Keeping Kiera (A MFM Menage Romance)

  Keeping Kiera (A MFM Menage Romance)

  Tara Crescent

  Contents

  1. Kiera

  2. Caleb

  3. Kiera

  4. Nolan

  5. Kiera

  6. Caleb

  7. Kiera

  8. Nolan

  9. Kiera

  10. Caleb

  11. Kiera

  12. Nolan

  13. Kiera

  14. Caleb

  15. Kiera

  16. Nolan

  17. Kiera

  18. Caleb

  19. Kiera

  20. Nolan

  21. Kiera

  22. Kiera

  23. Caleb

  24. Kiera

  25. Caleb

  26. Kiera

  27. Kiera

  28. Nolan

  29. Nolan

  30. Caleb

  31. Kiera

  32. Kiera

  33. Nolan

  34. Kiera

  35. Kiera

  36. Nolan

  37. Kiera

  38. Caleb

  39. Kiera

  40. Kiera

  41. Nolan

  Epilogue

  A Preview of Dirty Therapy by Tara Crescent

  About Tara Crescent

  Also by Tara Crescent

  1

  Kiera

  When I was a child, I had an imaginary best friend, an old dragon named Rhun. It was Rhun’s voice I heard when Lenny Johnson offered me twenty bucks if I would carry a backpack to Mr. Garcia. He’s a bad man. Don’t do it, Kiera.

  It was Rhun that I played with. Rhun that kept me safe in the night when my mother was out with her newest boyfriend. Rhun was my constant companion, even after my sister Bianca came along.

  Then I grew up, and Rhun melted away into the shadows. Real-life, draining and stressful and often terrifying, took over. My mother died from an overdose. Greg Dratch took an interest in my fifteen-year-old sister. I tried to break them up, with disastrous consequences. People died. My life shattered. There was no room left for childish things like imaginary friends.

  Years later, I have a small dragon tattoo on my right arm, a larger one on my left, and a third that hugs my left thigh and curls around my hips, but I have just one remaining memory of Rhun. His eyes, brown, piercing, and wise.

  The man in front of me has the same eyes.

  He’s tall. Six-feet-something. Broad shoulders tapering to a narrow waist. His face is framed by a neatly trimmed beard. His dark hair is long enough that he’s pulled it back into a knot. I didn’t think I was attracted to guys with long hair, but the butterflies in my stomach are very real. He’s dressed casually than most of the patrons. His jeans are faded, and he’s wearing an olive-green t-shirt. From the lines on his face, I’d peg him in his thirties.

  No wedding ring, either, though that doesn’t mean anything.

  “What’s your pleasure?” My voice comes out huskier than I intended. The words sound like a come-on, and in a place like Club M, where sexual energy fills the air and lust laps at me from every direction, that’s a bad idea.

  The stranger’s lips tilt up. His eyes rest on me, and his scrutiny freezes me in place. A shiver goes up my spine. Is it fear or desire? I can’t tell. No one can recognize you, Kiera Lynne, I remind myself. It’s been eight years. You’re far away from home. Vladimir Sirkovich is still in jail, serving a life sentence, and his organization is in shambles. You’re safe.

  “My pleasure…” His voice, deep and self-assured, sends something twisting inside me. “An intriguing question to ask in a place like this.”

  My cheeks heat, which is a bizarre reaction, all things considered. I work as a bartender in a sex club, for fuck’s sake. Right now, in the corner of the main floor, a masked guy is kneeling on the floor, his head between the legs of a woman. He must be good at what he’s doing, because her expression is filled with bliss, and her moans are increasing in volume. In the center of the room, on the raised stage, a dominant is dripping wax on his clearly aroused submissive. Just another Friday night at Club M.

  I’ve barely registered any of it. You learn to tune it out.

  I don’t blush easily, but this man has me red-cheeked and stammering. With effort, I reach for composure. “What can I get you to drink?”

  His lips stretch into a slow smile. “Rum and Coke, please.”

