Dane (A Foster Family Saga #1) Page 3

  And I think…I think I liked it.

  CHAPTER 3

  “What are we doing?” I had to ask. She looked over her shoulder at me with a giddy laugh.

  “We’re running away,” she sang gaily. “We had to get away from the main entrance. There were still so many people outside. I didn’t want to risk running over anybody.” Nothing she was saying was making any sense.

  Out of nowhere, headlights appeared behind us, and my worst fears were about to come true. “Hanna! Look out!” I shouted, grabbing the runaway around the waist and yanking her to the side of the road. The car screeched to a halt well before striking either of us, but my heart pounded furiously. I turned around to confront whoever had nearly done us in. There was a striking Rolls-Royce Wraith in deep burgundy and gold. A valet driver hopped out of the vehicle and marched over to us. Hanna, still giggling in my arms, reached out her hand, and the driver dropped the keys. “Thanks, Valero,” she said, blowing a kiss. “I had them bring my car out.”

  “Are you fucking shitting me?!” I exclaimed.

  There was a buzz in my earpiece. “Sir! Sir, where are you?”

  I turned away and dragged a hand down my face in shock at what was happening. I put the mic to my chin and answered, “Gervais, I’m here. Wassup?”

  “Oh, nothing much. Only that I just got word that you ran off with the niece of Etheridge Danos-Monroe, the very woman hosting this fuck-all event?” Gervais ground out through clenched teeth.

  “I think she—yeah, I think she might have mentioned something about that,” I said. The blowing horn of the Rolls-Royce spun me around, and I saw Hanna in the driver’s seat, beckoning for me to hop in. “Uh, Gervais? Cover for me and Hanna, would you?”

  “Sir, get back here—”

  I pulled out the earpiece to his fading threats and ran around to the passenger side of the car.

  “Like I said, I didn’t want to run over anybody, so we had to get beyond the guests. Now, put on your seatbelt,” Hanna stated.

  “Run over anybody? You know how to drive this thing, right?” I screeched the last word because the redheaded she-devil floored the gas pedal and shot forward. The Wraith swerved on the drive, and I clung to the seat for dear life. She overcorrected, but managed to right the trajectory. We flew down the driveway to the rapidly approaching front gates. “You see the gates, right? You need to slow down.”

  “They’re going to open,” she said calmly.

  “Hanna!” I shouted. The gates smoothly opened just before the car smashed into them, and we coasted out onto the main road without any indication she’d even glanced left or right for oncoming traffic, and I swear I almost pissed myself. I held my breath as she maneuvered along the nearly empty country road, thanking God we weren’t in the heart of the city. She would be roadkill. I would be roadkill! “You’re going to get pulled over or worse!”

  “Where’s a place to go?” she asked, not even slowing. “Where are all the clubs?” She turned to me.

  “Watch the road, you crazy b—” I bit my tongue. The car rapidly approached an intersection, and I let out a yelp. We squealed to a halt at the red light, and the seatbelt dug harshly into my chest. The scent of burnt rubber filled the interior of the car. My heart dropped into my stomach. “Look, you can’t drive like this. You’re going to get us killed.”

  Hanna let out a fierce whoop, leaning back in her seat, stretching her arms above her. She looked over at me with an exuberant smile on her face. She literally laughed in my face. Her laughter was like a wind chime, airy and lighthearted. She looked like she was having the time of her life. She was batshit out of her mind. “That's it. I'm driving,” I said. “I’ll take you anywhere you want to go.” I had every intention of whipping a U-turn and hightailing it back to the estate.

  “Are you sure you can handle this car?” she asked.

  “Of course!”

  It was easy enough to convince her to let me take the driver’s seat, and once settled behind the wheel, I executed a perfect turn to go back. “What are you doing?” she asked in alarm.

  “Taking you back to your aunt. You need help. I can’t believe I let you convince me to follow you, but I’m going to get you home safe.”

  “No!” she protested. “I chose you because everybody said you take orders from no one. Look at you! Following orders.”

  “This ain’t about me, lady. You’re insane,” I responded, glancing over at her. She looked close to tears, her kissable lips fixed in a cute pout. I shook my head. Why were the beautiful ones always crazy?

