Dirty For Me (Motor City Royals) Read online

  “You’re twenty-three, Tamara, and you’ve got yourself a great career path. This is the next logical move, don’t you think?”

  No. She didn’t think that. Or at least, marriage hadn’t been something she’d been considering.

  And certainly not with Robert.

  She looked back down at the snowy white folds of the napkin. “It might be for me. But I’m not sure Robert is ready for it.”

  There was a heavy pause.

  She glanced back up.

  Her father was looking at her with some embarrassment. “Actually,” he said, “I’ve already discussed this with Robert and he’s very happy with the idea.”

  The shock inside her twisted again, threaded through this time with anger. “What do you mean ‘already’? Don’t you think I should be the first one to speak to about this?”

  Her father lifted his hands in a calming motion. “Okay, okay, settle down. Yes, I know, I should have talked to you first. But we needed to make sure Robert was on board.”

  “This is not a takeover meeting, Dad. This isn’t business. This is marriage we’re talking about.”

  His smile began to fade, the look in his eyes becoming harder, sharper, the way it always did when she caused a fuss about anything. “You know, don’t you, what your mother and I have sacrificed to give you the future you have?”

  Tamara shut her mouth, biting down on the hot flow of words that threatened to spill out. Her father hated overemotional responses and, God knew, she wouldn’t make anything easier if she got angry with him. But that didn’t stop the sudden spike of fury that licked up inside her.

  A low blow, that reminder. Because of course she knew what they’d sacrificed for her. All the money that had been thrown around and the lies told to cover up what she’d done. To pretend that nothing had happened.

  Yet even though they never talked about it, never discussed it, they still knew. Normally she didn’t think about the unspoken weight of that knowledge. But now she felt it like a building falling down on top of her.

  “I know,” she said tightly. “I remember, Dad. Believe me, I remember.”

  The pressure of his gaze didn’t lessen. “All we want is what’s best for you, Tamara. That’s all we ever wanted.”

  No, that’s not what they want. They want you to pay. That’s all they ever wanted.

  Tamara ignored the thought, buried it right down deep so it would never surface again. “I understand. And I know you do.”

  “We love you, Tamara. Never forget that.”

  Of course they did. They told her that constantly ever since Will died.

  She looked away again, reaching for her glass and this time taking a much larger swallow than before, hoping to drown the sick feeling inside her. “I know, Dad. I know.”

  There was another heavy silence.

  “So,” her father said eventually, his expression softening again. “What do you think? Your mom’s gone a little crazy and organized something. I told her not to, but you know how she gets when she’s excited.”

  The wine sat uneasily in her stomach, the apprehension deepening into something cold and sharp. “What’s she organized?” It seemed the least problematic question to ask.

  “A small party.” Her father gave a rueful shake of his head. “I promised not to tell you.”

  Oh shit.

  “Not to tell me what?”

  God help her, there was actually a twinkle in her father’s eye, like he thought this was great news.

  “Awww.” Helaughed. “And now I have to tell you. Your mother planned a little surprise engagement party for you and Robert. So you’re going to have to pretend I didn’t tell you, okay?”

  Tamara blinked. She felt like a trapeze artist who’d just missed a vital catch and was now falling and falling into the net below. Except, there was no net. And she couldn’t understand how she’d missed the catch.

  “But . . . Robert hasn’t mentioned a word about this yet.”

  Her father’s smile turned smug. “Oh, he will, don’t worry about that. We’ve got it all arranged. He’s going ask you at the party. So just remember to look surprised.”

  Tamara opened her mouth. Then closed it.

  Her parents were doing what was best for her and perhaps she needed to trust that. After all, hadn’t she known that perhaps this had been their aim the day they’d introduced her to Robert in the first place? They’d encouraged her to date him from the get-go, had made loud noises about how perfect he was for her, and she’d happily agreed with them. Just like she’d agreed with everything they’d told her.

  But you don’t want this. You never wanted this.

  No, she couldn’t think that. She couldn’t ever think that. She had to believe this was the right thing to do. She had to trust her parent’s judgment. After all, her choices were suspect and only people who hadn’t taken a life got to make decisions like this.

  Anyway, she had to remember: her career and Robert. Those were her moving-on strategies and this was exactly what her father had told her, another step on the path of putting the past behind her.

  She pulled it together for the rest of the meal, ignoring the doubt that sat inside her. The terrible unease that wouldn’t go away. Her father didn’t seem to pick up on it, thank God, and luckily he didn’t seem to want to make it a late night.

  He dropped her back at her apartment after a couple of hours and once she got inside, she stood there staring at nothing for a long time. At the lovely whitewashed brick and the exposed wooden beams, the polished wooden floors. The furniture she’d chosen on a shopping trip with her mother: an elegant, pale gray sofa with a few splashes of color in the shape of deep blue pillows. The distressed-look coffee table and the neatly piled magazines on top. The bookshelves with her beautifully arranged knickknacks and books. The deep blue rug on the floor that her mother had spent a lot of money on because Tamara was “worth it.”

  A beautiful, expensive, perfect apartment. Like a movie set waiting for the actors to appear.

