Embrace the Darkness (The Maura Quinn Series Book 1) - Ashley N. Rostek Page 0,100

across the back of the bench was the gentleman I had bumped into in the showroom. I recognized his gold eyes right away. How could I not? They were locked on me, assessing me from head to toe.

The first thing I noticed as I actually took the time to take all of him in was that I recognized him. From where, I didn’t know. All I was certain of was I had seen him before.

He was Italian. His thick hair and designer stubble were dark as coffee. He had a strong, lean build and a sharp jawline. He was devilishly handsome. There was something about him that put me on edge, though. It was the way he held himself—confident, superior, dangerous. He reminded me of Stefan.

“What do we have here?” Mark asked the man seated across from him. “Are we finally going to get some entertainment during these meetings?”

The man removed his eyes from me to stare at Mark. “I figured I’d humor you this one time.” A small yet excited grin pulled at the corner of Mark’s mouth. “Mind if I have the blonde?” the man asked.

I glanced at the other dancer’s raven hair, confused. Then I remembered I had a wig on. Mark shrugged as if he didn’t care either way. My fellow dancer made her way over to him, unclasping her glittery neon green bra before straddling his lap in only her matching neon green thong.

Fucking hell. Am I really doing this?

Mustering the determination I needed, despite the overwhelming urge to run out of here like a bat free from hell, I reached behind my back and unclasped my black bra. You can do this, Maura. They’re just boobs. Just channel your inner stripper and gyrate that ass.

I straddled the man’s thighs, but instead of facing him like the other dancer did to Mark, I went about it reverse cowgirl style. I took in a calming deep breath and exhaled, willing my stiff body to relax. Thinking back to the dancer who'd given Tina a lap dance all those years ago, I reenacted some of the same moves she'd done the best I could, grinding my ass against him as I moved along to the music. After that first awkward minute passed, I started to actually relax. My body embraced the beat and I gave my first lap dance, ever.

CHAPTER 30

Dancing sensually in a strange man’s lap, I multitasked by listening in as he and Mark began to talk.

“My delivery is late,” the man said.

Mark tilted his head to the side so he could see past the raven-haired stripper currently gyrating her practically naked ass in his lap.

“That’s why I’m here. It’ll be here tonight. Our boat transporting the shipment ran into a weather issue,” Mark explained. He was talking about the cocaine we had coming in from Columbia. According to the flash drive, we were expecting one hundred kilos to be smuggled in. It had cost us one point five million dollars, paid via wire transfer to the Columbians. After we'd paid the couriers, the goal profit was two million. Lately, we’d only been making half of that.

“A weather issue?”

Mark nodded. “A storm. Our boat took damage. Delayed the shipment. Dylan sends his apologies.”

“And why isn’t Dylan here himself?” the man questioned, sounding put off and the tiniest bit distracted. I didn't think Mark noticed as he was pretty distracted himself with the stripper rubbing her boobs in his face. Shit, do I have to do that? I still hadn’t turned around.

Fingers lightly touched the tattoo on my lower back, pulling me from my internal debate. I stood abruptly and spun around on my heels. Stepping between his legs, I moved my hands seductively up his chest, around his neck, and into his hair. Straddling his lap, our eyes locked. His golden eyes were captivating and scrutinizing. It was distracting. Breaking away from his intense gaze, I stared through the mirror behind his head at Mark as I rocked my hips over his hardening bulge.

“He meant no disrespect, Nicoli. He’s ensuring there are no more delays.” Mark’s voice held a hint of nervousness.

The name Nicoli made my fluid dancing stagger for only a breath. Flicking my eyes back to the man beneath me, I finally realized why I recognized him. He was Nicoli De Luca, the don, a.k.a. the boss, of the Italian Mafia.

A few days ago, Stefan had handed me a file with profiles of the other crime lords and their top affiliates. I'd briefly