Chapter 24
Genevieve
“How are you so good at this?” I ask, my voice full of humor, the martini having gone straight to my head. I should really slow down, or I’ll be at risk of doing something stupid, like falling for his charm. At least I’m blaming the alcohol for my jovial nature this evening…
Otherwise, I’d have to admit that I’m having fun, and I refuse to do that. It’s becoming increasingly difficult to manipulate myself into believing that Ford isn’t simply a powerful man with an incredibly handsome face, which only makes my being here all the more idiotic.
He tosses me a look over his shoulder that I’d have to be blind to resist, and I seem to have relinquished that capability.
After pulling the arrows from the board and updating the score, he turns back to me, his face shrouded in shadows now that he’s stepped out from beneath the light. “I did a few tours with the Marines. Darts were a solid source of entertainment.”
The gin sours in my stomach, and I quickly change the subject, killing the dozens of questions that have sprouted to life in my mind at his admission. “What did you do after the military?”
“I spent some time in Europe, mostly Germany. Took some bartending jobs to pass the time, even worked at a ski chalet one winter. I needed something…different, and I wasn’t ready to sit behind a desk yet.”
Buckcherry’s “Lit Up” echoes through the bar as he places the darts back on the table and we start a new game, one that I will inevitably lose. Instead of aiming for the board, I face him. “Do you like it? Sitting at a desk now?”
He lifts one of his broad shoulders, his crisp, white shirt pulling taut. “Most days, yes. I like the idea of keeping my grandfather’s legacy alive.”
“Were you and your grandfather close?”
“Yeah, he raised me. He was the best role model, and I idolized him. I never told him that because he would’ve said that I needed to meet more people.” He snorts, but the sound is more wistful than humorous. “He was just like that. Humble and honest.”
The admiration in his voice is as thick as honey, and it makes my throat tight.
I don’t have anyone like that in my life.
Outside of the family I chose in Corinne and Marcus, I didn’t have anyone to guide or direct me; I built my empire myself.
It’s something I’m proud of, but I sometimes wonder what it would’ve been like to have someone like Ford’s grandfather, someone to aspire to.
“What about you? Are you close to your parents?”
Fuck no. “I left home when I was eighteen. I haven’t seen them since.” There’s no animosity in my tone, but my response doesn’t open the door for him to prod me further about that. Which makes the fact that I continue inexplicable. “We had a bit of a disagreement about the trajectory of my life.”
He nods as though he understands that on some level, and I turn back to the board as I place some distance between me and the admission I made about my parents. I aim my arrow and throw. He chuckles. “At least you hit the board this time.”
“It’s seriously a miracle.” I giggle, and he takes my place as I take a sip of my martini before asking, “If you weren’t running your business, what would you be doing?”
The question is reminiscent of one Ford asked the night we met, curiosity spiraling through me. He leans against the high-top where we’ve taken up residence. “That’s easy. I’d be doing guided big game hunts, specifically Dall or bighorn sheep.”
My eyebrows raise. I’m not sure I saw that coming, but now that I’m considering it, I suppose it makes sense. It’s not difficult to picture him in camouflage with a camel-colored pack strapped to his back, a rifle on his shoulder. He’s built for it.
I’m about to comment, when he reflects the question back to me, and I should’ve expected to look in that mirror but didn’t. “What about you? What would you be doing if your life were different?”
I’ve never given this any thought; there was no point.
I’m walking the stone path that’s been laid specifically for me.
I don’t regret most of the decisions I’ve made, and I’m proud of the woman I’ve become and the safe haven I’ve created.
I like my life, and that’s why I fight so hard to maintain it.
“I can’t imagine doing something else, but if I did, I’d still be doing something in the sex industry. Teaching or mentoring, maybe.”
Perhaps I could train other Dommes or dominatrixes, or organize some BDSM classes.
I’ve never done that before; although, I, myself, was trained.
I could pass on some knowledge. I don’t know why I’m entertaining this.
I love my job. It’s a heady rush, watching the tension drain from a client’s shoulders, knowing I’m responsible for making them feel good.
Picking up the dart nearest me, I flick the pad of my thumb over the pointy end.
“There are parts of sex work that are unglamorous at best, and dangerous at worst. I’ve seen all the sides.
I’ve…trusted the wrong people. I’ve relinquished my control to a man who was unworthy of that power.
