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CHAPTER ONE
I noticed him the moment he walked in the room.That was saying a lot, as I was hanging topless, upside down on a pole at the time.
He was that kind of a man.The draw all eyes type.
It was so many things about him that made it so.He was tall, around six-foot-four—going by the way he towered over everyone he passed.And he was big, a beast of a man, imposing, intimidating.His body was muscular, powerful, and tightly coiled with every move he made.
His face was handsome, but cold, austere, his jaw rock hard and unyielding.His eyes were contrary, so pale that they should have been icy, but instead exuded heat.
And more than all of that, he had a charged energy about him, one that owned the room.
Wrap all of that up in a three piece suit, and yes, we had a situation.Or rather, I did.
Attention grabbed.Head turned.Wholly distracted, I was caught fast.
The men that frequented Exhibitionist were generally blank faces to me, a sea of strangers there to stare, to want, to covet.
Somehow he separated himself from those covetous masses from the very first.
The music playing had a thick, drowning beat, the kind that made your body move in spite of itself, but at his entrance I felt myself freeze jarringly for a few magnified beats, before I caught my breath and resumed my sinuous glide down the pole.
By the time I found my platform stilettos on the ground he was at the stage.
The place was packed, but he charged right in.He didn’t even bother to sit, just stood there, right at the edge, and watched me.
It did something wild to me from the very first, to have his unfaltering attention.With men I had a tendency to be detached, withdrawn, cold even.But right from the start he had me burning hot.And I could tell that he knew it.
I don’t think much on stage, I let my instincts guide my movements.I was in the middle of my routine, if you could call it that, but I was suddenly at a loss, searching my head, instead of my gut, for which move to make next.
I fell back on the rhythm, letting my body move to the beat, hips circling, arms reaching up, grabbing the pole above me, leaning into it, my heavy breasts thrusting out, drawing his eyes down.
I had a body built for sin, lithe and tight, but curvy in all the ways that turned a man’s head.
And I knew how to move it to distraction.That was, after all, my job.
I let my distracting body take over, let it do what it did best.
Seduce the crowd.Seduce the arresting stranger.
I strutted to the edge of the stage, not stopping until my swaying hips were mere inches from his face.
He kept his blazing hot gaze on my face.There was something in his eyes that I loved and loathed, some sort of smug command I longed to wipe clean, but also, perversely, give in to—from the first.
This one would be bossy, I could tell.
When he just kept staring at my face, I jutted a shapely hip out at him, raising a brow.
My top had been tossed somewhere toward the back of the stage during the first half of the song, but my skimpy skirt (if you could call it that) was still intact.
It was held together by one neat little bow at my hip.“You need something from me?”his voice was deep and gravelly, his tone crisp and sharp.Bossy, just as I’d guessed.And I detected an accent of some kind.Not strong, but not weak either.Russian, I guessed.
“Help with the skirt, if you don’t mind.”I smiled with something that passed for sweetness if you didn’t know me well.
“Say please.”He grinned as he said it.
“I can always find someone else to do the honors,” I returned.I was not used to having this particular request turned around on me.It was disarming, to say the least.
“Don’t do that,” he said, his smile dying as his big hands reached up to the tie at my hip.