  Waiting for her. Because she was the actor, wasn’t she? Moving through her own life, saying the words, playing the part of the good, dutiful daughter. While she knew that deep inside, it wasn’t really her. That none of this was really her.

  She swallowed, looking around at her apartment that felt suddenly unfamiliar. As if she’d wandered accidentally into someone else’s home. It was disturbing, frightening.

  When was the last time she hadn’t had to play the part for her parents or her boss? Or had she lost herself the day she’d picked up the gun and aimed it at her brother?

  God, when was the last time she’d actually been herself?

  You know the last time.

  Tamara closed her eyes. Oh yes, she knew. That night a week ago in Zee’s car.

  She hadn’t been anyone’s good girl then. She hadn’t had to please anyone, impress anyone. She hadn’t had to hide or pretend. All she’d had to do was let herself go. And in that moment she’d been more herself than at any other time in the past eight years.

  The sharp, insistent ring of her phone sounded, breaking into her thoughts.

  She crossed to the couch where she’d dumped her purse and pulled her phone out of it, checking the caller ID. Wonderful. It was Robert.

  “Okay, so John just told me he’d accidentally let the cat out of the bag,” Robert said almost as soon as she’d hit the accept button.

  Tamara took a breath, remembering the whole awful conversation at dinner. “No,” she replied after a moment. “I don’t think there was anything accidental about it at all. I think he was giving me a heads-up.” Not to mention a reminder of her place in the world.

  “In case you were going to say no?” His smooth voice was amused, as if that was the last thing she would say.

  She gripped the phone tight, suddenly furious. “And what if I did?”

  There was a silence.

  “Okay.” The amusement disappeared. “I’m sorry. I should have said something when you
were up this way last time, but I wanted to surprise you. So you have every right to be angry with me.”

  So he thought she was angry because they hadn’t discussed it.

  Well, aren’t you?

  No, it felt more than that. As if once again she was being forced into a role she didn’t want and one she had no choice but to play.

  “I’m not angry,” she lied, trying to get herself back under control. “I’m just . . . surprised. I didn’t realize how serious you were.”

  “Yeah, I know.” He sounded so damn understanding she wanted to spit. “But things change. John and I had a talk last time he was here on business and what he said made a lot of sense. You and I getting married, I mean.”

  Tamara raised a hand and rubbed between her eyebrows. Of course. This would be good for Robert’s career, marrying into one of Michigan’s richest families, and the New York connection would be great for her father. No wonder both of them were so keen on the match. And naturally enough it was assumed that was what she wanted as well.

  Isn’t it?

  The unease that had been sitting inside her all evening twisted again. Her father was right. This was the next logical step and it did make sense.

  And yet . . .

  “But . . .” She groped around for words to articulate the doubt. “You don’t love me, right? I mean, we hadn’t even talked about being exclusive or anything.”

  Robert gave a laugh that sounded indulgent. “Well, no. I don’t love you any more than you love me. But that’ll come. And as for exclusivity, would you really be surprised if I told you I hadn’t been?” He sounded so casual that she felt no shock at all.

  “No, I guess not.” She tried to ease her grip on the phone.

  “I mean, did you want to be? Obviously once we’re married, it’ll be a different story, but until then . . .” He stopped. “Seriously, Tamara. You’re in Detroit, I’m in New York. We’re apart for long periods of time. I’m not staying celibate.”

  “I’m not arguing.” Because she didn’t care. And now she knew the truth it even felt . . . freeing. “As long as that goes for me, too.” She wasn’t quite sure why she’d said it, maybe to prove a point even if it was only to herself. That she did have some choice in this after all.

  Robert was silent.

  “Oh,” she said. “And here was I thinking we lived in the twenty-first century. Or are you seriously suggesting you get to screw around while I get to remain pure as the driven snow?”

  “Okay,” he said on a long breath. “Fair point. Same goes for you as well. But once we’re married, we’re faithful to each other, right?”

  Once we’re married. The words rang weirdly in her head. “Yes, of course.”

  There was another pause.

  “So . . . Does this mean you’re going to say yes?” Robert’s voice held a note of humor in it. “Or are you going to keep me in suspense until Cassandra’s party?”

  Ah, yes. The engagement party her mother had organized before Tamara had even known an engagement was going to be the next thing that was required of her.

  What was the correct response? The Tamara of a week ago would have said, “Of course I’m going to say yes” without a second thought. But for some reason, right now, the words wouldn’t come without her forcing them. “I suppose so,” she said at last, and it sounded wrong, left a bad taste in her mouth.

  Another five minutes and she ended the call, a mix of anger and frustration and fear sitting uncomfortably inside her. And this time it had nothing to do with the wine.

  She felt suffocated, the walls of her movie-set life closing in on her. The script of the next movie, the next part she had to play already on the table before her. A role she had no choice but to take, to play.

  Turning away from her perfectly arranged lounge area, she went into her bedroom and began taking off her work clothes. Kicking off her heels, peeling down her skirt. Unbuttoning the prissy Chanel blouse she had on.

