Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 91507 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 458(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91507 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 458(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
Tam turned from the stereo equipment in the corner. “I want to polish the ‘S&M’ set. I don’t have anything new today.”
“Before we get started, um, Rafe came to see me at work today.”
“Motherfucker.” Z stood and flicked a towel. “I should have threatened him with an NYPD crackdown like I wanted to.”
“Wait, what?” He darted a look at the others. They all avoided his eyes, even Jae.
Tam spoke up first. “He called all of us.”
Something slimy made his stomach squirm. “Oh.” Rafe had contacted everyone else first. Why did that make him feel so fucking awful? “When?”
“Saturday,” Ansel said.
“We wanted to tell you, but we didn’t want to make the situation worse.” Yeah, because that made sense.
“I get it.” He didn’t.
Rafe had contacted everyone on Saturday. That must have been what they were talking about in the conversation he’d overheard on Sunday night.
“We told him to go fuck himself.” Z squeezed Hop’s shoulder. Even though it was supposed to be a supportive gesture all it did was piss him off.
“Sorry, but that’s bullshit.”
“We were protecting you.”
“I don’t need your protection, especially from him. He’s never hurt me. We have history, sure, but it has nothing to do with you. Isn’t it my choice?”
“You want to forgive him?” Z sounded skeptical.
And, okay, he had a right. Because yeah, Hop was struggling. And no, he absolutely did not forgive Rafe. But he also couldn’t stand by and watch while his friends gave up on something so amazing because of him. The guilt had been eating at him for days and he didn’t want to live with that for the rest of his life. What if they never found another club to hire them? What if they ended up splitting apart, never dancing again?
Hop couldn’t let that happen.
So, he lied.
“Yeah, I forgive him.”
Chapter Nine
Rafe snapped a pencil in half as Lockwood’s secretary’s voice played over his answering service.
“Mr. Lockwood will expect you at his residence on Thursday at six o’clock. You will stay for dinner after the budget meeting. Dress is semiformal, as usual. Bring wine; red, aged at least ten years, from a Southern European vineyard.” She hung up without any of the customary salutations, leaving Rafe fuming.
Fifteen years of this bullshit. God, he couldn’t wait to be through with it all.
For that, he needed Hop.
He reclined in his office chair picturing Hop’s smile, the ease of it, the confident way he’d handled his work, the way his eyes had widened when Rafe appeared. The quickness of his breathing.
The warmth that had seeped into Rafe even through layers of clothes. The way Hop had frozen when Rafe had touched him, how his muscles had gone soft under Rafe’s palms, almost like Rafe’s firm hand had helped him relax.
The idea was driving Rafe insane.
Had Hop always been so easy to mold or was this new? Rafe tried to remember, but it was so long ago and his memories were tainted.
Desire pooled low in Rafe’s belly, but he credited it to his long dry spell. He wasn’t attracted to Hopkins, he was attracted to the challenge he presented. Of course Rafe would ache to see such a willful personality finally yield. Right? The idea of it shot adrenaline through his blood and straight to his cock.
It was just that, not those eyes.
Not the memory of Hop’s vulnerability.
He didn’t like labels, but many would call him a Dom. It fit. He definitely got off on supplication and it didn’t matter who was submitting most of the time.
He’d played with men before, especially in the beginning before he’d gained a reputation to be trusted. Still, this was Hopkins, the one who couldn’t stop testing boundaries. It didn’t matter that the poor kid had only been trying to have a relationship with his father.
Rafe could not—would not—see Hopkins on his knees. Better to wipe that idea right out of his mind and refocus on the dilemma in his way.
Should he try calling Ansel Becke again? He mentally cringed, but flipped through the papers on his desk until he found the contact sheet. He picked up his phone and dialed the first number.
As it rang, a knock came from his office door. He waited for Mark to enter, but when he didn’t, Rafe called, “What?”
The door swung open and his cotton-candy fantasy walked in. Hop, dressed in iridescent pink pants so low they exposed his sharp hipbones beneath a baby-blue crop top with Hello Boys in swirly font. His tantalizing hair looked like silk as it fell in waves and curled around his ears—from the left hung a blue heart earring with a lightning bolt. His face was painted with muted pastel tones accentuating his natural androgynous features. And the best part? He wore a pair of stunning metallic gold heels that shone like the sun.
His crazy-Dom side was too close to the surface to handle Hop in the dazzling flesh right then.