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He stood up and the tenderness fell off of him. “I run a business. A lot of businesses. I can’t sleep until noon on a Monday.”
“I didn’t ask you to sleep until noon. I asked why you didn’t wake me up. Did you even sleep?”
I could see the answer in his face, in the tired lines that pulled at the edge of his features.
I yanked back the sheet and got out of bed. Stepping into the bathroom, I threw the door closed, waiting for the satisfying slam of the wood. There was none, and I turned to see his body blocking the opening, stepping forward, closer. He came up behind me and pressed me hard against the counter, his hands sliding down my arms and he gripped my wrists, pulling them behind my bare back. I struggled, then stopped, the fight futile. He surged forward and I felt the hard length of him against my ass.
His eyes met mine in the bathroom mirror, then dragged down the length of my naked body. “You think I had sleep on my mind?”
He transferred both of my wrists to one hand and used his other to slide up my stomach, his touch dominant as he ran his palm over my breasts. My nipples pebbled under his touch and I fought the contact, pushing back on him with my ass, irritated for being aroused at the sight and feel of his touch. He groaned at the increased contact, his eyes meeting mine in the mirror, and my angry facade slipped for a moment when a grin broke through my scowl.
He caught the smile and shook his head. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”
The words were a growl against my neck, and he kissed the spot and pulled off of me, the heat between us fizzling out into nothing. I saw a fresh smear of blood across his white dress shirt and pointed to the spot. “I bet you keep your dry cleaner busy.”
“At times.”
A line of blood dripped off his hand. The soft splat caught my attention and I watched the bright red drop stain the grout line between two marble tiles.
“Who cut you?”
He shook his head slightly. “A nobody.”
I’m a nobody. A naked nobody who caught Dario Capece’s eye. One he found entertaining and decided to keep around. I swallowed, and the sour aftertaste of last night’s wine hit my tongue. “What happened to him?”
Dario lifted a robe off the hook and passed it to me, watching as I shrugged into and tightened it around my waist. “Does it matter?”
I considered the question, staring at the dark spot of blood on the floor. I shook my head. “No.”
* * *
“Miller Lite?”
The waitress held up the bottle, and I raised my hand. “That’s me.”
She held out the beer and I half-lifted out of my seat to grab it.
“Super classy, Bell,” Meredith mused.
“We’re at a strip club.” I shot the response back to Meredith, who completely missed the comment, her hands moving to wave frantically at the disco-haired brunette who had just come on stage in roller-skates.
“Look! That’s Tracy!”
“She’s going to spin on the pole in those skates?” Lydia asked.
“Shut it. It’s her first night,” Meredith snapped.
As if we needed the reminder. That was the reason we had trekked across town to Saffire—to provide emotional support for Meredith’s friend. The girl had finally succumbed to the hole which claimed half of hot Vegas women: stripping or prostitution. She had chosen stripping … but we’d suspected she’d dive into hooking pretty soon. It was too tempting for most of them, especially with the cocktail of drugs they passed around backstage. I watched her slowly circle the pole, her hands reaching back to pull at the strings of her top and thought of the guy at The House. The one with the chip—Dario’s chip—and the fifty-thousand-dollar offer.
Maybe I was just a few bad months away from this myself. I watched her turn, saw the tight pinch of her features, the nervous press of her hot pink lips, and tried to imagine myself on stage. I tried to picture the lights, the stares, the sweaty hands and offers, the backroom jerk-offs and sugar daddy setups.
I thought of Dario’s sleek suite with the million-dollar-view. That morning, Vince had stocked the closet with designer pants and a silk top, the tags still attached. In that opulent bathroom, I’d pulled on a thousand dollars worth of new clothes. I’d bent down and fastened the strap of a Prada sandal. I’d walked out and kissed a man who may have beaten someone up just hours before.
My throat closed and I tightened my hand around the beer, lifting it to my mouth.
* * *
The strip club manager liked us, sending over champagne and food. We got drunk, cheered on Meredith’s friend, and talked about celebrities and classes. I laughed when Lydia got on the table and danced. I flirted when the hockey players next to us got friendly. I let a big Ukrainian goalie pull me onto his lap and sing me some song about beautiful women.
