Chloe's movements grew bolder, too. Her fingers hooked the edge of her strap, sliding it down—the technique, honestly, had zero finesse. But because it was her, my cock jumped in my pants.
The men below roared louder as the girls stripped.
Hungry, greedy voices rising.
They were watching Chloe. Leering at a body I'd touched with those filthy gazes.
Irrational irritation surged up from my chest. Made no sense. She wasn't my woman. She was a former employee who'd left me money and ghosted. Where she showed up, what she wore, who she danced for—had nothing to do with Enzo Falcone.
But I hated this feeling. Something I hadn't finished with, something I hadn't tired of—I didn't allow anyone else to covet it.
"Mr. Falcone?"
Silvio sidled up beside me, that simpering face radiating businessman cunning. He followed my gaze to the stage, then turned back, smile deepening.
"Interested in the new one?" He lowered his voice, tone turning suggestive. "That's Chloe. Dancing's rough, but look at that face, that body—top-shelf goods. Just started a few days ago, still green. Perfect raw material. If you want, I can arrange it."
My eyes moved from the stage to Silvio's face. He flinched under my stare but kept that ingratiating smile.
I looked back at the stage. Chloe was looking at me, too. Acrossthe lights, smoke, crowd of drunk men, those honey eyes met mine dead-on.
I drained the rest of my whiskey, then agreed to Silvio's suggestion.
"Get me a private room. Send the woman up."
Silvio's eyes lit up. "Right away, Mr. Falcone."
He scurried off. I leaned back, fingers tapping slowly on the armrest.
Chloe Bennett. Left me money, told me my technique sucked, vanished for two months, and now reappeared on my turf as a stripper.
Fate had a sense of humor sometimes.
Time to settle this account.
Chapter Six
Chloe
Enzo had already left the stage area, but my heart didn't slow down with him.
The dance steps I'd barely memorized after three days of practice were all messed up. My feet hit the wrong beats, my hips twisted against the music, my arms froze mid-air, clueless where to go. The guys below still whistled and tossed bills, but my mind wasn't on the stage anymore.
All I could think about was the look Enzo had thrown my way. He stared hard, aggressive, making my skin burn. Everything from that top-floor office three months ago flooded back. Just his gaze had my thighs tingling with embarrassing heat. I hated my body—it was way more honest than my wild side.
I shook my head, trying to ditch the fantasies, and bit my lip to focus on the steps, but my body wouldn't listen. Enzo dominated my thoughts.
I'd figured I'd never see him again, but here we were, in a place like this. Did a cold bastard like him need to hit up a strip club for women? With his money and power, chicks probably threw themselves at him.
Lost in my head, manager Silvio suddenly jumped on stage. His hand clamped my arm, hard enough to make me stumble.
"Get down," Silvio hissed, grinning ear to ear. "You're in luck, sweetheart. Big boss wants to see you."
He yanked me backstage. Other dancers shot looks, a few veterans exchanging knowing glances. They'd seen this plenty—rich guys picking girls, nothing new here.
My legs went weak. I had no clue what was next, but none of it felt good.
"Who wants me?" I tried fishing for more from Silvio.
