Her Counselor (Love Hack, #3)

by Allyson Lindt

  “You look like a whiskey guy.” She poured two shots. “But the trendy kind, who likes a name brand. Am I right?”

  The assumption and bold delivery were enough to draw his attention, where nothing and no one else had that night. “Did the designer slacks give it away?”

  She shook her head and nudged one glass toward him. “Nope. It’s the fact that Jack Daniels is giving us a bigger kickback this week, for moving their drinks.”

  He couldn’t help but laugh. He pulled a bill from his wallet and slid it across the table. “I’ll buy, but I’m not drinking.”

  “I noticed.” She pocketed the money anyway. “You’re tipping well, almost every single girl, but you don’t actually look at any of them. The more clothing that comes off, the harder you study that half-finished, got-to-be-warm-by-now microbrew.”

  “I paid the cover charge; I met the minimum. It shouldn’t be an issue.” He didn’t know why he was defending himself to her. Hell, at this point he didn’t even know what he was doing here.

  “It’s not.” Both drinks sat untouched on the table. “I was making an observation. And hoping that, since unlike so many of these guys here, you’re both generous and head-over-heels for someone else, I might get a little extra money out of you and not have to put out. I’m Ginny, by the way.”

  “Damon.” He still couldn’t find the urge to pay for a table dance, let alone try to pick her up, but she was interesting to talk to. “What makes you think I’m head-over-heels for someone?”

  “Attractive guy like you, surrounded by naked women, and you’re not looking at any of them? You’re in love, or you’re gay. Or both. I don’t judge. Now that I think about it, you making out with some other guy? That would be hot.”

  The suggestion wasn’t doing anything for him. He leaned in and rested his arms on the table. “Nope, not gay.”

  “Lucky woman, then.” She knocked back her whiskey. “I’m not drinking alone. It’ll give you something to do besides tell me, No, I’m the lucky one to have met such a gorgeous, delicate flower.”

  He took a drink. “I’m not nearly that poetic.”

  “So what’s got you sitting here, instead of with her? You make too much money? You’re too generous? You come from warring families, and your love is forbidden, and if you can’t have her, you’ll kill yourself in protest?”

  He couldn’t help but laugh at the description. “More like the last one, but without the Romeo and Juliet suicide-pact thing. Let’s just say our jobs keep us apart.”

  She gave him a fake pout. “Big mean boss says you can’t date his daughter?”

  “What? God, no. Though I do like your imagination.”

  She adjusted herself and leaned in enough to give him a generous view of her cleavage. “Thanks. You know, a lot of guys say it’s my best feature.”

  “I doubt that.”

  “Are you going to spill your guts willingly then, or do I have to keep making up stories, to amuse myself?”

  “You’re doing this for you?” He poured them both another drink. He didn’t intend to get either of them drunk, but it would keep her boss happy and her at the table.

  “I’m not doing it for you. You’re hung up on a mysterious woman I know nothing about.” She nudged her glass away and sat straight again. “Let’s see. There’s no tragic death pact, and she’s not the boss’s daughter. You really don’t strike me as the cheating type, or the type who’d be interested in someone who is, so neither one of you is attached to someone else. Hmm...” Ginny twisted her face in exaggerated thought. “Maybe, you’re a guy who really likes when things go his way—at home, in the office, anywhere you can get control—and it turns out adult life doesn’t always work like that, so you dominate in the bedroom instead.”

  The words hit too close to home, for his taste. “Great. I’m being psycho-analyzed by a woman who takes her clothes off for money.”

  “Great.” Her tone shifted to mocking. “I’m being condescended to by the guy paying me, who hasn’t even asked me to take my top off yet. Everyone takes their clothes off for money. I just get my cash up front.”

  “At least you’re not jaded.”

  She stuck her tongue out at him. “At least you’re not sarcastic. Is she a stripper?”

  This was more fun than it should be. It was nice to talk to a woman he wasn’t trying to get into bed, and the conversation helped his unruly thoughts slide back into order. It wasn’t getting rid of the desperate ache for Vivian, though. “What makes you ask that?”

