Page 21 of Duty

Andino didn’t chase women.

It wasn’t his style.

Yet, here he was.

The woman offered him a simpering smile. Her painted-red lips curved in the sexiest way as she did a little twirl right there on the spot, faced him again, stuck out her hand as if to shake his, and cocked an eyebrow in challenge.

“Nice to meet you. I’m Haven. Haven Murphy. The owner.”

Andino blinked.

And then blinked again.

Just like a fucking cafone.

Well done, asshole.

Somehow, Andino managed to save himself from looking like an even bigger ass. Although, he wasn’t quite sure how. Honesty was the best policy, or so the saying went.

“Sorry,” he murmured, “I was actually coming to talk to you.”

Haven—the name of the joint made more sense now—nodded. “Like I said, I figured.”

“Took me off guard to see you … up there, I guess.”

“Stripping, you mean?”

Andino made a noise under his breath, and shrugged one broad shoulder. “You weren’t actually stripping, though, were you? I didn’t see you take anything off, or … strip.”

Haven smiled in that teasing way of hers again. “Yeah, but I really don’t need to, either.”

His throat tightened.

So did his fucking slacks.

“No, I suppose not, Haven.”

She put a hand to the swell of her hip where the robe was opened, and tipped her head to the side a bit. Andino couldn’t help but follow the expanse of her toned stomach up to pert breasts, and then the colorful ink tattooed along her lower throat.

“Was there something you needed?” she asked.

His gaze went back to hers.

She was grinning.

Like she knew he’d been looking.

Fuck, he really needed to get control of that.

“Maybe,” he said. “Do you really own this place?”

“I do. Why is that surprising?”

“It’s not. I was just curious.”

“It used to be my father’s. After my mom got sick—and then got better—I bought it from him, and he took my mom and moved to Florida, so they could both retire. He’s not been back.”

Andino cleared his throat, and chuckled. “Is that maybe because his daughter dances on stage while wearing … that?”