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“Pais, there’s always someone watching.” My eyes flick to the security camera.
“I think it’s you.” She mouths, finger pressed to a button on my shirt. “You go back and watch the recording to see if I’m using your computer to snoop.”
“Are you snooping? Or after I shut the door, does the music seep into your bones and make your body writhe the way it does before you come undone? I’d pay good money for a private show,corazón. If I peeked at the videos, would you be dancing? I’ve seen you sway to the music when I’ve been covering the bar.”
Redness seeps from under her halter top. Paisley’s face flushes. I’ve made her uncomfortable. It’s my favorite part of seeing how far I can push her.
“Do you want the position or not?” I ask, running a knuckle over her throat and around to the base of her skull, unclipping the barrette securing her hair.
She shakes her head. Golden brown locks tumble down. Have I mentioned I fucking hate her hair up? And that I love the way she arches catlike into my touch when I massage her scalp?
Her cheek brushes against my bare forearm and, knowing where it could lead, I want her to flick her tongue out of her mouth and taste my skin.
Paisley is as easy as any other woman who I’ve sat on my lap. And yet, not by a long shot. Because for all of our chemistry and banter, I’ve never dared kiss her while her ass hovers over my groin. And I’ve never had her body move against mine quite like this.
I glide my hands down her sides and use them to root her in place. My hips grind up out of instinct. Her little surprised moan is pure torture. I have to put an end to what’s happening. My ego needs Paisley’s secret more than my cock needs the satisfaction of being inside of hers. Even if I never use what Pais is hiding, even if she eventually confesses to Laughton, knowing it first means I’ll still win over her ex.
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Jake’s palm presses on my hips. Not for the first time, dampness seeps between my legs. He has me warm and flushed. I shimmy on his lap, uncomfortable with the arousal.
“Stop moving, Paisley, or in between appearances tomorrow, my headline act is teaching you the proper way to give a lap dance.”
My eyes go wide and I stiffen at Jake’s remark. My wiggling has had an effect on him. He bares his white teeth when he laughs, pretending like there isn’t massive wood poking into my ass.
I need to stop acting like a cat in heat whenever we are close. I shove Jake’s chest for being rude. He catches my hands, clutching them together between our bodies.
“Kiss me and I’ll consider this guy’s application.” Jake puckers his lips and I give him a peck… on the cheek.
Because I’ve had a cold bucket of water dumped on my head and it’s brought me to my senses.
Again.
Although the moment of lucidity doesn’t answer the burning question, does it? What about this man has made me lose my mind since I… Well, since I put on that white wedding gown and lost my ever-loving mind?
I’m spending far too much time trapped in Jake’s castle. I’ve tried to persuade myself that pissing him off is a fun way to pass the hours and that the back and forth, bantering over made-up and petty disagreements, are me bartering for my eventual freedom. However, my increasing attraction to a man who holds me captive is confusing.
“I’d pay good money for a private show,corazón.”That’s what Jake said to get me all worked up. Panting like I’m desperate to be fucked, when we both know the reality of this situation is I already am.
It’s not even me trying to keep Jake away from my secret anymore. It’s that sometimes I want affection from Jake that proves we are what we aren’t and it’s obvious he’s using my weakness to his advantage.
My gut twists with disgust over the same comment that he’d pay to see me on stage. I worry about what that would look like. If he’d force me to dance for him the way he makes me show up at his bar. There have also been a few times that I’ve caught parts of a performance, wondering about the audition process, and how Jake chooses who makes it on stage. Couldvanillame take off my clothes with any sense of talent the way his strippers do? Would I be confident in my body? Does he get off on those dancers’ flawless skin? Do their gyrating hips, and the snap turns they make when they strut in those sky-high heels, and not much else, turn him on? Has he ever touched one of them?
Would he want to touch me?
Not the way Jake insists on taking down my hair when I’ve expended a lot of effort to get it up in a twist or how he clutches a hand like I’m an unruly toddler or even the way he cups my chin, angling for access to my mouth, demanding I play my part.
Dear lord, being around Jake is demoralizing. I can only hope he follows through with ending this deal and sets me free after another four and a half months. Although, I can’t say I trust he will.
Jake lifts me up and drops me to my toes, following along by standing himself.
“Get your stuff. Trig is waiting. I plan to get out of here early tonight if I can.” His voice is gruff, but Jake holds out his hand, expecting me to lace my fingers into his and assume the role of adoring—albeit idiotic for choosing him—girlfriend.
I need to book an appointment with a chiropractor for the whiplash he gives me.
