Page 42 of Stolen Voices

“Yep.” My mouth goes drier than California in a drought as my brain involuntarily pictures Callie naked in the shower, water cascading down her toned body, my hand coiling her hair around my fist as I fuck her up against the cold tiles.

“Hey, Callie,” the back-up dancer that wants his hand to be chopped off calls out, pulling me from yet another round of dirty thoughts about Callie.

My client,I remind myself.

The dancer swaggers over to us, looking way too fucking confident for his own good, wearing fancy sneakers, baggy sweatpants, and a white tank top with the sleeves cut off so deep you could see his abs from the side. He has perfectly styled shaggy hair, a bright white smile, and boyish good looks. Emphasis on the boyish. And fuck, do I want to punch this guy for interrupting me and Callie. For talking to her at all. And definitely for putting his hands on her while they dance.

Callie plasters on a fake smile, and though it shouldn’t, the sight makes me feel ten feet tall.

That’s right, fucker. She’s not interested.

“Oh. Hey, Josh,” she says, not bothering to get up from her position.

Josh.What a douche name.

The D-bag thumbs towards the other dancers gathered around in a circle and chatting behind him. “We’re all going to a new club—Catch 22—opening tonight down in Hollywood. We wanted to know if you wanted to join us. I’m friends with the manager, and she’s going to hook us up with a private room.”

Sure you are, dude. His invitation is code for “Callie, please join us so we can get our drinks comped, and then let me take you home and fuck you after”.

Over my dead fucking body.

I stare daggers at the scrawny twerp.

He purposefully ignores my presence, staring at Callie, his eyes not-so-subtly sweeping over her tits as she sits back on her heels.

Asshole.

“Um, thanks. But I have to hit the studio tonight, so I don’t think I can make it,” she says sweetly.

“No worries. Maybe next time?” He grins at her.

Next time. I scoff under my breath.

“Maybe.” She shrugs.

Maybe? Like hell she’ll be going out with him next time.

More, like, never. I choke back the growl in my throat and force my face to stay unreadable as I step back and shove my fists into my pockets, waiting for this little chat to be over.

“Cool.” The tool looks my way and smirks. “You’ve got my number if you change your mind. Or, you know, if you needanything,” Josh says innocently, but I know what he’s doing.

Yep, I’m definitely punching that scrawny tool in the face.

Callie ignores his last comment, waving him off before bringing her attention back to me. “Thirty minutes?”

“I’ll be here, waiting.”Forever.

Maybe I should just punch myself and hope the blow stops me from having these thoughts.

With feline grace on four-inch heels, Callie pops onto her feet, leaving me speechless. Every single thing this woman does captivates me. So much so, I can’t stop staring at the apex of her thighs, wondering if her pussy would be mouth level if I laid her on the stage and stood between her legs to eat her out. Or at her perfect ass as she walks away and disappears around the corner, out of view, leaving me with visions of gripping it as she rode me hard, taking my cock like she was made for it.

Scrubbing my hands through my hair, I take a deep breath and will my cock to behave. When I’m calm, I do a lap around the hall, chatting with stagehands, double-checking cameras, and watching everyone flit around the room until it empties. By the time I make it to Callie’s dressing room, enough time has passed for her to be ready to leave.

As I turn the corner, I catch Silla slinking out of her office. Strangely enough, her presence has been scarce these past few weeks, which seems highly suspicious. Silla loves parading Callie around, garnering as much attention as she can by riding Callie’s coat tails like the parasite she is. She’s the Wicked Witch of the West, Cinderella’s stepmother, and the Evil Queen all rolled into one, wanting to control Callie and her career.

After watching her with the seamstress and her lack of presence, my gut says Hudson’s right. Something isn’t right between Silla and Callie.

I try to step back out of the hall, but Silla catches the movement. Catches me. I bite back a groan.Fuck.