Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 68249 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 341(@200wpm)___ 273(@250wpm)___ 227(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68249 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 341(@200wpm)___ 273(@250wpm)___ 227(@300wpm)
He was gorgeous and powerful, and he owned strip clubs for god’s sake! Even if I was open to the prospect of love, it still wouldn’t be possible with him. Raising a baby around strippers? My skin crawled at the notion.
Around me, the dancers chatted and filtered out of the room. The gentle buzz, the thump of footsteps on the boards, these were everyday occurrences, and they set me somewhat at ease.
I wound up the stereo’s cord then carried it to the little storage cupboard near the stacks of chairs and equipment. I put it away, mulling over the day’s dancing, the repetitive thoughts about Jax, and the even more repetitive questions from Veronica.
She wanted details.
I’d held back on giving them because she’d totally judge me for having slept with the guy, and how could I blame her? It wasn’t like me to do that. I—
“You gonna stand there and stare at the wall all day?” Jax’s voice boomed through the dance hall, and I jumped.
I spun toward him, nostrils flaring. “You’ve got to stop doing that!”
“What?” He strode across the hall.
He was in suit pants again and a collared shirt, slightly open. The demon tattooed on his left pec peeked past the placket, taunting me.
My insides tightened up. Here we go again. Gain control of the situation for god’s sake. “Scaring me,” I replied. “You keep jumping out of nowhere at the most inopportune times.”
“Sorry, your Highness. I didn’t realize an open door meant I had to announce myself. I’ll bring my chauffeur next time, get him one of those trumpet things.”
“Yeah, because that won’t make me pee my pants in fear,” I replied.
Jax snorted. “Are you ready yet?”
“Huh?”
“I told you I’d pick you up at the end of the day. So? Are you ready to go?”
I blinked at him. He was incorrigible. “I don’t need you to fetch me every day, Jax. I’m fine. I don’t need—”
“Riley, you didn’t know what you needed, I mean, truly fucking needed, until last week.”
I wiped the sweat off my brow with the back of my hand, keenly aware of the stain on the front of my sports bra, and just how tight my booty shorts were. I was never self-conscious. I’d worked hard to cultivate a good body image. Around Jax, however, nerves screamed through me on high alert.
“We’ll grab some French food tonight,” Jax said. “How about it? Every night we’ll go on another culinary journey. You pick the country. I’ll either cook it, teach you to cook it, or buy it. What do you say?”
“I—” Why was he being so god damn nice? Was it just to get into my pants again? Surely not. He owned strip clubs. He had his pick of women, likely in every shape and size. What did this mean, then?
“C’mon, motormouth, make a decision,” he said. “Shit or get off the pot.”
“You’re so full of—”
“Nothing. Because you haven’t chosen what we’re going to eat. I don’t often give people choices, Riley. Appreciate it.”
“Oh, excuse me while I bow before you. Now, who’s the Highness?”
This time Jax threw back his head and laughed. The sound reverberated off the mirrors at the far end of the room and the ceiling itself. It warmed me, and then it heated me, because goddammit, why did it warm me in the first place?
Jax strode toward me, and I managed not to take a step back. He halted in front of me. “You can bow before me, anytime. I think we’ve established that.”
“No, we established that that’s not going to happen again,” I replied, lifting my chin. I held myself back from pressing into him, but goddamn I wanted to.
Jax didn’t touch me, but he gave me that Cheshire Cat smile. So damn sure of himself. He opened his mouth to speak, but a soft knock at the door stopped him.
I leaned to one side and went wide-eyed at the sight before me.
Oh, holy shitballs.
A woman, wearing a tight leather miniskirt and a matching jacket, a glitzy bikini top on display just beneath it, stood just inside the hall, fluffing hair so red it could’ve graced the top of Ronald McDonald’s head.
“Uh.” That was all I managed. “Uh.”
Jax spun toward the disturbance. “Fuck,” he muttered. “Cherry, what are you doing here?”
Cherry? This woman’s name was Cherry?
She tottered closer on nine-inch studded heels, swaying her hips in a totally exaggerated motion. Bright green eyes flicked toward me, entirely empty of any signs of intelligence. OK, maybe that was a little judgmental, but she did look… faded. Kind of empty. Or like she was missing something.
“Sorry, boss, but you didn’t hear me calling you back at the club. I followed you here,” she said.
Oh shit. Oh. She’s a stripper. Now I feel even worse about judging her. How cliché of me. Oh god, this isn’t good. This is not good.