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Ford
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Having awakened from another of those damnable erotic dreams, Ford lay there panting until his heartbeat regulated. He was covered in a fine sheen of sweat, his chest sticky with the evidence of the orgasm that had him shouting her name aloud. Callie. God, he couldn't wait to fuck her. To make each and every one of his damned dreams become a reality.
Anticipation filled him as he slid from the tangled sheets and strode into the bathroom to relieve his bladder while the shower heated up. Stepping inside the glass door, he stood in the center while the numerous showerheads pelted his body from every direction much as they had in his dream.
Shower sex with Callie was going to be fucking phenomenal. This morning's dream had her on her knees, just like he'd imagined the night before. She'd been so fucking beautiful with his cock in her mouth. Those stunning amethyst eyes staring up at him in complete adoration. Annnd just like that, he was as hard as granite again.
Fuck.
There was no fighting the irresistible pull she had on him so he fisted his cock and closed his eyes. Reliving the dream that was still so vivid in his mind, Ford could see her head bobbing up and down to the rhythm of his hand. Feel the damp strands of her short black hair as he'd plunged his fingers through it to guide her motions.
Short black hair?
What the fuck? Callie had long platinum blonde hair that faded into a deep purple at the ends, so why the hell would he fantasize about it being black? Sure, his preferred type had been dark hair in the past, but now that he'd seen her, he couldn't imagine anything sexier than her dual-colored hair.
Unless it was the lip rings. Fuuucck. He'd almost forgotten about them, though they were a new addition and not something he'd dreamed about before. This time she'd had tiny silver hoops wrapped around each side of her lower lip. The metal had felt warm and slick as his sensitive cock slid past them.
Concentrating on the mental image to see if he'd missed anything else, he noticed that she looked a hell of a lot younger. Way too fucking young like Bimini. Bimini! Of course. He'd read that dreams were just compilations of subliminal messages the brain had received throughout the day. His aversion to Bimini's youth must have transferred onto Callie in the damn dream.
Aww, fuck. Talk about a cockblocker. Thoughts of the younger woman had effectively killed his erection again. Ford released his flaccid cock and laughed softly at the realization that all he had to do was think of Bimini to get rid of an unwanted erection. The little minx would be madder than hell if she knew.
However, he didn't give a damn how she felt. Callie was the only woman he had room in his thoughts for. Starting with figuring out a way to change her unflattering and misconstrued perception of him. Not knowing exactly why she disliked him was a problem, but he was confident of finding a way around it.
Two hours later he was still pondering the issue.
Having decided that flowers ought to be a nice start, as soon as he got to the office, he'd ordered a special bouquet to be sent to her. Now he was on pins and needles waiting for her response, which was why he was staring into space and wondering how long it took to deliver flowers when his office door burst open.
"I'm so sorry, Mr. Hammersmith," his secretary said anxiously as she followed behind the interloper. "He wouldn't wait to..." The rest of her apology was cut off by the door slamming in her face.
He'd been expecting some version of this visit ever since the hammer had dropped the night before. It was good to see that Baines was as predictable as he'd assumed the man would be. Too bad he'd made the effort for nothing. Ford wasn't backing down and he had no intention of going away as the bastard presumably wanted him to.
Baines stalked across the room and tossed a cashier's check on his desk before growling, "Consider this reimbursement for your bid. Stay the fuck away from Callie."
"I'd hate to see an article in the society section about a fashion designer who didn't honor a charitable pledge," he opined in a bored tone and picked up the check. Not that he'd actually carry out the threat, but the other man didn't know that. "Publicity like that would be bad for business."
"You're right," the man known as the Dark Lord agreed in a menacing tone. "I'd much rather see your name in the obituaries."
"Or yours in the crime section," he countered with a smug smile and tore in half the check written for ten times the amount that he had bid. "You can't buy me off or scare me away, Baines. I won a date with Callie and I intend to claim it."
"Are you so fucking desperate that you'll stoop to chasing a woman who hates you?" The other man bit out.