  And as each item of clothing dropped away, the suffocation began to ease, something else taking its place. Something stronger and more desperate. The need to not only strip away the costume she wore, but also to step away from the set. To leave behind all the props, all the pretending she had to do. Step outside the role she had to play, before she forgot she was even playing a part.

  Just for one night be herself.

  And she knew exactly how she wanted to do that.

  Zee.

  She turned back to her closet, pulling it wide open and rifling through all the designer clothing on the rack until she came to the red silk cocktail dress she’d bought a couple of years ago and never worn.

  It was soft, stretchy, clung to her body, and left nothing to the imagination, which was why she’d never worn it. And that made it perfect. Because if she was going to go through with this, she needed ammunition.

  He’d told her they’d never see each other again. She was going to prove him wrong.

  Pulling on the dress, she then added a pair of red-soled black patent Louboutins and put her hair up into a loose bun. It was completely the wrong look to be going where she was headed, but she didn’t care. All the more reason for him to take her in.

  She called a cab and when it arrived, the driver gave her a dubious look when she told him where she was going, but didn’t protest.

  A long, hot twilight had settled over the city by the time the taxi pulled up outside the familiar metal door of Black’s Vintage Repair and Restoration. Tamara threw some money at the driver, then stepped out into the night heat.

  All her earlier anger and frustration had drained away, left behind along with her apartment and everything else that made her who she was. Now she was only a woman in a red cocktail dress in a sketchy part of town, and she couldn’t deny the sense of freedom that came along with it.

  She paused a moment on the sidewalk, breathing in the thick scent of a summer night in the city. There were people around, though the stores were all closed. A bar down the street was blaring loud music and there were a group of teens hanging around outside. A couple of old guys sitting on boxes in front of a boarded-up building eyed her suspiciously. There was a gritty, raw feeling to the landscape, to the very air around her. Like it was full of soot and heat. Like a volcano had erupted and the ash was already settling.

  “Watcha doin’, girl?” One of the old men was staring at her, looking her up and down. “You lost?”

  Tamara gave him a smile, anticipation rising inside her along with a hunger she didn’t try to deny this time. “No, I don’t think so.”

  Then, before she could second-guess herself, she walked up to the garage door, put a hand to it, and pushed it open. The old guy yelled something at her, but she ignored him, stepping inside, the smell of motor oil and hot machinery thick in the air.

  She recognized the massive form of Gideon first. He was leaning against the workbench, a beer bottle held casually in his fingers. Another man sat back in a scuffed plastic chair and, like Gideon, was wearing his overalls with the top rolled down and tied loosely around his waist. But unlike Gideon, who wore his with a T-shirt underneath it, this man wasn’t wearing anything underneath it at all.

  Zee.

  Tamara’s breath caught. She couldn’t seem to tear her gaze from the sheer perfection of his body.

  He was beautiful, from the powerful width of his shoulders down to the sharply defined muscles of his chest and abs. Muscles that spoke of the hard-won strength and grace of a serious athlete. And her attention kept catching on the tattoos inked into his skin, now revealed in all their glory.

  There were words across his shoulders: The one who sins is the one who will die. Ezekiel 18:20.

  There was an image of a dragon winding around the biceps on his left arm and on his right, the flames she’d glimpsed from underneath the sleeve of his T-shirt a week ago were part of something bigger....

  A phoenix rose, wings outspread on a wave of flames, stretching over his biceps and shoulders, the tips of the wings
reaching over his right pectoral. More flames curled across his chest, while others disappeared over his shoulder.

  She’d never been one for tattoos, but this one . . . It spoke to her. There was a life to it, an energy she could almost feel flowing from it herself. As if the bird were about to lift off his skin and soar into the sky.

  “What the actual fuck are you doing here?” The fine grit in his deep voice was a shock of cold water over hot skin. It made goose bumps rise all over her body.

  She looked up.

  He’d turned toward her, sharp silver eyes meeting hers, and she felt the impact of it like the first blow of an ax against a tree, sending shudders right through her.

  No going back now.

  “Hi, Zee,” she managed to force out. “Bet you weren’t expecting to see me again, right?”

  * * *

  That was the understatement of the fucking century. Tamara was the very last person he expected to walk through the garage door just as he was sitting down for an after-work beer with Gideon.

  A heavy, uncomfortable silence fell and he was very aware of Gideon standing there, looking from Tamara to him, then back at Tamara again.

  Because it was perfectly fucking obvious what she was here for. At least, it was obvious to him.

  She stood in the garage in a slinky red dress that licked all over her curves like cherry sauce on ice cream. And Christ, what curves they were. Last time she’d been in jeans and a tee and that had given him a hint as to what lay beneath. But now here they were in all their glory.

  The dress had a plunging neckline that showcased the most perfect pair of tits he’d ever seen, before skimming to a narrow waist and the luscious curve of her hips. The hem came to mid-thigh, leaving her long, beautiful legs bare. On her feet were shiny, black stiletto heels that made her legs look even longer.

  With her long golden hair piled up on her head, her dark eyes outlined in black, and dark red lipstick outlining her lush mouth, he knew she hadn’t come here to talk. And judging from the immediate and intense reaction from a certain part of his anatomy, his body was quite okay with that idea.