  I fix his drink and set it in front of him and then make myself move away. I don’t understand my reaction. It’s as if he’s a magnet that I’m drawn to. Only one other man makes me feel this way.

  Speaking of the devil… Caleb Reeves enters the club.

  Farid, the other bartender working tonight, nudges me. “Incoming,” he says under his breath, a grin forming on his face. “I’d ask Mr. Reeves what he’d like, but I already know the answer.”

  Oh, dear God. Caleb Reeves, the guy I’ve had a massive, unrequited crush on for the last six months, strides purposefully toward the bar and settles next to the stranger. Of course. There are only two guys I’ve felt a frisson of attraction for in the last eight years, and they clearly know each other well, because the universe has a twisted sense of humor.

  I drag my attention back to Farid. “You do?”

  “Mhm. You.”

  Caleb Reeves wants me? I shake my head to dispel that fantasy. “Mr. Reeves flirts with every woman in this place, Farid. Besides, I like my job. The hours are reasonable, it comes with benefits, and the customers tip well.” I’m a bartender at Club M. Caleb Reeves is a member. That’s a chasm that cannot be crossed without serious consequences.

  Farid gives me a sly smile and moves away to take care of some people. I make my way to the two men on shaking knees. “Mr. Reeves, good to see you. What would you like?”

  Caleb Reeves is lean and tightly muscled. As always, he’s impeccably dressed in a suit that probably costs more than I make in six months. His dark hair is mussed, and his green-gray eyes are amused. “For starters, you could call me Caleb.”

  I’ve moaned out his name plenty of times in my fantasies. I give him my best professional smile. “You know I can’t do that, Mr. Reeves. What would you like to drink?”

  Once again, I feel the stranger’s scrutiny on me. “It was worth a shot,” Caleb says, shrugging disarmingly, as he always does. “I’d like a Dempsey, please.”

  Club M doesn’t have a cocktail menu. We have a crazily well-stocked bar, and in deference to the outrageous sums of money the guests pay to become members, we’re expected to make whatever they want.

  Caleb Reeves does his best to stump me by asking for obscure drinks. This is a game the two of us play, the only one I allow myself. For the last few weeks, it’s been pre-prohibition cocktails, and I’ve had to buy a book or two to bone up on them. Today, it’s the Dempsey.

  So far, I’ve never failed to make him his drink, something I’m absurdly proud of. Today’s not going to be the day I fail, either. I search my memory for any reference to the Dempsey, and at first, I draw a blank. Caleb raises an eyebrow. “Want help?” he murmurs.

  Ah. I’ve got it. I grin back at him. “No need, Mr. Reeves. Is there a brand of gin you’d like me to use?”

  “I’m entirely in your hands, Kiera.”

  Banishing that unlikely image—Caleb Reeves is a dominant through and through—I start making his drink. Both men watch me, and it’s all I can do to tune out their gazes. Gin, Calvados, absinthe, and grenadine go into my shaker. I give it a vigorous shake and then strain the contents out into a chilled glass, which I carry over to Caleb. He takes a sip. “Thank you. It’s delicious.”

  “Fancy cocktails, Caleb?” The stranger’s voice is coated with laughter. “
Really?”

  Caleb’s eyes remain on me. “You know me, Nolan. I enjoy games.”

  And there it is. The definitive reason I can’t ever let myself fall for Caleb Reeves. The man is rich and handsome. He’s used to getting whatever he wants. To him, I’m a challenge, interesting only as long as I resist. If I let him in, he’ll tear my world apart, and he’ll leave me to pick up the pieces.

  I’ve already picked up the pieces once. Bianca is gone, lost forever. My mother is long dead. I have no family, no real friends. Once Vladimir Sirkovich went to jail, I got a nose job, changed my last name, and entered witness protection. At the start, I moved around a lot, terrified that the bratva was going to find me. It’s only in the last three years that I’ve put down tentative roots in this quiet part of Pennsylvania.

