Losing Control (18 page)

“Some say that the elder Howe’s candidacy rests on Richard keeping his nose clean for the three months until the primary voting is closed. His primary voters want to see an intact family because that’s part of Howe’s platform. In the general election, it won’t matter as much.”

“I don’t see how a cheating scandal is going to make a big difference.”

“It might not to a lot of people, but it would matter to Richard Howe’s father. Ian wants to separate Richard from everyone else.”

I frown. “I’m supposed to attract Howe? I’m too old.”

“You’re with Ian. That’s enough.”

“What do you mean?”

Kaga crosses his arms and stares out the viewing glass. “Rich is intensely jealous of Ian. Believes that Ian is standing in his place in the sun. Whatever Ian has, Rich wants,” he explains. “Ian needs only to show you some attention and Rich will be right over to see if he can peel you away.”

“I don’t get how Rich could possibly lure someone away from Ian,” I grumble.

At this, Kaga shouts out a laugh and drops his arms to his side. “Loyal. I like that. Or deluded.” Sobering, he replies, “Ian wasn’t always this well-situated and Rich comes from an old Dutch family whose roots can be traced back to the Knickerbockers. For some, that’s worth more than all the money in the world.”

“But can’t Ian just ruin him financially? He said that Howe was spending money faster than the Treasury can print it.”

“If Ian ruins Richard financially, all the Howes suffer. Papa Howe believes the mayoral position will right the sinking ship. They’ve poured millions into the campaign and convinced all their wealthy society friends to contribute as well. If Papa Howe doesn’t win, the Howes will have to leave the city. They’ll be disgraced, and it would be easy for Ian to tip that ship over and have it sink like the Titanic.”

“But?” There’s more to this; something Ian doesn’t want to share but Kaga feels compelled to reveal.

He smiles in approval. “But when a ship goes down, a lot of innocents are harmed, and Ian feels strongly only Howe should suffer. Publicizing his indiscretions will humiliate Cecilia, but she’ll divorce him. Once Howe is isolated, Ian can bring all the influence he has to crush Howe. But not until all those bystanders are safe from harm.

In New York society, you can exist if you have either status or money. Lose one and you can still belong. If Howe is ruined financially, it would affect his entire family. They are teetering on the brink of financial insolvency. But if Richard Howe becomes a liability, his family will cut ties with him and he’ll be left without status or money.”

Not yet
, Ian had said in the car ride over. He isn’t prepared to take out the bystanders. I could respect that in a weird way.

“Why me? Why not the other women that Malcolm sent?”

“They were too hard. Ian would never have dated them. He’s always had much quieter tastes. Richard would have known right away something was up. But you?” Kaga looks me over. “You’re exactly what Ian’s always wanted.”

I flush profusely at this.

“Ian needs you, and I can tell that asking you to do this for him has been an enormous struggle.”

He needs me.

This thing with Howe isn’t a job; it’s a gift. He’s bought me clothes, upgraded my apartment, and provided for my mother. Not because of any job but because he genuinely cared. And I can do this for him even if he doesn’t want me to.

Straightening my shoulders, I turn to Kaga. “So what do I do?”

With admiration in his eyes, Kaga replies, “Go over to the VIP lounge and have a drink. Rich will inevitably approach as soon as Ian leaves you alone for a moment. Play it by ear from there.”

“How do I act?”

“Be yourself.”

I
AN
IS
STANDING
BY
THE
back door of the club where we first entered.

“He talked you into it?”

I nod.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he warns.

“Like what?”

Turning away, he curses. “I’ve tried to keep the two of you separate in my head. At first, I turned you down because I wanted to sleep with you. Then I convinced myself that I could sleep with you and have you ensnare Howe. Compartmentalize, I told myself.” He shoves an agitated hand through his hair. “Now my Tiny boxes are scattered in every corner of my head. I think of you non-stop. When I get up in the morning, I wonder if you’ll like the smell of the soap I used. When lunch rolls around, I wonder if you’ve eaten enough. By mid-afternoon, I’m so hungry for your body I have to go to the bathroom and stroke myself until I’m spent—only to find that I’m hard thirty minutes later when I think of your pink pussy convulsing under my tongue. But I wanted to delay making love to you until I was completely sure you were with me—mind, body and soul—because yes, Tiny, you are mine. And this isn’t for show.”

