Chapter 4
CHAPTER
FOUR
Beck
He was unbound and tethered all at once, simultaneously secure and cut loose as he hung then spun around the length of fabric. An aerialist was close enough to an acrobat, especially by Maslow’s standards. They were practically interchangeable. Until they weren’t.
The music swelled as the dancer—no, not really… Stripper? Not that either—bound himself in swaths of cloth. Then, he flew.
I studied him. Not his body so much as the way he moved up the curtain like it was a ladder, then threw himself fearlessly backward, head toward the stage with no safety net or crash pad in sight. But he stayed aloft, suspended by one arm or leg while his lean muscles drew taut.
And then I was watching his body. Some fine craftsmanship went into that one.
All slopes and smooth lines; I could easily imagine what wasn’t already on display in the cropped top that might as well have been painted on and the shorts that barely covered his ass.
His feet were perhaps the most concealed part of him, wrapped in some kind of toeless boots that made his legs look impossibly elegant.
I’d seen aerial performers before. Silks, I remembered them calling the length of fabric he turned into ropes and ribbons that slid across his skin. But they hadn’t been like this. They weren’t like him.
The song must have lasted four or five minutes, but it passed in a matter of breaths.
The young man landed to the applause of an appreciative crowd, and he grinned so widely I spotted the extra set of canines that sharpened his smile.
Then his eyes flashed ultraviolet, their glow not masked by the spotlight.
I’d forgotten about that.
He looked so nearly human that I’d overlooked what he was and what he was doing here. He smiled like a shark, a predator who smelled blood in the water. And now he was drinking us all in.
Blinking, I turned away from the spectacle in time for Livingston to give a wolf whistle.
“Hot damn,” he chortled.
His interest didn’t surprise me, but the aggravation that prickled up my back did.
I brought the man here to conduct business, and now I wished I hadn’t.
Not to mention he must have noticed me shamelessly ogling the young, hard-bodied incubus so fresh out of Hell he probably had brimstone on his heels.
I groaned.
Why a fucking incubus?
The answer was obvious. In a place built on the platform of pleasure, why not a creature created to inspire the lecherous thoughts currently running amok in my brain?
As moments passed, they became less thoughts and more a stream of prickling heat that dropped straight to my groin.
“Your son,” I said, making my bid to rein in the conversation that had escaped my control.
Livingston had the good sense to look abashed as he too turned away from the stage.
“What do you want me to do about him?” I concluded.
At a glance, this was not the kind of trouble I was inclined to involve myself in.
Sparing crooks the consequences of their actions was a younger man’s game, and familial squabbles could be handled by a demon more desperate than me.
But Livingston had already robbed me of a fair amount of time and money.
I wouldn’t pass up the chance to earn a bit of it back.
My client didn’t get a word out, though, because someone else spoke first.
“Is that you, Becky? It’s been a long time.”
I recognized the voice before I swiveled to find the petite demon standing in the doorway with his hands on his hips. He tipped his head and grinned, his lips stained burgundy in the field of his umber skin.
“Mister Beckett,” I corrected. “Or Beck is fine.” An obligatory smile stretched my lips thin as I motioned to my client. We’d been waiting for this, but the timing couldn’t have been worse. “Mister Livingston, this—”
“Must be Luxe,” Livingston purred. He slid past me to grab Luxe’s hand, then tugged it to his lips to place a kiss on the dancer’s knuckles. “Call me Ewing.”
Luxe gave an affected laugh. “Pleased to meet you, Ewing.”
Dressed in black and white, the Dollhouse’s premier dancer was every inch the “pretty boy” Livingston requested.
He wore patent Mary Jane shoes and lace stockings under a pair of pleated shorts.
With a waist binder and a ruffled top that gave the illusion of feminine curves, he was as stunning as I’d expected, and Livingston was clearly taken aback.
With my client on his heels and my thoughts circling the deal I was trying to make, the floor was open for Luxe to direct the conversation.
“What can I do for you gentlemen?” he asked. “I got your call and came straight away.” His tail twitched, making the barbed end sway through the air behind him like a cobra dancing for a snake charmer. Livingston watched it, entranced, while I cleared my throat.
“We’re actually in the middle of something. If you don’t mind waiting.”
Luxe’s white-lashed eyes turned on me with a hint of irritation. “I bill by the hour,” he cautioned.
