Page 18

So, I wait, patient as a hawk, until the last note fades and the applause dies down. Isabella’s wiping the sweat from her brow, still breathing hard from her performance, when I catch her eye and motion her over with a tilt of my head. This isn’t about desire, it’s about information. And if I have to wade through a bit of temptation to get it, then so be it.

She strides toward me, all long legs and wary eyes, like she’s stepping into a lion’s den. I straighten in my seat.

“What do you want?” Isabella asks, her tone guarded. She doesn’t sit. Instead, she stands there, challenging, as untouchable as ever.

I lean back, giving her a once-over before meeting those piercing blue eyes. “A lap dance,” I blurt, completely overriding my feeble attempt to control my impulse. “But not out here. In one of the private VIP rooms.”

Her reaction is immediate, a mix of defiance and disgust. “I’m not going into a private room with you,” she snaps. “And just so we’re clear—I’m not fucking anyone. Not you, not anyone. The other girls might be, but that’s not me.”

“Relax, Bella,” I tell her, a smirk tugging at the corner of my mouth. “Why would you jump straight to that? And in case you’re wondering, you’re not my type.”

“Then why do you want to go into a VIP room?” she challenges, folding her arms over her chest.

“Because I need to talk to you, privately,” I say, locking eyes with her. “Just a few questions, nothing more.”

“Talk?” She scowls, skepticism written all over her face. “That’s all?”

“That’s all,” I confirm, leaning back. I don’t miss the way her gaze flicks around the club, cautious even now.

“Fine,” she says after a tense pause. “But let’s make one thing crystal clear, I’m not going in there to fuck you.”

“Understood,” I reply, my voice low and firm. “No fucking. Just talking.”

With a hesitant nod, Isabella signals for me to follow. As I rise from the booth, I can feel the weight of curious stares on us. I know this isn’t smart. Taking one of the dancers into a private room screams favoritism, but the need for answers outweighs the risk.

Following behind her, I try not to focus on the sway of her hips or how that barely-there outfit hugs her curves. But damn, it’s hard when every step she takes radiates sensual energy. The taut bounce of her ass-cheeks against her tiny bikini sends blood rushing south. I can’t seem to look away, even though I know I should.

I close the door behind us with a soft click. I hit the button to signal that the room’s occupied. For safety reasons, none of the VIP rooms lock from the inside. We can’t risk some girl getting trapped with a psycho. There are discrete panic buttons next to the sleek benches where the girls are supposed to be dancing, but many of them end up fucking. For privacy reasons, there aren’t any cameras in the VIP rooms, just a few outside in the hallway. Customers wouldn’t want to be filmed in compromising positions, so after a lot of debate, we decided to hold off on installing any in here. Now I kind of wish we had. I might have to reevaluate that decision.

She slides onto the bench and pushes herself back into the corner where the wall intersects the bench. She eyes me warily.We sit silently for a few seconds before I decide to break the tension.

“How’s work going?” I ask, trying to keep my voice neutral.

“Fine,” she replies curtly, then adds with a laugh, “at least the money’s good.”

“Are you making as much as you’d hoped for?” I prod.

“Yes.”

“Are you getting along okay with the other girls?”

“Why all the questions, Ice? If you want a lap dance, you can have one. You just need to pay like everyone else. Don’t ask a bunch of bullshit questions and fake like you give a shit about me. I see you watching me. I know why we’re really back here, but all you get is a dance. No fucking. Think you can handle that?” she asks, taunting me.

“If that’s what you really want…”

“It’s whatyouwant. Don’t get it twisted.” Her response is clipped, yet there’s a slight shift in her posture, a readiness that wasn’t there moments ago.

Music pulses through the speakers, adding to the erotically charged atmosphere. Isabella stands, her movements fluid and deliberate. With each step toward me, the air thickens. She slides onto my lap, and damn, she smells good enough to eat. Vanilla, honey, and a hint of something darker, something sexy, a heady blend worthy of a goddess. My body reacts instantly, traitorous and hungry.

She dances, her rhythm in tune with the thumping bass, a siren’s call that has me entranced. Her back arches, pressing against me, and I’m damn sure she can feel how much I want her. How could she not when every inch of me is screaming for her touch?

“Enjoying yourself?” she murmurs, breath hot against my ear as she rolls her hips in a slow, torturous grind.

“More than you know,” I manage through gritted teeth, my resolve cracking by the second.

“Good,” she whispers, and there’s a hint of victory in her tone, like she knows she’s got me right where she wants me. “Because I’m not here to fuck you.”

“Never asked you to,” I growl, my hands skimming her hips, testing boundaries I have no business crossing. But hell, the heat of her skin under my fingertips is a temptation too strong to resist. I running the pads of my thumbs across her shimmering flesh.