  My peace of mind is hard-won. God knows Caleb is gorgeous, but I can resist his appeal, because to him, I’m a game. Like I told Farid, Caleb Reeves flirts with everyone. I’m not stupid; I don’t think I’m special.

  The stranger—Nolan—is saying something to Caleb, his voice too low for me to pick up the conversation. As much as I want to linger, I force myself to leave.

  These men aren’t good for me. I cannot forget that.

  2

  Caleb

  Kiera moves away, and Nolan turns to me. “Am I getting in your way?”

  Yes. No. I don’t know. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  His expression turns amused. “I don’t think I am.” His gaze tracks Kiera. “How long have you been flirting with her?”

  I dip my voice in ice. “I flirt with everyone, Nolan.”

  He takes a sip of his rum-and-coke. He’s almost done with his drink. Soon, he’s going to raise his hand, and Kiera’s going to come back here, her hips swinging, her lips curled into a ready smile, the pink highlights in her hair glistening under the bar’s lights…

  I groan silently. Fuck. I really have it bad for this woman.

  Nolan laughs. “I’ve known you for a long time, Caleb. I assure you, I know the difference between casual flirting and genuine interest. Have you asked her out?”

  “No.” Damn Nolan and his curiosity. “She works here. She works for tips. If I asked her out, I’d put her in an incredibly awkward situation, and I’m not going to do that.”

  “Xavier’s not going to fire her if you ask her out, and she declines.” He takes a sip of his drink. “Or if she accepts. Have you looked her up?”

  I run a computer firm specializing in cyber-security. While Nolan does flashy stuff like stopping black-market weapon deals and rescuing women held captive in the slave trade, I stay in the background and provide him the information he needs to get stuff done.

  Nolan’s at the forefront of the action. I used to do that once upon a time. There’s a part of me that still misses the thrill, the adrenaline rush that comes with being in the field. There’s a part of me that’s envious of Nolan’s relative freedom. But I have adult responsibilities, ties that anchor me to Myersburg. I don’t begrudge them. If I were traveling the world, I wouldn’t find time to visit Club M.

  Or to play cocktail-games with Kiera.

  Nolan can be like a dog with a bone. “No,” I reply shortly. “She’s entitled to her privacy.”

  His eyebrows creep up. “You look everyone up,” he says. “You really like this woman. Ask her out, for fuck’s sake.”

  “Nolan, you have a vivid imagination.” I change the subject. “What brings you to town? I thought you were in Mexico City.”

  “I’m looking for someone.” He glances at the ceiling, at the cameras dotted through the club floor. He drains his drink and gets to his feet. “Let’s chat somewhere more private.”

  Kiera’s talking to a couple of guys at the far side of the bar. She’s laughing at something they’re saying. I fight the urge to march over to her and growl possessively. She works for tips, asshole. Let her do her job. Leave her alone.

  3

  Kiera

  Everyone on the club floor seems to want a drink. For thirty minutes, I drown in activity, pouring beer, mixing cocktails, rushing from one well-dressed customer to another.

  Finally, the rush dies away, and I inch next to Farid. “Who is he?” I ask.

  Farid gives me a blank look. “Who is who?”

  “The guy at the bar earlier, the one talking to Caleb.”

  He gives me an amused look. “Caleb, huh? Not Mr. Reeves?”

  My cheeks heat. “He keeps asking me to call him that. So, who’s the guy? I’ve never seen him here before. Is he a new member?” Farid’s been working here forever. He knows everyone and everything. In a club where most of the men scream of power and dominance, Farid, with his tousled, curly hair and friendly smile stands out as a non-threatening presence.

  It works for him. I swear he’s been propositioned by every female member in the club. Some men too.

  Farid’s smarter than me. He never crosses the line. He doesn’t even tiptoe to the edge. Members are, to him, an alien, forbidden species. Unlike me, he doesn’t waste his time entertaining useless fantasies about well-dressed, billionaires who enjoy games.

