For nearly two goddamn months it had been like this. I’d start working out on the bag or the weights or in the ring, and at some point, her face would appear in my mind’s eye like a taunt.
Or a disease.
The way I felt every time I thought about her sure as hell made it seem like I had some kind of illness. I’d start sweating—more than usual—my heart would pound, and my hands would start shaking. Again, more than usual.
Then I’d usually have to go stroke one out somewhere. Locked inside a bathroom stall, or upstairs in my old apartment. Or right behind my own fucking desk. The owner of the most popular gym in Brooklyn was regularly masturbating in his office to the image of one girl.
Well, it was more to a dance.
And I didn’t even know her name.
Other than the fact that she could move like the kind of dream a man never wanted to wake up from, all I knew was that she was a dancer at Rumors, one of the less seedier strip clubs in the city. The first time I saw her was at my brother Cris’s bachelor party two months ago. She’d caught my eye as she was slinging drinks to the customers at the tables, and I’d paid for a private dance from her specifically. Of course, that dance had gotten interrupted by my brothers, and I had to bail out of there.
Right before the best damn part.
I knew it made me sound like a horny teenager who’d never seen actual tits outside of porn before. I knew it made me sound like some quick draw douchebag who couldn’t hold his nut long enough to get his girl off first.
But I’d wanted to see her bare breasts more than I’d wanted to fucking breathe.
They were quite possibly the most perfect pair I’d ever laid eyes on in my life. And not to sound like a complete tool, but I’d seen my fair share of beautiful racks. But my dumbass brothers had burst into the room before she’d been able to untie her skimpy little top.
I was convinced that was the only reason why I hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her. Because I was fixated on her tits, and I’d be like a dog with a bone until I got to see all of them.
Fucking juvenile and pathetic, Rossetti.
So, I’d gone back to the club.
Twice.
Both times she had been serving drinks and working private rooms, but was never up onstage, which I thought was interesting. Girls could make damn good money in the private rooms, especially if they did what wasn’t supposed to go on back there but oftentimes did. Christ, I hope she doesn’t partake in that action.
But they could pull in some serious bank on the stage.
I’d always assumed the draw for most women who became strippers was the money. Obviously, it came with sacrifices, but money was money. Some may do it for the attention, because of daddy issues, or because they had no other marketable skills. No judgment here. Her body, her choice.
But what was her deal?
If she needed money, why didn’t she dance onstage?
For some reason I had yet to identify, I hadn’t paid for another private dance from her either of those nights. I’d simply watched her like a fucking stalker—a theme that seemed to run with the men in my family—and took note of everything she did. Thanks to my military and special ops training, I used a lot of observation techniques that allowed me to see things most people would never notice with the naked eye.
For instance, my girl had manners.
An odd observation, perhaps, but a genuinely sweet, polite girl kind of stuck out in a rowdy strip club. The dancers were generally flirtatious and brazen with customers, always working for more tips. But instead of being seductive and trying to upsell, my girl was courteous and kind to everyone she interacted with.
Even the gropey, drunken assholes that I’d itched to send to the ER in fucking body casts.
She’d also been hyper alert.
Her eyes had constantly darted all over the room, everywhere she went, tracking all the action around her. Frankly, I think the only thing she hadn’t noticed was me sitting in the very back corner, in another waitress’s section. Now, any smart woman in her job would stay on her guard throughout her entire shift. Basic common sense.
But this girl’s attentiveness seemed to almost run to…survival instincts.
In addition to her seemingly sweet disposition, my girl seemed to have a sense of humor about her. She’d made a lot of her customers laugh out loud, and it hadn’t been faked or a way of ingratiating herself to them. I could tell the difference.
And like an asshole, I’d been desperate to hear what she’d been saying to those other men. What jokes she’d graced them with. I’d wanted her to hit me with those punchlines.
Jesus Christ.
What a fucking sap I was turning out to be. I needed someone to hit me all right, but in a much different way.
But the shiniest observation of all had obviously been her body.
It wasn’t something I could have ignored. Not in those tiny shorts that had only partially covered her ass and the crop top that had laughably attempted to conceal her generous chest. The girl wasn’t just naturally fit and thin. With that kind of muscle tone and definition, she regularly worked out. That couldn’t have all been from working the pole because she didn’t even seem to work it. Her glossy, raven hair had reached her lower back and was so black it had looked almost blue. With her dark skin and shorter height, I was guessing a Latina heritage.
Putting all of that together, I’d discerned that she had a higher than average intelligence, some level of street smarts, and a charming, gregarious nature.
And I had no fucking clue what letters from what alphabet that spelled out.
I’d decided I wouldn’t go back again. I didn’t need her kind of distraction in my life—I had enough shit going on as it was. My odd fascination was just an anomaly that would go away with time.
I’d been telling myself that for two goddamn months.
Hoping I’d shake it, shake her.
No dice.
She’d pop into my head at the most inconvenient of times. Like when I was working out. Or when I was around my family and saw my brothers living out their own happily-ever-afters. Or when I was trying to get my cock between another woman’s legs.
