by Mia Sheridan
I changed quickly into my uniform—tiny white shorts, a black-and-white-striped shirt that tied between my boobs, and red stiletto heels—and opened the door to do a few last rounds of the bar floor. I startled, as did the man standing outside, leaning against the opposite hallway wall. What the hell? Where was Anthony? My eyes darted down the empty hall, no Anthony in sight. The man—he was the one I’d wondered about earlier—stood tall and ran a hand through his brown hair, looking momentarily unsure.
“You’re not supposed to be back here,” I said, crossing my arms over my breasts, unsure why I was attempting to cover what he’d probably been gawking at earlier.
“I’m sorry. I wasn’t sure of the protocol.”
I raised a brow. “Protocol?”
He shook his head slightly. “The, ah, procedure for meeting with you.”
I cocked my head to the side. Okay, this guy was potentially crazy. “The procedure is that you have to go through Anthony. Big black guy? Mean looking? Snaps men in half if they mess with one of his girls.” My eyes darted down the hallway again.
“Ah. Yeah, he’s breaking up a fight outside.”
I glanced back to him. “Uh-huh. And so you made your move?” I took one step back into the room, ready to barricade myself inside if he tried anything.
He blinked and paused for a second before reaching into his coat pocket. Bringing his hand out, he tossed something my way. Instinct made me reach out and catch it. A set of keys. I looked at him, creasing my brow in confusion.
“If I do anything to make you nervous, you can gouge my eyes out with one of those.”
“Gouge your eyes out? Yeah, I’d really rather not.”
“I won’t give you reason to. I don’t mean you any harm.”
Anthony appeared at the end of the hallway, shaking his hand as if he’d injured it. “Yo, you’re not supposed to be back here.” Oh, thank God.
“I know. I’m sorry. I didn’t know the rules.”
“Ignorance is no excuse, my man. Gotta eighty-six your ass. You okay, Crys?” I nodded.
“I only want ten minutes,” the man said quickly, raising his hands. I wasn’t sure if he was doing an I’m unarmed gesture or whether his ten fingers went in tandem with the promise of limited time.
“Sorry, my lap-dance card is full for the night, sugar.”
“I don’t want a lap dance. I just want to talk.”
Ah, one of those. I almost rolled my eyes. But something inside made me pause. I couldn’t say what it was. He was handsome, sure. Pretty, even, with that thick brown hair curling up at his collar and classic masculine bone structure. But I’d known a few handsome men in my time. Each one had a mean streak three miles wide. Handsome got you a big fat nowhere in the end. In fact, sometimes worse off. In my experience, the handsome ones thought they were God’s gift to womankind, and that it was their moral duty to spread themselves far and wide.
No, it was something other than that. It was his eyes. His eyes held some sort of innocence I hadn’t seen before. Gentleness I certainly wasn’t used to. His expression was hopeful, but not desperate, and I didn’t detect lust in his eyes. He looked … sincere. Maybe he really did just want to talk. “It’s okay, Anthony.”
Anthony lowered the hand that had been about to clamp down on the man’s arm and stepped back. “You sure?”
“Yeah.” I looked at the man. “Ten minutes.” I held the keys up, one stuck through my fingers. “And don’t make me use these. I don’t want to but if you force the issue, you’ll exit this room blind, sugar.”
“Gabriel,” he said, a small smile lighting his face. “My name is Gabriel.” Like the angel? No wonder I’d thought he didn’t belong here.
“All right.” I stood aside, and he moved past me into the room. I nodded once at Anthony and then pushed the door so it still stood halfway open. I knew Anthony would stay close by.
“So what brings a nice guy like you to this den of sin, sugar?”
“Gabriel. And you’re Crystal?”
“Around here I am.”
He looked at me steadily, and it was disconcerting. After a moment he nodded as if he understood something I didn’t. “I see.”
