I teeter along behind Ricky until he stops at a round table against the far wall of the room. He steps aside, and four pair of hard eyes burn into me. I pictureThe Lion Kingwhen Simba is surrounded by the hyenas.
“You done good, brother.” Diesel smiles at Ricky. “Gotta say, this is a welcome addition.”
CHAPTER 3
MARTINA
Diesel shoots a look to the guy next to him, who huffs out a laugh, like they’re in on a joke I’m not privy to. He pushes away from the table and heads in my direction. His grin—no, smirk—doesn’t reach his eyes as he focuses on me, like we are the only two in the loud, raucous room.
My hands flutter at my sides, not sure if I should cover my mid-section or my lower region. The bikini top, although much more revealing than what I would usually wear, is covering the most skin.
His broad hand moves to the small of my back, turning me in the other direction. “You were really good up there.” He jerks his chin at the stage.
“Thanks.” I tilt my head, but even with the ridiculously high heels on, he’s still got at least five inches on me.
He eases me along the wall behind the stage until we come to another door. He nods to the unsmiling bouncer, who swipes a plastic card over a keypad, and a second later, the door pops open.
Diesel extends his arm, and again I crane my neck to look up at him, my eyes wide.
“We’ll have more privacy in here.”
“Ohhh, I don’t think so.” I unsuccessfully try to keep the stammer out of my voice.
Diesel slaps his palm against the door, holding it wider. “Sure.”
Sure? I didn’t ask a question; I made a comment. “I have to give these clothes back to Danica.”
“What clothes?” His gaze burns through me, his dark eyes on fire.
He does have a point. You can hardly call what I’m wearing clothes. “True, I guess more like strips of material arranged in strategic places.”
He barks out a rough laugh. “Good one.”
I hug my arms around myself. “I’m so cold.” Actually, his intense gaze heats me from the inside out.
I hold up the crush of bills in my hand. “And I’d like to put this money someplace safe.” Money I intend to use for my escape. Even facing Eduardo outside would be better than being alone with a man who could bench-press me with one hand while snapping me in two with the other.
Diesel turns to the bouncer. “Go into the dressing room and get her a robe or some shit so she ain’t cold.”
“Right, Boss.”
“Problem solved.” Diesel angles me into the room, and the door whooshes closed behind me.
The lighting is low, but bright enough to see a black granite bar on one wall stocked with premium liquor and what looks like expensive glassware. A U-shaped leather banquette runs along the opposite wall, across from a flatscreen TV. In the other corner, three stairs lead to a stripper pole showered in star lights embedded the ceiling.
Much more upscale than I expected, but still?—
“Sit.” He busies himself behind the bar, filling a short glass with two fingers of Jack Daniels. “Relax.”
Relax? Was he fucking kidding? I ease onto the edge of the couch, and the cold leather shocks my bare skin, along with the thought of who else and what else might’ve been on this couch.
“You want something to drink?”
“Ahhhh, no.” Drinking is not a good idea, but maybe . . .
Diesel comes around the bar and pulls a bottle of champagne out of an ice bucket on the kidney-shaped table in front of the couch. He easily pops the cork, pours some of the bubbly liquid into a glass and holds it out to me.
He either didn’t hear me, or, more likely, didn’t care about my answer.
