“You didn’t do the sword dance tonight.” His blue eyes smoldered as he rose from his seat.
She had to calm down. She swallowed, ran the veil through her fingers, letting it glide down her thigh. Without looking up she asked, “Are you disappointed?
He lifted her chin with a finger—a move the bouncer would never have allowed if it wasn’t Christian Harris. His smile liquefied her insides. His eyes had their way with her body, turning her inside out with desire. Maybe that was why her dance became so effortless when he watched her, why she flowed like water.
“Not at all.” Dropping her chin, he held her gaze as he sank back into his chair. His fingers trailed down her thigh until they met the garter. He tucked several bills into it and glanced up as Raul approached.
“Mr. Harris,” Raul beamed, “we’ve missed you.”
Christian stood to take his hand with a guarded smile. “Glad to be back, Raul. I trust you are taking very good care of our Heather.”
“Of course. She is one of our finest dancers.” Raul’s smile was big enough for his gold tooth to glint.
Heather dropped her gaze and hid a smile behind her hand. Raul had been a pain in her ass when the Gentleman’s Club hired her two years ago, but she taught him that it wasn’t wise to push her buttons or treat the dancers with anything less than respect. There were benefits to being a witch, and Raul had learned that lesson well.
Christian turned away from Raul, making a point of addressing Heather. “Do you have a moment, before your next show?”
“Yes. I don’t go on again for another hour.” She glanced at Raul who confirmed with a nod. “But let me change, first. Will you be in your private room?”
“Yes,” was all he said, but his eyes said things that made her dizzy.
Raul clapped his hands together. “Wonderful! Heather, maybe Rochelle and Tara would like to join you?”
“No, if you please, I’d like a moment alone with Heather.” Christian gave Raul a look.
“Of course, Mr. Harris. Would you like me to send anything up? Champagne, perhaps?”
“That would be wonderful.”
They were still talking when Heather slipped away with the bouncer toward the dressing room before she could hear any more of Raul’s gushing.
* * *
“Mmm mmm, girlfriend, he’s back.” Rochelle laughed as Heather ran to her dressing station.
“Shut up, Rochelle.” But she grinned as she said it, and Rochelle laughed harder as she shimmied out of her G-string.
“I’m not going to say another goddamn thing. You’re a big girl.” She squeezed Heather’s arm. “Just watch out.” Her eyes softened as she said it.
“I thought you weren’t going to say ‘another goddamn thing’?” Heather rummaged around in her bag.
Rochelle shook her head as she turned to walk away. “You’re a lost soul, lady.”
Heather huffed as she stood up with a handful of satin. “I can take care of myself.”
“Oh, I’m sure.” Rochelle called over her shoulder as her bare ass bounced all the way to the bathroom.
Heather toweled off and changed into a pair of shiny black pants and a matching halter top. She sprayed her hair with a beach spray that smelled like fresh air and gave her hair a lift after a sweaty performance. She didn’t fuss too much with her thick, red hair, just ran her fingers thought it. Natural fit her act best, and her personality. She smiled into the mirror; her pale blue eyes sparked back at her in the vanity and she ran off to the VIP balcony. Christian was back.
* * *
When she arrived, he was reading a novel, of all things, slumped on the red velvet couch. As she closed the door behind her, he set the book next to the champagne bucket on the aluminum and glass coffee table.
“How are you, Heather?” His smile was more than welcoming as he patted the cushion next to him. She hesitated, trying to sneak a look at what he was reading, but sat down, tucking her hands between her thighs to avoid picking at her lip. It was a bad habit her mother had scolded her about.
“Where have you been?” She pouted through a suddenly heavy sensation in her head.
He chuckled and she thought she would swoon like a fair maiden in a spaghetti western. None of that. She knew how to handle herself. But when his hand caressed the tight, black satin over her thigh she had to remind herself to breathe.
“Business to attend to. It happens.” The piped in music changed to something Bollywood and Heather rolled her eyes.
“Raul,” they said in unison. And laughed.
His eyes searched her face, and then as if he found what he was looking for, he leaned in to kiss her with cool lips. Was it absolutely ridiculous that her belly lit up and she couldn’t breathe, again? She closed her eyes and wondered what she thought she was doing. There were rules, but she was on a break and officially off the clock. At least that’s what she was telling herself.
And she was so tired of fighting the want, the need to touch him and to be touched by him. She let her hands slide up his arms to his shoulders, embarrassed that they trembled. When he pulled away, she hid her disappointment, flashing a smile to cover. Something dark flitted across his eyes, but she ignored it—and the warning clench in her stomach.
“You missed me?” Christian’s eyes had a bad habit of stripping her down, making her feel naked even when she was fully clothed. She wanted to push him away for it, and yet pull him closer at the same time.
Instead, she licked her lips. “That’s what I said.” Her eyes drifted over his face, searching for clues in the tension of his jaw and the curl of his lip. What was his mood?
“Actually, you thought it, but haven’t said it.” He sat back, but those eyes pulled her with him.