He pushes away from the door and climbs up the stairs. I haven’t moved. I can’t. His words have rendered me motionless. With each step, he’s coming closer to me, until he’s so close I feel like I could count the white dots in his ice-blue tie. His eyes search mine, and in them I see not only lust but tenderness.

His mouth fastens over mine, punctuating his words or perhaps sealing them inside me. Does he know that he makes my heart sing? That the tender look in his eyes completely slays me? His right hand digs into my hair as he uses his left to lift me against him. The hard length of his erection is impossible to miss. I wish I could see him in his office stroking himself. That would be so amazing that I’d probably come from just the show.

His tongue rubs slowly along the side of mine, inviting me to play. Whatever lipstick I once wore is being sucked and licked and bitten off. His kiss is ravenous, and I feel like he’s trying to devour me. Worse, I want him to. I open my mouth as wide as possible to swallow down all the sweetness and passion he’s serving me.

Beneath my questing hands, his body feels like iron. I want to rip off his clothes and impale myself on him right here on the landing. With a last reserve of sense, I pull away from him and rest my head in the hollow of his throat. I hear his rasping breath above me, and underneath my cheek his chest heaves up and down as he tries to gather his own self-control. I allow him to soothe my trembling body with his big hands when I realize the long, sweeping caresses are just as much for his sake as they are for mine.

“Jesus, Tiny,” he groans, dropping his forehead. After a minute he clears his throat and tips my chin up so I can see him. His eyes glitter in the darkness, lit from within. “I’ll find someone else to do the job. Clear the table so there’s just you and me.”

Someone else? He’d have to feign interest in
her
, bring
her
out to nightclubs and events. The idea of someone else doing this . . . project with Ian makes me violently jealous. Like, I’d punch her if I saw her with him. “No,” I say forcefully. “You hired me.” I straighten up and push him away. “I’m your girl.”

I am halfway down the second set of stairs when what I said sinks in.

“‘About time you realized that.”

I bite my lip to keep from laughing because I don’t want him to know he has yet again gotten the last word in.

T
HE
A
QUARIUM
IS
SO
NAMED
because it’s full of water, blue walls, and blue light. There is so much glass and mirror used on the walls and even the floor of the second level that it seems like you are in a fishbowl. The entire place is painted blue, from the floors in deep midnight to a varying gradient on the walls. Even the lights are tinted blue, giving an under-the-sea feel to the space. The main floor has a circular bar centered around a real aquarium with . . . are those sharks in there?

Once I see the second floor, I understand why Ian picked out shorts for me to wear. Above us the floor is made of alternating tiles of clear and blue glass, about four feet square, and by looking upward you can see straight up the skirts of some of the female club-goers.

Around the sides of the room on the second level are people sitting in glassed-in plunge pools lit from underneath, like square mini hot tubs. Most of the pools are filled with women who appear to have stripped down to their underwear, although there are a few males in them too. There are butts and boobs pressed against the glass—and in at least one, there’s a couple simulating a sex act. At least I think it’s a simulation. I nearly break my neck staring as I pass. It’s an exhibitionist dream, and I’m very glad I’m wearing shorts as I walk up the stairs past a formidable bouncer clad in a navy blue T-shirt with the word “Aquarium” stenciled in white across his massive chest.

The VIP area is a small balcony on the second floor that overlooks the first level dance floor and has a bird’s-eye view of the hot tubs. As far as I can tell, access to the upper deck is communicated through a series of nods and hand slaps because Ian simply lifts his chin to the bouncer who moves aside to allow us access.

Up here I can see that there are bleachers set up next to the pools and people are lounging in bathrobes or on towels. There are a couple of well-known actors and athletes who I recognize. The other beautiful people must be moneyed or famous or—as a slender reed of a woman walks by—arm candy like me.

“This is the weirdest place,” I tell Ian.

“New Yorkers get bored easily,” he replies. “You constantly have to come up with something new and seemingly innovative, and these days, the more risqué the better. It’s frowned upon to wear swimsuit attire here because that’s not considered edgy enough.”

