Rouge: A Dark Billionaire Romance (Tattered Curtain Series)

Kian

When the curtains opened, it didn’t take me long to find my runaway bride glittering like a diamond in the front row.

During my Male Stripper 101 crash course earlier today, Tolie instructed me to engage with the crowd, play the part, make the women go wild. But I couldn’t be bothered, not when I’m this close to my goal. It’s all I can do to stop myself from picking Lacey up and whisking her right out of here.

Everything has been in motion since I got word that the Red Camellia wanted a bachelorette party. Performing to seduce her was mostly Tolie’s idea, and I was desperate enough to agree to it. I never would’ve thought my mother’s insistence on cotillion and ballroom dance lessons could be remotely useful, but they and mixed martial arts made learning his routine a lot easier once I got over my ego.

This costume is absurd and this scheme even more so once I start dancing, but if it’s the only way I can get Lacey alone, I’ll try anything. She’s had bodyguards nonstop for years, either hers or Monroe’s, but tonight there’s no one to save her. All I have to do is steal the Red Camellia.

My queen of diamonds.

But my strategy is already slipping through my fingers.

I had no way of knowing how I’d feel once she was right in front of me. I expected hatred because her family cast me aside or even the way I usually feel when I carry out a job, indifferent.

What I didn’t expect was the literal shock I would experience at her touch. Or how I’d fall into her gaze, blue as the desert sky, so different than on a screen or in my dreams. Her eyes are wide and hungry, and I know she’s been dying to come to me ever since I first walked out on stage. I’ve felt the same.

A gulp travels down her slender throat as she steps away from her seat. I tighten my grip before leading us to the stage, ensuring she won’t slip through my fingers, and glance back at her friends for good measure.

Monroe’s sister has already passed out again. I know Roxana will keep her mouth shut, and since she drunkenly snatched Maeve’s mobile before the girl could feck things up, I’m in the clear. If the Red Camellia goes “missing” tonight, no one will suspect a thing until it’s too late.

My mind and heart race when I pick Lacey up and set her on the stage. Placing my hands beside her hips on the edge, I push my feet off the ground to somersault over her and land in a crouch behind her. The crowd gasps and applauds, but I’m too afraid Lacey will run away to stop and soak in their appreciation. I pivot on my toes and grab her by her waist to stand us both up before she can escape me.

The dancers kneeling on stage hop out of their positions with grace as I hug Lacey from behind, holding her against my chest. My captive feels so good in my arms I almost miss my cue despite the thunderous percussion signaling it over the speakers.

Tolie said to let her dictate the dance since she’s the professional. I’m just supposed to perform the few moves he taught me, so I’m not standing there like an eejit, but I have no idea what she’s planning to do.

Stage right, a throne appears out of the gaping mouth of hell, positioned parallel to the crowd and facing stage left. The nearly naked demons exit the stage, dancing, thrusting and doing flips into the hellmouth, and I hand one of them my scepter before he disappears.

Remembering I can’t feck this up now by getting lost in the moment, I twirl Lacey to make her face me, but instead of stopping, she spins on her own.

Alright, here we go. Show me what you’ve got, tine.

The tulle of her short dress lifts up, but not so high that the crowd can see what she’s wearing underneath. I’m in awe of her toned thighs until the crowd’s claps and cheers startle me back into focus.

Beyond pleased that she’s showing the side of herself I’ve never truly experienced, I clear my throat and rumble into my microphone, making sure I don’t reveal my accent.

“Ah, we have a dancer. I see I’ve chosen wisely.”

I guide her to the throne, where she sits back with a beautiful blush rising up her cheeks. The music takes on a pulsing beat and pumps through my veins. I glide around the chair and reach over the back to slide my hands up her torso, grazing the lace and diamond corset pushing up her breasts. When her hands cover mine and her nails lightly scratch my forearms, my cock threatens to burst from my red breakaway pants. My fingers run over the bare skin along her neckline and into her strawberry-blonde hair.

“Turn up the music,” I demand into the microphone as I pull away from her. “No more talking. It’s time for the bride to dance with her devil.”

The slow, sensual beats of “Where Are You” by Elvis Drew and Avivian blare so loudly it pulses underneath my skin, drowning everything else out. It’s easy to pretend it’s just the two of us as I prowl around the high-back wooden throne.

Using the throne to shield my movements, I covertly fix my hardened cock, careful not to catch the barbell. Underneath the breakaway pants, I’m covered by a scrap of fabric the dancers wear to keep the crowd from seeing them completely naked, but I make sure the tip hides behind my spandex waistband, too.