When it came to Callie, damn right he was. "She'll change her opinion of me after our date," he replied confidently.
"If you persist in this and hurt her, know this," Baines grated harshly. "I will find what you hold dear and destroy it."
The threat had sounded like a promise and it assured him that the other man was not bluffing. "It would appear that I already know what you hold dear," he replied evenly since it was obvious that the ruthless bastard cared a great deal for Callie. "But rest assured, I have no intention of hurting her."
"You just want to fuck her," he snarled viciously.
"Absolutely," he confirmed without hesitation since that was a priority. "But if it turns out that we're compatible in other areas, I'm open to having a relationship as well."
Ford had never seen anything as menacing as the other man's expression and truth be told, it was unnerving as hell when Baines placed both hands flat atop the desk and leaned forward. "Would you die for Callie, Hammersmith?" He ground out between gritted teeth. "If the answer is no, you're not the man she needs so stay the fuck away."
That said, Baines stormed out of the room leaving Ford to wonder if the man had meant that literally or figuratively. Considering who had posed the question, his merciless reputation, the tone of the conversation, and the comment about Ford's obituary, it was most likely a metaphorical death threat.
If not, the idea of giving his life for a woman he barely knew should have been preposterous, but it wasn't. It was her eyes. The vulnerability in those unforgettable amethyst eyes had reached inside and roused his protective instincts. Bizarre as it may seem, he knew that he wouldn't hesitate to place himself between Callie and danger even at the expense of his own life.
Fuck.
Ford sprang from the chair and walked to the window, one hand rubbing the back of his neck. He was losing it. What kind of man would be willing to die for a woman who wouldn't even give him the time of day? One who, if Baines were to be believed, hated him? Odd how the thought made his head and his chest ache.
Fuck!
He was losing it alright. His all-consuming desire for Callie had obviously become an unhealthy obsession. Maybe it was time to visit the damn shrink again. The doctor had helped him deal with the guilt and depression years before so maybe he could make sense of this. Or at the very least, help put it into perspective. Before he could talk himself out of it, Ford grabbed the phone and made an appointment.
––––––––
Callie
––––––––
"Absolutely not," Bastion snarled." I forbid it."
"You can't forbid it," Callie shot back furiously, completely undaunted by his formidable wrath. "I'm eighteen and make my own decisions."
"Not while you're living under my roof."
"Then it's a good thing I'm leaving."
"Dammit Callie, Hammersmith is no fucking good. He's as bad as his reputation."
"So are you," she accused. "But you'd never hurt me and neither would Ford."
"I've loved and protected you for twelve years," he bit out. "You barely know that bastard so don't compare the two of us."
"I know he loves me and I love him. Why can't you just be happy for me?"
"Because I'm trying to protect you," he roared. "You're too young to understand so you need to trust me and stay the hell away from him."
"Don't make me choose between you," Callie warned. "Because you'll lose."
Pain flickered in his darker than the pits of hell eyes before he said coldly, "Then I've already lost. Because the only thing I can't protect you from is yourself."
Tears filled her eyes because she had hurt him and that was something she had never meant to do. Despite that, Callie wasn't about to back down and give in. "Goodbye, Bastion."
"Callie," his harsh tone softened to the gentle gruffness he normally used with her. "I will always be here for you, kiddo. No matter what."
Hardening her heart, she replied, "Thanks for the offer, but I'm never coming back."
Callie sat straight up in bed, heart hammering, pulse racing, her breathing short and raspy. Shoving the hair from her face, her wild-eyed gaze took in her bedroom and she expelled a shaky breath. She was home, safe, and sound. It had only been a recurring nightmare. The one where she had walked away from everything to be with Ford.
The one she had lived through and barely survived.
Scooting backward in the bed until she was pressed against the headboard, she drew her legs up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. Laying her head on her knees, she closed her eyes and tried to regulate her breathing. Within a few minutes, she had managed to calm down and avert an anxiety attack.