  “Nolan Wolanski,” he replies. “No, he’s not a new member, he’s been here from the start. He’s good friends with Mr. Leforte. He doesn’t come around very often. Did he make a pass at you?”

  I wish. “Just some subtle innuendo. Nothing creepy. Why, is he married?” I really hope not, though I know it happens. I’m in a sex club. I’ve seen everything.

  Farid chuckles. “You have no idea who he is, do you? No, Nolan Wolanski isn’t married. He’s loaded, he’s good-looking, and he’s single.”

  “What does he do?”

  “Nothing, Kiera. He’s a billionaire. Family money, lots of it. He doesn’t need to work. He owns stuff. An investment bank, a castle in Scotland, a villa on the banks of Lake Como. As far as I know, he bums around the world, and gets photographed with models and actresses.” He gives me a kind smile. “Billionaires. They’re not like us.”

  He’s warning me away, but it’s not necessary. I’m a bartender. I make decent money at Club M, but I’m working class, through and through. I already know that the members here are out of my league.

  A trio of men walk up to the bar, and I paste a smile on my face. Time to put Caleb Reeves and Nolan Wolanski out of my mind.

  Kellie takes over for me at midnight. Sighing in relief, I head upstairs to the break room and change into my regular clothes, shorts and a t-shirt. We’re in the grip of a hot, humid spell. Inside the club, the central air is working overtime, but if today’s like every other day this week, the moment I step outside, I’m going to be drenched in sweat.

  Amy, one of the club floor monitors, is in the corridor outside the break room. She takes in my attire. “No air conditioning in your car?”

  I shake my head. “The mechanic said it’d cost a thousand bucks to fix. Even worse, my window AC broke. My apartment is a sauna.”

  “Ouch,” she says sympathetically. “The Walmart sells window units.”

  I make a face. “I called around. Every store in a hundred-mile radius is sold out. Ah well. Such is life. You working tomorrow?”

  She nods. “Yeah, an eight-hour shift. You?”

  I pick up all the extra shifts I can, not just at the bar, but also at the restaurant, and I save every bit of money I get. It’s the smart thing to do when you need to be prepared to run at a moment’s notice.

  Tomorrow though, I’m only working the bar. “Just the evening. I’m going to the community pool in the morning, hopefully, before it gets too crowded. I’ve got my swimsuit in my car and everything.”

  “Good call. See you tomorrow.”

  I wave to Amy and head toward the rear elevator. As I pass Xavier Leforte’s office, the door opens. “Kiera,” Caleb says. “Can you come in for a minute, please?”

  4

  Nolan

  I probably shouldn't mess with Caleb. But the truth is, it's really good to see him give a shit ab
out something.

  After Theo died, after Joha’s depression and subsequent suicide, Caleb has withdrawn into a shell. On the one hand, he's doing all the right things. He’s running a successful business. Along with his parents, he's raising his niece Nala, providing her with the stability that she needs. Hell, he even coaches Nala’s soccer team.

  But it comes at a cost. Caleb used to be a fun-loving, devil-may-care kind of guy. Back in the old days, he would've never thought twice about asking Kiera out. Now? Things are very different.

  He's told himself that the reason he hasn't made a move is because Kiera works at Club M. He’s told himself that by asking her out, he'll put her in an awkward spot.

  That's bullshit. The truth is, Caleb's running scared. Theo and Joha’s deaths have scarred him. He lost people he loved, and it's made him gun-shy. I’ve talked to Xavier; I've heard the rumors. Caleb will occasionally play at the club, but he hasn't had a meaningful relationship since Theo died. Hell, I don’t even think he’s gone out on a date in the last five years.

  Maybe it's wrong for me to push. Maybe I'm being a jerk. But when I hear Kiera talk to someone in the corridor, telling them that her apartment resembles a furnace, an idea strikes me. My lips twitching, I get to my feet and head toward the door.