  “My psychic powers only get me so far before I need a guy to fess up. There’s a reason you’re here, but not looking. I figure nostalgia or masochism.”

  Or both. Vivian would kill him for spilling her secrets, but it wasn’t as if he’d share her name. “She was. A long time ago.”

  “As in, months?”

  “As in, more than a decade.”

  “No.” Ginny tilted back in her chair and looked him over. “You’re not that old.”

  “Thirty six.” Why was he telling her all this? Because she was listening. Because he needed to sift some things through, and it wasn’t working in his head. Because like Vivian, way back then, Ginny wasn’t judging him.

  “You look good, for an old man.”

  He ignored the dig, wanting something more substantial from her than another round of swapped insults. “You really like your job. Don’t you?”

  “I love it. It’s paying for my doctorate in psychiatry. Did she love it?” She glanced at something behind him, before turning her attention back to Damon.

  “I used to think so. Sometimes I wonder now.”

  “It gave me some of the best memories I have.” Vivian’s voice sliced into the conversation and sang through Damon’s veins. She pulled out an extra chair and looked at Ginny. “Hey, hon. Can I get a glass too?” How much had she heard?

  “Of course.” Ginny was on her feet in an instant. “I’ll be right back.”

  Damon shifted toward Vivian. He’d spent hours surrounded by girls taking their clothes off, but Vivian sat next to him in a simple button-down top and leather skirt, and his cock instantly perked to life. “What are you doing here?” he asked.

  “I’m looking for you.”

  “Here?”

  She gestured around her. “Middle-class club, cheap drinks, full nudity, and more than half an hour from the hotel.”

  That she second-guessed him so well was more of a blow to his ego than he’d like. Apparently getting distracted made him predictable. “So now everyone can read me?”

  She furrowed her brow, studied him, and then glanced over his shoulder toward the bar. “She must be interesting. I’ve got to hear this. And I may have flirted with the hotel desk clerk, and slipped him a fifty to tell me he recommended you try The Glass Slipper.”

  Ginny set another glass in front of Vivian and filled it. “Is this her?”

  Vivian rolled her eyes, but she was smiling. “I’m glad I’m not the only one distracted by us.”

  Ginny looked her over. “You’re not as old as he said. I bet you still have wicked moves.”

  “I can’t believe you told her how old I am.”

  Damon should have walked out of the club the moment he heard Vivian’s voice. Instead, he watched her, letting her soft perfume bring his thoughts under control—and damn, if he wasn’t fantasizing about her on stage. “You don’t doubt it for a second. And she’s right. You look better than any girl in here.”

  Ginny cleared her throat. “Not any girl, but I do see why he’s moping. You two are cute together.” She grabbed Vivian’s hand and tugged. “You should dance for him. He’s so infatuated with you, he hasn’t looked at anyone else all night”—she adjusted her breasts—”not for lack of me trying.”

  Vivian looked back at him

  He shrugged. “It’s true. Also, I’d love to see you up there again.”

  “Come on.” Ginny pulled again. “Teach a girl how it’s done?”

  “No.” Vivia
n’s protest was strong, but she didn’t move to pull away. “Definitely not. Especially in public.”

  Ginny let go of Vivian’s hand, dropped into her lap, and draped her arms around Vivian’s neck. “I’ll go up there with you. Please?” Ginny’s smile turned sweet, and she widened her eyes. “I won’t make more in tips the entire week.”

  Damon saw Vivian’s hesitation. The waver in her eyes. The consideration. He didn’t have to ask or guess. The temptation of being on stage again, along with helping out the girl, was winning her over.

  “No one’s going to let me up there.” Vivian’s tone was wavering. “Insurance issues, and all that bullshit.”

  Ginny nodded toward the bar. “See the bartender? He’s best friends with the owner. Manages the place. We’re fucking. He’s not going to stop me if I make him money. You, my gorgeous dear—high class, blonde, thin—with little old innocent me? That’ll make him money.” She leaned in and whispered something in Vivian’s ear.