She had to make a conscious effort to sit up. Men had come and gone for as long as she could remember, and she had learned to keep them all at arm’s length, starting with her mother’s boyfriends. Then with the boys who winked and leered and groped.
And now with the clientele and a rare date—no one got close enough to count, anymore. At least no one had for a long time. She studied her French manicured hands in her lap, the diamond decals glinting up at her. His hand appeared, covering both of hers.
“You know, you should run away from me as fast as you can.” His words were so quiet, she wasn’t sure she’d heard him right, but she didn’t look up.
The coiling anxiety in her stomach told her what she needed to know. She shouldn’t trust him; he was dangerous; he was trouble; he was beautiful. Yep, she knew what that added up to. Yet, something else told her he was trustworthy, that he did care for her. Was that wishful thinking? And which instinct should she trust? She looked straight at him, and his eyes betrayed his own doubt.
“Why would you say that to me?”
“I just…” He tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear, “I don’t want you to get mixed up with me.”
“That’s a strange thing to say.” Heather brushed the bangs from his eyes.
Closing them, a smile bloomed across his handsome face. When he opened his eyes, all doubt was laid to rest.
“Forget it.” His eyes roiled, and she did. Completely.
“Where have you been?” Her head hurt, and she rubbed her temple, pouting. She reached for a bottle of water on the table.
“Business trip, but I’m back.”
Then he kissed her, pressing her to the back of the couch with an urgency that she relished. The thought that she didn’t want to fight this anymore rushed in with the euphoria of his kiss and her hands made up their own minds. They slid around his neck as his hands wrapped around her waist.
“You taste like dessert,” he mumbled.
“Oh, please don’t say stupid stuff like that,” she murmured into his mouth.
He chuckled. “Okay. I won’t say anything.” And he didn’t say another goddamn thing for the next hour.
* * *
Heather rushed down the stairs. Tara’s routine was winding down, which mean
t she had five minutes to get dressed and out on stage. She scratched the healing bite marks on her inner thigh. Bursting through the dressing room door, her spiked heels clicked a staccato across the tiled floor. No time to do this the regular way.
Glancing around at the other girls, she stepped into the bathroom, shut the door, and leaned on it. She closed her eyes, picturing the sword dance outfit, and the air shimmied and sparkled around her. When it died down, she wore skintight gold pants that flared out like a wide ruffle at the knees with a slit up the back.
A grey and gold glittered wrap covered the gold bra top, while a matching veil hid all but her eyes. She grabbed the sword leaning beside her as she ran out the bathroom door just as the stage manager’s voice squawked over the intercom.
“No fair, Heather.” Rochelle called after her as she dove out the dressing room door. “I know what you did!”
“So burn me at the stake,” Heather yelled over her shoulder.
* * *
After her show, she stopped short at the sight of Christian waiting by the dressing room door. He usually disappeared after her last performance.
“You’re done for the night?” She flashed back on his bare, broad chest, now hidden under tailored cotton. Heather’s breath caught in her throat. What was it about him? Besides the stunning good looks, hypnotizing eyes, and talented hands, that is? Had she lost her mind? Or was he something special?
“Yes.” She wrapped a lock of red hair around a finger. “What do you have in mind?”
“I was wondering if you’d like to grab a bite to eat?” He gave her no clues to read his mood. He had none of the nervous ticks men usually displayed while talking to her. He was that controlled, more so even than the other vampires she had met.
A nervous giggle escaped before she could stop it. “You don’t eat.”
He pressed a hand to his chest, his eyebrows lifting in a wounded gesture. “But you do, and I’d like to take you out.”
Her heart froze, and then tripped over itself starting back up. She crossed her arms over her chest, resisting the urge to lick her lips. “That’s very sweet, but management—”
“Don’t worry about management, Heather.” He waited expectantly, hands folded over each other as he stood in his charcoal slacks and crisp, white shirt with silver cufflinks. She studied his hands.
“Those hands have never worked for a living,” her mother’s voice warned in her head.
Heather bristled. They had disagreed often, when Lena, her mother, was alive. Sometimes, their arguments ended with broken things. And right now, Heather was quite certain Christian worked very hard indeed, but not the way her mother’s boyfriends had. He was smarter, with more lucrative results.
Heather lifted her chin. “Okay. I need to get my purse and change.”
His radiant smile warmed her stomach and she pressed a hand to her belly. “Meet me by the coat check.”
He sauntered towards the front of the club and her lips parted. What the hell had made her say yes? Some twisted defiance of her mother? She rubbed the side of her face and sucked in a breath. She had her own rules and one of them was never date the clientele. She shoved her doubt aside and blew out a deliberate breath. Decision made. Maybe she was tired of being alone, but she wanted to follow Christian wherever he might lead.
Chapter Two
Out in the cool night, Christian tipped the valet and walked around to open the Jaguar’s passenger door. Heather pushed a curl behind an ear, smiling at him as she stepped into the car. He was truly beyond handsome, something unrivaled by men in movies and magazines, and she wondered why he liked her.