Up went Livingston’s tab. Several ticks this time.
“I know,” I replied.
Luxe’s mouth pursed into a coquettish smile. “Then by all means.” Prancing over to the couch, he sank dramatically onto the cushions, then posed, stretching out to make his small body look long and inviting.
Livingston might as well have been an owl for how cleanly his head swiveled, tracking Luxe’s every move as the dancer lifted one of the shot glasses from the flight tray and gave it a swirl.
“Ewing,” I said. “I need you to focus. Your son is in a position to burn your empire to the ground, but would he really do that? I assume your business is his legacy.”
Focus, indeed. That earned me every bit of Livingston’s attention and a fair amount of his annoyance at being distracted from the bite-sized bombshell in the room.
“I wanted it to be,” Livingston admitted. “But I’m not sure he wants it. Not anymore.”
Maybe not, since his father had added a heaping dose of corruption to the mix. Tainted the whole pot.
“What do you need me to do about it?” I prompted. “Make him back off? Discredit him?”
“I don’t want to ruin him,” Livingston muttered.
“Not like he wants to ruin you.” The comeback was too quick and cut too close to the bone. I had feared my time away from deal making had dulled my edge, but it may have given me a sharper one. Which was less than helpful in delicate negotiations like this.
Livingston’s jaw clenched, causing a vein to pulse in his temple.
We were getting nowhere fast.
Luxe looked bored by it all, toying with the shot glass like he wanted to drink it.
I huffed a breath and thought of how to try again.
I didn’t like to make the opening bid. It was always better to let the client name their terms, then negotiate down.
But talks had stalled, and I wasn’t about to restart them by telling Livingston how to mitigate his own disaster.
Either way, the sooner we wrapped this up, the sooner I could leave Livingston and Luxe to enjoy however much time I’d booked. Did that hour kick in when I’d requested him, or when he arrived? And who was keeping track?
Speaking of Luxe, he was on his feet again, bypassing me to the door he’d pulled closed where yet another distraction was waiting for admittance.
“You two are in for a treat,” Luxe purred. “Did I mention I have a plus one tonight?”
He definitely did not.
I pinpointed the other man as Luxe ushered him into the room.
The new kid entered my proximity like an asteroid plummeting toward Earth.
The details I’d observed at a distance came clear now that we were face to face. He was a handful of inches shorter than me, slim and so very lithe. He padded into the room on those half-wrapped feet, his toenails glittering with polish.
Funny detail. It was cute.
He was cute.
His red hair was as dramatic as stage curtains, framing his slim, delicate nose, pouty pink lips, and the long lashes that fanned around his eyes. His purple eyes glowed dimly as they traced over me.
Was he checking me out?
Or worse, noticing I was doing the same to him?
“Mister Beckett. Ewing.” Luxe addressed us while snagging the newcomer by the arm and tugging him forward. “Meet Cherry.”
The incubus thrust his hand out to shake. I thought he had it angled toward me, but Livingston inserted himself yet again, bypassing the offered hand and reaching up Cherry’s arm all the way to where scarlet strands dusted his collarbone.
“Cherry, hmm?” Livingston arched a brow. “A name like that promises a hell of a ride. Think you could sweep me off my feet, sweet thing?”
He feathered his fingers across Cherry’s cheek, and the prickle I’d felt earlier turned into a sting. Angry heat I should have ignored before it escaped as a mutter.
“I’m not paying double for twice the company.”
Luxe’s eyes fluttered, perturbed at first, but rapidly shifting to something closer to humor.
He saw right through me. If my interest was unmasked enough for a common demon to detect, the incubus in the room must have been sensing it in three dimensions.
“Then it’s lucky you caught us on sale,” Luxe told me. “Buy one, get one free.”
I wasn’t in a position to argue, so I tightened my jaw while the little demon added on.
“Cherry and I will sit pretty while you wrap up whatever it is you’re doing here.”
Livingston pulled away from Cherry and smirked. “That’s right, we’ll sit pretty, won’t we, darling?” Catching hold of Cherry’s wrist, he tugged him toward the couch.
No sooner had the incubus passed by than did my gaze drift to his back, tracing the curve of his spine into the dip above his ass, which was pert and plumped with muscle.
His thighs were shapely too. Every inch of him was lean and sinewy from his hips to his peeping toes, and I wanted to touch him.
More than that, I wanted Livingston not to.