  Vivian laughed and shook her head. “That’s happening anyway.”

  “Yeah, you’re right. But don’t let that stop you.”

  Damon knew why Vivian hesitated. As alluring as the idea was to her, if anyone recognized her, it could be disastrous for her career. He pulled out his wallet and slid his credit card to Ginny. “I want your most expensive bottle of champagne, and the room that goes with it.”

  It wasn’t for drinking, it was to secure a VIP room for the next hour.

  Ginny grabbed his card, and offered Vivian her free hand. “Don’t make me look bad.”

  “Keep up, kiddo,” Vivian said.

  VIVIAN STEPPED INTO a second floor room with Damon and Ginny. There was enough space for a couch, an ice bucket with two bottles in it, and a small area to dance in. A curtain covered the far wall, and Vivian knew drawing it back would reveal the main stage down below. Something told her they wouldn’t do that tonight.

  Her entire day had been an exercise in futility when it came to focus, which worsened after she’d gotten that fucking cruel email of Damon’s. She’d stewed on the message most of the day, hating herself for missing him, and struggling with the question of what now. By the time five rolled around, she decided there was really only one choice. She needed one more taste, before Damon went back home, and something told her he wouldn’t complain. If all they had was this weekend, she was going to live it for all it was worth.

  She hadn’t expected that to include stripping, but the idea enticed her anyway. Of teasing Damon. Of flirting with this willing girl who made Vivian feel old and young at the same time. And with the promise of privacy, she couldn’t to refuse the temptation.

  Music filtered into the room through invisible speakers, and Ginny swayed with the beat. Damon wrapped an arm around Vivian’s waist, and pulled her close. “Fuck, I’m glad to see you.” His voice was low, meant only for her ears.

  A simple phrase that filled her with a reassurance she hadn’t realized she needed. She rested her hands on his chest, and pushed out of his reach with a laugh. “No touching the girls, Sir.” She winked.

  He shook his head, and sank onto the couch. “Of course not.”

  Ginny’s exaggerated cough filled the room, as a new song kicked on and a pounding dance beat rolled through the floor. “Not that I’m complaining, but the drinks buy my time, not yours.”

  Vivian definitely liked this girl. She saw why Damon had been enjoying her company. She stepped up next to the redhead, instinct flowing back with the music, and driving her hips to sway.

  Ginny moved fluidly along with her, sliding her back against Vivian’s chest, then spinning. As long as Vivian didn’t overthink her movements, they came easily—gliding her hands up Ginny’s sides when the younger girl draped her arms around Vivian’s neck. Grinding against her. Diving into the music.

  As the first song wound down, and the next one took its place, Vivian trailed her fingers down Ginny’s chest, undoing each button without hesitation, and finally pushing her top to the ground.

  Each time Vivian caught Damon’s eye, her pulse spiked. The contact from the dancer was pleasant. Soft fingers striping off Vivian’s top. Manicured nails teasing over her skin. But her responses were simple and physical. It was the way Damon’s gaze stayed on her, heated and intense, that made her heart hammer against her ribs, and her pulse speed through her veins.

  As song two ended, both women wore only their underwear. Vivian was impressed. Ginny knew her stuff. Song three started. In an onstage set, the remaining clothes would fall away quickly, to give any patient customer a glimpse of what they’d waited for.

  Surprise tickled Vivian’s senses, when Ginny draped her arms around Vivian’s neck, pulled her close, and whispered, “I’m gonna grab a smoke. The room’s yours, and I promise no one’s asking any questions.”

  “Thanks.” Vivian couldn’t completely hide her smile.

  Ginny scooped up her clothes, and pulled them on as she headed for the door.

  Damon raised his brows, but quickly returned his attention to Vivian when they were the only two left the in the room.

  “Remember the rules.” Vivian danced closer. She was going to enjoy the hell out of this. “No touching.”

