Love Triangle Six Books of Torn Desire - Willow Winters Page 0,20

“Get back to your station.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you.” James races out of the restaurant like hell’s breathing up his ass.

Reclining back with my arms braced on the stage behind me, I meet Trace’s stony stare. “Waiting for someone?”

His nostrils widen and relax as he glances at his watch. “She’s fifty-three minutes late.”

“She sounds important. Especially if she dragged his lordliness out of his royal tower to consort with the commoners.”

“She’s a royal pain in my ass. I’m rethinking the job I offered her.”

“Rock on. She wasn’t going to accept it anyway.”

His eyes narrow. “Then why are you here?”

I squint right back. “How did you know I was here?”

He huffs a sharp sound and flicks a finger at the ceiling.

Elaborate glass fixtures of every color create a mosaic design overhead. A closer look reveals tiny black globes amid the art work. Cameras. Of course.

“You were spying on me? I could have you arrested for stalking.” I arch a brow. “And trespassing in my house. Any other crimes I should be aware of?”

“Cut the shit, Danni.”

“Oh, Trace. I wouldn’t shit you. We’re just getting to know each other.”

“Yeah?” He strokes his bottom lip, tempting me to kiss it. “I heard how you get to know men.”

“Anal play?”

His frown jerks, as if an invisible finger yanks it up at the corner.

“You smiled!” I feign a gasp, pointing at his mouth. “Did it hurt?”

He grunts.

Maybe I can coax another one. “Do you fancy a thirteen-inch dildo, Mr. Savoy?”

He glances at the empty doorway and composes his expression into that of an imperious casino boss. “I see you found the stage. Is it adequate for your routine?”

Ugh. So stiff. I’d love to see him loosen up. I bet it’s glorious.

“Depends.” I swing my legs around and stand at the center of the platform. “Still rethinking that job offer?”

His gaze latches onto my mouth before it makes a slow descent along my neck, tracing the shape of my breasts, my hips, and the apex of my thighs. My entire body reacts, igniting deep within my core and spreading outward to inflame my skin. My nipples tighten. My pulse kicks up, and a throbbing ache flares between my legs.

Jesus, this man is potent. All he has to do is stand there in his tailored suit and transmit displeasure like it’s foreplay. His sculpted lips part naturally, forming an enticing fracture in that scowl, which is framed by a jawline carved in right angles. So commanding. Masculine. Way too hot for a stuffed shirt.

He hasn’t moved his focus from the vicinity of my crotch, so I snap my fingers in his line of sight.

Those stark blue eyes jump to my face, and there’s something glowing in the depths. Something needy and compulsive and…resentful.

“You don’t like me very much, do you?” I anchor my fists on my hips.

“That’s negligible.” He paces around the stage, hands folded behind him. “Let’s go to my office so you can sign the contract and—”

“I don’t think so, Scoot McGoot.” I stretch my arms out, encompassing the 360-degree panorama of crowded casino tables and one-armed bandits. “I hate to break it to you, because this really is a great stage, but no one out there cares about a dancer in a restaurant. Doesn’t matter how much you pay me.”

His pacing veers toward the bar, where he bends behind the steel counter, vanishing from view.

Before I can ask what he’s doing, a column of soft light envelopes me from head to toe. The source shines from beneath my feet, and as I step forward, the light follows me, effectively encasing me in a glowing tube.

“So cool.” I bounce from side to side, captivated by the accuracy of the motion sensor.

He messes with something on the back wall, and a sultry, fast-tempo pop song streams from hidden speakers. I recognize it immediately. The deep vocals of the Haitian rapper. The stately resonance of brass instruments. The vibrating clap-clap-clap of percussion. The high-energy composition of Hips Don’t Lie by Shakira. It’s a song I practice to often, and my body twitches to ride the rhythm.

“Dance.” Trace stalks toward the stage and stares up at me. “Please.”

Saturated in the beam of light beneath my toes, I tremble with excitement. His please isn’t the only reason I pull off my shirt, but it’s a powerful incentive. I doubt he uses that word often, and standing before him in a sports bra and low-waist jeans, I’m happy to oblige.

The music thumps through me, setting the pace of my breaths. My