Chapter Four
Dante
I’m pissed at myself for making that crack about Samantha’s mouth and what I’d like to do with it. My mind hasn’t been right since the first time I saw her, and talking to her, to my surprise, has only made it worse. One thing is abundantly clear: Samantha’s not the type of girl who belongs anywhere near a strip club. She’s sweet, smart, and very clearly submissive, even if she doesn’t realize it. And she definitely doesn’t belong anywhere near a sleazeball like Harry. He knows he’s essentially pimping these girls out to his high-paying clients. Anyone else would have had her on her knees already, and she would have done it, because she doesn’t feel like she has a choice.
The thought of anyone else even thinking of doing that to her makes me want to hit something. Hard.
She’s a good girl who deserves a guy who’ll treat her like a princess and shower her with flowers and gifts and make all of her dreams come true.
Me? All I can think about, as we near the site of the gala we’re attending, is how badly I want to peel that dress off of her, spread her legs, and pound into her sweet pussy. I bet it’ll be tighter and hotter than anything I’ve ever experienced before. I want to take every bit of her sweet innocence and fuck it right out of her until she understands that her body exists for my pleasure.
I curl my hands into fists. I want to do that, but I fucking won’t. I’m not that guy. Damn, I want her. I feel it deep in my gut, not to mention my balls, how bad I want to be inside her, how bad I want to hear her screaming my name, begging me to fuck her harder.
I look over at her, and she’s watching the scenery out the window. That dress. Fuck.
I can admit I want her. I can admit that I want to dominate her completely. But not because I’m paying her. No, that takes all of the fun out of it. Seduction is a game, and I’m going to seduce Samantha’s sweet ass into my bed. She’ll be begging me to take her. My cock twitches, thinking about how fresh and innocent she is. I mean, as innocent as a girl working as a stripper can be, I guess. There’s no way she’s a virgin. Guys have probably been trying to get into her pants since she was a teenager.
But I bet she’s never had anyone fuck her the way I can.
I sit back and allow myself to smile. Before this night is over, I’m going to have her screaming my name, even if right at this moment, she seems like she can’t stand me.
I always have enjoyed a challenge.
***
When we get to the venue for the gala, I step out and help Samantha out of the limo. She sets her hand in mine, and I can feel that she’s trembling, just a little. I tuck her hand into the crook of my arm and bend down to her, close to her ear.
“You’ll be fine. You’re an actress, right? Act like you do this shit all the time.”
After a moment, her spine straightens and the trembling lessens. She looks straight ahead, as if she has every damn right to be here, and I’m impressed not only by her composure, but by her ability to follow instructions.
I can imagine telling her to do all kinds of things. She’s the type of girl who’d outdo herself trying to please me, I just know it. Her innocence, her sweetness, that submissive streak I can see every time she lowers her gaze…all I want to do is get back in the car and spend the rest of the night making her want me as much as I want her.
But I have a job to do, and seduction can happen just as easily right here. If I can keep myself from staring at her tits all night, I’ll be just fine.
“What does your family do?” she whispers.
“Construction. Luxury high rises, that sort of thing.”
She nods, and then she falls back into silence again.
We walk into the party, and most of the eyes in the room follow us. It’s just the way these things are. Most of the people in this room are either people who have worked with my father’s company, people who want to work with the company, or politicians my father and brother have cozied up to to get our permits fast-tracked. Of course, the reason for the gala is to raise money for the foundation my father set up, providing scholarships for promising future architects. It’s a worthy cause, and I do what I can to help with it, even if it wasn’t adamantly, clearly expected that I be here. I do a tour of the room with Samantha on my arm, greeting people I know, as well as people my father told me he wanted me to meet. Everyone knows I’m the charming one in the family, so schmoozing our client base is generally left to me. Again, not my preferred area of focus, but I can be patient. After I finish this next mega project, I’m branching out and finally getting to work on some of my own building projects, and they sure the hell won’t be luxury high rises for the filthy rich.
We stroll toward yet another group of clients, and I greet each of them with a handshake. This is all second nature to me, but I keep glancing at Samantha to see how she’s holding up.
“Dante. I want to talk to you about taking on another project for my firm.” This is from Hans Engel, who hired our firm last year to build a high-rise office tower with luxury condos. I spearheaded that project, and we’ve gotten more than a few contracts based on his recommendation.
I nod. “Let’s do it, then. You know you can call my father’s assistant anytime to get the ball rolling.”