“So I’m wearing the pearl-clutching version of a club-goers outfit?” I ask wryly.

“Given that your legs are hot enough to warrant a visit from the FDNY Ladder 21, I don’t think ‘pearl clutcher’ is apropos.” He drops his hand from my back and I feel it brush my ass as he reaches down to stroke my thigh, but his movements are interrupted when Richard steps into our sight line. Ian’s fingers fall away.

Rich has the look of an Ivy League banker. His hair is expertly cut and lies in a
Dead Poet’s Society
swoop to the left. I can easily superimpose the regimented striped tie and blue blazer with gold emblem on the pocket. Tonight he’s attired in a well-cut suit, although the shoulders look almost too big for him and I notice that the fabric is shiny, as if it has endured one too many trips to the dry cleaners.

“Ian Kerr, you old dog. You keep ducking my dad’s phone calls. It’s like you don’t want to donate.”

It’s hard to tell if Richard is serious or kidding. Neither Kaga nor Ian gave me any clue as to whether Rich supports his father or is rebelling somehow, but at his age, the north side of forties or older, he should be too old for that shit.

“I’ve given up on donating to politics. Figure it makes more sense to burn it in the fireplace.”

The words exchanged are sharp, but the two smile and slap each other on the back as if they are best buds.

“Who’s this delectably dressed young lady?” Richard’s attention turns to me and I’m surprised that his gaze is warm and friendly rather than predatory. I think I was expecting something totally different. But Kaga did warn me that Rich is charming.

“Victoria Corielli meet Rich Howe. His family is practically one of the original four hundred.”

I hold out my hand but Rich doesn’t shake it. Instead, he pulls it toward his lips as Kaga did. Before he makes contact, Ian slides his large palm over the top of my fingers.

“So it’s that way?” Rich says, one eyebrow quirking up.

“Kissing’s too fancy for me,” I interject, not wanting Ian to get into a pissing match when I’m supposed to be luring in Rich with my non-existent wiles. “Nice to meet you, Rich.”

“Call me Richard. Ian here knows me from way back and still can’t stop using Rich, but I beg you to envision me as something other than a little boy with a beanie and short pants, so Richard.” He offers his hand and I shake. He has a firm, cool shake and if he lingers overlong it’s not so noticeable that it makes me uncomfortable.

Under the bar lights, his hair looks shiny.

“Go for a swim?” I guess.

His smile is impish. “Yes, the pools are irresistible. I heard management over at 1 Oak is upset because some of its exclusive clientele can’t seem to tear themselves away.”

“I’ve never been there,” I admit, but I’m curious. These are bars and clubs that I might have heard about in passing but have never had any interest in visiting, primarily because they would be too expensive and I doubted I could get in.

“It’s an old-school establishment. Still entertaining.” He leans close and in a low voice says, “I’ll take you some time.”

I can’t help but glance at Ian, whose narrowed gaze is focused with laser-like precision on Rich. Ian really dislikes this guy, and he’s suddenly making no attempt to hide it. Discreetly, I step backward onto the tip of his shoe and press down, not too hard but enough to get his attention.

He shakes his head as if he’s woken from a trance. “You look thirsty, Tiny,” he says and walks off before I can respond.

We both watch as Ian saunters away.

“You and Kerr?” he asks with a raised eyebrow.

I shrug in what I hope is a coy manner. “We’re friends.”

“He seems off tonight. Did you guys have a bad dinner?”

“No, I think he’s tired. He got back from a business trip.”

“Oh, what about?”

“I’m not sure. I didn’t pay much attention.” I know instinctively that Ian would not like for me to share any personal information with Rich, no matter how innocent. “How did you get here, or shouldn’t I ask? All Ian had to do was nod at the bouncer.”

“Turnover at these places is frequent, mostly because of the constant employee fraternization. The staff at these places cycle in and out. Go to enough clubs and you’ll get to know the people who work the door. Once you’ve made your contacts, you have no problem getting past the guardians at the gate.” He ducks his head and snorts. “There. I’ve now admitted I’m practically a barfly.”

“No, not at all. Just social,” I reassure him. His-self deprecation may be an act, but it’s a good one. “Do you know much about the owner?” I’m curious if he knows the connection between Ian and Kaga.