by Bethany-Kris
The tables and booths were set just far enough away from the platforms for the dancers that there was no way a patron could possibly touch a girl during a dance unless he practically climbed up on stage. He bet the five bouncers he easily counted on the floor made sure that not one of the girls were bothered, either.
The lighting wasn’t too bright, but it didn’t give the appearance of shadiness, either. Chrome fixtures, and bare bulbs. Even the inverted lighting over the long, built-in bar with the gleaming bottles on the back shelves were bright overhead.
In the corner, a popular New York DJ had set up his booth and system, and was currently in the midst of finishing up a song Andino had heard the guy play in a hugely popular night club a month before.
Instead of a bunch of older men—oh, sure, there were a few of those here, too—it was mostly people in their twenties and thirties drinking, and watching the show. Nothing about the business gave off the strip club vibe.
Young.
Fresh.
Fun, sure.
Not dirty, seedy, or anything else someone might think when they were told women danced nude. One might think this place was just a bar.
If it weren’t for the women.
Two girls danced on raised stages—one toward the far end with a pole, and one closer to the entrance without a pole where Andino had come in. He passed them a cursory look, but quickly searched the floor for the one man he had come here to see. It was just easier to handle this particular bookie when Andino went looking for him, and didn’t demand the man clear his schedule for him.
Frankly, Andino would have the right to demand the bookie do exactly that, but … Nathaniel wasn’t so cooperative. He only let that shit pass because Nathaniel was a damn good money maker, and rarely had any problems.
Maybe that was why Andino had been so surprised two weeks earlier when he had to go in, and do a favor for the bookie by removing one of the guy’s biggest debtors. That shit just wasn’t common with Nathaniel, and damn, every bookie had one or two people who never seemed to fucking pay their debts when the time came.
Never this bookie, though.
Until the lawyer, anyway.
Soon, Andino found the bookie in question sitting at a small, single table in one of the only shaded areas of the joint. Beside him, a table full of twenty-somethings laughed over drinks, and swayed a bit to the fast tempo the DJ switched to in the next section. Really, the whole place was full of people—every table was at capacity, or pretty close to it.
He took it that Safe Haven was popular.
Good on them.
Given there was only one chair at Nathaniel’s table, Andino grabbed the free chair at the table with all the people. “Just need it for a second,” he told the guy who glanced at him. The bearded, ripped-jean wearing man narrowed his gaze. Andino laughed. “And now you can get it your-fucking-self when I’m done, asshole.”
“Hey—”
“Yeah, you try it. You look like you could give me a run for my money outside.”
Except he didn’t look like that.
At all.
Swinging his back to the guy and not waiting for a response, Andino dropped the chair on the other side of Nathaniel’s small table, and sat down with his arms hanging over the back. The bookie passed Andino a passive glance, and then went back to his phone call while his other two phones on the table randomly flashed and vibrated with texts.
In between the phones sat an open notebook with names, numbers, and other information scribbled in every line. How the bookie handled all of this information and numbers, Andino would never understand. But the guy did it—quite well, actually.
“No, for you,” Nathaniel said to whoever was on the other end of the call, “because you catch an attitude every time I don’t give you the answer you want, the minimum just went up to one G. Five to one on Macey—take it or fucking don’t, that’s up to you.”
Hanging up the phone, Nathaniel dropped the phone on the table like he didn’t give a shit about it at all. He passed Andino a nod, but his attention was on the changing lights up by the stage and whatever the DJ was announcing over the speaker. In typical Andino fashion, he didn’t pay attention to that shit, but rather, the business that needed handling at the moment.
“Five to one—Macey. Is that the fight in Vegas?”
The bookie nodded. “It is.”
“I heard those odds are actually one to five.”
A sly grin spread over Nathaniel’s lips. “You would be correct.”
“You’re purposely misleading a client?”
“I hate when he wastes my fucking time—minimum bet is actually three-hundred. Trust that in five minutes or so, he’ll call back with a proper apology, I’ll offer to halve the bet to five-hundred, and he’ll pay with the odds I told him to. He’ll lose, and it’ll be a good lesson for him about how to speak to me the next time he calls. And … he will call again. They always do.”
Yep.
And this right here was why Andino let Nathaniel get away with some of his shit. The guy knew what he was doing, and he did it extremely well.