“I’d rather deal directly with you. I want you on this,” Hans says. “Do you have any idea how good that building has been for our image? Revenues are higher than any of us projected, even in our wildest dreams, and that’s because of the quality of the building.”
“Easy, Hans. He’ll know to bill higher next time,” one of our other former clients, Larry Rogers, murmurs. Everyone laughs, including me.
“Well. You pay for quality, right?” I ask with a smile, and Hans nods.
I glance at Samantha. She’s listening intently, but, as I asked, she’s staying quiet. She smiles when the others joke, reading the situation perfectly. These men expect to be humored, even when their jokes aren’t that funny.
“And who is this beautiful creature?” Larry asks, and Samantha smiles sweetly at him.
“This is my friend, Samantha,” I say, placing my hand at the base of her spine.
“Stunning,” Larry says. If he wasn’t seventy-six-years old and one of our best clients, I’d be less nice about his obvious admiration.
Samantha just nods serenely, still smiling.
Smart girl. Humor him, honey. Play the role. And the fact that she follows instructions so well…well, that’s just one more thing for me to try not to think about too damn much.
I glance across the room and see one of our biggest clients standing alone. I smoothly separate Samantha and I from the group we’re currently talking with and steer her toward the bar. “I need to talk to someone. I’ll be back in a few minutes. Why don’t you go grab a drink or something.”
“I can do that,” she says in a bit of a breathy voice, and my gaze drops to her full breasts, her lush cleavage. When I look back up at her, she’s got the prettiest damn blush to her cheeks, and it hits me again how innocent she seems and how badly I want to corrupt her.
“Go on,” I say, and it comes out harsher than I mean for it to. She walks away, and I can’t help but follow the sway of her hips as she walks.
“Get it together, Knight,” I mutter. I give my head a little shake, straighten my cuffs, and head over toward the client I’m supposed to talk up.
But I won’t be leaving her alone for long.
***
Samantha
When I reach the bar, I notice that most of the women seem to be drinking champagne, so I order a glass as well. The first sip is like magic, and I realize this isn’t the cheap stuff we used to get on New Year’s Eve while I was growing up. I take another sip and just let it sit on my tongue for a while, enjoying the taste of it.
A guy in a dark suit slides up to the bar beside me, and for a second, I think it’s Dante, but immediately realize that this guy isn’t tall or bulky enough.
“Hey. Samantha, right?” he asks in a voice as smooth as honey. I glance up at him. He looks like someone from an underwear ad, kind of model-perfect. Nice looking, but after spending the last hour with Dante, I’m not overly impressed for some reason.
“Hi,” I answer, glancing around to see if Dante is nearby. The way this guy is looking at me, like he’s imagining me naked, is already making my skin crawl.
All right, so clearly I wasn’t meant to be a stripper.
Unfortunately, Dante is nowhere around and now I have to try to figure out how to step away without offending underwear model guy.
“I’m Anton,” he says, holding out his hand. After a moment, I take it, intending to briefly and politely shake it and then get the heck away from him. “If I had you for the night, I sure the hell wouldn’t waste it here,” he says in a low, smooth voice, and his grip on my hand tightens.
“Excuse me?” I try for my haughtiest, most blue-blood attitude. I’m an actress. This is an act. It’s like a mantra I have to keep repeating to myself, from the second Harry led me into that room earlier today.
“No need to put on the high and mighty act with me, sweetness. I was there earlier at the Calla Club when Dante bid on you.”
I quickly glance around, hoping no one overheard, but everyone else at the bar is engrossed in their own conversations. I glance back at the guy, Anton, and he’s giving me this sleazy little smirk.
“One million dollars, huh? You must be so damn good to be able to charge that,” he purrs, and I try to pull my hand out of his without making a scene. He lets me go but maneuvers himself so my body is trapped between him and the bar. “I can only imagine how sexy you look on your knees.”
I try to duck around him, and he smoothly keeps me cornered. “Tell you what. I’m feeling generous and it’s been a little while since I’ve had a good, dirty fuck. One million, plus fifty grand, if you leave here with me, right now.”
“Not interested. Excuse me,” I say, and I quickly manage to get around him this time, but he grabs my wrist and pulls me back. I’m shaking now, a combination of anger and flat-out fear. I’ve heard plenty about men like this who think their money entitles them to whatever they want. He doesn’t care if I say no, and he’s trying to pull me toward the door.
All of a sudden, there’s a solid wall of tuxedo-clad chest by my side, and Dante’s there, knocking Anton’s hand away from me.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Dante snarls, and the look he’s giving Anton makes it very, very clear that they’re not friends. At all.
