mouth muffled her responding sob. Her eyes spoke for her. They looked upon him as if he were the devil himself. Her fear exuded a healthy respect. He liked that. She also had the appearance of a terrified lamb. That was proper and very important. Suffering for one’s art was part of the process. Of course, she didn’t understand that yet. Once she did, they would get along famously.
“You should feel honored that you were chosen. I don’t normally invite women like you into my world. I’m very particular about my preferences. And you aren’t even from my usual hunting area. You caught my attention one day and I haven’t been able to think of anyone since.”
Dark green eyes, drenched with tears, blinked up at him. Once again they spoke volumes, telling him she wasn’t honored. That would change though. Before their final goodbye, she would learn many important lessons. All of his women had left him with the knowledge of his greatness in their eyes. So would this one.
Her eye color was a disappointment. From a distance, they had looked brown. Once he began the process of elevation to her new status, they would have to be covered. They could prove a distraction; one he couldn’t afford. Every nuance of the process was carefully calculated. If even one aspect was off, it would ruin everything.
A common man would either discard her or remove the distraction. He was not a common man. He had chosen her for a reason. Just because he didn’t know why yet didn’t mean she was a mistake. Knowledge would come. And so he would proceed. When it was time, the answer would be revealed to him.
Taking the scissors from the drawer, he held them up to the light, loving the way they glinted like diamonds. He looked down at Clarissa again. At the sight of his scissors, her green eyes blazed with terror. Hmm. Perhaps the color wasn’t so bad after all.
With that comforting thought, he began to cut, Clarissa’s muffled screams sounding like thunderous applause as they hit his ears.
Club Drago
“You nervous?” a gravelly female voice asked.
As soon as Angela entered the dressing room, Georgette Hilliard, stage name Dynamite, had taken her under her wing. Georgette was the oldest dancer at Club Drago and apparently saw herself as a surrogate big sister.
Georgette’s question surprised her because it made her realize that she was nervous. Nerves weren’t usually an issue for her but this was so completely out of the norm for her low-key lifestyle, she couldn’t stop the army of butterflies battling each other in her stomach.
Reading the correct answer in Angela’s expression, Georgette said, “Don’t worry, Sweets. Once you’re on stage, the nerves will disappear. It’s dark out in the club. When the lights come on, you just go to your happy place and let the music take over.”
Good advice except she wasn’t performing for the reason most exotic dancers went on stage. She was performing to catch a killer. That was definitely something they hadn’t covered in her dance classes.
Apparently seeing the doubt in her eyes, Georgette offered another avenue. “You have a man?”
Did she? Her question to Jake had been met with a bright blue gaze of pure heat that had almost incinerated her insides. She shouldn’t have asked the question in the first place. Sometimes her tongue overpowered her brain and she blurted out inappropriate questions. Asking hadn’t worked anyway—Jake hadn’t answered. Passionate intensity had been in his expression but the words she longed to hear never came.
Still, whether he looked upon her as his woman, Angela knew one thing—Jake was her man, whether he wanted to admit to it or not.
“Yes, I have a man.”
“Think about him. Pretend it’s just you and him and you’re dancing only for him. With your body and exotic looks, you’ll have men salivating. Add that kind of personal touch, make each man believe you’re dancing only for him.” She nodded knowingly. “They’ll be throwing money at your feet.”
The money would go to charity, so that was a good thing. And thinking about Jake while she danced? That was excellent advice. What better way for her to show him how much she wanted him, especially since she doubted she would ever get the chance to dance for him in private.
“Thank you, Georgette. I appreciate the advice.”
“New girl?”
Angela turned around and faced a petite, large-breasted woman with bleached hair teased up so high it easily gave her three more inches of height. Her costume consisted