Page 47 of For Your Eyes Only
“It’s what she wants.” Franco shrugs. “Probably safer for her anyway.”
Again, I’m impressed with this girl’s foresight. At the same time, “How will that affect our business here?”
“Eh… Shula’s building a following, and there’s always an appetite for live shows. We’ll see a dip, but I doubt it’ll last long.”
Nodding, I take a sip of my drink. “And if she makes more money behind the paywall, so do we.”
“Exactly.” He pushes off his legs. “I’m going to pass through the bar. If you see anything suspicious, signal me or DJ there in the corner. He was working the last time she danced.”
He gestures to a tall, beefy man who looks like he could be a professional wrestler.
“Will do.” I lift my drink and study the face of my phone, wondering what Gia is doing right now.
She only said she couldn’t meet me, and I didn’t want to be the guy who has to know every detail of her schedule. I’m not sure what guy I’m even trying to be these days. I’m not moving to Palm Beach. Why am I hanging around, trying to start a relationship with her?
Something about her has a grip on me. My mind drifts to last night at the restaurant, her fresh face and sweet smile, how quickly I could make her blush. She’s young, from a small town, her dead mother taught her to make biscotti. She dreams of visiting New York like a little kid.
She tastes like fine wine and chocolate… and she makes the most exquisite noises when she comes on my face. She’d be willing to let me tickle her. My lips curl with a grin, and heat moves from my stomach to my cock.
Yes, it’s clear why I’m hanging around here, even if I did push her outside her comfort zone last night. She’s playful and curious, and I like testing her limits.
The lights lower, and the mood in the room visibly shifts. The crowd on the floor turns to the stage and seems to sway like a gang of hungry dogs preparing to be fed.
I quickly scan the perimeter, gratified that Franco has doubled the number of bouncers near the stage. He’s taking this situation as seriously as I would.
A spotlight flashes, and the other girl Shula struts out, doing her usual shimmy dance to the song “U Can’t Touch This” by MC Hammer.Clever. I exhale a short laugh, and my eyes return to my phone. Even with my sweet Gia as a distraction, I’m keeping track of my dealings in New York.
Grish used my connection to Hana and Blake to figure out their late father had access to stables out of town. My friend is enmeshed in the race-world’s horse-doping scene, and he’s got a lot of money on the line. I’ve told him I don’t fuck around with horses. Still, by virtue of our association, if things go south, he could pull me down with him.
Last thing I want is to get any of his shit on me.
I don’t see anything new in the trades. Trainers are gearing up for Triple-Crown season, and the Belmont Gala is a little more than a month away. Everyone will be in attendance at that event. I’ll have to head back for it as well or my people will wonder. It’s a black-tie affair, and Hana and Blake’s mother always organizes it. All the top brass make a point of showing up.
The lights change, and my eyes rise to watch Shula collecting her tips, shaking her bare ass as she struts off the stage, waving and blowing kisses. Checking my watch, it’s after nine, which means Glitter Girl is up next. My stomach tightens, and I wonder if I’ll have the same reaction to seeing her. Objectively, she’s a beautiful woman, and her movements are undeniably seductive. It would only be human for me to respond to her, nothing more.
Shifting in my chair, I move my gaze to the crowd of mostly men growing more restless as her time gets closer. They know the rules—No touching. Still, the tension is growing strong.
It’s not going to get out of control in here, and if it does, we’re ready to shut it down. I glance at the door leading backstage, and another big guy steps out, crossing his arms and lowering his brow.Perfect.
As the lights dim, I scan the crowd once more, focusing on the faces at the very edge of the stage. They all look the same to me—entitled, bloated, drunk-eyed assholes with fists full of dollars, who wouldn’t be here if they spent time developing real relationships.
Like I have room to talk, I think sardonically. I haven’t spent time on a real relationship in years.
A woman’s voice blasts across the speaker, and the strum of violins launch the rhythm of “Scandalous” by Mis-Teeq. I barely have time to wonder how long it’s been since I’ve heard that song when she struts out in an ultra-sheer, bubble-gum pink costume, and the entire room erupts into deafening whoots and cat-calls.
She’s not wearing a dress. It’s more like long strips of sheer fabric that lift and curl all around her, blown back by fans that have lowered from the ceiling. Two see-through lengths of fabric billow around her chest, attached to pasties covering her nipples, but leaving every other part of her round breasts completely exposed.
Her navel is bare, and a belly-dancer’s large pink gem covers it. Her costume somehow covers her pussy, although when she turns, her ass is completely exposed with only sheer pink strips rippling around the sides.
She isn’t wearing fishnets or any other hosiery, and her legs and body glow as if she’s been dusted with some kind of iridescent powder. Her hair is loose in giant waves that billow around her face, and her lips are glossy pink.Fuck, she’s practically naked and unbelievably gorgeous. I growl in my throat as my hand tightens on my phone, as I try to deny the rush of blood to my dick.
Tonight, she isn’t using a pole or curtains or any props. She struts across the stage on matching pink platform shoes, moving her body in a way that exudes professional training. She’s not a stripper, she’s a dancer, bending forward and using her arms to arch and rock her body up straight.
Her stomach flexes as she stretches higher, then she drops down, spreading her knees wide apart and mouthing the words to the song, a piece of hair caught on her full bottom lip. My jaw clenches as I see the men sway closer to the stage, but she’s up again, her eyes lifting to where I’m sitting.
She can’t see me. I know she isn’t dancing for me, but she reaches her arms in my direction and circles her waist, undulating her hips like a hula dancer, like Elvis simulating sex, then turning her back and whipping her head to look over her shoulder straight at me.Fuck.
As always, her face is covered by a mask. I’m not sure if all that dark hair swirling around her is real, but either way, it’s incredible. Rising out of my chair, I walk slowly out of the VIP section, closer to the edge of the raised area.