Leon's Way (3 page)

Not the kind of heaven I crave.

“Goddamn!” I think is all I say. She gets up too, eyes liquid with something besides desire. Arriane is so beautiful—she’s sweet. So sweet. Kind.

Her hands go up to cup my face, and I pull her in as she kisses me. My cock twitches, hard against her stomach.

She lifts her knee. I don’t know what she’s doing that for. It’s not safe. Why is she tempting fate? I open my eyes and see hers looking at me with such… love? No. Not fucking
love
.

“Arriane. Back your leg off me,” I order while I still can.

“It’s okay,” she murmurs, breathy against my lips. “I’m about to have my period.”

My entire being heard her.

Fuck. Me.

“If you’re clean?” she asks.

“Ah… Never without a rubber before…” I lift her up and back us into the headboard. She giggles as I stumble with her, and we’re off the bed, against the wall by the mirror—I own no finesse, no thoughts.

Just. Need. To—

She cries out when I plunge deep. She’s velvety red softness welcoming me, sucking me in, and nothing compares to this.

“Damn, you feel good,” I groan. I’m loud. I’m in fucking paradise. She sheathes me perfectly. Just the way I imagined. I rock her against the surface, her arms stiffen around my neck, and her legs begin to shake.

“Leon…” she warns me, and then she contracts around me, making my head spin. I can’t control it anymore. I’m supposed to jump off—I’d planned to spray those edible breasts, but I can’t for the life of me let go.

Arriane’s post-orgasmic quivers chase my dick toward free-fall while I walk us to the bed and drop on top of her. I push deeper than life. Within moments, I explode.

I’m not sure how this happened, but here I am, on the first and last sleepover with this woman. My employee. And I am coating her insides with me.

Jesus freaking Christ.

I instantly remember: we fell asleep without showering last night. Crusty remnants from him surrender to my fingernails at the inside of my thigh, and I blink in the morning light, letting my eyes roam the room. Leon is gone.

God knows why I slept with him. Even though I work harder than anyone at Smother, I make sure to study his every move. Because of it, I know everything worth knowing about him. Based on my knowledge, what I just subjected myself to was incredibly stupid.

Yes. I always know where he is. His mood. If he’s in the club. Out on errands. Upstairs alone… or with a girlfriend. I watch him more, much more than he knows, and I hide my feelings well.

Curiosity kills cats I hear, and I’ve died a million deaths over the years. Now, I’m ready for the slaughterhouse—for a new sort of death, a tougher, harder death.

I should not have come upstairs.

Should not have been with him.

Should not have insisted on going all the way.

My heart skips. I dress quickly and slink into the living room. Leon has cleaned everything up. The room is as tidy as it was before his breakdown hours ago. A blanket covers the broken window, and I’m sure he’s already called the installers.

In the kitchen, fresh coffee steams from the coffeemaker. A plate covered with cling wrap waits on the table. It has my name on it.

“
I’m sorry
,” the note begins.

“
I’m sorry I took advantage of you, Arriane.
” I blink over treacherous, stupid tears, because the words hurt and I’m the one who should apologize. I took advantage of him—his desperation. I start reading again.

“I’m sorry I took advantage of you, Arriane. It will never happen again.”

I finish the breakfast spread he’s made for me. Pour coffee into a mug. My heart’s still alive when I walk down the stairs and into the bar with my cup in hand. I don’t consider the damage the New Year’s crowd did to my decorations. Spilled beer and half-dried cocktails glue me to the floor, trying to keep me from his office. My shoes stick and rip free from the floor, alerting Leon of my proximity. I lose courage. I want to go home and postpone this.

“Arriane?” Leon’s voice sieves out so softly. Like we’re different now.

I inhale.
Riip
to the office slowly. Hurry with the last steps before I can change my mind. Then, I peek in through the half-open door.

“You called?” I say, swallowing. I haven’t showered yet and smell of us. I have the early shift at work today, and I forgot to tie my hair back into a ponytail. Lord knows where the hairband is—I don’t. Slowly, I edge my face behind the thick sheet of my hair. His scent on me teases, causing a jab to my heart. Woodsy cologne, sex, and wrongness.

Crystalline blues float from the documents organized in front of him and still on me. I can’t meet them, so I concentrate on the light stubble caressing his jaw and cheekbones. Faintly, I think of how I’ve never touched that stubble. It wasn’t there last night. I’d cup his cheek, make it prick the palm of my hand.

“Yes, can you do some shopping for me?” he murmurs in the quiet voice that instills every employee’s respect.

I let out a breath and sink into a chair on the opposite side.

“Sure, what do you need?”

“I’d like you to put together a gift. Here, grab a notepad. This might take most of your day.”

I accept what he gives me. Pull a lock of hair into my mouth and pinch it with my lips folded over my teeth. Leon’s gaze sinks from my eyes to my lips.

“Can I ask who it’s for?” I whisper.

“You can. When I lost my mind last night, robbing Pandora of her freedom to keep her from Dominic—” Leon narrows his eyes in a squint, considering how to finish. He already boasts a fighter’s posture, but he sits up straighter anyway.