At his words, his knowing look, a small burst of flustered anger ricocheted through my belly like the ball in a pinball machine. I smiled suggestively and took a seat on the small, dirty gold settee, reclining, and then crossing my legs. I used my hands to play idly with the knotted material between my breasts. I watched his eyes follow my movement and flare slightly before he looked away. Ah, there it was—lust. Just like every other man. Familiar. I took a breath, satisfaction and calm moving through me. “So what is it you want to talk about?”
He cleared his throat and put his hands in his pockets, tilting his head slightly so his hair fell across his forehead. His posture, the way he squinted slightly as he looked at me, triggered my memory, and I suddenly realized how I knew him. Lost boy. The words moved through my mind as if someone had scribbled them there. His name was Gabriel Dalton, and he’d gone missing when he was a kid. It was a big-time national news story when he escaped his kidnapper and came home. I was only a pre-teen at the time, but I’d still heard about it here and there. Of course, right about the time Gabriel had come home, my world was—yet again—falling apart.
The last time I saw his picture on the news had been a while ago, but I knew for certain who he was now. “You shouldn’t be in a place like this. If someone recognizes you, I imagine they’ll be real eager to take your picture.”
He froze for a portion of a second before relaxing again. He took a seat in the metal chair across from where I sat and looked at me expectantly, like one of the men waiting for a lap dance. Only … different somehow. I wished I could pinpoint what it was that looked so wrong about him sitting there. Maybe it was that he looked nice. And I couldn’t ever remember thinking that about anyone who walked through the door of this club. He blew a breath out slowly and ran a hand through his hair, moving it off his forehead. “I guess it’s good you recognized me. Might make this a little easier.” He seemed to be talking more to himself and so I didn’t respond. He looked straight at me. “I probably should have thought this out a little more instead of just showing up.” He rubbed his palms on his thighs as if his hands were sweating.
“Are you going to get to what you want, or am I supposed to guess?”
He shook his head. “No, no, I’m sorry. I don’t want to waste your time.” He paused again. “The thing is, Crys—” He cleared his throat. “The thing is, because of my history, which it sounds like you know a little bit about, I, uh, find it difficult to tolerate … closeness.” Two pink spots appeared on his cheekbones. Was he blushing? God, I didn’t even know men could blush. As if my opinion of him mattered somehow. Something small and warm moved through me, something I had little idea how to identify.
“Closeness?” I frowned, uncomfortable with the softness in my tone.
He pressed his lips together, the color in his cheeks increasing. “I find it difficult to get physically close to people. Or rather, I find it emotionally distressing. Uh …” He laughed softly, an embarrassed sound. “God, this didn’t sound so pitiful in my head.” He looked somewhere behind me. “Or maybe it did. Maybe it’s just worse hearing it out loud.”
“What is it I can do for you exactly, sugar?” My voice still sounded soft. Helplessly, my heart squeezed, and I felt a shiver of compassion run through me for the way Gabriel was struggling in front of me. The unfamiliar emotion unbalanced me, and I drew myself up straighter.
“Gabriel,” he corrected.
“Okay, what is it I can do for you, Gabe?” He didn’t smile with his mouth, but his eyes squinted slightly as if he was. But then the lines around his eyes smoothed out, and I wondered if that had been a sort of smile, or just my imagination.
“You can help me practice being touched by a woman. Getting comfortable with someone in my personal space.”
I blinked at him as he looke
d down at his hands in his lap. “You want me to help you with that?”
His gaze met mine and I saw that gentleness there again—hope—and something about that expression aimed right at me made me feel good and … needed. For the bare glimmer of a moment, it made me feel as if he saw more in me than just the piece of ass all the other men who came to this club viewed me as.
“I’ll pay you, obviously. It would be an after-hours job, nothing more. You wouldn’t even have to take your clothes off.”
You wouldn’t even have to take your clothes off.
