Total pages in book: 38
Estimated words: 34876 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 174(@200wpm)___ 140(@250wpm)___ 116(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 34876 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 174(@200wpm)___ 140(@250wpm)___ 116(@300wpm)
I can be professional. I'll show up here tomorrow, keep things strictly business from now on, and try to forget the way he tasted me like he was starving.
In that office.
On that desk.
Under his tongue.
Oh my god, what have I done?
I'm out of breath when I reach the bus stop and have to run up and slap my hand on the door of the bus as it begins to pull away.
"Hey! Wait!"
The driver looks over, the hydraulic brakes squeal, and the doors open with the sound of a steam engine releasing pressure. Another gust breaks free, and I struggle to hold my skirt in place, the chill of the air hitting my bare skin again, making me gasp.
"Get in." The dark-haired man is genial and gives me a little smile. "Kinda late for you to be standing out there."
"I know. I'm just getting off work." I gather myself as much as possible and punch up some confidence. "I dance at the Monarch."
I plop down in the front seat, just behind the driver, trying to catch my breath.
"Oh yeah? You're a dancer, are you?" His incredulous question has me letting out a long breath. It feels like I've been holding it forever.
"Yup. Just got hired. And I'm going to be the best dancer they've ever had. You should come in sometime."
He lets out a hearty laugh. It's not at all condescending, and I immediately like him.
"We'll see." He starts the bus moving forward. "The missus might not be so keen on me coming around to see some other women dance. She's my dancer, my only dancer."
The way he says it makes me sad. I can already tell he loves her, and I wonder if that'll ever be my future.
Deck was just a fluke, a momentary lapse. I have to marry Victor. In the short time I spent with Deck, he made me feel things Victor never will. But I have to think long term.
That's what Leah always says to me. She says I don't think past the end of my nose, and for once, she's right. Stick to the plan: work, money, apartment, culinary school, then marriage to Victor. Maybe I'm just fooling myself, and none of those things will happen, but I do know I'm going to try. I'm going to dance, and I'm going to show Simon and Victor that they have to give me some independence.
I mean, why do they keep us locked up? Are they afraid we'll go out and get ourselves pregnant or something?
Who knows.
I settle into the seat for the quick ride back to the estate gates. I can still taste him on my tongue. I can still feel him between my legs.
7
Decker
The club is finally back to something resembling order. The staff handled things like the trained professionals I know they are. A small fire in the VIP area. Could have been a lot worse.
Now, Allister has the four assholes that started the melee trapped in a corner, with three of our hulk bouncers behind him, along with the six male bartenders working tonight.
He’s holding them there while I hit the back door to make sure May is okay. But when I bust out into the back parking lot, my heart sinks.
Empty.
“May!” I yell, but there is nothing. Only parked cars and the sound of diesel engines from the fire trucks at the front of the building.
My head swivels frantically. I can still taste her, still smell her. Above all else, I can still feel her inside of me.
“Fuck. Goddamn it!” I spin, slamming my fists into the door, sending jolts of stabbing pain up my arms to my shoulders.
I shouldn’t have left her out here. My mind is on a rollercoaster, trying to work out where she could have gone. What if she didn’t leave on her own? What if someone…
No. I won’t even entertain that thought.
“Fuck!”
The parking lot is blocked by the fire trucks. So she didn’t go that way.
My mind spins. Where would she go?
Then I remember she said she took the bus.
Seconds later, my feet are pounding the pavement in a gallop. The wind cuts the temperature down until the chill burns my face, but I’m not stopping until I get to the bus stop a few blocks down.
The streets are empty. I turn the corner of the building and increase my strides. I’m halfway down the first block when a glint of pink shimmer catches my eye in the middle of the street.
My lungs are burning as I spring forward, knowing even before I get there what it is.
A half an hour later, I’ve called the number she’d written on the bottom of the Polaroid, but of course it’s a fake.
It’s funny, though. She put down the number of one of those ambulance-chasing attorneys that splash their mug and phone number on the sides of buses.