Well, too damn bad.
The music began to wind down and she eased herself from his lap. Sean took great pride in the fact that her legs were shaking and she was forced to lean on his shoulders for a few seconds before collapsing. His big hands curled around her small waist to steady her.
“Give another man a lap dance and he dies,” Sean threatened quietly as he leaned forward, tucking another fifty into her thong for show. To everyone else it simply looked as if he was giving her an extra tip, but he felt her quiver beneath the discreet stroke of his fingers.
“Fuck you,” she said just as quietly, a smile pasted on her face as she gave him the customary kiss on the cheek.
“Count on it,” he breathed as she moved away.
Chapter Four
Nicki felt his eyes boring into her back until she disappeared behind the curtain, fighting the urge to collapse.
“Wow, must be beginner’s luck,” Sherri congratulated her with a wink backstage. “You got a Callaghan. I got a middle-aged banker with a paunch.”
Nicki tried to smile and wave it off, but inside she felt like she was going to throw up. What the hell was he doing here? Had Nick sent him?
As if she didn’t hate herself enough. Those brief moments of orgasmic pleasure evaporated quickly, leaving nothing but the reality of burning shame. Dancing for nameless, faceless strangers was one thing; it didn’t mean anything. But dancing for her brother’s boss? It made her feel vile. Dirty.
Ashamed.
And why? Why did she care? Why did she actually get wet when those big hands held her? That never happened before. God, she was still shaking. Maybe, she thought hopefully, he didn’t notice. Then she remembered the wicked smile on his face, the heated warning he gave her. Oh yeah, he knew. Damn.
She plopped herself down in front of one of the small vanities in the dressing room, seeing and hearing little of the activity around her, willing her heart to stop pounding against the walls of her chest, her legs to stop quivering. With some effort, she began to remove the glittery stage make-up, smearing the thick cream over her face.
It was a one-time thing, she told herself. It was over. She got carried away, but that was alright, because it totally fed into her naughty girl persona. Tomorrow night, she’d draw an even bigger crowd. And she would stay the hell away from one steel-bodied, blue-eyed hard-ass.
“You. In my office. Now.” The quiet but deep voice rang throughout the dressing room, instantly capturing the attention of every girl there. The owner of Angels, Jason Michaels, stood in the doorway. No one who didn’t know him would have guessed him for what he was based on his appearance. He wore dark blue jeans, a black oxford and running shoes. He was average height, trim, with boy-next-door good looks – blonde hair and brown eyes all the way. The ladies guessed his age at around thirty-ish, but it was hard to be more specific than that.
He rarely made a personal appearance on the floor, preferring to handle business from his office. When he did show, it was usually not good news.
“Can I get changed first?” Nicki tried to inject some of her trademark cockiness into her tone, the look of irritation almost as well-rehearsed as her patented eye roll.
“No.” Jason tossed her a cape from the nearby hook, then turned abruptly and walked toward his private office, clearly expecting her to follow. The silence was deafening in the normally bustling room.
With a huge feeling of dread in the pit of her stomach, Nicki followed behind, not even bothering to work up the bluster. After the day she had – running on minimal sleep, following up dead leads, the incident at the garage, then the debacle tonight - she didn’t have the strength.
“Sit.” Jason took a seat behind the massive cherry wood desk and poured out two glasses of brandy. Nicki remained by the door, shifting her weight slightly from one leg to the other. It was a habit she had tried hard to break, this subconscious preparation for fight or flight. It was as much a part of her as her strong survival instinct.
“I said sit,” he repeated, more firmly this time. Nicki stiffened at the authority in his tone. Her chin lifted slightly and her spine straightened.
“Nicki,” he exhaled, his tone not quite as sharp. “You look like you’re going to pass out any second. Please. Sit down. Have some brandy. And tell me what the fuck is going on.”