Karen cleared her throat, breaking the spell. They both turned toward her.
“You’ve got a deal, Mr. Amos.”
“Here’s the kicker,” Carrera said. “I want her exclusively. No more stripping unless I’m here. No lap dances for anyone but me. And as much time in a VIP room as I want.”
He’s out of control.
Karen’s eyebrows jutted into her head. “For how long?”
Leaning back, Carrera crossed his legs, turned toward Slash. He raked a ravenous gaze over her face, her hair. He eyed her breasts, her shapely legs to her stilettos. Then, he traced his journey back until he was staring into her eyes.
Damn, that was good.
Slash’s insides burned. Hours and hours of screwing him was something she’d imagined… more than once. Just because she despised him didn’t mean she hadn’t fantasized about him. Sex and love didn’t always coincide at the intersection of happily ever after.
“Three months,” Carrera said.
Slash shook her head. “That’s not happening.”
Carrera’s surprised expression made her want to laugh. Undercover gig or not, she needed to weigh in.
Karen grunted. “What is it, Slash?”
“I’ll do it for a month and a half,” Slash said. “Six weeks.”
“That’ll work,” Carrera said. “Who owns the club?”
“I run it, so it’s pretty much mine.”
She didn’t answer his question.
Karen turned her attention to her computer. “Mr. Amos, I’m setting up your account. When can I expect the cash?”
“The next time I’m here.”
Knock-knock-knock.
“Come in,” Karen said.
Her head bartender, Bradley, walked in. “I have a guest who’s had too much to drink. I called him a ride, but he won’t leave.”
“Two minutes,” Karen said.
Carrera walked over to the door. “Slash, I’ll wait outside.”
Carrera and the bartender left, shutting the door behind them.
Slash’s fingers twitched. It would be so easy to take Karen out… and so damn satisfying. But killing Karen wasn’t part of her plan.
In an unexpected twist of fate, sex with Carrera had become the main course. And to sweeten the deal, he’d asked for free use.
On a huff, Karen asked, “What is it?”
“If I’m only making ten grand, what am I supposed to do?” Slash bit out.
“Not my problem.”
“It’s about to be when I refuse this gig.”
