Colt leads me to one of the private rooms in the back. I feel Ray’s eyes following me, searing, until the door of the room closes behind me. I can only imagine what he thinks I’m doing.

Fuck, I don’t even know what I’m doing.

Locking the door, Colt doesn’t release his hold on me. He pulls me with him as if he’s afraid I might try to get away. And I must admit, the rational, self-preserving part of my brain is screaming abort, abort inside of my head. Run for your life. After this, you’re never going to be the same. But I feared something like this might happen tonight, that it was perhaps inevitable. Unfortunately, I couldn’t heed my own instincts because I need the money too desperately. I’m all too aware that you can’t step into a profession like this even for a moment without breaking in some way.

Now, I suppose the question is how much am I willing to break? I’ve already blown one chance to earn some money, am I willing to make the same mistake twice?

I look around the room. The walls are red and the lighting is dim. Pushed into the corner is an arm chair, and against the left wall is a settee done up in red velvet upholstery. In the middle of the room and accessible to the settee is a long table flanked by two platforms meant for dancing. I suppose the décor is an attempt to give it a sexy, seductive kind of vibe. To me it just comes off as incredibly cheesy and sleazy.

Colt leads me over to the settee before he pushes me down to sit. Once I’m fully seated his hand releases me. I brace myself, expecting him to fall upon me or something, but he only turns away. Striding to the other side of the room, he approaches a tray left within easy reach of the armchair. The tray bears a bucket of ice which in turn chills a bottle of champagne. He grabs up the tray and carries it back to me.

I tense up, stiff as a board on the edge of the settee. Watching him, I can’t help but note how he looks out of place in this space. That like me he too doesn’t truly belong here. For some reason yet unknown he’s participating in the same masquerade.

Maybe I’m just being fanciful, or maybe it’s the suit and the way he carries himself, but I’d bet good money he’s not the strip club type. No, he’s so handsome, so put together, from his soft blonde hair carefully styled out of his face, to the sleek athletic build of his body, he looks like he belongs on the cover of GQ or some other “sexy man” magazine. He’s so handsome he doesn’t have to pay women money to dance for him. No, he’s the kind of guy that makes a woman work to attract his eye.

So what the hell does he want with a girl like me?

Setting the tray down on the table in front of me, Colt proceeds to pop the cork of the champagne and pours two bubbling glasses until they’re almost overflowing. I watch with growing dread and anticipation as he plucks up the glasses and then comes back to the settee to sit beside me.

Colt extends one of the glasses towards me and I hesitate before accepting it.

He smiles and explains as if to put me at ease, “It would be a shame to let it go to waste.”

I nod my head but still it feels beyond strange to be sitting next to this man, in this place, holding a glass of champagne.

I feel myself once again licking my lips nervously and his eyes upon me. I force a smile and his eyes flick up as I hesitate to drink. I take a deep breath then say, “I usually only drink champagne when there is something to celebrate.”

And I’m so not in the mood to celebrate. After tonight I think all I’ll want to do is scrub all of this from my memory.

“Let’s celebrate tonight, shall we?” he suggests, lifting his glass to me. “And where it might lead?”

Celebrate tonight? Ha, not likely, but I keep that thought to myself. Nodding my head, I pretend to go along with his suggestion and tip my glass back. Before I know it my glass is empty. The champagne must be expensive, it slid down too easily and much too sweetly.

Before I can put the empty glass down, Colt is refilling it for me.

“Are you trying to get me drunk?” I ask boldly.

His face lights up and he chuckles. “Maybe… but can you blame me?”

I smirk, and I don’t know why— maybe it’s because he doesn’t creep me out or maybe it’s because I want to test him— but I find myself saying, “Maybe.”

Colt’s eyes dance with mirth and he leans back, seemingly relaxing. His glass is still mostly full and he sips at it slowly before he asks, “What’s your real name?”

The moment is instantly ruined.

I tip back my glass, draining it quickly. I need the liquid courage if I’m going to get through the rest of the night.

Colt digs into his pocket when I don’t answer and withdraws his wallet. Flipping it open with one hand, he withdraws a one hundred-dollar bill and tosses it at me.

I watch the bill flutter down to my lap, coming to a rest on my bare thighs.

“What’s your real name?”

Is that what my name is worth? A hundred dollars? Part of me is relieved to finally see some money while the other part of me is balking at where this is going.

Picking up the bill, it feels like it takes all of my strength to extend it back to him. I can’t fucking believe I’m trying to give him back his money. “That’s personal and against the rules.”

