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“What's that?” He asks, running his hands across my outer thighs causing my skin to prickle under his touch.
“Well, how about you start with why you requested my personnel file yesterday.” I say, not missing the way his eyes widen a little. Clearly he didn't know that Josh had shared that information with me.
“I like to know about the girls working in my clubs.” He says, letting his hands wander from my outer thighs to my knees and then back again. I try to keep my breathing calm and not let him see how much his touch is affecting me, though I am not entirely sure that I am being successful.
“And.” I say, waiting for him to comment on what he found. “What did you learn?”
“Anna Blake. Twenty-one. Originally from North Carolina. Moved to Chicago when you were four to live with your grandma. Entered foster care at the age of twelve. Spent the next four years in two different homes before finally being adopted by one Patricia Wade when you were sixteen. You were an honor student in high school, landing a pretty hefty scholarship to the University of Chicago, where you are currently a Junior majoring in Sociology. You live on campus. Roommate is Andrea Johnson. You have a 3.8 GPA. And you, at some point in your life, were a dancer.”
“It says that in my file?” I ask, referring to the dancing part.
“It doesn't take a genius to see how technical and precise your movements are. An inexperienced dancer doesn't usually have such amazing technique. That only comes with years of training. So my next question is this, why do you dance here and not pursue dance when you are clearly very talented?” He asks.
Taking his hand, without a word, I trail it down my leg and across the bottom of my right knee where a pretty thick scar shows the evidence of my knee surgery. His eyes register that he understands the moment his hand skates across the marred skin.
“Blew out my knee. Sophomore year of high school.” I say on a weak shrug, surprised that I am opening up to him so freely, especially given our current situation and that I am still straddling his lap half naked.
“No way to correct it?” He asks, seeming to really care, which kind of throws me off kilter a little.
“Nope. It's strong enough to dance. Just not strong enough to take the demands of dancing professionally.” I say, trying to keep my voice strong and not let my emotion show through.
I don't know anything about this man and suddenly the room feels too small. Sex I can do. Intimacy, not so much. Feeling an overwhelming urge to run, I make a move to stand, but his hands hold me firmly in place.
“Mr. Reed.” I say, meeting his eyes again.
“Call me Bentley.” He says, his smile returning. “Anna.” He tacks on.
“Logan.” I correct him.
“Logan.” His smile spreads even wider. “Tell me something I don't know about you.”
“I thought you had already learned everything there was to know.” I retort, my voice coming out with a hint of bitterness.
“At the end of the day, it's just a file. A person's life typed out in bullet points. It doesn't tell me who you are as a person. What your dreams are.” He pauses, trailing his thumb across my collar bone. “The kind of noises you make when you come.” His last words are raspy and catch me completely off guard.
Like I have been doused in cold water, suddenly I feel like I am seeing clearly again. And as much as I would love to just strip bare and let him take me right here and now, I know that professionally, I simply can't. Even if he is the owner, it still wouldn't sit well with me. It's bad enough that I am sleeping with Josh. I can't just turn around and sleep with his boss too. What kind of person would that make me?
I know he wants me. Correction. I know he wants to fuck me. That much is clear. And I would have to be blind to not want the same thing. But I can't risk losing this job.
“I really should go.” I say, once again making a move to stand. Again, my attempts being thwarted by his strong hands.
“Okay.” He says, smiling playfully and making no move to lessen his grip on me. The music changes again and the moment the crisp piano cuts through the air, it's like we enter an alternate universe.
My face is lowering to his before I can do anything to stop it. The moment our lips connect, an electrical current explodes through my body, causing every nerve ending to stand to attention. Reaching up, he clasps his hand around the back of my neck and pulls me deeper into the kiss, his tongue sweeping inside of my mouth.
I can't make myself do anything but kiss him back. Diving both of my hands into the back of his hair, I pull him closer. I want to slow down, turn it off. I want to stop this. I want to get up and walk away. I want..... and yet, I can't.
I can't do anything that doesn't involve touching his perfect skin. Or tasting his incredible mouth. Or feeling his hands on my body. Finding my will from somewhere down deep, I put my hands against his chest and push hard, finally freeing myself of his lips.
“Bentley. Stop.” I say, so breathless my words barely register through the music. “I have to go.” I stutter out, relief flooding through my body when he doesn't resist and lets me stand.
“I'm sorry.” I say, backing away and spinning around, exiting the room as quickly as I can, before taking off down the hallway and through the club before finally making it backstage. Ducking into my dressing room, I shut the door and slide the lock in place, pushing my back against the hard wood trying to steady my breathing.
What the hell was that? And why the hell did I let it happen? I can't explain or excuse my actions, but as I reach up and brush my fingers across my swollen lower lip, I also can't bring myself to regret it either.
