Letting Him In Page 2

  Unlike Benton, who wears a tight t-shirt and jeans, this newcomer is blonde and looks like he just came from the office. He wears a wrinkled suit with the collar popped open and his white sleeves rolled up his forearms.

  “Just found us a couple of girls we can keep all to ourselves,” Benton grins. His teeth are so white and bright I feel myself squinting as he flashes them. That can’t be natural.

  The new guy’s eyes aren’t quite as glazed as Benton’s are as they roam over me then Brianna, sizing us up critically. “All to ourselves, eh? Is there something wrong with them?”

  “What the fuck, Colt?” Benton asks, shrugging the arm off of his shoulder and giving his buddy a look like there’s something wrong with him. “Man, I knew I shouldn’t have brought your tight ass with me.” Benton looks back to me, smiling apologetically. “He’s my fucking agent. Ignore his dumb ass.”

  Still holding on to my hand, Benton tugs on me, leading me into the shadows. “Come on, darling, we’ll have some fun just the two of us.”

  Just the two of us… I know it should make me anxious, yet strangely I’m not at all worried about it. If anything it’s like… whatever. I just feel like going with the flow. I’m not at all concerned about where this is leading.

  “Sugar,” I hear Brianna purring behind us. “You look like you need to relax. Here, let me help you…”

  Benton leads me to an empty circle of chairs. He sits down in one and then immediately pulls me down to sit on his lap.

  “So what’s your name, beautiful?” he asks, and then frowns as his blonde friend appears with Brianna hanging onto him.

  “Mind if we join you?” Colt asks and then drops into a chair before Benton answers. Unlike Benton, though, he doesn’t pull Brianna down to sit with him, he just leaves her standing there.

  “Only if you’re not going to be all uptight and shit,” Benton says, and I feel his arm wrapping around my waist, pulling me back until I’m pressed against his chest.

  Colt nods and lifts his glass into the air. “I promise not to be all uptight and shit.”

  I feel Benton’s chest rumble as he laughs. “Alright man, you can stay.”

  Colt grins, and for some reason I notice his teeth aren’t as blindingly white as Benton’s. Colt tips his glass back, the ice cubes clinking, and drains the rest of the amber liquid. Glass empty, he motions for Brianna to attend to him. I watch her smile and bend forward, giving him an eyeful of her jiggling breasts.

  “So, what’s your name, beautiful?” Benton asks, grabbing me gently by the chin and turning my face until I’m looking at him.

  Shit. Do I give him my real name or a fake name? I can’t remember what Brianna said when we discussed it.

  “Um,” I giggle and shoot Brianna a “help me” look but she’s gone.

  Fuck.

  Colt is sitting there alone, watching us with interest.

  “Cat got your tongue?” Benton chuckles then his voice drops to a loud, slurred whisper. “Come on, you can tell me. I promise I won’t tell.”

  I seize upon the cat comment and “Kitty,” is the name that pops out of mouth.

  “Kitty, eh?” Benton smiles lazily and his eyes drop to my breasts. “You don’t look like a Kitty to me.”

  “What do I look like?” I ask and hope he looks back up at my eyes.

  Now that I’m sitting here on his lap, reality is starting to hit me. That anxiety that was gone is slowly but painfully coming back to me.

  He just keeps staring at my breasts though, practically drooling. “You look like something sweet to taste. Like Peaches or Honey.”

  “Peaches? Really?” I repeat and wrinkle my nose with distaste.

  Benton laughs, and I just now notice his hands moving. They were at my hips but now they’re sliding up my exposed stomach with purpose.

  Is he allowed to touch me? Oh yeah, I remember asking about that and being told because it’s a private party, he’s allowed to do almost everything except for fucking me publically. If he wants to do that he’ll have to do it in private and clear it first with Ray, and second with me. And there’s no way I’m letting any guy fuck me.

  “Yes, really, Kitty.” He puts emphasis on my fake name like he finds it amusing. “You look like something I’d definitely like to eat.”

  Ew. Seriously. Just ew. I find myself staring at his mouth and I definitely don’t want this guy to eat me.

  I must be making another face because Benton’s dark eyes narrow towards me. He doesn’t look pleased.

  “What’s that look for, girl? Think you’re too good for me?”

  “No,” I immediately—and maybe too vehemently—deny. I shake my head and my pigtails swing erratically.

  “No?” Benton asks, leaning back and creating some much needed space. Then his eyebrow arches and his lips twist into a smirk. “Show me your titties.”

  My jaw drops. Just like that he went from cool to an asshole in zero to fucking sixty.

  “Fuck, you were right, Colt. There is something wrong with them. Why I gotta get the only stripper in here too fucking good to show her titties?” Benton snarls at me. “Get the fuck up off me, bitch.”

  I jump up from his lap. I can’t get off the guy fast enough.

  Fuck, I want to grab a drink and throw it in his face. But fuck, I’m not supposed to be feeling this way. I should be showing him my breasts and smiling. And he’s supposed to be giving me money.

  I really need the money.

  I look around, panicking. Did Ray see me? Is Brianna going to kill me?

  Bri, though, must have witnessed the whole thing. After handing Colt his drink, she struts over to me, smiling. At first, I think she’s going to escort me away, and I would be grateful for the escape.

  I blink in confusion as instead she brushes past me.

  Benton is cursing up a storm behind me, ranting about uptight agents and uptight bitches—I wouldn’t be surprised to find out he’s somehow related to Naomi—until Brianna approaches him, silkily purring. “Sugar, I’ll show you my titties.”

  Every instinct inside me is screaming for me to run, to get away. I start forward, letting my feet lead the way until a hand darts out, grabbing me.

  “Don’t go,” a husky voice says, pulling me closer. “Sit with me.”

  I twist around, seeking the face that belongs to the hand retaining me. It’s Benton’s agent, Colt.

  “Why?” I ask, my eyes finding his eyes and staring hard into his face. What does he think he can get out of me? What does he want, to rub the rejection into my face?

  I stare into his bright blue eyes and he looks back at me with sympathy? No, that’s pity, I quickly realize and feel myself cringing. If there’s one thing I hate in this world, besides addiction, it’s pity.

  “Because I want you to,” he finally answers, and I feel his grip tightening.

  It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask him why does he want me, especially after his client just discarded me.

  Noting my hesitation, Colt digs into his pocket and pulls out his wallet. “And I’ll pay you for your time.”

  Money. It’s always money.

  My chin drops and I look to his wallet. Then nervously I lick my lips, looking back up at his face. His eyes follow my tongue a little too closely. I should say no, fuck it, I tried and just walk away. Benton pushing me away was obviously the universe trying to tell me something. If I was smart, I would just cut my losses. But something about Colt, about the possessive way he grips me and the way he looks at me is calling to me.

  I feel like a moth being drawn to the flame. The flame is beautiful and I know it will hurt me so bad it will probably kill me, but I just can’t pull away.

  “Okay,” I say so softly I almost don’t hear myself. Am I agreeing for the money or because I just want to be near the man?

  I’m not sure.

  Colt smiles though, and his grip relaxes before he tugs me closer. His arms wraps around my waist, just above my hips, and he leads me into the darkness. “
Good. Come with me.”

  I follow obediently. Really, it’s not like I have a choice at this point. I cast a glance back and see Brianna on Benton’s lap. Her head is tipped back and she’s giggling while he buries his face into her bare breasts.

  There’s no going back. I can’t go back.

  Even when Colt leans in close and whispers, “Tonight, you belong to me.”

  Chapter Three

  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.

&n
bsp; 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.