But she couldn't get the dream out of her head. If only she had listened to Bastion all those years ago, she could have saved herself so much pain and heartbreak. But he'd been right. She had been too young to understand and Ford had hurt her. And as promised, Bastion had been there to pick up the pieces.
As if the dream had been some kind of precursor, her day just got worse.
When the flowers arrived, Callie had a mini-meltdown. She was torn between the urge to sit in a corner, bawling her eyes out, or run through the streets screaming like a banshee. Before she could do either, her best friend called to invite her to lunch. She jumped at the invitation like it was a lifeline in the hopes that the other woman could talk her off the ledge.
If anyone could do it, Soraya Morgan could. The woman had a way of cutting through the BS to get straight to the heart of a matter. Not to mention her off the wall advice was as entertaining as it was practical. Unfortunately, the conversation was going to require more privacy than could be found in a public restaurant.
"Meet me at Opulent," she replied and yes, dammit, there was more than a hint of desperation in her voice.
An hour later, Soraya looked at their surroundings in awe and it wasn't because of the richly appointed décor. "Are you sure we're supposed to be here?" She whispered.
"I'm a member," Callie admitted as she followed the maître d' to a private dining alcove. She had known that the lounge would be practically empty at this time of day and the staff was well paid for their discretion. Not to mention they had to sign non-disclosure agreements stating that they could never repeat anything either seen or heard inside the club.
"You are? I mean holy shit," the other woman said reverently. "This is the Bastard's Club."
"Technically it's called Club Envy," she pointed out as they slid into the plush leather half-moon banquette from opposite sides. "Some of the members jokingly refer to it as the Bastard's Club since we're all bastards in one form or another."
Since Baines Luxury Resorts and Casinos catered to the rich and famous, all of the resorts were luxurious in the extreme. Each resort featured a different theme but they all had an uber private Club Envy for a select group of members, the financial one-percent. It was as elite as it was exclusive.
Bastion issued personal invitations to people who met specific criteria. Only bastards by right of birth or natural disposition were admitted. Their numbers were few and it was an eclectic blend of rich, nasty tempered people for the most part. Callie normally avoided the place, but it was the perfect venue for a private conversation.
"I've heard rumors about this place, but I didn't realize there were female members," her friend imparted.
"There are only a few of us," she admitted. "Victoria Landers being the most notable."
"Shut up," the other woman exclaimed and slapped her hand atop the table. "The Ice Queen is a bastard?"
"More like a cold-hearted bitch," she admitted with a nod. "But I like her."
Soraya stared at her with rounded eyes. "One of these days you're going to tell me about all those famous people that the rest of us mere mortals only read about in the scandal rags."
"Says the woman married to Graham Morgan," she derided. "Your husband could be a member if he was a bastard."
"Oh, he was when I met him," she easily agreed. "A bastard that is. Prying the stick out of his ass and getting him to loosen up wasn't easy."
"Now there's a mental image I do not need," Callie grimaced and nodded to the waiter patiently waiting a discreet distance away. Once their drink order had been placed, she launched into her dilemma. "I need some advice."
"Then you'd better be prepared for a dose of hard-core reality," her friend opined as she perused the menu. "I don't do sappy bullshit."
"You did while responding to Ask Ida queries," she replied in amusement because her friend had hated the politically correct advice she was forced to dispense for the columnist.
Soraya gave her a dirty look and commanded, "Ask."
Callie took a deep breath and did just that. "Bastion didn't bid on me at the auction last night and I need to figure out how to get out of a date with the winner."
Frowning at her over the top of the menu, she said, "Don't tell me you got stuck with some doddering old letch."
"Worse," she admitted. "Ford Hammersmith."
Soraya's eyes widened before she dropped the menu on top of the table. "Cal, he's gorgeous and sexy as hell. Why would you want to ditch him?"
"Because the heartless bastard broke my heart years ago and he doesn't even remember me," she gave the cliff notes version bitterly. "He only bid on me because he wants to fuck me."