Once I’ve secured my raging hard-on, I flick my microphone switch, whip it off my head in an unchoreographed move, and send it skittering across the stage. Anything else I have to say will be for Lacey’s ears only. Her brow furrows at the microphone, but as I reenter her vision, our eyes lock. We hold each other captive with our gazes, making it easy to forget the rest of the room.

Fecking dangerous.

Stay focused.

Her family tried to ruin yours.

That last reminder helps me push through the hold this girl has over me. I position my body at an angle so the rest of the room can see as I point to the cloak’s knot underneath my Adam’s apple. Without making me wait, she tugs eagerly at the string and bites her lip as the cape unravels, revealing my oiled, tattooed upper body. Her hands slide down my chest and my body ripples with pleasure along the trail.

Feck, why is she affecting me like this? I don’t cave for women. Ever. Least of all when I’m on a job.

But apparently with Lacey, it’s different. I try to tell myself it’s the promise of revenge floating in the air, but everything’s different.

Those blue eyes I’ve grown obsessed with are full of life as they follow the hills and valleys of my muscles. My abs tighten at her perusal and she bites her lip. A low groan escapes me from deep in my chest, and her wide eyes snap to mine, no doubt because she felt my need vibrate through my skin. Desire races up and down my spine and I wish I could end this performance early and just get on with my duty.

Will I be able to do it?

A year ago, ruining the O’Sheas seemed simple enough a task. There are plenty of ways to cut a man off at his knees, and with as much hatred as I had boiling in my blood, killing Charlie O’Shea would’ve been easy. Lacey was the job, though. Despite what my father wanted, my strategy for her was different. I won’t harm a woman, but I had no problem destroying the reputation of the soulless, selfish creature that’d taken over her social media.

But this woman? Fuck, she’s got a fire in her I’m not sure I want to snuff out.

I whirl around to the front of the chair and roll with the rhythm of the song. Her eyes bulge and she tries to cross her legs, but I kneel before her in one fluid motion, pull them apart, and shake my head.

“No.”

The audience is to my left, so no one can see underneath her tulle, but I sure as hell can. She may be wearing a pure-white dress, but there’s nothing but crimson lace and sin underneath. I can’t help my wicked smile as my palms cover her inner thighs and slide up her soft skin. Her body shivers underneath my touch and rumors I’ve always dismissed briefly cross my mind.

Legend has it, as the precious daughter of the Keeper of the Garde, she’s never been touched this intimately. But I can’t imagine this firecracker sparking in front of me right now letting something as fecked up as the Garde dictate her life to that degree.

I push the thought away and continue the rest of my ruse. All the other sounds in the room drown out, leaving only the pulse of my heart and the steady bass of the music. There’s no one else but her and me.

My hands skip over the tulle skirt as I rise from my knees. Every fiber of my being wants to take her backstage and have my way with her, forget my father’s plan to get rid of the O’Sheas once and for all, and go with what I’ve longed to do for years. But I fight it, knowing I need to wait for the right moment.

I roll my body up hers, and she gasps when my bare pecs come within an inch of her flushed cheeks. Using my knees, I spread her thighs to kneel between them on the seat of the chair. Before she can shift underneath me, I grab her legs and press them against my outer thighs, silently instructing her to squeeze.

She obeys immediately and I try not to let the pleasure override my already struggling focus. Instead, I wrap my arm around her back, lift her onto my hips, and fall backward off the chair with my hand out to catch myself.

I land in a crab position with my feet wide apart on the ground. She hooks her nails into my shoulders to keep from falling off as I thrust and undulate underneath her, making her ride me. Her eyes widen, no doubt at the feel of my rock-hard cock against her warmth, and her head drops back as I find her clit with my shaft.

I thought I’d hate having to perform like this, but watching her pleasure take over makes it easier to play the part. Is this all an act for her? Or does she… does she know it’s me?

While I’m mimicking fucking her, I feel the moment her impulses take over before I see the spark in her eyes. She arches backward, diving her hands behind her and between my legs. Her tennis shoes push off my chest as she uses me for leverage to perform a back walkover. I drop to the ground and roll backward myself to land in a crouch, trying to follow her lead.

By the time she’s upright, I’m already there, chest to chest with her. She grabs on to my shoulders and arches her back deeply as she swirls around. I caress her throat with one hand and I band my arm around her lower back with the other, helping her dip lower, holding on to her as she takes control of the dance. When she comes back up, she pushes against my chest hard and twirls away from me into the middle of the stage.

Once she stops, she draws me in with a come-hither motion. A growl forms in my chest at the thought of her trying to command me, but with every low bass note, I prowl closer. I just need to finish this act and wait for the lights to go out. Then she’ll be mine.

Her pink lips part like she’s finally realized she’s my prey. She slowly spins from me on pointed tennis shoes as if the runaway bride thinks she can flee from her own challenge. I lunge for her arm and pull her close.

