For the most part, Albert Dross ignored Haven. She was in school most of the day, kept to her room at home, and learned how to make her own dinner. Scrambled eggs and Spaghetti-O’s were two of the cheapest to buy and easiest to cook.
A soft voice pulled her from her bitter memories. “Haven, dear, where did you go?” Millie’s concerned expression was warm and curious.
Sucking in a deep breath, Haven offered a practiced smile. “I’m sorry. Where were we?”
Care radiated from Millie, and it thawed Haven’s chilled blood.
She relaxed her shoulders and offered a true smile.
“What else would you like to know?”
She took the cup of tea Millie offered.
“Would you like to know about technology, or food, or boy bands?” Her attempt to move forward and lighten the mood worked because Millie smiled.
“None of that, thank you. I want to know whatyoudo. Do twenty-first century women work?”
Her smile froze. How did she tell the prim and proper nineteenth century bona-fideladythatthistwenty-first century woman took off her clothes and danced provocatively for men?
She glanced at Millie’s open face. Honesty about her profession was the best course. Besides, she’d never been ashamed of her career choice, and she wasn’t going to start now.
“Yes, women work in the twenty-first century. Working is a necessity.”
Millie nodded.
Recognizing the not-so-subtle prod, she answered, “I’m a dancer.”
Millie’s face lit with delight, and she clapped. “How marvelous. It’s a relief to know something as elegant and sophisticated as dance is still in existence in the far future. Have you performed for many important people? Are you a prima ballerina, or part of a prominent dance troupe?” Her misconception of Haven’s term “dancer” wasn’t surprising.
She blushed, flattered that Millie thought she was as beautiful and graceful as a ballerina. “Well, no. I’m not a ballerina.”
Millie furrowed her brow, frowning.
Her next question wasn’t a surprise, either. “Then what sort of dancer are you?”
Haven drew a long, fortifying breath. “I am an exotic dancer.”
Again, a confused frown shadowed Millie’s face.
“To make it as plain as I can, an exotic dancer dances to music, much like a ballerina, except instead of pirouettes, I take off my clothes.” Millie blinked. “I dance a strip tease.” The older woman gasped, and her eyes widened in shock.
Was that censure? Haven held her breath.
Seconds ticked by as she waited for the other woman to speak, but Millie finally met her gaze. “Well, that is quite the choice of profession. I’d like to think society in the year two thousand and twenty-five isn’t as morally opposed to the sight of a naked ankle as it is today.”
Haven choked on a laugh as relief cascaded through her.
“Let’s just say I make a good living, and I must admit I enjoy the attention.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Clenching his jaw, Logan fought back the urge to step away from the door and retreat to a place where he would digest the very titillating, and mind-blowing information he’d overheard.
His blood burned with unchecked desire, his body tense and hot.
She dances naked? For men? For money?
Anger, jealousy, and lust waged a war of attrition in his chest. Anger that she would choose this kind of work, and jealousy that other men were gifted with unspoiled and uninhibited views of her nakedness. Lust, his now constant yet unwelcome companion, raged to the fore; his body responding savagely to the images his mind brought to life. Hot, erotic, blood-searing life.
