Chapter Three
Emi
“Get a hold of yourself, Emi.”
My whispered self-admonishment doesn’t do any good. I can still feel the slight tremble of my hands as I pull on my skinny jeans and fasten them. I’ve performed in front of people my entire life, including some of the most prestigious members of the dance community. I’ve experienced a myriad of feelings when I perform, from nervous to exhilarated and everything in between. But never in my life have I felt turned on while dancing…until tonight.
That man. Sitting directly in front of the stage, it was hard to miss him. But the intensity of his gaze had threatened to burn right through me. Any time our eyes met, desire spiked in my belly like I’ve never known. His focus was all-encompassing and heavy with power. The harder I danced, the more I felt him, as though he was staking his claim on me right there in front of everyone. And heaven help me, I liked it.
Usually after my dances at Cardinal Sin my adrenaline keeps me flying for a while. But tonight was more than just the freedom of dancing without judgment. Somehow the Man Unknown wordlessly offered me a taste of forbidden pleasure, and now I’m shaky and on edge, like coming down from a new and dangerous high.
Which is why I need to get out of here. I’m not even bothering to mess with my wig and makeup. I need to go home and settle my nerves with a glass of wine and a hot bath. Digging through my bag, I finally find my tank and pull it on over the black bikini bra just as I hear the voice of the last person I wanted to talk to tonight.
“Raven, sweetheart, you were fucking amazing as always.”
Slipping on my black ballet flats, I take a deep, calming breath before responding to the owner of the club. “I’m not your sweetheart, Geno.”
“You could be, though,” he says with all the charm of a rattlesnake. “You could be the sweetheart of Cardinal Sin. Treated like royalty, making the kind of money other girls can only dream of.”
Geno Tomasino is your stereotypical wannabe-mobster. Nothing like the “old country” Italians I’ve grown up around my whole life. Geno wears flashy suits, gold chains, and pinky rings, and enough gel in his hair to make me wonder if it’s even able to move after shampooing.
Shoving my costume and heels into my bag, I say, “We’ve gone over this before, Geno. I’m not interested in being a regular. I gotta go.”
“Come on, Raven, gimme a chance here, will ya?”
I start to walk away, but his hand clamps around my upper arm, stopping my escape. Fear wars with disgust in my gut at the feel of his fingers banded around my bicep. I slice him into a thousand ribbons with my eyes and infuse my words with the iron of my will and the ice in my veins. “Get your hand off me, Geno, unless you want me to break it in five places.”
A total bluff, but the conviction in my voice does the trick. He releases me and holds his hands up in supplication, grinning in that way that looks more like a sneer.
“I didn’t mean anything by it. I can see you’re in a hurry. If you change your mind, you know where to find me. Be seeing you, Raven.”
I shake off the creepy-crawlies left by Geno’s touch and make to get the hell out of here. Pulling open the door to the hall, I head left down the long corridor that leads to the employee parking lot. Normally, I’d exchange a quick and friendly conversation with the bouncer who guards the door to the dressing room, but I’m not in the mood for small talk tonight, so I keep my head down as I pass him.
“Night, Derrick,” I say, not wanting to be entirely rude.
“Raven, stop.”
It’s him. I don’t know how I know this, only that I do. I also don’t know if it’s his voice or his command that pulls me up short, but I obey as though reaching the end of a tether.
“Where’s Derrick?” I ask without looking back.
“I told him I’d cover for him and sent him out to watch our friend dance her way down her bucket list.”
He must be talking about Raquel. The fact that he’s here to support his friend and not the kind of guy who trolls strip clubs for cheap thrills makes me stupidly relieved. Stupid because the kind of man he is has no bearing on me whatsoever.
“Then you should be out there with him.”
“I wanted to talk to you.”
Every inch of my body is aware of him as he finally walks around to stand in front of me. I keep my gaze leveled at his chest, figuring it should be a fairly safe spot to rest my eyes. But the way the black cotton of his V-neck stretches over his muscles and hints at the smooth, tan skin of his pecs makes my mouth water. There probably isn’t an inch of this man that can be considered safe, and that only serves to send my pulse racing.
He grips my chin lightly and guides my head up. I don’t even realize that I closed my eyes until I hear him say, “Look at me, Raven.”
I do, and the close-up version is even more beautifully intimidating. Thick sandy-blond hair that’s short on the sides and styled longer on top, perfect lips, strong jawline dusted with hair, and light green eyes that hold me captive as securely as a pair of chains.
“You didn’t stop to pick up your money before rushing off stage.”
“I don’t do it for the money.”
He cocks his head slightly. “No, you don’t.”
I bet people take his beauty at face value and never notice the cunning mind working behind the pretty facade. But standing here like this, with his eyes peeling back the layers of my armor little by little, I see it. And if I let him stare too long, I’m afraid he’ll discover that part of me I keep hidden from the world. It’s both unsettling and exciting. What would it be like for someone to know that side of me?
You know what it’s like. He’ll brand you as damaged or a freak, just like the others.
“I need to go,” I say as I rush past him.
“Wait.”
He catches my left wrist to pull me back to him, and for the second time in a very short while I’m held in a man’s firm grip. But this is nothing like the pins and needles from when Geno grabbed me. This is all tingly heat, skating just beneath the surface as it races up my arm and across my chest. My nipples pebble, trapped against the thin layers of material, causing warmth to pool in my belly and flush my cheeks.
The way his pupils are swallowing up the green of his irises and the tension in his jaw tell me he’s aware of the effect he’s having on my body. Yet his gaze hasn’t dipped down to take in the view like so many guys might do. And I’m ashamed that a part of me wants him to, wants him to rake his eyes over me possessively.
“What do you want?” I manage to ask.
“I’m Austin. Tell me your name.” Before I can give him the lie, he adds, “Your real name.”
I shouldn’t tell him…
“Emi.”
With his free hand, he skims the back of his knuckle over my cheek. “Emi,” he repeats in a gruff tone. “I want to see you sometime.”
I’m not in the market for anything serious, and I’ve never been a casual fling kind of girl. I should tell him no… “You’ll have to find me first.”
This time when I walk away, he lets me. And before the back door closes, I hear him say, “Challenge accepted.”