It was damn near impossible to stun Soraya, but the look of shocked outrage on her face was priceless. "Cut the motherfucker's balls off," she commanded loud enough to startle the waiter who had appeared with their drinks. "I'm a writer. We're plotting a book. Lots of blood and gore," she told him with a patently fake smile that he obviously didn't buy since he beat a hasty retreat.
As always, her best friend had managed to lighten her mood with effortless ease, so she teased, "Writer my ass. Is that what they're calling gossip column assistants these days?"
"Ask Ida is an advice column," she corrected and gave her the stink eye. "And I'll have you know that I wrote some of the best pieces."
"You said Ida hated your advice," she said in amusement.
"Only because my practicality makes more sense than the politically correct bullshit she doles out," Soraya opined and shoved her pink-tipped hair over her shoulder. "I don't know about you, but I'm going to need alcohol for this conversation. We'll either get wasted or figure out how to get you out of this mess."
"Bastion didn't have any success, and if he can't convince Ford to back off no one can," she complained.
"Pfft. He probably threatened to kill him," she derided with an airy wave of her hand as if a death threat from a man reputed to have underworld mob ties meant nothing. "The possibility of losing his balls will make him change his mind. Men are very protective of their boys."
Callie waved the waiter over again. "Paul, I'd like a bottle of my usual Chardonnay, and please ask the sommelier to choose a Sauvignon blanc from Bastion's private stock for Mrs. Morgan."
"Certainly, Ms. Rose," he agreed deferentially and scurried away after a nervous glance at her companion.
"Private stock, huh?" Soraya asked with raised eyebrows. "I take it this is payback for Bastion leaving you hanging last night."
"Damn right," she agreed. "Besides, he'd have a fit if I ordered anything he considered plebian."
A few minutes later, the sommelier appeared at the table with two bottles of ridiculously overpriced wine. After his artful presentation, the waiter returned with a tray bearing a variety of fruit, cheese, and crackers and explained which pairing would best complement each wine.
Alone again, the ladies drank their respective wines and nibbled on the finger food while discussing the best way to deal with Ford Hammersmith. Sadly, none of their ideas were plausible and the threat of removing his balls really did seem to be the most viable option. The more she drank; the better Callie liked the idea.
––––––––
Bastion
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"I'll deal with it," Bastion said before dropping the phone back into its cradle atop his desk. "Fucking hell."
"Problems?" His best friend queried, the cloud of smoke billowing around his head lending a demonic cast to his dark angel appearance.
"That was the manager at Envy," he bit out. "Callie and a friend are steadily drinking their way through the wine cellar."
Malachi Black glanced at the expensive gold watch on his wrist before commenting knowingly, "For her to be drinking this early in the day, I'd say Hammersmith is to blame."
"Should have killed that fucker a long time ago," he complained in a menacing growl.
"Don't get any ideas about doing it now. I don't have the time to deal with a murder charge and neither do you," the attorney replied seriously and crushed out the cigarette he'd been smoking. "The whole situation is damned odd when you consider it."
"How?"
"You said Callie claimed he didn't recognize her, which is baffling because she's not the kind of woman a man forgets," he pointed out. "But if he's got half a working brain cell, he should have been able to put two and two together because you've warned him off twice."
"And both times he's ignored it," Bastion admitted grimly. He was not used to being ignored yet Hammersmith had made a habit of it. A habit that would eventually prove fatal. "If I don't stop him he'll wind up hurting her again."
"Bastion Baines, guardian angel," the other man laughed at the incongruity and shifted position to cross an ankle over his knee. "Are you ever going to tell her?"
"Tell her what?"
"About her connection to you," Malachi clarified and sipped his coffee.
"And how do you suggest I do that without revealing everything?" He derided harshly. "Do you think she needs to know that her father was the heir apparent to the Taglia crime family? Or that being locked in a closet while he beat and raped her mother regularly is the reason for her anxiety attacks?"
"No, but she'd be thrilled to learn that you're her half-brother," he pointed out.
