Tsunami
We arrive at Westerfield’s in a Stark International limo and get the full VIP treatment. I walk up the red carpet with Nikki and Sylvia, with whom I’ve been chatting and drinking during the drive from my house down to West Hollywood. The guys are behind us, talking about the resort and plans for a retail complex that the three of them are considering working on together.
Honestly, it’s far too much business talk during my birthday celebration, and when we get to the door, I step back from the girls and tell the men that it’s time to be festive. I almost put my arm through Dallas’s, but he steps back at the last second, and I shoot him a grateful glance. I’ve been so comfortable with these four all evening that it’s far too easy to let my guard down.
And while I don’t get the impression that any of them—Jackson or Damien, Sylvia or Nikki—would judge us harshly, that’s not a theory that I’m willing to put to the test.
“My birthday,” I point out. “My rules. Fun and dance and drinking from here on out.”
“And right next to the stage,” Damien says. “Best seats in the house. Except for the fact that it’s standing room only. But if you want to sit we can go up to my office and watch through the window.”
“Not on your life. I want to dance.”
Beside me, Sylvia laughs. “Sounds like your brother got you the perfect present.”
I flash Dallas a smile. “He knows me well. I love this band.”
“You’re lucky,” she says. “I adore my brother, but as far as birthday presents go, he has no imagination whatsoever. He usually gets me a Starbucks gift card. Or wine.”
“Both good choices,” I say as we follow Damien through the crowd toward the stage. “How about you?” I ask Nikki. “Good sibling presents or crappy sibling presents?”
“My sister died when I was a teenager,” she says, and I freeze, because it’s really hard to walk after putting your foot so firmly in your mouth.
“It’s okay,” she says, squeezing my hand. “You couldn’t know, and the truth is she always gave great presents, but never something I thought I wanted. The best was my camera. It’s what got me started with my hobby. I love it.”
“And now you have a sister-in-law,” Sylvia says, indicating herself. “And I have absolutely no idea what to get you for a present ever.” She meets my eyes. “You probably already know this, growing up in the family you did, but it’s really hard to buy a gift for people who can afford to buy themselves whatever they want.”
“That’s Damien,” Nikki says, laughing. “I’m still getting used to having money in the bank.”
They’re both talking so casually and openly that I forget about my faux pas and relax again, taking the time to look around the space. We’ve passed into a roped off area that is apparently only for holders of VIP tickets. According to Damien, there will be more room to move in this area which is good news as that means there will be room to dance. I can already tell that the general admission area is going to be so jammed that the crowd will be doing well simply to sway.
I suggest to Dallas that we go get a drink, but that’s handled for us as well. Damien taps something into his phone, and seconds later a jean-clad waitress brings us all a drink. Honestly, it’s all pretty awesome, and I break protocol long enough to grab Dallas’s hand, then rise up onto my tiptoes so that I can whisper to him. “Thanks,” I say. “Even before the band comes on, I can honestly say this is the best birthday ever.”
I see Jackson pushing in through the crowd and only then realize that he’d stepped away. I glance at Sylvia, and must look confused, because she leans in to tell me that he’d gone to a quieter area to call their nanny and check on their kids, a four-year-old daughter and a three-month-old son.
“Everything’s good,” he says, kissing her temple. “I caught them right before Ronnie went down, and she said to tell you she loves you.”
Sylvia smiles wide, and I feel a tightening in my gut. I want that. I want a family. I want kids.
I want Dallas.
And I don’t want to hide.
I turn toward him—though I don’t know what I intend to say. It’s not as if I’m going to jump up on stage and announce our love. I guess I just want to look at him, this man with whom I share such a vexing love.
I’m about to pull him aside on some pretense when the opening band comes on, so I forcefully push my melancholy aside—tonight is about being festive, after all—and let myself get swept away in the music.
The VIP section fills up quickly, but there’s still room to dance, and I’m doing so much of that I’m slick with sweat, even though I’ve dressed simply in a cotton halter and low-rise jeans. I’m drinking vodka like it’s water to cool down, and I’m already a little bit buzzed, which is perfectly fine by me. I didn’t catch the band’s name, but they’re awesome, and when they finish and we all applaud, I make a mental note to ask Damien later. Meanwhile, my eyes are glued to the stage as the host introduces the main act.
