Exit Strategy by L. V. Lewis Read Free Book Online Page A

already been, he may just make an exception tonight. She knows the score, unlike a stranger he’d have to bring up to speed and handle all that time-consuming secrecy business. His balls feel heavy, almost to the point of pain. If he doesn’t do something soon, he might explode.
Before he can settle into the acceptance of his decision, his eyes fall on Sara’s dancing partner.
Motherfucker!
Tristan signals a waiter.
“See that blonde down there on the right in the gold dress?”
“Yes, Mr. White.”
“Please, offer her an invitation to come up here on my behalf. No one else is to accompany her.”
“Yes, sir.”
Tristan takes out his cell and calls Velasquez. “How the hell did McCaskill get in here?”
“Fuck!” Velasquez swears under his breath before he responds. “Not sure, sir, but I’ll take care of it.”
“He’s on the dance floor, first floor, eastern quadrant of the building.”
“Consider it taken care of.” Velasquez says.
As Tristan turns back to gaze upon the partygoers below, he sees McCaskill pull Sara to him and kiss her neck. The waiter taps her shoulder and delivers the message in the nick of time before the predator goes into action.
As Sara gives her regrets and follows the waiter from the floor, Byron looks around warily, and seeing Velasquez and a couple of bouncers headed his way, he bolts for the door. Tristan wishes he were in the mood for hand-to-hand combat; he would’ve handled McCaskill himself, but he has other needs that warrant attention first.
He pastes on a smile as Sara approaches him, her hands reaching for his. She kisses him on both cheeks, European style, and then on the lips.
“So, you’ve been languishing up here all this time while I’ve been suffering downstairs among the masses?”
Tristan shrugs off her rhetorical question. “I didn’t notice you were there until just now, and it’s a good thing I did.”
“Why’s that?”
“That scumbag you were with likes to drug women and cart them off for his nefarious purposes.”
Sara’s eyes widen theatrically, exaggerating her heightened fear. “I had no idea.”
“I thought as much.”
“Then I owe you a reward for saving me.” She moves in close, pasting the lower half of her body to his.
Tristan smiles, only to put her at ease—to make the result easier—not because he’s enjoying being in his former sub’s company so much. “I might have to take you up on that. What can I get you to drink?”
“Vodka and tonic. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten.”
“Maybe marriage has changed more than your last name.”
“Hardly. I resumed use of my maiden name. ‘Nicholas’ wasn’t as classy as ‘Fielding.’ ”
Drink orders out of the way, Tristan loosens his tie and relaxes into the leather seat in the booth they’re occupying. Sara moves close to his side, ostensibly to make conversation easier over the music, but her proximity makes him uncomfortable.
He angles himself to make conversation easier, yet keeps her from being glued to his side. This already feels like a mistake, but he’s thinking with his aching balls, not his brain, as he continues to entertain her.
After a drink and about thirty minutes of the most inane conversation this side of creation, he levels her with his winning smile and that’s all it takes. She follows him to the private lounge he’d already reserved for what he hoped would be an opportunity to do a brief scene and take the edge off.
Sara is eager to play, and admittedly, it’s easier to do this with someone who knows the score than a complete newbie, like Keisha had been. Fuck! He doesn’t want his mind to go there. Not now, when he needs release. Afterward, perhaps he’ll think clearer and make the decisions necessary to get Keisha Beale out of his system for good. She made her choice. It’s about time he made some serious steps toward replacing her.
Sara will be as good as any in the interim until he’s able to move solidly in that direction. The moment they enter