Sandro shakes his head slowly. “Hopefully there’s something he wants that you can give him. If not…” he lets the threat hang.
Killian’s gaze skims over my face and his resolve hardens. “Make it happen.”
“Wait,” I say, staring at Killian, but my question is for Sandro. “How much danger is Killian walking into? Could Mr. Amato just decide Killian’s not leaving New York?”
Sandro shrugs a shoulder. “Always a possibility. Killian’s status as the son ofThe Macomay give him pause. He won’t want the heat from the New York Irish. Joey Amato isn’t known for his even temper or rational decisions, but money talks. His focus has always been on profit. I’ll try to find something for you to work with.”
“Settled, then.” Killian stands and shakes Sandro’s hand.
Lennon hugs me as the men stand and shake Killian’s hand in turn.
“Thanks, everyone,” I say. “I really appreciate your support.”
They all offer me sympathetic smiles.
“I’ll leave a few of my guards here to beef up your security,” Sandro says. Then he looks at me. “We’ll do everything we can to keep you and your little girl safe, Sam.”
Killian and I step into the elevator after everyone leaves, the only place we’re alone since guards are crawling all over the yacht. I check the portable monitor. Rona’s sound asleep, tangled in the Egyptian cotton sheets, blissfully unaware of the danger we’re in. My chest tightens. I feel myself floating away.
No. No. No.
I turn my head and focus on Killian’s hands. The scars, the thick veins, the tattoos, the silver rings. I have a sudden need to have them holding me, anchoring me to this world. To feel something besides pure terror.
The doors open on the bottom deck. Two guards turn and nod. Killian motions for me to go ahead of him, and we walk down the lighted hallway. I’d noticed the four VIP doors on our way out…two on each side. I pause and push one open.
Just as I thought, it’s an area for private client dances. I never gave private dances, but I’m in the mood to tonight. I step inside, eyeing the leather C-Shaped cushion and the pole.
Killian’s breath ghosts the back of my neck. “What are you doin’, love?”
I turn so he can see my profile and smile. “Feeling the need to dance.” Walking forward, I prop the monitor against the wall so I can keep an eye on it, then grasp the pole and slide my hand up. Meeting Killian’s burning gaze, I ask, “Got any music?”
Eyeing me like I’m the most puzzling creature he’s ever come across, he pulls out his phone. “You know you don’t owe me anything, yeah?”
I nod, but not because I agree, but because that’s not why I want to dance for him.
Still watching me, he clicks a few buttons and Tate McRae’sGreedystreams out of the speakers in the room.
“Mmm. Perfect,” I say, kicking off my flats.
Blowing out a breath, he removes his gun holster, lays it by the door and takes a seat in the middle of the C-cushion, spreads his knees and rests his fists on them. Then he bangs his head lightly against the wall and mutters something under his breath that I can’t hear over the music.
Amused, I release my hair from the wind-blown ponytail then reach down and pull my sundress over my head, leaving me in a nude lace bra and thong.
“Jaysus bleedin’ Christ,” Killian snarls. “Warn a guy, would ya.” He adjusts his hardening cock in his slacks as his eyes rake over my body.
A chuckle tickles my throat. God this feels good. To be in control of something, to feel alive. To feel safe in this small space with a man that is about to risk a mafia war for me and my daughter. My need to show him exactly how much that means to me spurs me on. I grip the pole and climb it, the movement relieving some of the anxiety constricting my lungs.
Wrapping my bare thighs around the cold metal, I roll my spine and hips, feeling the release in my muscles as I find the beat and then get lost in it, get lost in the sensuality of flesh and bone.
No one thinks about how much of a gift it is to be able to feel the sensations that only come from having a physical body. The rush of adrenaline, the feel of your heartbeat in your chest, the electric current that spikes that heartbeat when you look into the eyes of a man who wants you more than his next breath. The pleasure his touch brings when you finally give in. All of it is a gift.
It was one that was stolen from me. One I’m reclaiming.
Tightening my core, I hold a split midair, the effort burning in the most delicious way, and then inverting, I let my head fall so my hair is brushing the floor. I arch my back seductively. My gaze finds Killian, who’s holding himself still, except for his blazing eyes, which are eating up my body.
That look is like gasoline, igniting my sense of power and my own need pulsing at my core.
My grip loosens just enough to allow a controlled slide toward the floor. The pull to him is irresistible. Halfway down, I flip upright and let my body spiral around the pole. Then I raisemy legs in a V, and point my toes, as I straddle the now warm metal, giving it a few rolls of my hips.
