“Come here,” he whispered huskily.
I took a step toward him, and his eyes blazed as he reached out and put his hands on my hips, guiding me. “That’s it.”
The bottom of my shirt rose up just a tiny bit and his thumb grazed against my bare skin.
A searing heat pulsed through my body, almost in time to the music. I went to pull away, but Colt’s hands held me firmly in place.
“Take off your shirt,” he commanded, his voice still low and sexy.
I reached up, mesmerized, and did as I was told. I would have expected my hands to be shaking, that I would be nervous about taking my clothes of in front of this gorgeous stranger. But it was the opposite. His gaze was like an anchor, keeping me grounded, holding me in place, right there in the moment.
One button.
Two.
Three.
I felt the cool air on my bare skin as the top of my bra became exposed.
When my shirt was completely open, Colt’s hands moved from my hips up the sides of my body, stopping just below the band of my bra, right under my breasts. His touch was setting me on fire and an ache I’d never felt before rolled up inside of me.
His hands moved slowly up my back, then hooked around my shoulders. He pulled me to him, his grip strong. I leaned forward, meeting him, not even caring that my shirt was completely open, that I was exposed to him, more exposed than I’d ever been to any person in my life. And even though I’d only just met him, my instinct was to let him in, to give myself to him and do whatever he asked. My nipples tightened and my pulse quickened as his mouth moved toward mine. Colt’s eyes were still locked on mine, and I felt like I was falling into them.
His intent was clear. He was going to kiss me, and maybe more, right here, in this room, on this chair.
His lips parted slightly, and his eyes began to close.
My breath was coming in short, ragged bursts as I lowered myself onto his lap.
And then I remembered.
Declan.
The promise.
I’ll wait for you.
I pulled back from Colt like I was a rubber band released after being pulled taut. The sour taste of bile filled my mouth and I was afraid I was going to throw up.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I’m so sorry.”
I grabbed my bag and ran out of the club before I could change my mind.
Out on the street, I hungrily gulped in the fresh air. My pulse started to slow and my stomach stopped rolling.
You almost kissed him.
Disappointment and guilt filled my body, pushing out any other emotions I had including any attraction or pull I felt to Colt. I reached into my purse and pulled out the picture of Declan. It was taken three years ago, in our group home in McLean. His arm is slung around me, our cheeks pushed together.
The picture is printed out on a piece of old copy paper, and it’s faded. The ribbon wasn’t that great to begin with, and I’ve looked at it millions of times since then. Seeing his face calms me.
I was so rattled that at first I didn’t realize a couple of guys had come out of the liquor store across the street and were standing on the curb, leering at me.
“Hey, sweetheart,” one of them yelled. “Nice titties! You want to come over here and shake ‘em? I’ll give you twenty bucks.” He elbowed his friend next to him, and they both snickered.
I glanced down at my shirt, which was still open, exposing my bra and the top of my cleavage to anyone who happened to be passing by on the street. I turned around and walked quickly toward the bus stop, buttoning up my shirt as I went.
What was I thinking, trying to be a stripper? It was the most ridiculous idea I’d ever had. I wasn’t sexy. My body wasn’t voluptuous – I was too skinny, my hips were bony, I was pale. Strippers were supposed to be tan and busty, with curvy hips and sexy smiles.
They’re also not supposed to be virgins.
I was halfway to the bus stop when I heard the footsteps behind me. It was the two men from the liquor store. Following me.
“Come on, baby,” one of them said. “Where you going so fast?”
“Yeah, baby,” the other one chimed in. “Where’s the fire?”
I turned around and looked to see how far away they were. I was no stranger to being followed by leering men. You didn’t get through ten years of foster homes and a couple of months of being homeless without getting your fair share of men thinking they can get away with doing whatever they want to you.
The two men who were following me now were in their thirties, both of them wearing khaki pants and heavy-looking plaid shirts. One of them was holding a leather flask, and he grinned at me when he caught me looking at him.
“Hey, baby.” His teeth were yellow and rotting. “Where ya goin’ so fast?”
“Leave me alone!” I yelled. Sometimes if you looked like you were going to put up a fight, they would decide you weren’t worth the trouble. But sometimes it just made them more excited.