Losing Control(50)
“Mr. Kaga believes in the conservation of our natural resources. While the club itself does not run on solar power reserves, the offices and private areas do,” she explains.
Behind me, I hear Ian snort. “Mr. Kaga is a cheap, opportunistic bastard.”
“I heard that,” a male voice from above us booms out. Whatever Mr. Kaga is, he has a voice well-suited for the stage. It’s loud but nicely modulated. When we reach the top, I see that he could easily be a star on the stage. His black hair and razor-sharp cheekbones could be seen from the last row of the upper deck of the Shubert Theatre. Even in the dim light, I can make out his effortless gorgeousness. I wonder if all of Ian’s acquaintances are good-looking. It’s not like Steve is hard on the eyes, either.
Priya gives him a short bow and disappears down the hallway, little lights flashing to illuminate her path as she goes.
“Tad Kaga, at your service.” He lifts my hand and simultaneously pulls me forward and presses his warm lips to the back of my hand. I nearly faint. I’ve never had anyone kiss my hand before. What is with these guys and their old school hand kissing? It should be banned! As I stumble backwards, two hands brace my fall—one tries to pull me back as the other tries to pull me forward. Tad releases me with a smirk and I fall against the hard chest of Ian.
“Not yours, Kaga.” His arm bands around my waist and he lifts me against him, the delicate knit and lace of my top gathers under my breasts as he half-carries me onto the landing and past Tad, whose smirk has widened to a full on grin.
“I thought I was the one of our little troupe who had a problem with sharing.” Tad proceeds to a few steps down the hall. I’m grateful that the darkness hides the evidence my cheeks are currently the color of my shirt—and not because of any excess makeup. If Ian and I were alone, I would share what I thought of his display of possessiveness. He doesn’t deserve to feel territorial, not after what he’s asked me to do.
Ian pulls me back so I can feel his hardness flush against my back. There’s no give to any inch of his body. From his sternum to his thighs he’s just marble. Into my ear, just slightly above a whisper, he says, “Just because I haven’t stuck my cock in you doesn’t mean that I’m not thinking of you at every moment, wanting you more than the world needs oxygen.” The hand that had shackled my wrist drifts to the bottom of my shorts, and for a moment I hold my breath thinking he’s going to spin me around and kiss me until I pass out.
A cough interrupts us and my eyes shoot upward to see Tad staring above my head, his face serious. A communication passes between him and Ian. Tad nods and then winks at me. The silent messages are clearly coded by testosterone as I can’t figure it out, but perhaps it was his acknowledgment of Ian’s totally fake claim over me. Unfortunately, the point of protest for me has passed. I’ve already exhibited my weakness when it comes to Ian.
“Victoria Corielli, meet Tadashubu Kaga, scion of the Kaga empire,” Ian introduces us. “Tad’s an old friend.”
For the first time I notice there are no doors in the hallway. The floors are made of some kind of dark, striped wood and the walls are covered in gray squares with rounded edges. Every four feet or so there is a linear break from floor to ceiling and its only after Tad pushes on one that I realize a few of them are doors. He gestures for us to enter.
Inside is a spacious room that overlooks a two-level nightclub. Longer than it is wide, the room reminds me of a stadium box where I once delivered caviar during a Giants game. A tech company ran out when hosting some Russian oligarchs. Sandra told me later that the caviar was worth nearly twenty grand. I only delivered five small containers of them. From the ease of both Tad and Ian, I suspect that they wouldn’t be surprised at all by the price of four-thousand-dollar cans of caviar. Life for some people is simply unreal.
The front of the lounge is all glass, from floor to ceiling, although there are heavy blue velvet drapes hanging on either side. In front of the glass panel are two raised platforms with cushions the size of a small bed. Up one level are club chairs and small tables. Where we are standing there are a few bar stools and a good sized metal cart with glasses and bottles of liquor. There’s no music inside the room, but the vibrations of club music can be felt under our feet.
“What can I get you to drink?” Tad asks positioning himself by the beverage cart. Ian turns to me with a raised eyebrow.
“Singapore Sling?” I’m not sure if I should be asking Tad to mix me a drink but since he asked, I’m not going to be shy. I figure I’m going to need a few drinks before the night is over.