  Damon leaned back on the sofa, feet planted on the ground, and arms stretched to either side. “All right. I’ll play.”

  Being alone with him dialed her arousal past one-hundred. It was the perfect blend of then and now. She never stopped swaying to the music, as she lifted her hair above her head and let it fall again in a curtain around her face. She swayed her hips and unhooked her bra. The garment dropped away and the cool air rushed into caress her bare breasts.

  His attention trailed along her form, and her already hard nipples ached with memories of his touch. Part of her whispered something was wrong with this. No, she argued back. This was all so right.

  She hooked her thumbs in her panties, shimmied the lace down her legs, and kicked the clothing aside. The air kissed the wetness between her thighs, and she bit her bottom lip at the rush of desire. The need to touch herself, or better yet, let him do it.

  “I can help you out, if you’d like.” Damon offered, as if reading her thoughts.

  She shook her head. This was about the show. Whatever wicked things he had in store for her came later. “I said, no touching.”

  He shook his head, but he was smiling. “We’ll do it your way, for now.”

  She straddled his legs, hips following the beat. It wasn’t a proper lap dance unless she was in his lap. She saw his fists clench until his knuckles paled, but he kept his hands to himself. They’d only done this a few times when they dated. Doing something like buying a private room wasn’t in the budget.

  Even then, they’d followed the no sex in the VIP room rule, regardless of the fact most girls broke it occasionally. It wasn’t about behaving, it was about the tension of keeping their hands to themselves until they were back home.

  She draped her arms around his neck, and ground to the rhythm, never lowering herself completely into his lap. Everywhere his gaze traveled, scalding heat rose on her skin. She was close enough to feel his erection. Lowered just enough to brush but not press into it. Which one of them was turned on more?

  She didn’t think it mattered.

  “You’re fucking killing me, Vi.”

  She dipped her head next to his, and hovered her lips over his ear when she spoke. “I’m sure you can hold out. You’re all about the self-control, Counselor.”

  “Not when it comes to you.” His growl vibrated at a frequency she felt rumble through her entire body.

  Before she could shift her weight, he grabbed her wrists and pinned them behind her back in one hand, and fisted her hair with the other. If she’d been turned on before, it was a dim light compared to the excitement that flared inside at his possessive grip. His familiar scent—warm, safe, dangerous—engulfed her and filled her head. He trailed his nose along her neck, until his mouth found hers, and he gave her a fast but d
esperate kiss. “I want new rules.”

  “Not here. My place.”

  “Did you just tell me no?”

  She lowered herself into his lap, and pressed against his cock, shifting her weight enough to tease. “Don’t worry. I don’t plan on making a habit of it. I want you for more than just the next hour.”

  The closeness of his body, the heat, spiked her euphoria. He locked his gaze on hers. “Why are you here?”

  She shook her head. “I’ll tell you in the morning, because you’ll be there for me to tell.” She leaned forward and crushed her mouth to his. Hungry, needing to taste him.

  He jerked her head back, and lay a row of nips down her neck, to her collarbone. He kissed back up to her shoulder, and sucked and bit the tender flesh. She dug her fingers into his arms and ground against him.

  “What makes you so sure I’m going home with you?” Gravel lined his voice.

  She shifted her weight until her hip met his hard cock, and then pressed against him. “Instinct.”

  He pulled her head back enough to look her in the eye. “I’m not going to be gentle when I finally get my chance.”

  Her pulse thrummed, and her chest tightened in anticipation. “I wouldn’t want it any other way.” She knew this was dangerous for her heart. Worse than it had been fourteen years ago. Worse than letting him in earlier this week. She didn’t care. He’d become an all-consuming thought. A desire she couldn’t sate with thoughts and memories alone.

  Chapter Fourteen

  THEY TOOK VIVIAN’S car, but she asked Damon to drive. By the time they reached her building, anticipation hummed through her veins, and his promise danced along her skin. He made minimum contact. A hand on her back, as he held the car door open. A brush on the arm, as they stepped into her place. Never more than a whisper of heat through her clothing.