His words brought me up cold, snapping me back to reality, reminding me that he saw me exactly as other men did, in fact exactly as I was. With my defenses firmly back in place, I stood, picking up the keys next to me on the settee, tossing them his way. He caught them with one hand. “Listen, as much as I hate to turn down a paying gig, I’m no therapist, okay? You want to learn how to touch someone, get a girlfriend. You’re a good-looking guy. I’m sure there are plenty of sweet, wholesome girls who wouldn’t mind you practicing on them for free.”
He stood, too. “I’ve insulted you.”
I laughed. “Sugar, I can’t be insulted.”
“Everyone can be insulted.” Regret laced his tone. He put his hands in his pockets and tilted his head in that way of his, his hair falling over his forehead again. My fingers twitched to smooth it away from his eyes. What is wrong with me?
I felt my skin prickling with unease. Everything about Gabriel made me feel uneasy. I needed him to leave. “You don’t know me, Gabe. Thanks for the job offer, but I’m going to decline. I do wish you luck with your little problem. Ten minutes is up.”
He sighed, not moving. “I really am sorry. God, this didn’t go the way I meant it to.”
“I’m sure it didn’t.” I held the door open.
Outside, Anthony was sitting in a chair, wrapping a bandage around his injured hand. “Things kosher?”
I nodded jerkily as Gabriel moved past me. He stopped when he crossed the threshold and turned back to me. “I really am sorry,” he said.
I crossed my arms over my chest, my eyes meeting his. Standing this close, I could see that his eyes were hazel with striations of copper. His lashes were thick and lush, curled up slightly—lashes any girl would kill for.
I took a small step back, putting even more distance between us, and blew out a breath. “It’s fine. Really. Good luck again.”
He started to turn away but then looked back. “Can I just ask one more question?”
I moved from one leg to the other. “Sure.”
“What were you thinking when you looked at me from the stage? When our eyes met.”
I frowned slightly, about to deny I’d been thinking anything at all but deciding it didn’t matter at that point. I’d never see him again. “I was thinking you didn’t belong here.” And I’d been right.
He paused, his expression enigmatic as his eyes moved over my face. “Huh. Funny,” he finally murmured. “I was thinking the very same thing about you.”
I laughed, a short huff of sound. “Well, you were wrong there. This is the one place I do belong, sugar.”
“Gabriel.” His lips tipped up slightly, his eyes lingering on me for a heartbeat too long, before he turned and walked away.
CHAPTER TWO
Focus on the good things, even when they’re simple. Then bury them deep so only you know where they are.
Shadow, the Baron of Wishbone
GABRIEL
I’d fucked that up royally. You can help me practice being touched by a woman. For the love of Christ. No wonder she’d told me to leave. I’d sounded like some sort of psychopath. I shifted into park, turned my truck off, and waited in my driveway for a minute. What the hell had I been thinking? Not only had I messed things up, and presented myself as completely pathetic, I’d insulted her.
Crystal.
What was her real name? I wondered who she was, wondered why my heart had begun to beat insistently against my chest—as if trying to get my attention—when she’d stepped onto that stage, that distant, removed look on her beautiful face. As if she were made of stone. And yet her body moved so fluidly, so gracefully. She fascinated me. I hadn’t gone there for anything more than to find a woman who might be willing to take on a small side job far less “hands on”—so to speak—than what was procured in the back rooms of a place like the Platinum Pearl. But she had intrigued me, caught my attention, and hadn’t let go. Something about her … called to me. Something that had nothing at all to do with her skimpy outfit or overt sexuality. Something that had nothing to do with the reason I was there in the first place. I let out a small, humorless chuckle that turned into a groan as I raked my hands through my hair.
I couldn’t deny I was attracted to her, but even I wasn’t stupid or inexperienced enough to think developing a crush on a stripper would be a good idea.
In retrospect, it had been a bad plan from the start. And I realized that the moment I’d voiced my reason for being there to her and watched the expression on her face change from wary to surprised to … hurt. Yes, it was hurt that flashed across her features before her face had gone hard again. If eyes were windows to the soul, I’d witnessed the closed sign being flipped over within the speed of a single blink. How long had it taken her to master that?
