Page 30 of Dance for Me
“Hold on there, little miss.” Atticus leaned forward, bracing tree trunk arms on the desk. Now his whole face glowered at her, not just his eyes as they caught the light. “Thought you were dancing tonight?”
She thought fast and plucked at her top with a rueful smile. “I didn’t come dressed to dance,” she told him apologetically. “I did a practice run earlier and the lights make it too warm to perform comfortably. I’ve got some spare clothes in my car that I’m hoping will be cooler.”
That green gaze narrowed into dark slits. The man wasn’t an idiot, she’d understood that the first time she laid eyes on him, but he wasn’t a dancer either. Shit, if Atticus got on a stage with other performers, he’d bounce them clean off their feet.
“Hmmmm.” He ran his tongue over white teeth, then shook his shaggy head and reached into a drawer. “Get Braun to make you a permanent one of these,” he said, tossing a plastic card onto the desk. “The Masters know who you are now, as does Connie, so you won’t have a problem with that. But sometimes other Doms take a turn signing people in if Braun trusts them, and they’d be likely to refuse you entrance without a card. Makes life easier on us all for you to have one of your own.”
She inched closer to the desk, wary of him lashing out and snagging her arm if she reached for the card. She had to pick it up; he’d be suspicious if she told him she didn’t need one.
But then, she couldn’t not come back. The money was too good for her to quit the job—well, if she still had the damn job after tonight—because the bills, her rent, and her parents weren’t going to go away just because she wished they would.
She was screwed from every angle.
With lightning fast reflexes, she tried to pick the card up off the wooden surface and suffered the first wave of a panic attack when it just slid across the desk. She fumbled, meeting the Master’s unamused eyes as she hooked her nails under the edge of the plastic. It flipped in her hand and clattered back onto the wood, mocking her.
“Bit nervy there, Boadicea,” he rumbled. “Sure a change of clothes is the only thing you’re heading to your car for?”
Cold sweat slicked her spine. In the company of the stern man in front of her, her inner bitch quaked and slunk away, leaving her frozen. A rabbit framed in the headlights of a car could think clearer than she could at that moment. She nodded frantically.
“Don’t like being lied to, little girl. Whether you’re submissive or not, lies will earn you a sore ass in my presence.” Atticus drawled the words, his eyes never leaving hers. “Shall we try this again or would you prefer I just spank you now and get the bullshit out of the way?”
Her buttocks clenched as she abandoned the card and backed away. “I-I—” Shit, she should have known he wouldn’t let her sneak past with her pride intact. “I-I need to—”
“You need to take a deep breath and tell me what’s going on in that head of yours,” he interjected carefully. He held out his hand, palm up. “Come here to me, babygirl, and tell Uncle Atticus what’s gotten you all flustered in the last twenty minutes since I last saw you.”
Her hand lifted, reaching for his without even considering rejecting his offer. The outer doors popped open and a small gathering of people huddled into the entryway; Atticus growled a curse when she snatched her traitorous hand back.
“Bodie, wait a minute.”
“I’m sorry,” she told him, and bolted through the door before it snicked shut. She ran like a demon across the parking lot, grateful she’d left the keys to her pile of scrap in the sun visor.
There were a couple of other cars—a lot nicer than hers—already parked, and another set of headlights was coming up the track as she slammed into the driver’s door. She wrenched it open, panting viciously, and jumped into the seat while simultaneously yanking down the visor hard enough the keys catapulted into her face.
The encounter with Atticus had shaken her so much she could barely manage to get the key in the ignition and start the car.
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