I want to growl in frustration at the stripper who can’t seem to get the message that I don’t want her crawling all over me.
“Just tell me, have you seen a girl with brown hair and big tits?”
She pouts up at me like she’s totally offended I’m not into her blonde hair. Another girl with brown hair comes up and drapes herself around me.
I grit my teeth. This has to be the eighteenth or nineteenth strip club I’ve visited in Manhattan so far in my attempt to find Sapphire. Still no luck. But that chick Misti seemed to think she would find another club to work at, and I won’t give up until I’ve checked every last one.
“Just go back and ask everyone if they know someone named Derek.” I push the girl off me. “Please.”
I’m having a fucking hard time being polite right about now, but I figure being a complete ass won’t get me anywhere.
The blonde looks at me skeptically, but nods and struts off, disappearing through a door.
As if that’s an invitation, two more strippers sidle up to take her place. “What’s so special about this girl?” one of them asks, sticking out her lower lip in a ridiculous pout.
I sigh. She’s perfect. It’s that simple.
I want to take her home to St. Albans and make her mine, but I’m getting more and more worried that I might never find her. Shoving the thought away, I realize the new girls have worked the top three buttons of my shirt loose and are running their hands all over my chest.
I jump back and push them off, relieved when the blonde returns from wherever she went. I look at her anxiously. “Well?”
Shaking her head slowly, she says, “No. Sorry. No one here is looking for a Derek.”
I turn without another word and stride out of the club, yanking open the door to my limo and slamming it shut behind me when I slump into the seat.
“Any luck?” my driver asks. As if my face doesn’t tell it all.
“Next place,” I say glumly.
We take off down the street, and I try not to give in to the mounting frustration. But I can’t fucking help it. Let’s be real, I’m starting to consider the possibility I’m never going to find her, and it’s messing with my head.
I pull out the lacy thong that I haven’t been without since the night I met her and lift it to my face, drawing in a deep breath through my nose.
That scent. That fucking sexy scent. It drives me mad. Out of my mind. Both with lust and with desperation.
I have to find her.
We pull up at the next place, and I was right because the driver announces this is stop number twenty. Leaping from the limo, I bound across the sidewalk and through the front doors.
I’m immediately held back by a hulking beast of a dude. “Sorry, bud, you can’t just come waltzing in here.”
“Why the fuck not?” I sneer.
“This is a private invite club. VIPs only,” he says, pushing my chest to restrain me from going any further.
All my frustration comes to a head and I get right in his face. “Do you fucking know who I am?” I yell. “I’m the fucking Prince of St. Albans. I’m as VIP as it gets.”
He scrutinizes me for a minute, then seems to somehow decide I’m telling the truth because he just shrugs and lets me past.
Instantly, I’m swarmed by scantily clad strippers, all dying to get a piece of me.
They stroke my cheeks, my shoulders, rub their tits all over me. Anything to get my attention. But I have one sole purpose.
“Have you seen a girl with big tits and brown hair?”
They all giggle and moan as they keep rubbing their bodies on me, but they don’t answer my question.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake, will somebody please tell me if they’ve seen her? I’m losing my mind here!”
A tall, deeply tanned girl standing across the room narrows her eyes in my direction, studying me, then turns and makes her way over slowly. Something about her catches my eye. Maybe the way she’s looking at me like she might know something.
She waves the other strippers away with a mere gesture, then juts her hip out and purses her lips. “You look familiar.”
Of course I look fucking familiar. I’m a goddamn crown prince. “Look, I just need to know if anyone has seen a girl with brown hair and big tits. I’ve been looking all over for her. She got fired from her last club, and I’ve gone to twenty places trying to find her.”
Her eyes take on a calculating gleam. “I’m Stacie. I think I can help you.”
“Thank fuck. Where is she?”
She shakes her head, a smile playing at her lip. “It’s going to cost you.”
I grab my money clip and wave it in her face. “Keep talking.”
Stacie laughs. “No. I want you to pay me for a dance.”
Is she serious?
“Not gonna happen.”
She arches a brow. “I’m the most in-demand dancer here.” Then she shrugs and starts to turn away. “Your loss.”
I grab her by the elbow and spin her back around. “Look, I really need to find her. I’ll give you the money for the dance, but I don’t want the dance. Not from anyone but Sapphire.”
She smiles a real smile this time. “I’m impressed. You must really like her. And just so you know, the girl you’re talking about? Her name is Ella.”
Ella. I smile as the knowledge of her real name sinks in. Somehow, it’s fitting.
Pulling out a $20 bill, I give it to her. “How can I find her?”
“She’s not here. She’s off chasing some prince or some shit like that.”
I’m staggered. “She what?”
“Yeah, she met some prince of St. Albania or something like that and took off to his kingdom, hoping to find him. She flew out yesterday.”
Ella