Chains and Canes by Katie Porter

had crawled out from the swamps. He’d been a half step up from most of his neighbors, because he’d lived with his momma, meemaw and uncle in a real house. Calling that falling-down shack a house had been a whole lot of arrogant. The blue tarp on the roof was the only thing to keep out the rain. Once-grand columns on the porch stretched up to the second floor but were black with rot. Hard enough to keep the property taxes paid with his momma’s problems, let alone his uncle’s dubious attentions.
    Now this beautiful girl was in his hands. Her man would soon join them.
    Crawling out of the swamps wasn’t the same as riding high with these two. Limited time only. Remy would fall soon enough.
    She licked her bottom lip, obviously torn between his hold on her hair and actual words. “Sorry I snapped. It’s just that Daniel’s been telling me for years that if I ever wanted, he could bring together backers. That’s what he’s good at. Finding money from other people, and turning those investments into something amazing.”
    “I’ve never wanted a company.”
    Such a lie. Most days he was able to concoct one half-truth after another. Holding Naya and restraining an eighteen-wheeler’s worth of anticipation meant taking a huge risk. The lie was harder to even say, let alone believe.
    Naya smiled almost shyly. “Yeah, well, it’s beyond me too.”
    “Good,” Remy said, his chest tight. “Then we don’ need to talk about it no more.”

Chapter Ten
    Daniel lost track of how many times he’d eyed a bottle of Scotch in the beveled glass liquor cabinet. Maybe a dozen? He was still buzzing from a harrowing flight in from the UK, where the late takeoff had nearly meant a delay until the next day. He’d sat in his seat in first class much the same way as he’d sat in on a series of radically important board meetings.
    Antsy. Distracted. Confused.
    So turned on that he couldn’t go near thoughts of his night with Naya and Remy.
    Not until he was alone.
    After fourteen hours a day spent directing the futures of his ventures in all realms of industry and philanthropy, he would return to his hotel room across from Hyde Park. Then he’d strip, shower, collapse onto the bed and relive every moment.
    Naya had emailed and called, assuring him that their plans and desires were still as strong. They’d always had a knack for phone time. Business trips weren’t a big deal other than missing her body curled against his. She’d relayed every encounter with Remy during their practice sessions. Some curious. Some humorous. Some pretty telling when it came to unraveling an outwardly assured man who hid a dancer’s vulnerabilities. Her descriptions of their dancing, especially how she’d felt when in Remy’s arms, added fuel to how hotly Daniel burned.
    He had no imagination when it came to beautiful things. Strategies aligned in his brain like floats in a parade. Each had its place. He’d recently expanded the company he co-owned with quiet, introverted Louis, from cloud computing to manufacturing an innovative multi-hardware platform. He’d done it flawlessly. When it came to art, he only knew how to appreciate. Naya’s breathless, excited words had given him enough to subsist for three nights.
    Hours on the phone with her made the waiting bearable. Barely.
    There in the corporation’s suite reserved for visiting guests and clients, he waited for Naya and Remy to arrive after a show. The temptation of one finger of Scotch was strong—Christ, just to take off the edge—but it wasn’t the only temptation he’d refused. While in England, he could’ve made a single phone call to satisfy his curiosities.
    Declan. New video. Download.
    He eased into a leather armchair and sipped from a bottle of sparkling water. Why hadn’t he checked in to see how they’d spent their hours together, sweating out a new routine, hurling lightning at one another? Only at that moment, wired and tired and barely out of the shower, did he