“Whose rules?” he asks casually, completely ignoring the money I’m holding out to him.

“The club’s rules. Ray’s rules.” Mine.

Colt shakes his head and waves at my hand dismissively. “We’re playing by my rules tonight.”

I feel stupid still holding the bill out so I just open my fingers and let it go. The bill seems to linger in the air for a second before falling. It comes to rest between us, on the settee.

“What are your rules?”

“My rules are simple; I’m going to pay you for talking to me.”

“For just talking? That’s all that you want?” I ask in disbelief. It’s too good to be true, too easy. Why should my conversation be worth anything? I’m sure if he only wanted someone to talk to he could pick up any girl he wanted on the street. Me? Personally? I’d be more willing to pay people not to talk to me.

“Why?” he asks now, smirking. “Is there something else you’re offering?”

My cheeks burn with heat and I quickly shake my head, scowling.

“I haven’t offended you, have I? I assure you, you are a beautiful woman and I am very much interested in you. If you’d prefer to take your clothes off while we speak, I wouldn’t complain.”

He leans in closer and I feel myself drawing back, sinking deeper into the settee. “In fact, I’d consider it a bonus and pay you more for it.”

Crap. Did I just screw myself? Why couldn’t I just take the money and be done with it?

Colt leans in, chasing me. He hovers so close to me our noses are almost touching. His eyes capture my eyes, smoldering with heat.

He wants me. Yes, I know that should be obvious, but up until this point I wasn’t sure if this just wasn’t some kind of game. I’ve known more than one hot guy in my life who thought women, especially women they are paying, were their personal playthings. And Colt’s been so ambiguous up to this point I was almost certain he was toying with me. He still could be…

Why would a guy like him waste time and money with a girl like me? And why the hell does he want me?

“I’d prefer to keep my clothes on,” I say tentatively.

“You must admit that sounds strange coming from a stripper,” Colt grins, and for a moment I swear he’s going to kiss me.

“My name is Whitney,” I say, hoping to surprise him as he leans in closer.

He pauses and his breath is warm and sweet from the champagne, puffing a mere hair’s away from my lips.

“Like the singer?” he asks, leaning back and giving me some much needed breathing space.

I feel the flush of heat on my cheeks cooling. I nod my head and go on quickly, “Yes, my mother named me and my brothers after her favorite singers.”

“You have brothers?” he asks, his brow lifting as he takes another sip from his drink.

I nod my head but don’t elaborate.

“Do they know you are here?”

When I don’t immediately answer he lifts another hundred from his wallet and tosses it at me.

I watch the hundred flutter for a moment and answer simply. “No.”

“Does your mother know you are here?”

I shake my head.

“Your father?”

I shrug my shoulders.

He frowns thoughtfully. “How old are you?”

“Nineteen.”

His eyes widen and he jerks a bit. I guess he finds my age surprising. Truthfully, in the getup I’m wearing I personally think I look closer to fourteen.

He tips back his glass to his lips, draining the rest of the champagne like a man who needs a stiffer drink before setting it on the table, empty. “Why are you here tonight?”

I lift my brows at him and look pointedly down at the money. Getting my meaning, he pulls another hundred from his wallet.

“Why are any of us girls here? Isn’t it obvious?” I answer bitterly. “Because I need the money.”

“No offense,” he says softly. “But you didn’t seem to be very comfortable out there. Perhaps you should find work elsewhere?”

“I work two jobs during the day.”

“Truly?” he asks, unable to mask his surprise.

I nod.

“And still you feel the need to strip for more money?”

Normally, no, I wouldn’t need to strip. I work two jobs precisely to avoid this kind of thing. But my mother found my stash of money—she ruined my credit before I even hit eighteen so I’m unable to obtain a bank account—and rent is due in two days. There’s no use trying to get the money back from her either, she’s already blown it on pills and whatever guy she is currently seeing.

Another hundred is pulled from his wallet and I can’t help but sigh. Revealing myself and my life for money feels just as degrading as removing my clothing at this point.

“It’s complicated,” I finally answer.

“Do you have a boyfriend?”

I shake my head. I don’t have the time or inclination to date.

“A husband?”

I almost laugh at that. “No.”

“Any children?”

“No.” Thank God. But my brothers, who are only seventeen and eighteen, still very much need me.

“So there is no one who would be harmed if you were to spend the night with me?”

Now it’s my time to jerk in surprise. Is he further propositioning me? “You mean besides me?"