I hadn’t been able to seal the deal with anyone since the first night I saw her.
This is getting fucking ridiculous.
Jab. Cross. Uppercut.
Cross. Hook. Straight Kick.
Her.
Jab. Jab. Jab. Jab. Jab. JAB.
“Uh, excuse me?”
The feminine voice barely cut through the adrenaline pumping inside my veins and echoing loudly in my ears. I dropped my fists and caught the swaying punching bag that I’d sent rocking on its chains.
Without turning around, I began unwrapping the tape around my knuckles. “Gym’s closed. Talk to the front desk tomorrow about starting a membership. They’ll hook you up with a trainer, too, if you need.”
I always had members and non-members approaching me, either wanting me to train them in the ring—or cage—or asking for autographs. I’d started working out only at night after the gym closed just so I could get through an entire routine without being interrupted.
“No, um, I have a food delivery. For a, uh…” The sound of crinkling paper reached my ears. “Luka Rossetti?”
Oh, right.
One of the trainers who worked for me had recommended a new Mexican place a few blocks away. After skipping lunch, I’d decided to order a late dinner, but wasn’t so hungry anymore.
“Right, yeah,” I mumbled, turning around. “Let me go get my wallet.”
I lifted my head and locked eyes with—
Her.
The sensual dancer. The observant waitress. The sweet joke-teller.
I froze.
Was this really happening? Had I pictured her in my mind so many times that I’d managed to make her materialize right in front of me?
Her eyes widened in recognition.
Yeah, she knew who I was. It may have been dark in t
hat private room, but she’d seen enough of my face. And judging by the way her breaths started coming faster, I’d say she remembered exactly how hard I was when she’d been grinding her plump little ass against my lap.
I lied.
I was very hungry. Starving, actually.
The paper bag in her hand hit the floor.
“You…” she breathed.
Fucking me, baby girl.
And you and I have some unfinished business.
Stay tuned for more updates and teasers from Glitter and Greed (Brooklyn Brothers #4), coming soon!
Also by Melanie Munton:
Southern Hearts Club:
The Divorce Attorney
The Six Month Lease
Brooklyn Brothers:
Lace & Lies
Scars & Sins
Sultry Nights:
Salsa (Sultry Nights 1)
Tango (Sultry Nights 2)
Rumba (Sultry Nights 3)
Samba (Sultry Nights 4)
Mambo (Sultry Nights 5)
Standalone romance:
King of the Court
The Unforgettable Kind
Slow Seductions series:
Casual Affair (Slow Seductions #1)
Sweet Attraction (Slow Seductions #2)
Cruz Brothers series:
Playing for Kinley (Cruz Brothers #1)
The Art of Sage (Cruz Brothers #2)
Always Mickie (Cruz Brothers #3)
Timid Souls novellas:
Stubborn Hearts
Unexpected Love
Possession and Politics Trilogy:
Part One
Part Two
Part Three
Sign up for my newsletter
at
www.melaniemunton.com
and
Follow me on BookBub
at
www.bookbub.com/profile/melanie-munton
Send me an email at:
[email protected]
Also follow me on:
Facebook
Twitter
Pinterest
Instagram
Goodreads
As always, to my husband Sean, I probably never would have started writing if it wasn’t for you. You’ve supported and encouraged me from day one, and made me believe that I could accomplish great things. YOU make my dreams possible. Thank you for that, and for every other beautiful thing you bring to my life.
To all of my readers, those who have been with me from the beginning and those who are brand new, THANK YOU times infinity. I cannot begin to tell you how much it means to me to hear how much you love our possessive, jealous, demanding Brooklyn Brothers! These men represent so much of what I love most in an alpha male. It makes my heart swell SO big when readers take the time to message me personally about how much they’ve enjoyed these brothers’ stories. Your feedback over the years has been amazing, and your support has been overwhelming. I know that if you guys aren’t happy, I’m not happy, so I always want to hear from you. Thank you so much for hopping on this rollercoaster with me, and for sticking with me throughout my journey! I so so soooo appreciate all of your love!
Melanie grew up in a small town in rural Missouri. After marrying her husband, she decided she wanted to try coastal life because why not? A few months later, they moved to North Carolina where she discovered her passion for writing, and they never looked back. They are now enjoying life with their beautiful daughter in Savannah, GA and loving every minute with their little Georgia peach.
Melanie’s other passion is traveling and seeing the world. With anthropology degrees under their belts, she and her husband have made it their goal in life to see as many archaeological sites around the world as possible.
She has a horrible food addiction to pasta and candy (not together…ew). And she gets sad when her wine rack is empty.
At the end of the day, she is a true romantic at heart. She loves writing the cheesy and corny of romantic comedies, and the sassy and sexy of suspense. She aims to make her readers swoon, laugh out loud, maybe sweat a little, and above all, fall in love.
Booze and Bullets (Brooklyn Brothers #3) Page 35