  “What’s insane is being locked away in a gilded cage while everyone tells you how lucky you are to be safe and never have to worry about where your next meal will come from, when all you really want to do is know what it’s like to fly.” She sniffled.

  “Very poetic of you,” I quipped.

  “Oh, shut up,” she spat. She crossed her arms, her cleavage alarmingly close to spilling over the top of her gown. “I just wanted to know what it was like to get in a little trouble for a change. I’ve spent my whole life doing everything everyone tells me to do. I went and got a degree in anthropology, even though I really wanted to major in art. Now, I’m stuck with this blasted job prospect at the Smithsonian, and you know what occurred to me? That I don’t give a hoot about history. I want to live now! I’m sick of my sheltered life. I want to break the rules, drink too much, date a rogue… And you! You were supposed to give me that!” She was crying now, sniffling, tearful sobs that tore at my heartstrings. I found myself decelerating.

  “Don’t do that,” I hissed. “Stop crying.”

  “Don’t tell me what to do!” she said, like a petulant child. I wanted to hug her and pat her head and tell her she could play a little more after her nap. She was being such a baby, an adorably cute one.

  “Hanna, Hanna, stop. Look, look, look. I’m turning around, see? Don’t cry,” I said. I pulled the car to the side of the road and made a show of turning away from her aunt’s fundraiser. The gates were within sight, and I felt like I was saying goodbye to the opportunity to leave the madness behind, but I also felt like taking her back after her heartfelt speech would be heartless of me. All she wanted to do was get off the porch and play with the big dogs. She didn’t realize what a dangerous playground New York could be, and I wasn’t the type of bad boy she wanted to tangle with.

  I could show her a tamer version of the city. Her little dig about following orders had bruised my ego, but I could show her how to bend the rules, instead of break them. I took a moment to text Gervais and let him know what my plans were, instructing him to tell Hanna’s aunt I would take very good care of her niece. I felt guilty about leaving him to deal with the aftermath, but I was confident he could handle it. Gervais had proven himself a highly capable man. I’d trust him with nearly anything.

  Heading into the heart of New York would be a mistake. There were paparazzi on my trail who would sell their firstborn for a shot of me, and I didn’t want to take that chance. Besides, New York City was miles away, at least another hour’s drive. It was nearly nine o’clock.

  “You want to dance?” I asked. There had to be a bar or lounge in town, someplace with enough character to show her a glimpse of Americana. My Palladium Card had an excellent concierge service that, after a quick phone call, located several suggestions. The best option was a honky-tonk bar on a narrow road off the beaten path. I pulled up and parked next to a beat-up pickup truck.

  “This doesn’t look like New York,” Hanna said, wide eyed.

  “Don’t worry. I can show you a good time anywhere.” I flashed a convincing smile in her direction, and she beamed back at me. She grabbed my hand and hurried me through the battered wooden door. There was a doorman checking ID cards. He wore a camouflage hat and had a cigarette hanging half out his mouth, dropping ashes on his rotund gut, while he tapped his foot to a jaunty country tune. I looked down and noted his cowboy boots. This place was charming. I handed him a decent wad of money not to chec
k Hanna’s ID, knowing she probably didn’t have any on her. We’d left in a hurry. He swiftly pocketed the cash and waved us inside.

  At first glance, the place looked like a scene straight out of an old western. Everything was drab brown, with a layer of dust and a cloud of pure misery hanging over the patrons. There were guys playing pool loudly in one corner, but most of the room was taken up by a long bar at which several regulars drank beers and chatted up the two hot bartenders.

  One had her brunette hair pinned up in a pompadour. She had dangly earrings and a sexy mouth. Under normal circumstances I would be persuading her to follow me back to my car. With Hanna in tow, however, I scanned the room for a safe, comfortable booth away from the midweek crowd.

  A woman wearing tight cutoff shorts that cupped her ass perfectly and showed off a set of perfect legs strutted over to our table to take our drink orders.

  “What’s your best bourbon?” I asked, unsure of what a bar of this size offered.