“I was just making conversation,” Anton says with a smirk.
“You touch her again and I’ll break a few things. Keep your fucking hands to yourself.”
Without another word, Dante takes my hand and leads me toward the dance floor. I’m still shaking stupidly from my ordeal with creepy Anton, and when Dante pulls me close, another type of tremble runs along my spine.
“Are you okay?” he asks quietly, his mouth near my ear, his warm breath caressing my neck.
“I’m fine. I’m sorry. I didn’t want to talk to him—”
“It’s not your fault. Anton’s a dick, and if I’d suspected he’d make a play for you, I never would have left you alone. I’m sorry.”
I’m more than a little surprised by the apology, and it must show. He gives me a small, almost-sheepish smile, and then he pulls me closer. My hand is in his, and his arm is around my body, holding me tightly plastered up against his hard body. His fingers start playing up and down my spine, and it feels like I can barely breathe.
When I look up into his face, his eyes are on me, and the dark intensity of his gaze takes my breath away.
“What did he say to you?” he asks quietly.
“That he’d pay more if I left here with him tonight.”
“He’s a prick,” he mutters.
I don’t know what to say to that, so I content myself with swaying in his arms, with the shivers that go up my spine every time his fingertips trace a path from between my shoulder blades to just above my ass, though it feels as if his hand dips almost indecently low a few times.
“So. Construction, huh? Do you like it?” I ask, fighting to keep some sort of control and focus.
“Yeah. Most of the time, anyway,” he murmurs. “My father’s trying to groom me to take it over in the next year or two.”
“Trying? You seem to handle yourself pretty well,” I say and then blush as his eyes meet mine. “I mean…you’re very confident, and so many of those people you talked to earlier just kind of went on and on about how much they liked working with you in particular.” Great. Now I’m babbling. I’m about to say something else when his fingertips skate over the roundest part of my ass and, for just a moment, his hand lingers, gently gripping my behind, his fingertips so, so close to where I’m already throbbing for him. I gasp, and he slowly moves his hand back up to my back.
“My brother’s going to end up taking over. This is more his thing,” he says, as if I’m not about five seconds away from exploding.
“This isn’t your thing?” I ask, and he shakes his head.
“My focus is a little different.”
I want to ask him what his focus is, but he leans in, just a little, his breath caressing my earlobe. “I’m shitty with compliments. I meant to tell you earlier how stunning you look tonight.”
“Oh. Thank you.”
“I haven’t been able to take my eyes off you. Every man in this room wants to be where I am right now.”
I give a nervous little laugh, and he pulls me even closer. “I kinda doubt that. There are some gorgeous women in this room.”
“Mm. There are some nice-looking women. None of them look like you, though. And I can tell you right now what’s going through these men’s heads, watching you here in that sexy dress, pressed up against me like this.”
“What?” I swear I can barely breathe.
“They’re all thinking what a lucky bastard I am, because I’m going home with you,” he murmurs in my ear, and there’s that little growl again. I try to press my thighs together, and at the movement, he maneuvers himself so his muscular thigh is there instead, pressing into me. I feel the insane, ridiculous urge to grind into him to get some relief, but I refuse to lose myself to this insanity. Unfortunately for me, he keeps talking. “They’re imagining what you’ll be like for me later, when it’s just the two of us. They’re imagining you naked, those gorgeous legs spread. They’re wondering if you scream when you come. Hoping you do, probably.”
“Stop,” I whisper.
“They’re thinking about the long, hot night I have ahead of me. Every guy in this room wishes he was me.”
“I think that has more to do with you being rich and powerful than it has to do with me,” I tell him with a laugh. I need to pull myself together. Right at this moment, I’m just as curious as anyone to find out whether or not I scream when I come, and I wonder what it would feel like to have him buried deep inside me.
How did I get here? I’ve been saving myself for love, and now I’m willing to give everything to this smooth, commanding, cocky man who can make me wetter than I’ve ever been in my life with little more than a word or a look.
“I think we’re done here, Samantha,” he murmurs, and the way he says my name makes something twist deep inside me. The way he says it, my name is pure sex, and for just a moment I want to live up to the way his mouth forms the word.
“We are?”
“Yes. I’ve played the good son. I’ve made my father’s clients happy. You’ve helped me put on a good show, and now I’m ready to get the hell out of here.”
“Okay,” I say, and he takes my hand, pulling me toward the exit. I breathe a sigh of relief, knowing that I’ll be away from all of these rich, powerful, intimidating people and their questioning glances.
Until I remember that I’m going home with Dante.