Page 11 of Temptress

Damn it.

Marin let out a little squeak. “Are you seeing your neighbor?”

Sweet merciful hell.

Alma waggled her brows lasciviously. “That’s so hot. A neighbor booty call? Talk about convenient.”

“I’mnotsleeping with or seeing my neighbor,” I insisted.

Delanie, a sweet, romantic-at-heart, believer in fairy tales, looked at me hopefully. “Well... maybe you will, eventually. That would be so romantic, don’t you think?”

Alma rolled her eyes playfully and teased, “You’re just saying that because you’re all disgustingly happy and in love right now.”

Delanie’s whole face lit up, her cheeks flushing a happy, rosy pink. She’d been sickeningly happy since her boyfriend, a mechanic from Hidalgo, proposed to her a few weeks back. She was in the midst of wedding planning bliss, and everything was sunshine and rainbows. We were all beyond happy for her, but she’d been bitten by the same bug most happily committed woman were. The one where they wanted all their friends to be just as in love as they were.

I reached out, wrapped my fingers around her hand, and gave it an affectionate squeeze. “That’s a sweet thought, but it’s not going to happen, believe me.”

Her expression fell as Asher spoke up. “I take it that means the situation hasn’t improved?”

I let out a sigh and dropped my head back, rolling it on my shoulders to stretch it out after the workout I’d just gotten in rehearsal. “You could say that,” I answered, thinking about the situation with the rose bushes the day before. “It may have come to my attention thatI’mthe problem neighbor. Not him.” I admitted, pulling my bottom lip between my teeth and chewing on it as embarrassment washed over me for the millionth time since my last run-in with the gorgeous man.

Alma’s face pinched into a look of puzzlement. “How is that even possible? After Delanie, you’re the sweetest person I know. And I only put her first because I’m half convinced she’s actually a cartoon fairy-tale princess come to life.”

“Aww,” Delanie cooed, smiling affectionately.

“What makes you think you’re the problem neighbor?” Asher asked.

I explained the situation with the rose bushes, and how I’d rushed from the car spewing mean names before even giving him a chance to explain.

Marin reached across and patted Layla’s back when she began to choke on the drink she’d just taken from her water bottle in an effort not to laugh. She pulled her face into a wince as Layla continued to cough and sputter. “Yeah, calling the guy a bag of dicks might not have been your best moment.”

I still cringed at that one in particular.

“It’s nothing you can’t come back from,” Layla insisted reassuringly, once she’d stopped choking and was able to speak.

I lifted my shoulder in a shrug as I tugged at the hem of the cropped tee I’d pulled over my sports bra. “Maybe. But I’m not sure there’s any coming back from being caught peeping on him through a hole in the fence.”

Asher sucked in a breath that quickly morphed into hysterical laughter. “Hecaughtyou?”

“Yep. Called me out on it after all the name calling,” I muttered glumly.

“Oh, we’re going to need the full story on that one,” Alma announced with a shit eating grin, but before they could start peppering me with a million and one questions, our boss and the owner of Whiskey Dolls, McKenna, came into the studio.

“Hey, girls. I’ve got someone here I want you to meet. This is our new head of security, Silas Bridger.”

Oh, you had to be shitting me.

* * *

Silas

When Marco had called me about a job working as the head of security for a club called Whiskey Dolls, I’d initially blown him off, thinking the position was nothing more than a glorified bouncer. But then I’d done a bit of research and discovered that Whiskey Dolls wasn’t just any nightclub. It was the most popular burlesque club in the tri-state area, if not even farther.

I’d called Marco back to ask for more details and discovered the job was a lot more intensive than I’d originally thought. As it turned out, the place had garnered no small amount of fame over the years, and the women who performed there were viewed as local celebrities.

The owners of the club, a married couple named Bruce and McKenna, had apparently had issues not too long ago with a former employee, and wanted to make sure the dancers were safe. As the new head of security, I’d have a team of guards under my command whose main job was to ensure the safety of these women. When I found out how much the position paid, I’d nearly swallowed my tongue.

I hadn’t understood why these two people were offering that kind of compensation, but I wasn’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth. I’d interviewed over the phone and had been offered the job by the end of the call.