Page 37 of The Daring Times of Fern Adair
They entered a dark back room, the shelving crammed with crates and racks of glasses, plates and linens. Another door with a round window set into it, like at a diner, swung open when Rodney punted it. They followed him down a flight of steps. The door at the bottom took them straight into the bright, overwhelming glitter of the Lion’s Den.
It wasn’t nearly as boisterous and crowded as it had been the other night. Instead of a chaotic scene of lush intoxication and freedom, it was a sedate coupling of piano music and low murmuring from the half dozen or so people huddled around tables.
Fern spotted Cal immediately. He sat alone at the bar, his broad back and shoulders to them. He leaned his elbows on the glossy wood as he brought a drink to his lips.
“You lost your kitten, Cal,” Francis nearly purred as he passed behind him.
Cal swiveled in his seat and went still as his eyes locked on hers. Fern slowed, but Tink nudged her arm,and she tripped forward again. Rodney kept walking for the pair of Greek columns and black drapes, ignoring his brother completely. Cal’s stare hardened as he set his drink down. He looked at Fern the way he’d stared down Pretzel John the other night at the Pier.
The floor seemed to stick to the soles of her shoes, slowing her. Beneath the orchid silk of her dress, her skin went cold and damp.
“Keep moving,” Tink grumbled, giving Fern another nudge, this one less polite. She stumbled, and her right shoe popped off her foot. Her left foot wobbled on the remaining heel, and she slammed her hip into a chair before finally balancing herself.
Ahead, Francis swore with impatience as Fern turned to search for her lost shoe, eyes hot with unshed tears. She wanted to slap at Tink’s hand as he grabbed her arm and ordered her to keep walking. Before she could shout at him to wait, an arm slipped around her waist and tugged her back into a solid wall.
“You brought me my china doll.” Cal’s hot breath tunneled into her ear. Fern froze, her lost shoe forgotten. His arm was an iron bar around her waist.
“Rod wants her in the back.” Francis’s voice was now cautious instead of impatient.
A waft of whiskey-laced breath traveled up her nose. “This is a real treat,” Cal said, his lips nuzzling her earlobe. Fern gasped, but even fixed against him, his mouth on her skin, she felt an incomprehensible surge of relief. Of safety.
Francis glanced toward the black drapes. Rodneynow sauntered toward them, a grin sliding over his mouth as he stuck his hands in his pockets.
“Brother,” Rodney said.
Cal’s fingers dug into her hip. Fern gripped his arm, her nails too short to claw at him. But then again, a part of her didn’t want him to release her.
“Rod,” he replied. “We haven’t talked about this yet.”
Rodney stared, still grinning, but his eyes were anything but friendly. His pupils widened, and the lids lowered infinitesimally. He resembled a cat in the moment between stalking its prey and pouncing.
“I gotta run every last thing by you now?” Rodney asked.
He doesn’t blink.That’s what was so unsettling about him. Fern hadn’t ever seen the man blink.
“Course not,” Cal said, placating his brother. Or at least, she thought he might be. Though she didn’t know either of them well, even a stranger could have felt the tension rolling like the surf between them.
“You’re welcome to join us if you’re feeling left out, big brother,” Rodney said.
Francis chuckled, his laughter high and girlish.
Cal’s forearm squeezed. Beneath Fern’s clenched hands, the muscles of his arm rippled.
“She was my responsibility.Mine,” Cal said. “And I clean up the messes around here.”
Rod’s black, calculating eyes shifted toward Fern. Instinct shouted to look away, but she was frozen. Trapped. He gave a barely perceptible nod, and Cal dragged her backward a few steps before swinging her to his side.
“Walk,” he hissed as soon as they’d turned their backs on his brother, Francis, and Tink.
She didn’t draw breath as he pulled her through the door from where she’d just come, then up the steps into the dark back room with the shelves, and back outside into the parking lot where a few cars were lined up. For a moment, Fern thought he would take her to his Roadster. Instead, Cal aimed for a closed-in set of exterior stairs.
“Where are we going?” she asked as her bare right foot stepped over the gravel outside. She’d never reclaimed her shoe.
Cal didn’t reply. Didn’t slow. He led Fern up the first flight of steps, then the next.
“Who was your responsibility? Me?”
They turned at each landing until they reached the third level, the stairs rattling under their feet, and her thighs burning.