"She knows all she needs to," he stated flatly. There was too much blood staining his hands to admit their familial ties. If shit went sideways there was no way that he'd risk dragging her down with him. Besides, the last thing Callie needed was to get drawn into the Taglia's tangled web of lies and deceit.
They didn't know about her and she didn't need to know about them. He'd be damned if they touched the only family he had left after killing his mother and destroying his marriage. Star may have divorced him twenty years ago, but Bastion had made a vow to her before God and he would always consider her his wife.
And he'd always love her.
"Have it your way. You always do," Malachi said in acquiescence as he rose to leave. "You know where I'll be if you need me."
Putting the entire conversation out of his mind, Bastion dealt with the situation at hand; two intoxicated women. Envy's hidden security cameras were only fed to his office to protect the members' desire for privacy so he pulled up the footage on his computer. His manager had been right. The women did indeed appear to be drinking heavily.
After placing a call to Soraya's husband, he kept a close eye on them until his secretary announced the other man had arrived. Bastion didn't like very many people, but he did respect Graham Morgan for his business acumen and financial savvy. "Graham," he greeted with a handshake.
"Thanks for the call, Bastion," the younger man replied and looked as harried as only a man who had been called away from the office to deal with a drunken spouse could. "Where is she?"
A hint of a smile curved the hard line of his lips as Bastion replied, "The Bastard Club."
"Of course she is," Morgan sighed in resignation and was obviously used to such antics from his unpredictable and headstrong wife.
It didn't take long to lead him into the hallowed halls that only a select few were privileged to inhabit. If the giggling hadn't been testament enough to their drunken state, Callie removed all doubt when she blinked up at Bastion owlishly and announced, "We're going to de-nut Ford."
"Are you now?" He asked in amusement since he'd considered doing the same thing on more than one occasion.
"Yep. Gonna cut the motherfucker's balls off," Soraya confirmed and made a snipping motion with her fingers that had both men grimacing. Then she grabbed the empty bottle in front of her and announced, "I love this wine, Graham. I want a case of it."
"Whatever you want, baby," her doting husband patiently agreed.
Bastion recognized the label as vintage from his private stock and said dryly, "At twelve thousand a bottle I'd suggest sipping them."
Soraya's eyes rounded as she turned to Callie to accuse, "You let me drink a twelve-thousand-dollar bottle of wine?"
"Nope. I let you drink two of 'em," the designer said with a shrug and a hiccup.
"I drank over twenty thousand dollars," Soraya moaned and turned an interesting shade of green. "Hope it tastes as good coming up as it did going down."
"Party's over, ladies," Graham said decisively and gently lifted his intoxicated wife to her feet, his arm locking protectively around her waist.
"There was a party?" Soraya queried in confusion.
"I guess we missed it," Callie said nonchalantly and rested her chin in her palm.
"Graham, you have to start behaving like a stuck-up suit again so you can become a member," the woman insisted as she leaned heavily against her husband. "I like this place."
"I'll take it under advisement," he agreed blandly and gave Bastion a nod of thanks before leading her away.
Bastion slid into the booth beside Callie and asked, "What brought this foray into drunken debauchery on?"
"He sent me roses, Bad. White roses. With purple tips," she explained in a slurred tone and the use of her childhood pet name for him assured Bastion just how vulnerable she was feeling. "The same ones he sent me before. Why would he do that if he doesn't remember me?"
Other than the fact that he was a first-rate bastard, Bastion had never been able to figure out what possessed Hammersmith to do the dumb as fuck things he did. "Bad coincidence?" He suggested and slid a comforting arm around her shoulders.
Callie laid her head on his chest and confessed, "Why does it still hurt so much Bastion?"
"The heart wants what the heart wants," he said sagely, speaking from experience, but Callie didn't hear. A soft snore assured him that she had fallen asleep. Bastion placed a kiss on top of her head and whispered, "It hurts because you still love him, kiddo. That's the only reason I haven't killed the bastard yet."
