As the door slams shut, Marcus spins, and I stagger back a step when he beelines straight for me, stopping just a few feet away. He rips his sunglasses off. “Did he touch you?”
Without his glasses, I can see his whole face, and there’s not murder on it, like I’d thought. What’s creasing his face is worry. He looks me over like a concerned big brother.
“No . . . only himself.”
“Piece of shit,” he mutters, then shifts his intense gaze on Nora as she comes out of the VIP room. “You and Pete got to screen them better.”
Nora shrugs. “You can’t always tell. That’s why I pay you the big bucks.”
“You’re okay?” he asks, looking at me, the concern fading a little.
“Yeah. Thanks.”
“All cleaned up,” Nora says. “Wait in Ben’s office while I track down your next one. He’s the one who’s got you for an hour, but if there’s any of that,” she waves a hand at the VIP room, “you know what to do.”
I nod.
There’s a burst of crowd chatter as she opens the door to the club and disappears through it. Marcus gives me a last concerned once-over and follows her out.
Ben gestures me in, then closes his office door. “Sit.”
I sink into the sofa, wishing it would swallow me. “Sorry about that.”
“It’s nothing to be ashamed of, Sam,” he says, opening a cabinet and pulling down two glasses. “Men want you. And you’re going to make both of us a ton of money because of it. Just be mindful of the rules. They’re there for a reason—to protect both of us.” He pours a shot of Jameson in each of the glasses and hands one to me.
“Thanks,” I say, then pound the shot and slam the glass on the corner of his desk.
He gives me a curiously amused smile. “Impressive. Not even a wince.”
My eyes flick to the glass and back, and I feel them widen. He must think I’m some kind of lush.
He bursts out laughing . . . probably at the look on my face. “No judgment here, Sam,” he says, lifting a hand, then knocks back his own shot. He slides my glass closer and pours us refills. “Jonathan said you’re crashing at his place? That your parents threw you out?”
I take the glass and rest my head back, watching my hand swirl the amber liquid. “Tough love. They think I’m a screw-up.”
He tips his head at me. “Why would they think that?”
I shrug and down my shot more slowly this time. “I was partying a lot, I guess, and sort of forgot to go to class most days. I flunked out of school.”
“Are they helping you out at all? With rent or food?”
“No. I haven’t even spoken to them in over a month.” I slide the glass onto the desk, not sure if I want Ben to refill it or not. He doesn’t.
“They haven’t even checked up on you?” he asks, surprised.
I swallow the lump rising in my throat. “Nope.”
He leans back in his chair and sips the last of his scotch. “If there’s anything Nora or I can do to help, let us know. We take care of our own here.”
“Thanks. This job has saved my life. I really appreciate it.”
“Don’t thank me for that. Like I said, you’re going to make us a ton of money.”
I sink deeper into the sofa, feeling the scotch seeping into my bloodstream. But when I hear Nora’s voice in the hall, I know it’s showtime. She’s says something low, then giggles like a pubescent teen just before a door in the back of Ben’s office clicks open. I’d thought that door was a bathroom or a closet, but I now see it leads to the hall that threads from the dressing room to the stages.
I don’t know if Harrison was really even here tonight. I just caught that one glimpse of him a second before the stage lights blinded me. It was probably my imagination. But, still, when Nora steps into Ben’s office with a good-looking guy in his forties at her heels, disappointment drops like a stone in my stomach.
I really wanted it to be Harrison.
His hand is on Nora’s back, and even though she’s contained the giggle, her cheeks are flushed. She smiles up at Ben. “This one’s going to steal me away from you if you’re not careful, Ben.”
“Try it and they’ll be finding little pieces of you in Dumpsters all over the Bay Area,” Ben says, standing and shaking the guy’s hand. But even though what he said sounded like a joke, there’s no humor in his expression as he stares the guy down, and I wonder if I’m the only one who caught the edge to his voice. He glances at me. “Will you excuse us, Sam?”
I look between the guy and Ben, confused.
“Come on, girlie. The boss has business to attend to,” Nora says, scooping up my elbow as she crosses to the door to the main hall and pulls it open.
I step into the hall, still confused, and out of nowhere Jonathan nearly tackles me, hoisting me over his shoulder.
“You son of a bitch,” I screech, whaling my fists on his back. “Put me down!”
“Hey, Nora! Anyone in the VIP room?” he asks through my shrieks, hauling me that way. “Red and I need the couch and a thermometer for a science experiment. How hot is backstage sex between a rocker and an exotic dancer? Will spontaneous combustion occur? Inquiring minds want to know.”
“Put her down, you Neanderthal! She’s got work to do!” Nora yells up the hall behind us, but Jonathan has already turned the corner into the VIP room.
“Hello.”
I freeze, mid-shriek, as Harrison’s warm honey drawl trickles over me, sending a shiver up my spine.
Chapter Seven
JONATHAN UNCLAMPS A hand from my legs. “Sorry, man. Didn’t know anyone was in here.”
I break free from his loosened grip and slide off his shoulder, suddenly acutely aware that Harrison has a very unflattering view of my ass. “You moron,” I mutter, shoving Jonathan, once my boots are back on the floor.
Nora comes up behind us and grabs Jonathan by the scruff of the neck, dragging him out of the room.
“Inquiring minds want to know!” he calls, just as the door snaps shut.
“Your boyfriend?” Harrison asks with a flick of his eyes at the door.
“Hell, no!” I can’t read his expression. Does it bother him that I might have one?
He gestures at the sofa with a tip of his head. “So you were donating your body to science, so to speak.”
“He’s just a friend.” Goddamn Jonathan. I’m going to strangle him in his sleep. “A really stupid friend.”
He nods slowly, and whatever he was trying so hard to hide in his expression slips into something altogether different. Something he doesn’t hide at all as his glacial eyes rake over me. Something hot and hungry. Something possessive. The caress of his gaze raises goose bumps everywhere and tightens my nipples, and it’s everything I can do not to squirm under his scrutiny. He settles into the sofa and I just stand here for a long second while he continues his perusal of my body, then he tips his head at the sofa. “Have a seat.”
I sit and force my fingers to stop fidgeting with the clip of my garter belt.
“So, no boyfriend?” he asks, and there’s an intensity to the question that unnerves me a little.
“No boyfriend. I’ve really only ever had one.” Oh my God. Why did I just tell him that?
“Me too. That is . . . one girlfriend,” he clarifies.
“Your fiancée?”
He nods. “How long ago? Your boyfriend, I mean.”
“We broke up a year ago.”
“Were you together long?”
I shake my head. “We were dating for about eight months, but it was long distance.” I don’t tell him the whole time we were together, Trent was in love with someone else, because that just makes me sound pathetic.