Chapter 7 #2
I don’t know if it’s the “no touching” rule that contributes to the sensuality, the fact that the gesture is innocent in a house of lust, or the act of something forbidden making the fruit taste all the sweeter.
Our fingers don’t even interlace. Instead, my callused grip reflexively tightens around her softness, and her breath hitches.
Thankfully, my scars don’t extend to my palms like my brother’s do or she might have questions.
The more distance I have from any Fury-related backstory, the better.
“This,” I say when she’s just staring at me. She doesn’t move as I trace the red heart over the globes of her ass, not touching her. Then my gaze lifts to her tits, where her thin, white bra barely hides the red heart pasties over her nipples. “And those. You have hearts on.”
My heartbeat thuds in my chest as I try to sound flirtatious rather than panicked. For effect, I lick my lips like I want to eat her—not a lie if I wasn’t constantly worried about fucking this up—and enjoy the way her lashes grow heavy, her gaze going from alarmed to hooded with only a few words.
“You’re Alice, turned Queen of Hearts on that stage,” I explain then peer behind her. Her eyes follow my pointed finger at the curtain. “This is the Queen of Hearts booth right? Fitting.”
“Fitting,” she murmurs. Her posture relaxes, and so do I, letting her hand go before she realizes I broke a rule and calls that executioner motherfucker.
She clears her throat and nods to herself. “Right. Obviously.”
“Obviously.” I echo and cock a smile as I rest my hands on my lap. “Now… before you go scampering off like a little bunny rabbit again, I do believe you owe me the rest of a lap dance?”
Her eyes flare and her breath hitches slightly.
I’m flirting with disaster right now. But something about her fear of getting caught just then, that someone found the McKennon Queen of Hearts, makes me want to know just how safe she feels.
This is the longest location she’s hid out in so far, but if she’s ready to flee at the mere whisper of a wrong word, why the hell is she here?
There’s gotta be somewhere safer, right? Some place she can feel more secure?
My mind races with questions as she exhales again.
“Yes. Your private lap dance.” She overenunciates every word like she’s getting acquainted with them. “Semi-private, of course. Because on the floor it’s more chatty and then the private private happens in VIP, but that can include a lot more than just a lap dance, and I—” she clears her throat.
She’s rambling. Why the hell is she rambling? Is it me? Shit, I’ve made her uncomfortable.
“Relax, bunny,” I chuckle lightly, hoping to ease her nerves. “It’s just a dance.”
After her performance on stage, I would’ve assumed she’d be confident as hell during a private dance. But it’s like she’s never—
Holy shit.
“You’ve never done this before.”
Her eyes widen. “Y-Yes I have.”
“No…” I slowly shake my head, sounding out the word.
“The stage stuff you’ve done. But you’ve never done this part before.
What’d you call them? Semi-private dances?
And the floor—you said it’s ‘more chatty?’ That’s all you do, isn’t it?
The stage and talk on the floor, where you don’t have to get this up close and personal? ”
She rolls her lips between her teeth, like she’s holding back telling me I’m right, and I know I’ve got her.
“Okay then,” I say and rest back against the seat. I pat the spot next to me. “Let’s just talk.”
“Just… talk.” Her lips purse, eyes darting to where I patted the booth.
“Yeah,” I shrug. “Just talk.”
“And you’re okay with that? You paid a lot of money.” Her brows are so furrowed her mask is bunched in the center, and her words are laced with suspicion. “Not many men would be okay with just talking, no hookah, no dance, and no touching.”
I’m not most men, I’m your goddamn fiancé. It’s right on the tip of my tongue, but I don’t like the curious way she looks at me. The last thing I need to be is memorable, even if it’s all I want.
I cross my arms and scoot over the slightest of inches to allow her room. “I don’t know. Talking’s cheaper than therapy.”
She snorts. “Not with what you’ve paid.”
“Know the going price of therapy, do you?” My question instantly makes me feel like such a prick, but the fire that flashed in her expression makes up for it.
“Do you?” she asks it with a hint of frustration, but I just answer honestly.
“I probably should.”
That makes her blink. She tilts her head, then as if she’s decided something, she steps forward to sit beside me.
I’m an asshole who refused to give her too much room, so she has to perch awkwardly on the edge of the seat to both sit facing me and without getting too close.
This girl is trying so fucking hard not to touch me, it’d be laughable if it wasn’t starting to sting.
I don’t even bother hiding my scowl as I glare at the careful inch between her knee and my thigh.
“What really brought you to The Rabbit Hole tonight, Hatter?”
“A girl.” Still annoyed, the word came out before I had a chance to finesse it, it’s only when she falters that I realize what I said.
“A girl?” Her face morphs to something between disappointment and disgust with a curl of her lip. “Like a girlfriend?”
Fuck. I could punch myself in the fucking face.
Why the hell did I say that? I couldn’t have said, “blow off some steam?” “To see a beautiful woman like her?” “To watch a dancer obviously love performing like she does?”
No, because of course I had to say the one thing that would get her running for the hills, by either turning her off or—
Or maybe… Maybe I could work this in my favor. It’s the perfect opportunity to find out what she knows about back home. There’s also the fact that I know she ran from me… but has she stayed for someone else?
Only one way to find out.
“No not a girlfriend. Just a… friend,” I begin.
She bites her pretty plump lip as she studies me, but her curiosity wins out. “Okay… why don’t you tell me about this friend. Maybe I can help.”
Maybe indeed.
I sigh, then we both find out in real time what I’m about to say as it comes out of my mouth.
“She’s my brother’s friend, actually. I think he’s in love with her, but I don’t know if he even knows that yet.
He thinks he’s acting out of responsibility, but there’s something about making sure someone is safe, taking care of them, and learning about them that can make a person fall in love, ya know? Even at a distance.”
Her nose scrunches. “Like stalking?”
I snort. “Not in his case.”
If she thinks that’s stalking, she’s gonna hate what I’m doing.
She crosses her arms. “If it’s not stalking, then what does your ‘brother’s friend’ think he’s doing?”