before I get the chance someone taps me on the shoulder. I
swivel my head and find a blond man with sloped shoulders and an inebriated grin on his face. He’s wearing dress slacks and a button-down designer shirt with monogrammed cuffs. In his hand is a brown longneck beer, which he uses to point with at me. “Have we met somewhere?”

  “I don’t think so.” I look away, hoping it’s enough to discourage him.

  It isn’t. “You sure? Because, damn, you look so fucking familiar. You a trader too? Maybe I’ve seen you around at Goldman’s or somewhere?”

  “No. You haven’t.” My answer is firmer this time, and so is my glare. “Do you mind? I’m trying to have a conversation with my friend.”

  “I wanna dance with you.”

  “I’m not interested,” I tell him, getting exasperated.

  Mel slides her hand across the table, weaving her fingers through mine. “Actually, we’re together. As in, a couple. In fact, I was about to ask this sweet girl to marry me before you walked up and ruined what was going to be a very romantic moment.”

  “It’s true,” I tell him, deadpan. “We’re very much in love.”

  He stares at us for a second through drunken eyes, then mutters something under his breath and lumbers off. As soon as he’s gone, we both start laughing.

  Mel wiggles her brows at me. “Want to dance, sweetheart?”

  “Sure. I thought you’d never ask.”

  15

  ~ Gabriel ~

  I didn’t have to ask Evelyn the name of the hot new nightclub she and her friends were planning to go tonight. There is only one place drawing record crowds in the Meatpacking District on a Sunday night, and after bypassing the line of people stretching nearly two blocks to get into Muse, I walk up to the bald behemoth standing at the door and flash my ID, along with the murmured name I know will grant me instant access.

  The bouncer eyes me for a moment, sizing me up in my dark suit. If he wanted to be a dick and pat me down, he’d find I’m carrying. But he’s not worried that I’ll be a problem for anyone inside. And I’m certain if he was, there are easily a dozen guys on the other side of the door, similarly armed and ready to take me out.

  Touching his earpiece and speaks into the mic in a low tone. At his nod, I head inside the packed club.

  Dance music throbs and pulses, accompanied by the swirl of colored laser lights and strobes. There is hardly a square foot of breathing room to be had, nothing but bobbing, gyrating bodies filling the dance floor and spilling out to the rest of the club as well. The old warehouse space is enormous, made to appear even larger by the mirrored walls that reflect back at the crowds from all directions.

  But that’s not the only purpose of the mirrors. I realize it an instant later, as a flash to my left briefly illuminates the vague silhouette of a man and woman having sex on the other side of the glass. Her hands are braced over her head while the man fucks her vigorously from behind. The shocking glimpse is there and gone in a beat, but the image was unmistakable.

  And erotic enough to make my cock stir behind the zipper of my slacks.

  As I push deeper into the club, all around me I see more sparks of illumination behind the mirrors, more voyeuristic, profane flashes of activity, no doubt intended to speed the pulses and incinerate the inhibitions of everyone in the place. From the way the whole building seems to vibrate with sexual energy, it seems to be working.

  I spot the circular bar and head that way, figuring the central location will be the best place to search the mass of clubgoers for the only one of interest to me. The one whom, as of yesterday, it’s my paid duty to protect.

  My covert duty, I remind myself with no small amount of misgiving.

  Evelyn’s the sole reason I’m here tonight, and as much as I want to believe I’m just doing my job, my determination to find her--to see her, even if I have to stealthily observe from the fringes of a packed dance club--feels far from professionally motivated.

  I wasn’t happy to hear her say she was planning to be at Muse tonight. Now, I’ve got half a mind to drag her out of here as soon as I find her.

  At the bar I order a beer I have no intention of drinking, then send my gaze into the crowd to search for Evelyn while I wait. She’s hard to miss, even dressed in black like ninety-nine percent of the rest of the club.

  Dancing with another young woman, an attractive redhead in white jeans and a pale blue top, Evelyn seems lost in the sensual beat of the music. Eyes closed, she sways and undulates, her hips and arms moving in fluid rhythm. Each pivot and roll of her body triggers a bolt of pure lust in me. I stare, hungry and possessive, unable to look away even for a second.

  It’s crazy how much I want her. Worse than crazy; it’s negligent as hell, especially now that her life is my hands. If I am to protect her, I damn well can’t do it from between her legs.

  And if there really is someone aiming to do her harm, I need to be firing on all cylinders. Vigilant, not distracted by the thought of having Evelyn beneath me.

