Flirting with Disaster
Dante
Our next stop was a bit off the grid.
In a shadowy part of the west end we pulled up to the front of an old four story building that was hiding under a hulking railroad trestle. A single overhead light illuminated the front door and a colossal boulder of a man stood sentinel.
Covered in tattoos and wearing blue jeans and a leather vest, I took him as a bouncer.
He could have been a bouncer/doorman for many a breed of establishments: gay bar, leather bar, cutting edge nightclub.
But since the building was surrounded by over fifty motorcycles—mostly Harley-Davidsons—I hazarded to guess this was a biker bar.
A big one.
I saw Taz staring out his window at the building. If the partition was down, I could imagine him growling.
“Time for phase one of our little inter-date,” Charlotte said as Edward opened her door.
Cute.
But what was she trying to do, bringing me to a bar like this?
I slid out of the limo behind her, and as I stood I let my hand graze her round, firm bottom—just for a moment—before settling my hand in the supple curve of her back, gently guiding her toward the front door, and the gargantuan tattooed doorman.
I waved Taz off when he went to follow us.
Whatever Ms. Rampling had in mind, I’m sure I could handle it on my own.
It would be more fun too.
Though I was sure Taz would magically show up if anything did happen.
He was like that.
The doorman’s steely gaze slid over me, assessing me, and then washed over Charlotte in a completely different way.
“Sure you two are in the right place?”
“Yes, I am,” Charlotte said, playfully.
I kept my hand on her back and put her to the side of me, away from the doorman.
“What can I say? The lady likes to live dangerously.”
The doorman gave a harsh little bark of a laugh. “Well, she’s in the right place.”
Inside the bar was loud, smoky and filled with the smells of sweat, leather, Jack Daniels and sex: any biker club’s wet dream.
There were women in numerous levels of undress, one actually being fucked atop one of the three pool tables—men still playing, bouncing pool balls off her bare ass. Booze and beer free flowing from a long straight bar against the wall, and smoke—redolent of both tobacco and cannabis—rolled in slow clouds through the bar.
The grunting sounds of arm wrestling, two minor brawls, the crack and clack of the pool tables and a pinball machine mixed with loud conversations, cat calls, wolf whistles and very bad singing.
Charlotte led me through the throng of beefy, tattooed men straight to the bar. She leaned over to the bartender, a man in faded denim and a bandanna on his head, and handed him a fifty dollar bill. She had her round, sinfully luscious bottom stuck out, and I don’t think it was by accident.
The bartender took the fifty and then laid out two bottles of Budweiser and two shots of tequila.
So far she wanted me off balance, placed in uncomfortable and alien situations, in environs that could well endanger my life and limb… and now she wanted to get me drunk.
This was shaping up to one hell on an interesting interview.
I moved to her side and leaned against the bar, letting my eyes drink in her milky flesh, the way that black cocktail dress molded to her body,
And how her head swiveled and nodded.
Oh, it’s like that.
I leaned in and let my lips graze the flesh of her earlobe as I said, “If you’re planning something involving one or more of these bikers and goading me into a fight…” I licked her ear and watched as it sent a shiver through her. “Then this interview is over, and I will blacklist you with all the clout at my disposal.”
I straightened myself to my full height and saw a burly tough guy in ragged denim walking toward us.
Charlotte looked up at me, her expression surprised and then piqued with anger.
I’d read the situation correctly, one of my more useful skills. And now she had only a few seconds to decide if she wanted the interview or to piss me off.
“Well?” I asked. She had three seconds and I would pull the plug on this. Sure, there might be some blood if I really did get into it with the man coming toward us, but it would be quick and I’d be out the door before anyone knew why the man was on the floor, unconscious.
One… two…
Charlotte rolled her eyes and sighed. “Fine.”
She was sexy even in defeat.
She turned toward the tough guy and ruefully shook her head and made a slashing cut motion with her hand.
I saw Taz at the other end of the bar. Like I said, he would just materialize when danger approached. He’s like that.
The tough guy scowled, and then shook his head. Without missing a step he sidled up to the bar and ordered a beer.
“So what were you looking for with that, Ms. Rampling?”
She bit her lip again, but I pushed the image that had intruded on me earlier out of the way. I needed to pay attention to the woman in front of me.
“Just wanted to see if you’re as tough as I’ve heard.”
“Tough?” I had to laugh. “I assure you I’m a formidable businessman. That would not need proving in a setting like this.”
“I heard you like to fight—physical fights. And that you train every morning with your security people.”
I leaned back against the bar and looked around at the milling bikers. “I don’t enjoy fighting. But yes, I train every day.”
She waited, taking her time. “Because of what happened to your parents?”
Yes. Their being victims of a home invasion back when I was in my junior year had demolished my world… and my sister’s mind—we’d both been there when it happened.
“My parents are off-limits,” I said, staring Charlotte in the eye.
I had never discussed it with anyone, except Marjory. And I wasn’t about to start now.
After a few beats she nodded and took a swig from her beer, then chased it with the shot.
“So what isn’t off-limits, Mr. Saint James?”
Ever adaptive… I doubted anything fazed this woman for long.
“Business…” I reached over and drew my thumb over her bottom lip with my thumb and caressed her cheek. “Pleasure…”
“I’m not really a business reporter,” she said.
Lie.
I’d read her earlier work when she was rising up the newspaper ranks. She was a sharp, observant reporter who didn’t shy away from any subject.
It was only recently that she’d moved toward more sensational exposes.
“Then why are we here?” I looked out over the denizens of the bar. “Unless your fantasy is to get fucked on a pool table or in what’s probably a filthy bathroom stall.”
Her eyes drank me in and then skittered across the bar. “Been there, done that.”
Provocative…
She turned toward me, hitting me with both her amazing breasts and her mesmerizing eyes.
“So what had been the plan before I hijacked you?”
I glowered down at her and felt myself getting hard—there had been so many plans for tonight.