“No, sweet bride, you started this.”

She smirks and lifts her leg up to whirl away, but I catch her calf and hitch it around my waist. I bend her backward, forcing her to hook her leg around me or fall. Splaying one hand across her back, I use the other to grasp her neck and make her look at me.

“Do you think the devil would let his bride run from him?”

“Who says I want to?” She tugs my hips forward, pressing my cock into her center. Her long lashes fan over narrowed eyes, throwing down the gauntlet.

She wants this.

The thrill that runs through me nearly stops me in my tracks. A sinful grin spreads across my lips and I grind against her core before straightening us back up. I let her leg drop, but I tighten my grip on her neck and use my other hand on the small of her back to keep her flush to me.

We do a modified tango toward the throne before I lift her leg into a split and rest her ankle on my shoulder. I grind against her core and she clings to me, holding on to my neck and locking eyes with me as I sit on the throne with her straddling me this time.

She shifts in my arms to grab the back of the chair and sits up on her knees. I grip her bare arse underneath the tulle and lift her thighs on top of my shoulders to shove my face into her lace-covered pussy. Before I can make delicious contact, she digs her heels into my shoulder blades and leans back, unfurling her body into the air.

I can’t see what she’s doing with my head covered in tulle, but by the way her muscles move underneath my fingers, I can tell she’s using every one of them to undulate against gravity. Gripping her arse harder, I press my face farther into her heat but stop short of touching her, giving her the sensation of my warm breath against her sweet pussy. I want her dripping and keening for me before I take her backstage.

My cock throbs against my waistband and I’m not sure how much more I can take. I lightly nip at her inner thigh, making her jolt in my palms before she bends backward toward the floor. Her spine folds against my fingers, and I pull away to see her arched in a bridge until she kicks off the top of the throne into another back walkover.

I jump up from the seat and lunge to stand behind her before she fully straightens. Once she’s in my arms, my hands glide up her corset to cup her breasts and I turn us away from the crowd to keep them from seeing me span a hand over her chest. Even though I know I shouldn’t, my fingers have a mind of their own as they massage over the soft mound of her breast and dip underneath the tight fabric, just grazing her nipple. Her moan vibrates against my palm as I whisper in her ear.

“Do you know what you’re getting yourself into?”

“Surprise me.”

She shivers as I grip her neck and cup her pussy through the tulle. Her gasp pushes her chest into my forearm and I shove my hard-on against her round arse. I expect her to try to run, but she leans into me, arches back, and wraps her arms around my neck, keeping up the illusion of our performance.

Or maybe that’s all this is for her?

She’s putty in my arms as my lips brush the shell of her ear to ask the question that’s really on my mind.

“Do you know who I am?”

Her fingernails dig sharp cuts into my neck, and I hiss at the delicious pain as she leans back to meet my eyes.

“I don’t know who you are… but we don’t need to know each other to have fun, do we?”

My jaw drops at her casual delivery, but she laughs and breaks free from my hold to spin around and scratch my chest. Her claws end at my waistband as she crouches down on the ground.

It shouldn’t matter that she doesn’t give a feck who I am. That was the whole point of the plan to lure her into a false sense of security. But the reality knifes through me more painfully than the wounds on my neck. Much deeper than I ever thought anyone could hurt me, let alone Lacey O’Shea.

Before she can unsnap my pants in front of the crowd, I decide to end it. If Lacey thinks that I’m worthless, that all I’m good for is a good fuck, maybe I’ll go along with my father’s original plan after all.

Or maybe I’ll show her just how wrong she is.

I snatch her forearm and lift her up off her knees. She rises on her tiptoes and spins away before suddenly stopping. Her body moves like water, fluid with the music right before she falls away from me. The crowd shouts, reminding me that we do, in fact, have an audience, one that thinks I’m going to let her fall.

Despite the inexplicable hurt in my chest, I don’t even entertain the thought of letting her fall. Not bothering to keep up the pretenses of this infuriating dance I’ve trapped us in, I lunge toward her and scoop her up in the nick of time, catching her with my arms underneath her back and knees.

She smiles up at me like she knew all along that I would catch her. There isn’t an ounce of doubt in her face, and for some reason, that soothes me despite the pang of guilt pricking my chest.

My mother used to say dancing is like love, it’s not for the weak or heartless. But I had no idea I could feel anything like this. I’m trying my best to keep my walls up, but this set alone has made me entirely too vulnerable. That can’t happen, especially not with the Keeper’s daughter.

“This ends now,” I growl.

“And how does it end, Devil?” she asks breathlessly, wicked temptation in her eyes as she wraps her arms around my neck, deciding her fate for me.

“With the devil fucking his bride.”