The Cain I’ve been using as a prop onstage all these weeks is an emotionless man who wants nothing more than sex. He’s aggressive and demanding and walks away when he’s gotten his fill. Aside from a lustful crush, it’s difficult to picture myself forming an attachment to a man like that.
But the Cain I experienced last night is nothing like that prop. That Cain is passionate and gentle and, I’m afraid, has the ability to consume me.
That’s a treacherous position to be in, for a girl who is running.
Tomorrow.
“Charlie?” He leans forward to plead softly, “Am I forgiven?”
I don’t blame him for investigating his employees. But still, not many people go to that level of trouble. “Why not just a simple background check?”
A hand slides up to his neck, to that tattoo, rubbing it slowly as his eyes drift over the crowd. “I know the kind of world I live in, in this industry. I do a lot of things to protect myself.”
I hesitate. And then I remind myself that tonight is my only night with Cain. “Why do you do what you do? I mean the club . . . the apartment building . . .”
His face crinkles into a quick smile and then relaxes into a look of contemplation. As he takes a sip of his wine, I suspect he’s collecting his thoughts. Deciding what he wants to admit to. “Over the years, I’ve had to arrange for a lot of apartments for the dancers. Abusive boyfriends . . . infested complexes . . . ,” he gestures at me, “dangerous neighbors. It made sense to buy a building so I had a safe place to send them.” His teeth visibly clench. “I didn’t want anyone knowing that I owned it. But Tanner accidently let it get out . . .”
“Why does it matter?”
He sighs. “I don’t want the dancers feeling overwhelmed by me.” There’s a pause. “I don’t know how to explain it. I just . . . I’m afraid they’ll think I’m trying to own them. I want to help these women get away from this lifestyle. The last thing I’m trying to do is exploit them.”
“But, you’re . . .” I let my voice drift off as I see him frown.
“Yes, I’m exploiting them because I own and operate the strip club where they work.” I hear the tightness in his voice and I’m sure I’ve offended him. “I know exactly what it looks like. I feel conflicted about it every day.” His finger drags up the outside of his wineglass to catch a drop of wine. “I made most of my money before I ever opened a club. Penny’s earns a lot, but I don’t take the cuts other owners would. The dancers tip out the bartenders and bouncers, but I don’t take anything. They keep everything else that they earn. I also spend a lot of time and money trying to help where I can. Counseling, tutoring, whatever they need.” A dark, serious gaze settles on me. “If they’re going to choose this life, I can’t stop them. But I can give them a safe place while they’re in it, until they can decide to get out of it.”
“That’s very . . .” my voice drifts as I search for the right word, “. . . noble.”
“It’s more like compensating,” he says quietly, taking another small sip as he holds my gaze carefully, as if he can see me processing his vague words.
Compensating for things he has done in his past? So Cain isn’t perfect. I wonder what he’s done that’s so bad. I wonder if it’s as bad as what I’ve done. What if it’s worse? Would I forgive him if I found out he was a ra**st or a murderer? Is that worse than trafficking deadly drugs, ruining lives?
Is it the same?
Who decides?
Resting his elbows on the table and leaning in closer to me, he asks quietly, “Do you want to talk about what happened between us and what it means?”
I hadn’t expected him to bring it up so abruptly and boldly. Stalling with a long, slow sip of my wine, I finally manage to get out, “Are you always so direct?”
That earns a sheepish smile. “I don’t do small talk well.” His finger trails around the rim of his glass. “It seems like a waste of time.”
“It can be,” I agree. In the case of Cain and me, this couldn’t be more true. There is a clock ticking for us and it is going to stop.
Tomorrow.
Will it bother Cain when I leave? Will he be upset with me if I don’t say goodbye? Should I tell him? Maybe I should let him know that I won’t be around much longer, so he knows this can’t turn into anything—
“Cain! What a pleasant surprise.” The female voice next to our table catches me completely off guard and I let out an exhale, not realizing I had been holding my breath. I turn to find a tall redheaded woman with shiny pink lips and creamy skin standing next to us, her eyes locked on Cain.
His expression doesn’t give anything away, but the four-second pause sure does. He’s shocked to see this woman and, though I can’t be sure, he may not be happy. “Larissa.” Pulling his chair out, he stands to place a kiss on each cheek. “What are you doing in Miami?” He’s completely polite, but I catch the slightest strain in his tone.
If I had to guess, I’d say the woman is in her early thirties. By her Manolos and her designer suit, she’s got money. By the way she’s smiling at Cain right now, she has good taste in men.
By the hardening in my stomach, I think she’s had a taste of Cain.
She certainly doesn’t look like a woman who has ever graced the stage of Penny’s before.
Her manicured finger points toward a building across the water, on the other side of the bay. “My firm did the interior design for the new luxury hotel that opened this weekend. I needed to show my face. It was a big thing in the media.”
Her firm. Yeah, she’s got money, all right.
“I left you a voice message yesterday to let you know I’d be in town. Didn’t you get it?” The way her head cocks to the side and her hand reaches out to graze his forearm, I no longer question whether she and Cain have had some sort of relationship. I know it.
And now I see the kind of woman that normally attracts Cain. Neither the real me nor the Charlie Rourke version of me plays in her league. It makes me wonder why I’ve gotten his attention at all. Is this still because I remind him of Penny?
Clearing his throat, Cain takes a step back from her and gestures to me. “Larissa, this is Charlie.”
I have to consciously unclench my jaw as green eyes turn to dissect me, flittering over my hair, lingering on my dress and my shoes for too long. I, too, am wearing a pair of Manolos, along with a simple and sexy black strapless dress from a high-end New York designer—both gifts from Sam. There’s nothing cheap about what I’m wearing.
And yet she sneers anyway.
“Charlie . . . cute.” By the haughty look on her face, I know that “cute” means something entirely different and not at all pleasant. And by Cain’s clenched jaw and the apology in his eyes, I can tell he sees it as well. “Is it short for anything?”
I wonder when he was with her last. I wonder when he’ll be with her next. That thought fills my stomach with dread. But I won’t show those thoughts.
“Nope. Just Charlie,” I say, leaning back in my chair as if completely at ease, offering a smile of my own. A smug smile that says, “I’m having dinner with the man you want to be with and as far as you know, we’re doing it like rabbits when we get home.” And, if that’s not clear enough, I turn to Cain and say sweetly, “I’m sorry, babe. I turned your phone off before bed last night. I didn’t want us to be disturbed.”