Half-hidden in the corner, draped in shadows and women, was a man with the kind of half-mask that belonged in a fever dream. Angelic curls, dark blond or maybe light brown, impossible to tell in this light, framed his face. His suit fit like a glove, dark and expensive, white shirt open just enough to hint at trouble. His eyes found mine across the room, pinning me in place with a look that was all confidence and secrets.
Heat flared in my cheeks. I forced myself to look away, zeroing in on the stage just as the next wave of exotic dancers spun into the spotlight, applause and music swallowing the room.
An hour later, I sipped my second Pornstar Martini while Mister X’s hands groped my breasts. He devoured my neck and décolletage with sloppy, greedy kisses. His mouth traveled lower until it came close to reaching one nipple. I pulled away, teasing him with my waving finger before turning to watch the burlesque performers on stage. Their movements were erotic and flawless when they teased the men with their seductive glances, secretive smiles, and the slow reveal of their naked skin.
Mistress B straddled me like a queen on a throne, her bewitching hips grinding slowly. Her eyes never left Mister Y. He watched, glassy-eyed and hungry, as she slid a hand between her thighs and smiled like sin. Cash spilled from his grip. He shoved it into her thong like it might buy more of her attention.
Mister X let out a groan of satisfaction when I grinned. “You’re so fucking delicious.”
“I know, handsome,” I replied, stroking his hard shoulders.
“I want to fuck you.” He glanced at his friend. “Without him.”
I placed one finger under his stubbled chin and said, “Let’s get out of here.”
Mister X nodded under the trance of my tease. His eyes glazed over with adoration and enthusiasm. A hostess with bunny ears and a bottle of chilled champagne interrupted my ascent from the chair.
“Here you go, gorgeous,” the bunny cooed, leaning in and popping the cork with a little flourish. She poured thechampagne into a crystal glass and handed it over. I glanced at the bottle of Bollinger. Old money glam.
“Damn, this stuff is fancy,” Mister X blurted as the bunny handed me a glass. Mister Y and Mistress B already had theirs, clinking glasses like they owned the place.
“I didn’t order this,” I said, eyeing the label.
Mister X shrugged and raised his glass to the group, already downing half of it.
“Oh, it’s on the house,” the hostess chimed in, flashing a smile and nodding toward the masked man from earlier, the one who’d been undressing me with his eyes.
“What’s his name?” I asked, eyes locked on the mystery man across the room. He grinned, arms filling up with burlesque dancers as they finished their act, peeling off his jacket and kissing his neck like he was the main event.
The bunny leaned in, lowering her voice. “That’s Mister Scott. Alistair Scott. He owns Lester Harbor and this club, obviously. Trust me, women would kill for a bottle of anything from him.”
I arched a brow. “Cute, but tell him he’s not the first man to buy me a drink, and he sure won’t be the last. Gonna take a lot more than Bollinger to impress me.”
She laughed, shaking her head as I lifted my glass and sent a silent toast to Mister Scott. He caught it, raising his martini, mouth curling into a wicked grin.
I drained my glass, then reached for Mister X, letting my fingers trace his jaw before whispering, “Come play.”
“What about the champagne?” he asked, eyes flickering with trouble.
I drew a lazy circle on his palm. “I’m more interested in tasting you tonight.”
He grinned. “Say the word, I’m yours.”
With a smirk, I grabbed the champagne by the neck, tugged Mister X along, and strutted out of The Church, leaving Mister Y and Mister Scott to their audience of beautiful sinners.
Alistair
Who would’ve guessed Vera Richland would walk into my club, let alone on the arm of two pretty boys? Even with that lace mask barely hiding her face, I’d know her anywhere. A woman like that could turn my life upside down, and honestly, I wouldn’t mind the chaos.
Why? Simple. Vera was pure heat, a spitfire with a body built for sin and a mind sharp enough to cut me. She had that bad-girl energy, all Catholic-school charm gone rogue. I could picture her in knee socks and plaid, breaking rules just for the thrill, daring the world to catch her.
She was trouble, exactly my kind of trouble. Those boys she brought? Cute toys. But Vera knew how to hunt, and I’d bet anything she liked to play with her prey before taking a bite.
But every hunter eventually gets hunted. And tonight, Diana met her match. Vera was a challenge, and I lived for a challenge.
Was that honest enough? Hell, maybe. I’d never met a woman who made me want to risk everything for the chase.
ANGEL EYES