  Caught up in her own bliss, she is mesmerizing, sexy as hell. Unless I miss my guess, she also seems a little tipsy, which makes my guardian instincts rise to attention as swiftly as my baser instincts.

  The bartender returns with my beer, and I as reach for some cash to pay for it, a hand comes to rest on my shoulder from behind me.

  “Drink’s on the house.”

  I swivel at the familiar, slightly Southern drawl of Jared Rush’s smoky voice. Standing as tall as me, Rush has a beefy build, a mane of sandy brown hair just past his shoulders and a trimmed beard framing his square jaw. Tonight, he’s dressed in a black shirt and pants, but he still carries a laid-back, rebel look that seems more suited for the rodeo circuit than the edgy, avant-garde art world where he’s made a staggering fortune on his provocative, profane, often disturbing, paintings.

  Anyone who knows the mysterious artist--and that’s a small, private list, to be sure--doesn’t have to guess where he gets his inspiration. The only thing more notorious than his work is his voracious appetite for beautiful women and the ultra-exclusive, ultra-expensive gatherings he hosts at his various residences and private sex clubs.

  Muse is a departure for Rush, his first foray into a public venue.

  “Good to see you, Gabe.” He grins, clasping my hand in greeting. “Heard you dropped my name at the door.”

  I shrug. “What good are connections if you never use them? Nice place, by the way. I didn’t realize you’d already opened.”

  “You like it?” He gestures with both arms open, unabashedly proud of his latest creation. “The dance club is succeeding beyond expectations, but it’s the VIP suites that really make Muse special. You should come back and have a look.”

  I grunt, giving him a smirk. “I think I’ve already caught the previews.”

  I nod in the direction of the mirrored walls and Rush smiles. “I’m going to have to put a time limit on the mirror suites or double the fee. You should try one--no charge to you, man. Hell, I’ll even stake you in one of the game rooms, if poker’s more your speed tonight.”

  “Thanks, but no,” I say, shocked to realize I’m not even remotely tempted. “Maybe another time.”

  As reluctant as I am to let on that I’m here for a specific reason--a specific person--I can’t keep from glancing back out to the dance floor to find Evelyn. She’s still dancing with the same woman, both of them laughing under the swirling prisms of the strobes.

  Rush’s shrewd brown gaze doesn’t miss a damn thing. And it lingers on Evelyn and her friend longer than expected. “They’re lovely. And since you work for my old friend, Dominic Baine, I’m sure you’re well aware that one of those beautiful girls is Andrew Beckham’s sister.”

  “I know.” My answer is clipped, and when I look at Jared Rush, I hope he sees the warning in my eyes. “She’s under my protection now.”

  “Your protection?” His brows lift in curiosity. “You mean personal security, or . . .”

  “She’s mine.”

  “All right.” He raises his hands, chuckling. �
�Fair enough, man. I never poach in a friend’s backyard. Now, as for my enemies? That’s a whole other thing.”

  There is a current of danger in that statement that’s not lost on me. And I can’t help but notice when his gaze slides back in the direction of the dance floor. Back to Evelyn.

  Or is it her pretty companion who’s captured his attention?

  When he looks back at me, his expression is bland, unreadable. “I should get back to my guests. Good to see you, Gabe. Enjoy your night.”

  I nod, watching Jared Rush prowl away from me, cutting a path through the throng as he makes his way through the center of his domain.

  The instant he’s gone, I turn back to search for Evelyn.

  It takes me a moment to locate her. She and her friend have moved to the far right edge of the dance floor now, where a slick blond douchebag in a sweat-blotched dress shirt is attempting to chat Evelyn up. He’s swaying as he talks, gesturing sloppily with a brown longneck bottle of beer.

  On a growl, I step away from the bar and head briskly in their direction.

  As I near them, I catch the slurred tail end of what he’s saying to her. “Why you so stuggup? I knew I saw your face somewhere before. You’re her, right? C’monn, Eve, I’m juss tryna be frennly!”

  I walk up behind the drunken idiot and drop my hand down on his shoulder. “Get lost.”

  He jumps, and I don’t know who looks more surprised--the asshole who apparently won’t take Evelyn’s “no” for an answer, or her and her friend, both gaping at me mutely.

  The asshole is the first one to speak. “The fuck? Who’re you, her dad?”

  I give him a cold smile. “I’m the guy who’s going to ram that longneck down your throat if you don’t leave these women alone. And I mean now, motherfucker.”

  16

  ~ Evelyn ~

  I’m sure my shock must show on my face as I watch Gabe insert himself between me and the persistent Wall Street drunk who’s been annoying Mel and me for the past half hour or more.