“And don’t go starting shit with any of the fucking young ones in here, yeah?” Nathaniel said, nodding at the table where Andino had stolen the chair from. “I actually like this joint, Andi. I might want to come back.”
Andino laughed. “Yeah, I’ll try.”
The bookie only sighed.
“On your issue—the lawyer—I cleaned it up. I was able to retrieve seventy percent of the debt through other means.”
For the first time since Andino sat down, Nathaniel’s cool demeanor cracked as his gaze narrowed, and a scowl fettered over his mouth. “That so?”
“It is. It’s not like you to get mixed up with someone who can’t pay their debts. What happened there?”
“He developed a habit, I guess.”
“That all?”
Nathaniel sucked in air through his teeth. “Favor to a friend, maybe.”
Ah.
“That makes more sense,” Andino noted.
“Lesson learned.”
“You know the deal, huh?”
The bookie shrugged. “If you have to step in, and you don’t retrieve one-hundred percent of the debt, then my cut drops back to ten percent. Yeah, I got it, Andi.”
“You do good business, Nathaniel. Keep doing that.”
Nathaniel didn’t even seem to hear Andino—his attention was focused on something else over Andino’s shoulder, and the widening of his eyes before a low whistle split through his lips cut through the noise in the room.
“Damn, girl,” Nathaniel muttered appreciatively, “it’s been a hot minute since you danced, hasn’t it?”
What in the hell?
Turning to see what had the bookie distracted was probably Andino’s biggest mistake of the evening. He couldn’t afford to be off his game when he was doing business, even if it was with someone he trusted, but the second he saw her on the stage dancing, that’s exactly where Andino found himself.
Off balance.
Stunned.
And entirely stupid, too.
He hadn’t seen the woman since that day he walked Snaps in the park. And she certainly didn’t look like she did that day, either.
Then, she’d been wearing running clothes, with her blonde hair streaked in bright colors pulled up into a pony, and little makeup.
Tonight, she wore a black leather body suit that was made out of criss-crossed strips that covered her body from her ankles to her neck. The strips of leather strategically covered any part of her that someone might really want to see—but it still left enough to look at that there was nothing for the imagination to wonder about.
As she did a quick spin around the pole by using one hand to keep herself steady against the metal, he got a peek at how the strips of leather fell below the curves of her ass, and the G-string she wore under it. And the colorful spread of multi-colored stars tattooed across her back, and down her spine.
; Jesus.
He suddenly found himself to be ridiculously interested in just how many stars he might be able to count on her body if given the chance.
Those patent black pumps on her feet had to be at least six inches tall, but every step she took made her body sway in the best fucking way possible.
She was soft curves.
Toned lines.
Creamy skin.
Covered in ink.
Black hair pin-straight down to her sexy-as-fuck ass.
The black hair was new.
Andino hadn’t known what to expect, but the moves the woman made on the pole were not it. She didn’t grind, and shake her ass, but rather, used a mix of acrobatic moves and dances in such a way that he barely even noticed she wasn’t taking anything off. Not that she needed to with how much skin that damn outfit—if you could even call it that—was showing, but still.
His daze was only broken away from her when during a move where she swung around the pole while upside down using her fucking ankles and feet hooked one over the other to keep her on the pole, Nathaniel chose to do that goddamn whistling thing again.
A hot shot of something hit Andino in the gut hard, fast, and entirely unexpected. He gave the bookie a look, and snapped, “Would you knock that the fuck off?”
Nathaniel’s gaze widened. “What—do you know how often she dances? Never, Andi. Not anymore. Mind your own, and let me enjoy the show.”
He had a good mind to punch Nathaniel in the mouth, but he glanced over his shoulder instead. The woman was back on her feet, and winking over her shoulder like she hadn’t just spent twenty seconds upside down and swinging around a pole.
There were cherry blossoms tattooed on the side of her neck.
A crown in the middle of her chest.
Waves on her arm.
And so much more.
Damn, she was beautiful.
Her gaze drifted over the people slowly, and then finally, landed on Andino and where he sat with Nathaniel. He didn’t miss the slight widening of her eyes, or the way she hesitated in her next step.
Still, she kept moving.
She kept dancing.
And she kept looking back at him.
Well, damn.
