Damn if he didn’t want to take his payment in kisses, in lovely strokes of her full breasts, in kneading the soft flesh of her ass, in driving inside her again and again. They had fit so well, like perfectly edged puzzle pieces. But he couldn’t indulge those dirty wants.
Because whoop-de-doo, you didn’t have to squint all that hard to see that Brody Kane and Ray Grigson were not so dissimilar after all. Both of them had homed in like predators on a woman down on her luck and taken unscrupulous advantage. He knew she wasn’t there by her own choice, despite all her ridiculous assurances about self-expression and wanting to dance. None of it had stopped him from pinning her to that wall, kissing her senseless, and plunging his cock into the sweet haven of her body.
It would not happen again, no matter how goddamn sexy she looked in his shirt.
Twenty-four hours ago, his life had been fine. He had deals to make and an annoying sister to placate and a personal assistant whom he fantasized about harmlessly. His only real concern was finding his sex mojo after six months of self-imposed celibate misery. Congratulations, Kane, you’re back! Mojo firmly restored, and the one woman he wanted to use it on was out of bounds. Worse, she had turned everything upside down—a homeless stripper-slash-assistant with an unhinged cat.
He intended to keep her safe. Which for a man of his wealth and influence shouldn’t have been difficult, but the biggest threat came from him. The things he wanted to do to her, the moans he wanted to suck from her. But first things first. Time to wind up his hardball.
“You can no longer work at that club. End of story.”
Stepping back, she crossed her arms over those beautiful breasts and cocked a pissy eyebrow. “I have tonight off, but tomorrow I’ll be going back in and you can’t tell me differently.”
Wanna bet? “You won’t be going in, Emma, because I have bought you. You belong to me.”
Chapter Ten
You belong to me.
Shock gripped Emma, not so much at the words, but at how much she enjoyed their effect on her body. The inherent power and dominance in them. But then she wised up and remembered that she belonged to no one, not even Ray.
There was also the other thing Brody said, equally as disturbing. I have bought you.
“What the hell does that mean? Bought me?”
“I suspected you would be resistant to my efforts to help you.”
She opened her mouth to protest, and he raised the hand of shut-up.
“I researched the going rate for a stripper in Chicago, and armed with that information, I entered a negotiation with your other employer.”
“What? You talked to Ray?”
His look pronounced that to be idiocy. “I sent my lawyer as proxy. Grigson was happy to hire you out.”
That goddamn pimp! “You mean, he sold you to me?”
His expression was all sexy affront. “Hired, Emma. My lawyer tried to find out how much you owe, but Grigson was coy. I’m sure he’s hoping you’re so damn good that I’ll pay anything to keep you. A game of wits has begun.”
So damn good at what? “What did you tell him you wanted me for?” A ridiculous question, perhaps. Why else would a man buy—hire—a woman he’d supposedly met for the first time in a strip club? Ray was truly selling her services as a…hooker. “And how much am I worth to him?”
“It’s not what you’re worth to him. It’s what you are worth to me. But your other employer can only spare you for a week. He seems very attached to you.”
Those last words were grated out. He appeared to be having trouble getting a tether on his emotions.
“The average earnings for a good stripper in that club are approximately one thousand a night. But you’re not a good stripper, Emma. You’re not even a so-so stripper. Grigson was happy to take three for the week.”
“Three dollars?” she choked out, horrified at her low value in the stripper economy.
“Three thousand.”
“You paid three thousand dollars.” The words clotted in her throat. “You paid three thousand dollars to keep me from working there.”
“I managed to get him down from five.” He cupped her jaw, his thumb drawing a sensuous line along the bone. “I’d have paid ten times that to ensure no one ever paws at you again. Understand that you are safe here.”
Safe. Uttered by Brody Kane in that inarguable tone, it sounded like the answer to every dream she’d ever had. Warmth, shelter, quality cat food for Kevin.
But wasn’t she just swapping out one hazard for another? Brody Kane, her boss, the man who conjured mini orgasms with his tantalizing man scent and dweeb glasses, was more of a threat to her physical and mental well-being than ever. And then there was the little matter of going over her head and “hiring” her services. Even Pretty Woman streetwalker Julia Roberts was allowed to negotiate her week in luxury with Richard Gere.
“Maybe this is how you solve problems in Texas, Brody, but you can’t just hire me without discussion. And after you already pulled that stunt last night when you paid to keep me from working the rest of my shift. I’m not your property.”
His hand still shaped her jaw. “If I’d talked to you about it first, what would you have said?”
“No.”