I’ve seen and experienced too much not to spend my time and effort fighting for something better.
Society tells us that sex work is dirty and shameful, but it’s not, at least not for everyone. I’d love to help erase the stigma.”
I lift my gaze from the dart to his face, finding his eyes already on me, his expression firm, and head tilted to the side like he’s trying to work something out in his mind.
“Sometimes I wonder if society will ever reach a place where sex, and therefore, sex workers, aren’t vilified or considered taboo.”
“Says the man who was vanilla just five minutes ago.” I wink at him, unable to suppress my grin.
He smirks right back. “I just had you strung up on a cross, I dare you to tell me I’m vanilla now.”
“Oh, no one could brand you with that label at this point.”
When he steps closer to me, I regret growing too comfortable with him and whirl back around, throwing the dart at the board. “I’m shit at this sport.”
As I turn back to him, his mouth has softened, and the lines bracketing his eyes have disappeared. He smirks, stepping up behind me.
“I think your technique is the issue. Here, I’ll show you.
” He invades my space, his front now pressed against my back as he reaches around me, his palm cupping my hand.
My breath picks up, the heat of his body warming me from the inside out.
When he lifts the dart still clutched in my fingers, I notice how rough his hands are, indicating that he works with them in a way most businessmen don’t. Is that from the gym? Something else?
Our fingertips brush, and my stomach flips. It’s been so long, almost fifteen years, since I felt this.
“You’re only using two fingers to throw the dart. You should use at least three,” he explains, dragging me back to the task at hand. “Grip it in your hand like you’re holding a pencil. Good, yeah, like that.”
The praise over my grip on a damn dart shouldn’t affect me nearly as much as it does, my pussy quivering like a needy bitch.
“Now, spread your legs,” he instructs, his voice authoritative, as if the command is coming from the dominant side of himself, and that’s exactly the way my body responds. His left hand falls to my waist, gripping my hip as he adjusts my stance.
His fingers dig into my flesh, but only hard enough to remind me he’s there, holding me—as if I could possibly forget. “Shift your weight onto your right leg and use your left for balance as you throw.”
All I want is to tell him to lift the hem of my dress, bend me over the pool table, and fuck me into tomorrow. I don’t. Because I can’t.
It’s official; I should never have agreed to see this man again.
“Bring your arm back.” He draws my hand back, like he’s the Master and I’m his doll. “Your shoulder is the only thing that shouldn’t move. Let your elbow and wrist do all the work.”
Just as I let go, the dart arcing through the air and nailing the board, I hear a rustling sound come from behind us. I turn, squirming out of Ford’s embrace to peer around his muscular form. “Did you hear that? Are you sure we’re the only one’s here?”
Stepping out from around him, I scan the bar, my gaze lingering on the mouth of the shadowy hallway that leads to the bathrooms. Straining my vision, I assess the dark walls and tenebrous silhouettes that seem to be clamoring to be released from the confines of the corridor, but no one emerges.
“Just us, I promise.”
My head swivels back in his direction, eyes narrowed dubiously.
Meeting his gaze once more, I tilt my chin to the side, the blunt end of my straight bob kissing my neck chastely.
Just because I don’t see a lie floating on the surface of his ocean-blue irises, doesn’t mean there isn’t one lurking beneath the waves.
Everyone has something to lie about.
I’m just on edge. It’s fine.
“What do you think about a change of scenery?” He smirks, that disarming dimple emerging.
“What did you have in mind?” I arch a skeptical eyebrow, but the smile on my face betrays my giddiness. I feel light, like my brain is floating on a cloud above my head, and I mentally cut myself off from any additional gin.
Extending an open palm toward me, I slip my hand in his, the warmth radiating through me like rays of sunlight. “You didn’t think I brought you to a dive bar just to play darts, did you? I can plan a better date than that.”
My belly flips again, but I don’t correct him this time because—God, help me—I want this to be a date as much as he does.
I adamantly refuse to admit that, though.
Forcing myself to take a deep breath, I allow him to lead me to the back of the bar and into a narrow hallway that doesn’t seem like it’s typically open to the public.
At the end of the corridor, Ford opens a door to reveal an old staircase and flips on a light to illuminate our climb. At the top, he swipes a keycard before he pushes the metal door and holds it open for me.