  “I know for a fact we got a bottle of Widow Jane back there collecting dust,” said the waitress, eyeing my obviously expensive suit and knowing I wasn’t looking for the regular stuff.

  “I’ll take it,” I replied. “What about you, Hanna? What are you drinking?”

  “I’ll drink whatever you’re having,” Hanna said over the music.

  “Are you sure, ’cause—”

  “I want to try something new, live a little!” She let out a hoot and bobbed her head enthusiastically to the hokey music. Settling back on the cracked leather couch, I took a moment to study the exciting, spontaneous woman sitting across from me. Her emerald ball gown looked completely out of place, and her red curls were spilling out of their updo. She was dancing in her seat, not a care in the world. When the bottle arrived at the table, she tossed back a shot. Then she coughed and sputtered when the stinging whiskey hit her insides. Hoarsely, she said, “What is this shit?”

  “It’s whiskey. You don’t have to drink this. I’ll order you something else.” I knew I should’ve gotten her a cocktail or something.

  “It’s fine!” She poured another shot and tossed that one back, too. I was impressed, but I held her back from taking another.

  “I thought you wanted to dance,” I reminded her.

  I looked over at the small dance floor, where a few people were already busting a few moves. There was a couple grinding close. There were a few coeds cutting up in short dresses and knee-high boots. Everybody seemed to be wearing cowboy hats. Dancing usually wasn’t my thing, but I felt responsible for the adventurous runaway. I wanted to show her a good time. Plus, I couldn’t let her go out on the floor alone in that dress, with those earrings and that necklace. Every cowboy in this joint would be on her.

  A new song started up and we made our way to the floor. A woman’s voice crooned from the speakers, and the track had a throbbing downbeat and up-tempo piano melody. It was a sultry country ballad by a familiar singer, though I couldn’t place her—some crossover artist whose music was a little pop/a little country. Hanna started weaving her hips side to side, moving her hands in front of her body in a mesmerizing way.

  She walked backward and I followed her magnetic sway. She tossed her head and laughed. Her body moved closer to mine, and her slender thigh slid between my legs. I placed a warm hand to the base of her spine, feeling the heat of her skin where the ball gown spilled low in back. The singer was telling a story about tangling with bad boys and how she was the fastest girl in town. We danced to that song and the next. I got lost in Hanna’s ever-changing eyes. Her hands at the back of my neck as she leaned into me had me feeling aroused.

  If she were my type, the next step would be to get her to a hotel and fuck her out of her ball gown. Hanna had a naiveté that was endearing, but off-putting. She was the kind of girl who’d think sleeping together meant something special and tender. I preferred my women less in touch with their emotions, especially after my train-wreck relationship with Lynn. Instead, I tried to wrestle my libido back into its cage.

  She said close to my ear, “I think I’m drunk! I’ve never been drunk before.”

  “Don’t worry about it. I’ve got you.” I was feeling protective. I pulled her closer, exploring her seductive curves beneath my hands. Her voluptuous breasts pressed against my chest, and I couldn’t believe their softness. I put a little distance between us. She danced until her pale skin glistened with sweat and her eyes sparkled with light.

  “You want to eat something?” I suggested. She needed something to absorb the alcohol. She nodded eagerly, and we got out of the bar.

  I took her to a common diner, where the waitress asked if we were just coming from prom or something. “We’re not from around here.”

  The older woman took one look at Hanna’s wild hair and expensive dress and nodded. “Yeah, okay. What’cha havin’, doll?”

  I ordered up two heaping burgers and watched Hanna devour hers with gusto. “Don’t tell me you’ve never had a burger, either,” I said.

  “No, I have,” she said around mouthfuls. “This is just so good. It’s not like I’ve been living under a rock or anything.” Her long eyelashes fluttered in enjoyment and she sucked mayo from her fingertips then dug back in.

  “Hey, you said you were sheltered, not me. Feel like you broke enough rules yet?”

  “We’ve gotta sleep together. That’s the plan. Spend the whole night making love, and then my trip to New York will be complete. I can go back to my boring little existence a changed woman.” She said it so matter-of-factly that I couldn’t do anything but laugh.

