Page 37 of Dirty Boss

I could thank Yvette for one thing: she was the perfect reminder of what was at stake if I messed things up with my new boss.

I’d rentedout a small dance studio in preparation for our session. Dressed in leggings and a loose tee, I leaned against the wall of mirrors and scrolled through my music app for something appropriate.

It was dark out, with the lights in the studio reflecting against the glass and blocking the view of the outside. The minutes trickled by, and I wondered if Vaughn would call to cancel, if he’d tell me he’d changed his mind.

At least I’d get paid, I thought. At least I had a tiny cushion in my bank account. Not enough to last more than a couple of weeks, but enough to get me to my next job.

Worry gnawed at my stomach. Yvette’s face loomed at the back of my mind. How many more old acquaintances would I have to face? Maybe I should’ve moved out of the city.

And then he was there, filling out the doorway, his blue eyes snapping to mine. He scanned the room briefly, as if to check that I hadn’t laid any traps in the corners, then crossed to where I stood. He smelled of the cold and a hint of his cologne.

“Alba.”

“Vaughn.” I fought the smile that tried to curl my lips. “You look nervous.”

“I haven’t danced since middle school Phys Ed class,” he admitted.

“I’ll go easy on you,” I promised, and my heart jumped at the spark in his eyes.

“Not sure I want you to.”

Dangerous—he was dangerous. I ducked my chin and put my phone next to my bag, leaving the music off for now. “Get comfortable. We’ll start with a waltz,” I told him, and gestured to the middle of the room.

I tried not to stare at him, but the studio was full of reflective surfaces. The darkened windows, the wall of mirrors—they all conspired to make me ogle.

He shifted those big shoulders and let his jacket drop off, his back to me, his front reflected in the mirror. His hair and beard were groomed to perfection, his body shifting and tugging the fabric of his shirt tight across his back and arms as he laid the jacket down next to my bag. Then he turned toward me, but his eyes were on the cufflinks he unhooked and tucked into a pocket, then on the work of rolling up his sleeves.

I’d never seen his forearms before, and I found myself unable to look away. They were thick and corded with muscle, veins popping out as he moved those big hands. Obscene.

There was heat swirling all through me, coalescing down below my navel and tingling down to my extremities. I swallowed convulsively, angling my body away so I could gather myself.

I was providing a professional service, and ogling was not part of the job description.

That was just a perk, I thought, then braced myself and turned to face him. He was done with his sleeves and he spread his arms out toward me, open and waiting.

“Over here,” I said, “arms like this.”

I demonstrated the position, and Vaughn approached. His belt buckle gleamed, his shoes shone, and his pants did nothing to hide the strong thighs they covered.

This would’ve been easier when he’d looked like a bum who’d raided a smaller man’s closet. I lifted my chin and stepped into the frame of his arms, one hand nestled against his palm, the other resting on his shoulder. Through the fabric of his shirt, I felt the hard muscle of his shoulder shifting, and then his hand was just below my waist, fingers dangerously close to the waistband of my underwear.

“Hand higher, about mid-back,” I said, arching a brow, “unless this is you trying to cop a feel.”

His eyes sparkled, and his hand slid higher. His fingers pressed into my back, palm warm against me, and that pooling heat pulsed between my legs.

I ignored it.

This was my stability, my second chance. This was my only hope at not having to crawl back to Mommy and Daddy Dearest and discover that I really wasn’t so strong and independent, after all. I couldnotmess it up. Not until I had some sort of financial safety net. A plan. A direction.

“The waltz is in three-four time, meaning three beats per measure.”

“Uh-huh,” he said, nodding, but I could tell he had no idea what I meant.

I bit back a smile and explained, “One-two-three,one-two-three.”

“Got it,” he said. His hand splayed a little wider, and I found myself leaning a tiny bit closer, like my body wanted us chest to chest.

Resisting the urge, I demonstrated the basic steps. To my surprise, Vaughn caught on quickly. Within minutes, he was leading.