Not that she was anything to sneeze at. She was good looking enough to have attracted the club manager’s attention and the clientele liked her well enough, but she was a dancer. That limited her pick of men. The ones brazen enough to approach her were usually drunk, full of themselves or unstable, and she never dated anyone she met at the club.
“You’re in over your head, puddin’.” She squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head. Sometimes, she wondered if there wasn’t something wrong with her. Did other people hear their dead mother’s voice?
Her stomach felt hollow and worse, like it was imploding in on itself. This was not a good idea. She was suddenly so sure of it, she almost leapt out of the car. But Christian closed the door. Bracing against the spike of adrenalin, she leaned her head back.
“He’s vampire. Isn’t that enough?” Heather snapped her head up.
Christian isn’t like the others, momma. The others seemed to be led by their own dark impulses, while Christian was much more measured, in control.
“Well, anyone that rich can’t be trusted.” She could even hear her mother’s dismissive sniff.
His wealth was obvious, from the tailor-made clothes—not a stitch off the rack— to the Jag and the hundred dollar bills he stuffed in her garter. The Gentlemen’s Club catered to the elite, the wealthy and the wild, but Christian had management tripping all over themselves. She suspected the car she sat in was one of many, and probably nowhere near the most expensive.
While she liked expensive things, she wasn’t overly impressed by them. She made quite a bit at dancing, and also brought in money with her witchcraft. What she did was frowned upon by the middle-class covens, but to hell with them.
So what if she sold her craft to the highest bidder, choosing to look the other way when what her clients wanted was unethical, illegal, even? She wouldn’t go so far as to kill anyone, God no, but she understood revenge. She understood that life was not as black and white as some wanted it to be.
The door opened dispelling the disquieting thoughts, and Christian climbed behind the steering wheel. “What are you hungry for?” He studied her in a way that made her want to squirm.
She almost said “Whatever you like,” but stopped herself. “Do you know where I could get a good steak this time of night?”
His white teeth flashed as he slipped the key into the ignition. “I do.”
The engine purred as they cruised past the Capital building lit up against the backdrop of a starless night. Somewhere between the club and that moment, the tension drained from her neck and her headache with it. It didn’t make any sense to her, but just being with him made her feel…well, better, more at peace with herself. She let it go, mostly because she liked the feeling. She wanted to be with him, despite all the warning system alerts.
She wanted him. He put all her daydreams of the perfect man to utter shame.
They drove in a somewhat comfortable silence to wherever they were going. Christian’s intense eyes never wavered from the road. Heather occupied herself by studying the people walking down the city streets on a Friday night, looking for fun in groups of threes and fours.
Occasionally, she shifted furtive eyes in his direction, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. The thrill of merely being in the same car with him was enough. The anticipation was over the top.
It was 1:00 a.m. and last call was 2:00 a.m. in the city of law and order, but the after hours clubs were about to open.
At the private restaurant, Heather ordered a petite filet with a house salad, while Christian picked the wine.
“I’ve always wondered how vampires can drink, but not eat.” Folding her hands in her lap, she leaned forward as Christian handed the wine menu back to the waiter. With elbows on the table, he spread his fingers and tilted his head.
“Who knows? It just is.” He interlaced his fingers under his chin, his gaze warm and hungry.
With a demure smile, Heather leaned her chin on her hand. “So, you don’t know or you won’t say?”
“We don’t like to give our secrets away, but…” He flicked his hand. “I don’t know. I don’t care, either. Doesn’t interest me.”
“What does interest you?”
His eyes followed her movements as she shifted back and flipped her hair over a bare shoulder. She wore a satin halter top in a rich, dark blue that complemented her pale
coloring.
“You.” His voice slipped over her skin like cool silk, a pleasant shudder rippling through her. Her smile revealed recently polished and whitened teeth.
“I like the sound of that.”
He sat back as the waiter arrived with their wine. Tasting it, Christian nodded in approval. The waiter poured and left quietly.
“I have a proposition I’d like you to consider,” Christian said as he placed his wine glass judiciously on the white linen.
“Here we go, puddin’. I told you.”
Heather’s stomach flipped in disappointment. Keeping her eyes on his, she sipped her wine. “Okay.” She set her glass down. “I’m listening.”
What would it be this time? He wanted to keep her as his mistress? Here were the rules; this is what he expected— blah, blah, blah. She looked around for the restroom. She said no to all the other offers, so far, but she worried that she couldn’t say no to him. She didn’t want to say no to him.
His brow furrowed as his hand reached towards hers. “You don’t like this. I haven’t even told you what the proposition is.”
She slipped her hand off the table before he could touch it. Under the heaviness of his unsettling gaze, she adjusted the waistband of her pants and smoothed the hair away from her face. “That’s a very telling way to start a conversation.” She picked her wine glass back up. “It’s never anything I like.”
His eyebrows arched over bright eyes and he shifted closer to her. “Tell me.”
She drank, taking her time, fully aware of the dramatic pause. “Well, it usually begins with ‘I’m married, but would like to keep seeing you.’”
“I’m not married.”
She eyed him. “And ends with a list of rules about what I can and cannot touch.”
Shattered Page 2
