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Only Andie and I remain. I turn my eyes to meet her gaze, where she is looking at me curiously.
“Interesting dinner plans you have.” Her eyes dart around the room, lingering on the new stripper taking the stage. I smirk at her.
“Dinner is finished. I’m here to work.”
She blinks slowly, tearing her eyes away from the stripper and staring at me.
“This is where you come each night?”
I’m not entirely sure I like the look in her eye.
“To watch strippers?”
There it is. I smirk, beckoning and jerking my head to the corridor out of the lounge.
“Not quite, lass. I’ll show you.”
Chapter EIGHT
Andie
The wolf-whistles signal that the stripper replacing Fi on the stage has lost her top as Connor tangles his fingers with mine and leads me out of the VIP room.
He doesn’t lead me back to the main bar area or outside. Turning right as we exit the private bar, he nods to a random security guy standing in the corridor at a dead end. The guy nods back, knocking on the paneled wall, which opens like a door.
I gasp in surprise, blushing as Connor snickers at my reaction. That was wicked cool. It’s a secret door. I’m only disappointed it wasn’t hidden behind a bookshelf. I suppose it’s more impressive that I didn’t know it was a door when it’s a plain wall.
Another security guy, who opened the door from the inside, nods to us as we step through. Still holding my hand, Connor escorts me up a narrow, hidden back staircase onto a bare landing and through a nondescript door.
There’s a low hum in the room, and it smells faintly of whiskey and cigar smoke. There’s no music here, though you can kind of hear the music drifting up from the VIP bar downstairs.
It’s like a mini-casino, down to the sumptuously carpeted floor. There are five oval, burgundy-felt topped tables, each seating nine people. Eight gamblers and a dealer dressed in black slacks, a white button-down shirt, and a shiny black vest with a tie.
They’re all playing poker, and waitresses, dressed the same as the dealers, only without the ties, move around the space, collecting empty glasses and depositing fresh ones.
I look around with interest, but there’s no bar in here. They all keep disappearing through a swinging door off to the side. They must keep the liquor in there. I wonder why.
Almost all the gamblers are men. I can see two women gamblers scattered around, though the waitresses are all women and the dealers are an even mix.
A few of the men seated around the tables nod to Connor, and he returns the gesture. The only people standing are the waitresses moving around and a guy in a sharp dark suit.
He is roaming the room, though he crosses to us when he spots Connor, speaking in a low voice. I can’t hear what they say and don’t want to be accused of eavesdropping.
I would move away to give them some privacy, but Connor keeps his fingers tangled with mine, giving his full attention to this new guy. Determined to appear disinterested, I let my eyes wander around the room.
Most of the tables are playing with poker chips, but at least one table, furthest from the door, where they are playing with real money. Stacks of real money bound with rubber bands. Wicked big piles of real money bound with rubber bands.
Holy shit. This is an illegal gambling den. No wonder it’s all hidden with the staircase and secret door. I’m so distracted staring at all the cash I don’t notice Connor finishing his conversation until his lips slide over my ear, my breath catching.
He’s close enough that I can smell cloves and pinewood clinging to his skin above the faint whiskey and cigar smoke scent. Heat floods between my thighs. What a yummy scent. He’s simply mouth-watering all over. I’m just drunk enough to ignore that part of my brain whispering,he’s your boss, don’t think like that.
“I need to take care of something for a moment,” Connot murmurs, walking me over to one of the tables with an empty gambler’s seat. Guiding me into the chair with his hands on my shoulder and back, Connor turns and gestures. The rest of the table –including the dealer –are all men, watching me with interest, their eyes darting to Connor.
A waitress appears and places a small stack of chips in front of me. Two of the men smirk, and one raises his eyebrows. I bet they think I’m going to be useless at this because I'm agirl. Huh. I’ll show them.
“Ryan,” Connor addresses the dealer, whose eyes snap from me to him. “This is Andie; take care of my lass for me.”
The dealer nods as pleasure shoots through me. Connor called me “his lass.” We are so out of boss territory here.