Dallas is standing right behind me, and though his hands aren’t touching me, he sways forward and I sway back, so that our bodies brush just slightly. And I know that while we both hope that it looks like an innocent brush of two people moving on a dance floor, in our minds, we’re both fucking right here in the crowd.
And damned if I don’t want to reach back, hold his hips still, and grind my ass against his erection. The urge is so powerful, in fact, that I clasp my hands in front of my belly button, afraid that if I let go I will give in to desire. Because I’m wired on music and drink and my inhibitions are very, very low.
Then Dominion Gate comes on, and everyone around us goes completely crazy, and when they lead into their first song, I start to dance and Nikki and Sylvia soon join me, and I can feel Dallas behind us, swaying to the music, his eyes hard and hot on me. And, yes, I add a few extra shimmies knowing that he is watching me.
Soon enough, though, I just get lost in the music. I don’t even realize that a tall, blond guy has moved in close to dance with me, and when I do, I start to move away. But then I think, fuck it. We’re supposed to be playing the role of siblings, right?
And, yeah, maybe some part of me wants Dallas to see. To have the tiniest inkling of what it was like for me every time I saw one of those women at his side. And it’s not like I’m going to fuck the guy. But I am touching him, our hips brushing as we move to the music. Our bodies finding the music as I wish that he was Dallas and that I was grinding hard against him. And it’s only when Dallas moves in and roughly shoves the guy out of the way that I realize just how much I’ve gotten to him.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” He’s leaning in close because he has to practically shout to be heard over the band.
I hold on to his shoulder for balance as I answer. “Dancing.”
“Dammit, Jane. You—”
“No. No. You’re the one I want to dance with. Hell, you’re the one I want to press against,” I add. “To kiss.” And then, because I’ve drunk too damn much, I move in closer, then grind against him before boldly lowering my hand to brush his erection.
“Christ, Jane.” He pushes me away, then roughly pulls me back.
And even though I know it’s a mistake, I rise up onto my toes and close my mouth over his.
I’m not sure what I intended. Maybe just a quick, chaste brush of lips. A tease.
Dallas doesn’t take it that way. He’s had as much to drink as I have, maybe more, and between us we’re a walking billboard for impaired reason. Because god knows he shouldn’t be sliding his arm around my waist. Shouldn’t be pulling me close. Shouldn’t be slanting his mouth over mine and sliding his tongue inside, kissing me deep and hard and making me so goddamn wet right here on the dance floor.
He shouldn’t, but he is. And only when the bright flash of cameras breaks through my haze and reality finally crashes through my addled brain do I realize the consequences and push him away from me.
But it’s too late. We’ve been recognized, and camera phones are still snapping and people nearby are pointing and yelling, and though I can’t hear what they’re saying over the band, I don’t stay to find out. Instead, I turn away, ignoring both Nikki and Sylvia who reach for me, and race out of the VIP section.
I shove through the crowd, or at least I try to. But it’s only when bouncers open a path that I am finally able to move, and I realize belatedly that Damien and Dallas are ahead of me, and that Damien’s had security clear us a path.
Dallas and Jackson are on either side of me as Damien holds the door open and says something to the bouncer, who signals for the limo to pull up.
The driver steps out to open the door, and we start to hustle that way. “Just take it,” I hear Damien say. “I can get another one easily enough.”
“Thanks, man,” Dallas says. “I can’t—”
But Damien just shakes his head. “I don’t need an explanation.” He turns and smiles at me. “It was great meeting you, Jane. You’re going to be just fine.”
I somehow manage to respond, and Dallas and I head across the parking lot to the limo. But we don’t make it.
Someone inside must have made a call, because now the small crowd of reporters and paparazzi that had been hanging around outside the club hoping for pictures of Damien Stark or the band or Dallas has turned feral, and I can feel my panic rising. I can’t believe that I’ve done this. That I started this avalanche. Me, who only wants to be in control. Who fantasized about being open in my relationship with Dallas, but never, ever wanted this. The media. The attention. All the trappings and bullshit.