His eyes narrow and I can tell I’ve offended him when he says very seriously, “I would never hurt you. I’m not the kind of guy who gets off on hurting women.”

“What kind of guy are you? What do you want with me?” I ask quietly. He said he would never hurt me, and I believe he means it. I believe he wouldn’t hurt me intentionally.

His face softens and he leans towards me again as if he’s going to kiss me. I can’t help but lean away, and he chases me until my back hits the settee. As he closes up the space between us, I become more aware of his size. He’s bigger and wider, his body blocking out the dim light and eclipsing me.

The collar of his white shirt popped open, my eyes hone in first on his throat and how it moves with his quickened breathing. Up, my eyes slide along the smooth expanse of his neck and the strong line of his jaw to focus on his lips. They’re moist and pink and slightly parted as they come down on me.

I turn my face at the last possible second and his lips slide across my cheek.

He chuckles, and I breathe a small sigh of relief. His hand touches my cheek, his calloused palm cupping it tenderly. Gently, he applies pressure, guiding me until we’re face to face.

“Whitney,” he says huskily. “There’s something about you that calls to me. You looked so uncomfortable out there, so fucking beautiful, but out of place. I had to rescue you. But now that I have…” He shakes his head and grins ruefully.

“But now that you have?” I ask, every part of me needing him to finish that phrase.

His gold-tipped lashes lower and his eyes darken. “Who’s going to rescue you from me?”

Squirming beneath the intensity of his gaze, I find myself looking away. He hasn’t answered either of my questions so I repeat, “What do you want from me?”

“Stay the night with me.”

I feel myself both revolting and elating at the request. Does he want to sleep with me? If he does, I’m beyond flattered but only if he asks me without involving money.

“I can’t…” I start but don’t get to finish because his thumb presses against my lips, stopping me.

“You need money, and I need you. There’s no reason we can’t come to an agreement that is mutually beneficial to the both of us.”

His thumb strokes across my bottom lip patiently as I consider how to respond to his outrageous request. “Surely, staying the night with me is better than taking off your clothes for a bunch of strangers?”

There’s just no pretty way to put it so I state it plainly. “I’m not a whore. I can’t prostitute myself for money.”

“No, you are not a whore,” he agrees and confuses me. “I’m not proposing I pay you for use of your body. I will only pay you for the time you spend with me.”

“But you expect me to sleep with you.”

“No, it is not expected.”

“It’s not?” I frown, finding his proposal hard to believe.

“No, it’s not. The only thing required is your attention and your time.”

Why? I still want to ask. Why me?

Instead, I lick my lips and the desperate girl inside of me asks, “How much money?”

His eyes gleam, he knows he’s got me right where he wants me. “Two grand for the rest of the night.”

I can’t breathe. Two grand? Two thousand dollars? For one night of my life? I’ve never had that much money at one time…

“Seriously?” I squeak.

His head dips and his lips capture mine. Mouth slanting over mine, he pulls, patiently coaxing my lips into opening. And when I finally do, parting my lips and allowing his tongue to delve in, he rewards me with an appreciative groan that resonates through the very core of my body.

His taste is overwhelming. Musky, sweet, and something that’s a little spicy. It drives me freakin’ crazy. I feel like I just can’t get enough of him. He kisses me until I’m breathless and squirming, my body flushing with heat. Until I’m rising up, offering myself to him. Until I’m willing.

Finally, he breaks away, leaving me trembling and weak with need. “Seriously.”

I pant beneath him, regaining my senses and trying to think. I shouldn’t accept, I shouldn’t. He claims he only wants to pay me for my time, not my body, yet the way he kisses me…

“What will it be, Whitney?” he asks impatiently.

I peer up at him, feeling as if my will is being sucked out by the intensity of his bright gaze.

Tenderly, his fingers stroke down my cheek.

“I shouldn’t,” I say softly but can’t look away.

“I won’t hurt you,” he murmurs reassuringly. His head dips down, capturing my lips once more but this time kissing me gently, sweetly. “Let me take care of you. Spend the night with me.”

“Just tonight?” I ask, feeling myself weakening.

“Just tonight,” he confirms, his mouth dropping to my neck to place little wet kisses there.

“If I want to leave, you’ll let me?”

“Yes,” he answers as his nose nuzzles against my throat, then he pushes back up to stare down at me. “But I will do everything in my power to make you want to stay with me.”

I find myself agreeing, the word “Okay,” slipping past my lips.

“Okay?” he asks, his brows lifting.

I nod my head. “Okay. I will stay with you, but just for tonight. And I want to see the money first.”