  “Are you fucking serious?”

  “Why not? I’ve heard all about you. It’s not like you’re above such raunchy behavior.” She said it like she knew what she was talking about, gazing at me through eyes that wanted to appear worldly but mostly looked untried. I grinned at her, not breaking eye contact. I gave her a glimpse of the force of my sex appeal. My eyes crawled down her neck to her breasts, to her stomach, lower. She squirmed in her seat.

  I took a look at the time, noting it was close to midnight. I knew I had to get her to Aunt Ettie before I was tempted to give her what she was asking.

  “We should get back,” I said.

  “Why go back?” She leaned forward seductively.

  “Because I don’t intend on eating you alive, like you want me to do. I have morals, standards…a girlfriend.”

  She sat back coolly. “You have no idea how I’ve dreamed of a night like this.” Hanna wiped her mouth on a napkin and smiled at me invitingly. I returned the smile, and I realized I was having a semi-good time, but I wasn’t biting the bait. “I guess we should wrap things up, then,” she said, her smile fading.

  “I told you…my reputation exceeds me.”

  An hour later, she was safely back at Ettie’s, and I was in a cab homeward bound.

  CHAPTER 4

  I shrugged, saying, “What’s a little gossip, Gervais? No such thing as bad press.” Not even ducking away in a Podunk town could keep the mess-mongers away, I saw the next morning when he pulled up the society pages.

  Gervais sat across from me in my office, perpetually attached at the wrist to his tablet, wearing a nonchalant expression that matched mine. The tabloids, and even the mainstream media, had picked up on the story of my mad dash with Hanna from the fundraiser. It was a high society event; I should have known press would be present. Only I knew what had really happened after we left the ballroom, but speculation abounded.

  “I’ll prepare to field calls from your brother all day,” Gervais replied huffily.

  From behind him came an unmistakable voice: “That won’t be necessary.”

  I stood in alarm, wondering how he had gotten past the very efficient front desk secretary, but she was behind him with a useless, stricken look on her face, and I glared at her for not properly notifying me. Straightening the lapel of my blazer, I cleared my throat and extended my hand for a handshake. “Father.”

  Cornelius ignored the
hand, unusual for him, and a clear sign that my father wasn't paying a social call. He was here to take care of business. Gervais immediately made himself scarce. I nodded in his direction as he darted out the door, indicating for him to close it behind him. I could tell this was about to be a heated Foster row, and there was enough chitchat around the office about me this morning. “Have a seat, Dad. Make yourself comfortable,” I stated with a smile meant to take the edge off.

  I was surprised by his presence, that he had had the time or the inclination to fly across the country to give me a lecture. I really had to have a place in his heart, I thought with annoyance.

  “Dane, where you stick your dick, I couldn’t care less. But when your actions jeopardize my company, it’s every bit my business.”

  “Stand, if you like,” I suggested.

  “I’ve got every major news agency in the country blowing up my phone lines for a comment on your vulgar antics, like I give a shit whose bed you’re falling into—and for what? Because you're throwing a temper tantrum since Lynn chose Simon! Are you too dense to recognize that what you do directly affects this entire brand? Do you know how hard I worked to build up the reputation of Foster Capital Ventures? Integrity, responsibility—these are the values FCV adopts. I sent you here so you could start fresh and leave the past behind you, but I see now that you're bound and determined to punish me for giving Simon and Lynn's relationship my blessing. I will not tolerate this petty rivalry any longer!”

  I shifted in my chair. “Listen, I’m not gonna sit here and—”

  “No, you listen! You seem to be under the misguided impression that I’m obligated to take your bullshit.” He placed his hands on my desk and leaned across so we were at eye level. I fought the urge to unleash my rage, being talked to like I was some kind of wet-behind-the-ears kid. If he wanted to suddenly play daddy and raise me, he was about a decade late, and I wasn’t in the mood to pretend like we both didn’t already know it. “Well, let me tell you something, Dane Foster. I don’t owe you a goddamned thing. I am sorry I wasn’t there for your first steps or your godforsaken fucking first heartbreak, but I have done my best to make up for lost time.”