Andino slipped into the back hallway when the security’s back was turned—although he was pretty sure the guy still saw him, anyway. It wasn’t like the guy could have missed how Andino followed the woman who got off the stage, and headed for the back.
He just caught sight of black hair slipping into the room at the far end of the hallway before he heard the door close behind her.
Shit.
What was that—a changing room, or something?
Andino was going to find out.
Not that he had any business to—or that he should. Because the answer to both of those were a big, fat no. It didn’t matter; he was still going to talk to the woman because he wanted to, and Andino wasn’t very damn good at denying himself things he wanted.
He blamed that on being an only child who had always been given whatever the hell he asked for, whenever the fuck he asked for it. Or, that was the excuse he chose to use when someone asked.
Andino quickly realized this hallway was not for changing rooms, or anything of the sort. He passed storage rooms, and an exit door that led out to a back alley. At the end, he found the door he had seen the woman disappear into just as he slipped into the hallway. He didn’t even think about it—he just knocked.
“Just a sec,” called a sweet, familiar voice.
Andino heard the click of heels approaching the door, and then it opened. It was like every fucking time he got a glimpse of this woman, something changed. Something made him blink, silenced him, and he had to take her in all over again.
Gone was the black hair from when she had been dancing on the stage, and back was the blonde with teal and purple streaks from the jogging trails. She’d tossed on a silk robe over the leather ensemble, but Andino still couldn’t control his fucking gaze from wandering all over.
Christ.
What was wrong with him?
“I figured you would follow me back here,” she said quietly.
Andino’s gaze jumped back up to meet the woman’s. “How did you know I was following you? I might have been coming to ask for the manager … or owner.”
Yeah, that worked.
Andino mentally patted himself on the back for managing to not look and sound like a complete fucking cafone. He certainly didn’t think this woman would appreciate him saying that yes, he followed her because … well, he didn’t really know why.
He wanted to.
That was it.
Kind of made him sound like a creep.
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?”
He gestured at her with an opened hand.
“Possibly.”
“I can’t say I would blame him, then.”
Haven made a face. “Never said I did, either.”
Yes, she was still a smartass.
She was still a little feisty.
Just like that first day.
Andino liked that a lot.
“We never got to finish that conversation on the trails,” he said, “You took off.”
“And what, you thought now would be the right time?”
“I don’t walk those trails very often. That day was a random pick. Snaps decided to go a different route, and I just follow him.”
Haven nodded once. “I noticed.”
Andino stilled.
Had she?
And how had she noticed that at all unless she went back to … wait, had she gone back looking for him?
“What does that mean?” he
asked.
Haven’s pretty blue eyes darted away from his, and her grip on the door tightened a bit. “Doesn’t matter. So, hey, I didn’t take you for the type—is that like your thing, or something? Illegal gambling to relieve the stress of working nine-to-five in an office every day? The three-piece suit makes more sense, I guess. Let me guess … some higher up job in a company; high-rise, likely. Corner office?”
It took Andino a second.
And then two.
She meant Nathaniel.
Because he’d been sitting with the bookie.
“No,” he said.
Haven’s stormy-blue eyes darted back to him. “Pardon?”
“The bookie—he works for me, not the other way around. I don’t do office work, and that is not why I wear a three-piece suit. Not even close.”
“Oh.” Haven’s brow knotted together in the cutest way, belying the way she looked in that fucking outfit—like sin poured into leather. “What kind of job do you have that you’re the boss of an illegal bookie?”
“A little of this, a little of that,” Andino said, waving a hand and grinning devilishly. “Nothing that’ll be interesting to you, I promise. But hey, I like that you wonder.”
A sweet pink climbed high on her throat, and colored Haven’s cheeks, too. “I wasn’t wondering—”
“It’s good. Why do you think I came back here? I wondered about you, too, donna. My name is Andino, by the way.”
She blinked, and then those long, dark lashes fanned her gaze as she stared up at him. She was tall for a woman—he still had a good four inches or so on her. Compared to his large, muscular build, this woman seemed small.
And yet, there was a fire in her eyes.
A curiosity, too.
Andino liked that she didn’t know him at all. That she could only guess things about him, and he had the option to confirm, deny, or lie altogether. It wasn’t very often that someone didn’t recognize his face. That was just a byproduct of being a Marcello in New York.
But this woman …
Haven didn’t know him at all.