I’d told her she wouldn’t have to take her clothes off, as if she should be thankful for the opportunity not to be demoralized. And yet, isn’t that really what my whole plan did? Use her? I hadn’t thought much of the nameless her when I’d come up with the idea—I’d only thought of myself. God, I’d acted like an asshole. It was a terrible idea. An embarrassing idea. Made even worse by the fact that she’d recalled my story, probably remembered my full name.
I hadn’t anticipated that. Most people who hadn’t seen me somewhat regularly in the past twelve years didn’t recognize me. I’d stayed out of the spotlight, hadn’t granted any interviews, had grown up. I hadn’t worried too much about people in a town miles and miles away—that I hadn’t visited since I was a kid—knowing who I was. But she had. I wondered if it was part of the reason she’d rejected my request …
I shook my head in an attempt to shake myself free of my own thoughts and got out of my truck, closing the door as quietly as possible. I stood for a moment under the pale moonlight, inhaling a slow breath and closing my eyes as I blew it out. My night had crashed and burned in one regard, but I took a moment to soak in the thankfulness I felt for the sweet freshness of the night air, the breath filling my lungs, and the wide-open expanse all around me.
My house was dark except for the shifting glow of the TV in the living room. No doubt my brother was passed out in the recliner, as he was most nights. I’d move past him into the hallway, and he’d never even know how late I’d been out. I didn’t feel like answering any questions. Especially not tonight.
“Where’ve you been?”
I huffed out a surprised breath, dropping my keys in the basket by the door. “Just having a few drinks in town.”
“In town?” He looked surprised. And why wouldn’t he? He knew I avoided town.
“Havenfield.”
Dominic took a swig from the beer in his hand and scratched his bare belly. “Ah, the town forty-five minutes away.” He paused. “I would have gone with you.”
“I felt like being alone.”
One brow rose slowly as he took another swig. “You meet up with a woman, big bro?” His voice was teasing, but also slightly hopeful, which made me feel pathetic all over again. Behind him a woman moaned loudly, and my eyes went to the porn playing on the TV. He followed my gaze and then turned back toward me, grinning.
“Can you watch that in your room?”
“Why? You weren’t home.”
“Because I sit on that furniture, too, and now I’ll be second-guessing that.”
He nodded, shooting me another unrepentant grin. “Yeah, probably not a good idea.”
“Nice, Dominic,”
I muttered before heading for my room.
“Hey, Gabe, you left this in the living room.”
I turned around, freezing when I saw the large envelope he was holding, the one with the University of Vermont emblem on the front, the one addressed to me. I moved quickly, grabbing it from him.
“I didn’t leave this in the living room. It was in my room by the computer.” I glared at him.
He shrugged and I let out an angry grunt as I turned again, walking toward my room.
“It was a nice letter she wrote you. You gonna do it?” he asked.
I paused in my doorway, not turning my head. “I don’t know. I haven’t decided.”
“Could be good.”
“Could be.”
“She’s hot. I looked her up,” he said. “Of course, it was easy. I see you did, too—found it right in the search history. See you’ve gone back to her bio a couple of times. Is she who you’ve been on the phone with lately?”
Jesus. “Try minding your own business once in a while.” I closed my door behind me to the sound of Dominic’s chuckle.
“You are my business, Gabriel Dalton,” I heard him yell.
Clenching my jaw, I stood on the other side of the door, reining in my annoyance at my nosy younger brother. I loved Dominic, but I hated constantly feeling crowded by him.
I looked down at the envelope in my hands, the letter from Chloe Bryant peeking from the top where Dominic had obviously pulled it out. I threw it down on my desk and went to the window, opening it wide. I needed the night air flowing in, the sound of swaying trees and a croaking bullfrog nearby. Peace. Calm.
I lay down on my bed, bringing the vision of Chloe’s picture to my mind—the bio photo that had been published along with an article she had written and suggested I read as part of her online résumé. Chloe, with the brown curls and big green eyes. Chloe, with her open, guileless smile.