“Well,” he sighs, “I need to make amends for what I did. Apologize. I want the gift to reflect the sincerity of my regret. Money isn’t an issue as you put this together, Arriane, and I’ll be addressing it to both of them.”

“Who?”

“Pandora and Dominic.”

I stare at myself in my bathroom mirror. Instinctively, I’ve known for thirty days, and yet my eyes haven’t lost their disbelief.

I don’t take up loans. I’m not in debt. I’m twenty-three years old and not a college dropout—I move forward slowly, steadily with classes. At the moment, I wish I’d done it faster. Because now, there’s this.

My curveball.

A bubble of unwarranted bliss grows in my throat. In the mirror, it sparkles in my irises too. Common sense arrests my smile, though. This is crazy. Madness. I never thought I’d end up this way. I haven’t told my mother, whom I’m close with and see every couple of weeks over in my hometown of Talco. I definitely haven’t informed my twin brother, Chahel—I’m better off waiting until the last minute.

The last minute.

I’m not thinking about the last minute. Surely, once the last minute comes, I’ll be less scared.

The mirror reflects my naked form. Still slender, my hips curve bell-shaped below my narrow waist. Oval and deep, my belly button delves in toward my secret. I use my hands and brush up from my pelvic bone. Over the soft skin of my stomach and up to my breasts.

I squint, studying them like I do every morning as of late. They feel full. My nipples are sore, so “
I’m here, and don’t you forget it,
” wanting me to remember my miscalculation. The sensation of gravity pulling at them doesn’t make sense, because they’re not that heavy. Not yet.

Ingela’s on the phone in the kitchen. “No-no-no. Shut up, Cameron. You’re a jerk.” I smile at the way her pitch twists on “jerk,” courtesy of her mother tongue, Swedish.

“Wait, I’ll ask,” she continues, giggling a bit too hard. “Nej, because you started it! Wait—wait… ARRIANE!”

No one yells as loudly as Ingela. No one. I puff out a breath and start getting dressed. A single wall divides the kitchen from my bathroom, and seriously, if she whispered my name, I’d hear her.

“Still here,” I breathe out as a test.

“Well, you’re taking forever, and Cam has a question for you! Come out!” she screams.

Whatever question our fellow bartending colleague has, we both know it has to do with hairy triangles and that the answer is, and should always be, “no.” I’m also pretty sure he doesn’t want her to ask me, because they all think I’m the runner-up boss at the bar. Even Ingela, only she has no respect for authority. The staff as a whole has decided it must be a cultural thing. We’re starting to believe everyone in Northern Europe has this as a birth defect.

I’m impressed with how well Leon handles Ingela. A month ago, she appeared at Smother with blue eyes shining and a wide smile lighting her face. “I’m Ingela, I’m an international exchange student, and I like your bar, so I shall work here,” she had explained. “I need a job because I’m totally, totally broke.”

I don’t ask, but my guess is she’s in the country on a student visa. Leon must be taking his chances with the IRS by paying her under the table.

Thankfully, Ingela’s little phone chat is over by the time I’m out of the bathroom.

“You missed out.” She nods, her signature broad grin in place. Short, blonde bangs hop over her perfect eyebrows as she speaks. “Cameron is…” She frowns, thinking. “Heell—hellar—” Then, she cops out and goes, “Funny.”

“Hilarious?” I suggest, and she smacks her hands together.

“Yeah! Hilarious.”

“So, not ‘rude as hell’ or ‘gross?’”

Ingela cups her mouth with a palm, laughing. “Oh yes, uh-huh! He called just to be gross with me.”

I’m not surprised—at either of them. Ingela grabs the last piece of whole-wheat toast with liver pâté and shoves it into her mouth. With the other hand, she ruffles the short layers of hair brushing her neck.

“I have class first, but I’ll be at work in…” She checks her watch. “Bah, when I get bored. Or soon anyway. I’ll take the campus bus—the Silver Line. It drops me off by Smother.”

“Okay, so you won’t be late?” I ask.

Ingela dons washed-out jeans peppered with holes. Tall and skinny, the stereotype of a Scandinavian girl hikes her odd little backpack up on a shoulder and strides to the door. “Never.” She bats her lashes.

“You bringing those?” I point. The black slacks she’s supposed to wear beneath the bartender apron remain on the counter.

“No, I’m wearing these,” she explains like I can’t tell.

“Ingela,” I begin, “your pants are, um. Broken. Also, they’re not black. Wouldn’t it be nice to surprise our dear boss by bringing the actual uniform without being reminded? He’d be excited.”

“Ha!” she exclaims. “Leon can’t get excited. No way.”

We’re talking about completely different things, but my mind strays to the dawn of New Year’s Day. In my experience, the man is excitable. Very excitable. “Yeah, well.”

Unconsciously, I cover my boobs with my elbows, pressing inward as Ingela slams the door over a “hej då”—her “goodbye” when she forgets to speak English.

I consider letting her deal with the uniform issue on her own. We live a short walk from Smother, so Ingela could make it here and back quickly. Still, I don’t want her to be late.