But that’s what we have, and now the press is surrounding us like a pack of dogs, and although Damien and his security guys tell them to back off, they continue to shout questions and flash pictures.
Finally, Dallas simply stops. “Come on, folks,” he says. “There’s not a damn thing to see here. You people know my reputation. Bad boy billionaire, right?”
“Are you fucking your sister now, Dallas?” one bold reporter asks. “Doesn’t get much more bad boy than that.”
Dallas points a finger at him, and I watch as his face changes to the personable media whore that he plays so well. “You have to admit she’s gorgeous, even as sisters go. But what you guys witnessed was a dare—nothing more. Somebody dared me to kiss my sister like I kiss all my women.” He lifts a shoulder. “I’m sure she’ll give me shit for it later, but I never turn down a dare. Especially when money’s on the table.”
“How much money?”
“Who dared you?”
“So is your brother a good kisser, Jane?”
As they shout questions, Dallas takes my elbow and leads me toward the waiting limo. I can tell from his expression that he knows the story that he made up on the fly is completely absurd. And, frankly, I’m in a little bit of shock, because even though I know it won’t last, in this moment, they actually seem to believe his bullshit story.
And suddenly, surprisingly, that pisses me off. I know Dallas was trying to protect me. That he manufactured this story of a dare to try and keep the press away from me. To keep me safe. And while I love that he tried, at the core, I’m annoyed with myself. I’ve spent a gazillion dollars and at least as many hours in self-defense classes and strength training, and I’m still a damn victim, too scared to stand up and fight for what I want—and what I want is Dallas. A real life out in the open, the judgment of the world be damned.
And yes, I hate the thought of the media attention that will inevitably follow. And yes, it makes me twitchy knowing that I’m tossing away privacy in exchange for a life as tabloid fodder.
But it would be a life in the light. A life with Dallas.
And with him at my side, I know I can get through it.
“Jane.” Dallas’s voice cuts through the dialogue in my head, and I realize I’ve zoned out, lost in my fantasy of freedom. Even freedom at a price. “Go on. Get in.”
We’re at the door of the limo, and I start to comply. But then I shake my head and turn around to look out at the crowd that has gathered around us.
And then, before I can talk myself out of it, I blurt, “It wasn’t a dare.”
“Jane.”
I take his hand, but otherwise ignore him. I have to say this fast before I lose my nerve.
“It wasn’t a dare,” I repeat. “It was a kiss. And it was real.” I turn so that I’m looking straight at Dallas. “And it was right.”
For a moment, I think that he’s going to argue. Then he inclines his head. For a moment, our eyes lock. Then he takes my hand and urges me into the limo.
He follows, then shuts the door, firmly cutting off the shouted questions and camera flashes from the crowd we’re leaving behind.
“Oh, god,” I say as he pulls me close.
“You’re amazing. Absolutely amazing.” He bends to kiss me, but is interrupted by the sharp ring of his phone.
I meet his eyes—we both recognize the ring tone. The caller, I know, is our mother.
Dallas answers on speaker. “Mom,” he says.
But it’s not Mom, and I cringe when Daddy’s very formal, very cold voice comes across the line.
“Imagine my surprise when my business manager calls and tells me that I need to tune in to TMZ, of all things.”
“Daddy—” I begin, but he doesn’t let me get a word in.
“So here is what’s going to happen. You’re going to instruct your driver to take you to the NBC affiliate. I’ve already got my team making arrangements. You’ll go on air. Jane, you’ll explain that you were irritated at being jumped by the press on your birthday. You’ll say you decided to bait them. That you don’t know what came over you, but of course there is nothing between you and your brother. A stupid dare. Foolish and silly but not real. Then you will end the statement and you will come immediately home to New York. I’ll arrange for a longer appearance on a few talk shows. We’ll have to spin this, but it will be spun. And this family will not be destroyed in the media because of the stupid, ill-conceived actions of my children. Do you understand?”
“I understand,” I say, looking hard at Dallas. “And I’m sorry, Daddy, but I don’t think we’re going to be doing that.”
“Dammit, Jane, you—”
“She already answered you, Dad.”
“I will not be—”
“Goodbye, Daddy,” I say. And then, with my heart pounding painfully in my chest, I take the phone from Dallas and press the button to end the call.