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On the third step, my heel broke. I swore and gripped the railing, nearly going to my knees. I swiveled around, my butt landing hard on the step. The dirty, nasty step walked on by how many pairs of feet. Ugh.
I fumbled for my shoe, trying to gauge the damage. The heel had completely snapped off. No temporary fixes for that one. I had another pair in my locker, thank God.
Sighing, I gripped it by the strap and looked at my watch. And I was officially about to be late to start my shift. I had to hustle.
“You need some help, sweetheart?”
At the rich, melodic voice that was often attached to so many of my tips, I smiled and dangled my shoe strap from my pinky. “You know how to fix broken shoes?”
“Now that is a tough one.” Marco Salzano, one of Giovanni’s usual crowd, leaned on the railing beside the stairs and scratched his chin. He was smooth-shaven like a baby’s bottom at all times, whereas Giovanni usually had scruff.
Last weekend, when I’d scoped him out from behind the bar like a spy, he’d been rocking a short beard to go with his longish wavy dark hair. He’d had on a muscle shirt that showed off his full sleeves of tattoos, and he’d kept the alcohol flowing to the entire table. I’d nearly gotten caught watching him, and in last weekend’s getup of go-go boots and a long sleek auburn wig, I’d been too close to real Carly to risk exposure.
The man was nothing short of beautiful, and I hated him for it.
“But you’re in luck, lovely lady.”
Marco’s voice made my head snap up. I’d been lost in reveries of Giovanni. As usual. I couldn’t stand his effect on me, but that didn’t mean I’d figured out how to stop it. Especially now that he was spending so much time at my apartment.
Apparently, he and Fox had become friends. I didn’t really know how, since Gio had kicked Fox’s ass in the ring and ended his fighting career last winter, but that was boys for you. They didn’t make a lot of sense.
“Oh, I am, am I?” I tilted my head flirtatiously and pasted on my best smile. Marco padded my wallet often, and I knew how to play the game. Maybe I didn’t take it as far as some of the other girls—okay, almost all of the other girls—but that didn’t mean I was av
erse to flashing some ass for cash. I just did it from behind the bars of my cage.
Glancing up at the empty structure, I sighed again. I needed some shoes stat, or my tips were in serious danger.
“You are. I’m happy to help you with your predicament.” He held out an arm and smiled. He was dressed impeccably as always, in a fancy Italian suit that probably cost what I made in a month. And I wasn’t exactly underpaid at the club. “Come, gattina.”
I started to rise and take his arm before I cocked my head. “Gattina? What does that mean?”
I loved Italian. It was part of the reason I’d fallen so hard and fast for Giovanni. From the first time we’d met, he’d called me tesoro—treasure in Italian. I’d looked it up right away and always felt a secret joy when the word tumbled from his lips. That he didn’t want to call me it anymore only added another layer of thrill.
Some part of him was drawn to me too. He might not want that connection any more than I did—even if I didn’t fully understand why—but the link existed nonetheless. So far, neither of us had been able to kill it.
“Gattina means little cat.”
I started to smile back until a possible dual meaning of that phrase sneaked into my head and I blushed. He was a handsome, older man, in his mid-twenties to my not-quite-nineteen, and all of the women at the club wanted to be close to him. His special interest in me from almost the beginning had garnered me more than a bit of jealousy. I’d never really encouraged his attention, but I hadn’t exactly discouraged it either.
I wasn’t interested in him. That didn’t mean I couldn’t have some fun, right?
He wasn’t Giovanni. No one was.
“Come now, gattina.” His smile grew as he inclined his chin at his extended arm. “You’re running late.”
Biting my lip, I took another glance at my cage. The chaser lights surrounding it glowed green and purple, my special colors. The structure would start revolving soon, though it was empty.
“Maybe I should just skip the shoes.” I started backing up the steps. “Not like I really need them to—”
“But your costume. Your legs look so beautiful in heels.” His gaze dropped and I gripped the railing, trying not to react to his intense perusal. I was used to men looking at me. Hell, I loved it. I loved knowing I’d made their dicks hard, that they wanted to take me home and never would. I found a control here I’d found so few other places.
By day, I had to listen to my instructors. At night, this was my world, and I ruled it from behind a shy smile. No one suspected I was anything but an innocent college student who’d somehow stumbled into stripping to pay my bills. I wasn’t supposed to enjoy the power that rode in my veins every time I made these men want.
And beg.
“Thank you,” I said demurely, rubbing my bare foot against my opposite ankle. I wasn’t stupid. I knew the movement allowed him to see straight up to the G-string barely hidden by my flared schoolgirl skirt. If he squinted, he might even be able to see the shadowy outline under the nearly see-through white panties.
His nostrils flared and he shifted toward the stairs, locking an arm around the back of my thighs. Before I could react, he’d yanked me down the steps and against him. There was no mistaking the column in his pants. For me.