Once Ingela started working at the bar, everything happened fast. In a matter of days, my old roommate packed up, and Ingela moved in—I don’t even remember offering her the spare room.

The girl took a week getting used to my administrative talents slash mom genes. I groan to myself. Unfortunately, I hate to disappoint, so now, I swipe up the damn pants and head out.

This morning went well at home. I had some of Ingela’s crisp breads and water before I got out of bed, which lessened the nausea. Now, though—a few hours into my shift at work—I tip up on the balls of my feet so as not to stir my roiling innards while I slink past Leon’s office door. The club doesn’t open for a while, but with the influx of new staff since New Year’s, Leon demands my presence more than ever. Yeah, this semester I’m not taking any college classes. I can’t with the way Leon needs me at Smother.

As I head to the bathroom, he calls out my name. “Arriane. Please come in for a minute.” My pulse thuds triple-beats but relents when I remind my heart that he’s unaware of my state.

“Be right there,” I shout, business-like.

I’m in luck. No one else is in the other stall, so I don’t have to keep my gagging under wraps. I lock the main door to the ladies’ room to have the place to myself. Hurl out the latest batch of saltines, the ones I keep stashed in my purse. Blinking the liquid away from my eyes, I relax. I’m done for now. I always feel better right after I get it out.

Cute silly-boy, Cameron, is stacking beer glasses when I return to the bar. I lean against a stool, straightening my apron. “Pour me some Coke, Cam,” I say, and he bobs his Nordic-blond head, so much like Ingela’s, and curls his lips in a seductive grin.

“Anything for you, Boss Lady.”

I roll my eyes at him. “Just show me how fast you can be, boy—we’ll be slammed after the game tonight.”

I’m no one’s supervisor—the responsibility I have is rooted in detailed instruction from our boss. Whenever Leon’s at his other club in Talco, Christian becomes the manager at Smother. “And stop calling me that,” I add to Cameron.

“Sorry, bossy lady,” he quips and holds his hands up in defeat when I glare at him. “Hey, at least I didn’t say ‘Boss Lady!’”

“Now you did,” I say, causing him to chuckle and mumble something to the effect of “oh, snap” and “good one.”

Slowly, I suck down my fizzy medicine. My stomach adjusts around the sugar, settling further.

“Arriane.” I tense on the seat at Leon’s voice behind me. “Were you coming?”

This looks bad. Instead of going straight to his office, I’m slacking on duty, drinking and eating his stuff. Knowing him, he won’t hold it against me, though.

“She’s sick,” Cameron volunteers. “She’s been throwing up all day.”

That’s not even true. It’s the first time today, and we’re way into the afternoon. Honestly, I feel good about this. Not so good about Cameron’s outing. Snitch.

“Thanks, Cameron,” I wheeze under my breath. He’s clueless, his light green eyes arching with surprise.

I slide into damage control mode. I hop off the stool and skip the first two steps in Leon’s direction. The dark lines of his brows dip together. Without a word, he holds the door to his office for me and closes it behind us.

I hope he’ll sit behind his desk, because distance works well for me. Unfortunately, he just crosses his arms and turns to me. “Is it true what Cameron says?” His voice is silky-alert and not ready to buy lies.

“Yeah, I ate some old takeout yesterday—”

“Did you eat leftovers the night before too?”

“Funny, I actually did,” I fib, straight-faced, because what? Is he going to call me on it?

Leon moves into my personal space, his stare glittering over me. A stray spike of hair writhes over his lashes when he blinks. “Little liar.”

The only other time he’s said those words to me were—

My heart does an unnatural bounce, and I mentally shush it.

“I worry about you, Arriane,” he tells me and looks at me the way he did upstairs a month ago. With him so close, with his hand resting flat against the wall by my neck, I don’t feel like his employee.

“I see you, you know. How exhausted you are lately. It’s my fault, Arriane. I work you too hard. You should…” Leon’s gaze flickers over my face, searching for signs—of something. It drops to my throat, and I become hyper-aware of how hard my pulse throbs there.

“Thank you, boss, but it’s nothing, really.” Even with my quiet tone, I sound convincing. The room is hot, and my cheeks burn from his nearness.

We face off, at a standstill for a moment. An almost imperceptible headshake prefaces his next words.

“I’m sorry about New Year’s Eve, Arriane.” Wisps of cologne reach me. Tendrils of musk and… sex. It’s hard not to think of sex around Leon.

The apology surprises me, because he hasn’t broached our night since the note he left in his apartment the morning after.

My eyes must have fluttered shut while I inhaled his scent. I startle when light fingertips touch my cheek. They search down the bare skin of my neck, and I’m alert. Heart-hammering alert.

My brain tics through the last month. It’s been a good month. Leon’s been in one of his girlfriend-free hiatuses. They are the times I breathe freely. He doesn’t select his broken girls quickly. Once he finds them, his relationships are short, intense—anything from weeks to months long. Then, there are the periods of denial and hysterics from the girls after he cuts them loose.

“Arriane,” Leon says, lower than before. Until now, the events upstairs have seemed unreal. That was
me
with him. Me.

“Yes, Leon.”

“Take some days off.”

“No.”