Vitaly surged to his feet and grabbed a fistful of her hair at the back of her neck, yanking her head violently and forcing her to endure his fetid breath in her face. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Ashe tense. “You make my friend happy, or I will take you upstairs and put you to work up there. Understood?”
She tried to nod, but even the smallest movement of her head caused her hair to pull painfully against his fist. He leaned in closer to growl, “Do what this man says or I’ll make you pay.”
Terror roared through her. It was her worst nightmare. She was going to get sucked into the abyss and never escape Vitaly’s clutches. And it was all Ashe’s fault, damn him. Why, oh, why did he have to show up here and mess up everything?
Ashe surged out of his chair, his big fist suddenly encompassing Vitaly’s at her neck. “Let the lady go.” His voice was low and cold and dripped with violence.
Vitaly shoved her at Ashe. “Be a good girl and show the nice man how very sorry you are.”
Ashe caught her as she half fell against him. He set her gently back on her feet and loomed close beside her, never releasing her arm just above the elbow. “Come along, naughty little girl.” His words might be what Vitaly wanted to hear, but his tone was soothing.
Without further ado, he led her over to the lap dance lounge’s entrance. The bouncer opened it, grinning, and Ashe ushered her into what surely was a special corner of hell.
What little lighting there was in the lounge came from red bulbs shrouded in colored scarves that hung from the ceiling and fat black candles dripping in sconces around the walls. Necklaces of bones, snakeskins, animal skulls and braids of herbs decorated the kidney-colored walls. The place reeked of incense and pot and sweat, and maybe a hint of blood. A rooster even clucked quietly in a small cage on a table off to one side of the room. More drippy candles, dried chicken feet and knives lay on the table beside the live chicken. Small curtained alcoves lined the room, and a row of chairs filled its center.
Ashe led her to an alcove with the curtain pulled back and ushered her inside. He yanked the cloth shut behind them. A low armless chair stood against the wall, and he smirked at her before turning her arm loose and plunking down on it.
She whispered furiously, “You don’t seriously expect me to do this, do you?”
He murmured back sotto voce, “I seriously expect that there are cameras in here, and that your boss will be watching. I’m not exactly thrilled about the position you’ve put me in, either. You really shouldn’t have slapped me. At least not in front of a misogynistic chauvinist like your boss.”
“What did you expect me to do?” she said with a hiss. “Let him manhandle me like that and treat me like a piece of meat he can give to whomever he wants?”
“I expected you to trust me. I’d have seen to it the bastard gets what’s coming to him and I’d have gotten you out of there without this little detour.”
She swore under her breath. He was, of course, right. It was her own impulsive nature and stupid temper that had put her in this pickle.
“I’ll fake it if you will,” he muttered.
“Right. Fake it.” But fake what? As if she had any idea how to do a lap dance. The subject had not been covered in any of her art history classes in college. Scowling, she scooted forward until her knees bumped against his shins.
He smiled. “Go for it, baby.”
“You’re going to hell for this,” she grumbled.
His grin widened, and he leaned back in the chair a little. “Ahh, but what a way to go. I dare you. Give me your best shot.”
Oh, a dare, was it? That changed things. Glaring fiercely at him, she threw her leg across his hips and plopped down on his lap. He tensed beneath her as her lady parts passed across the zipper of his jeans.
Crud. Now what? She was undoubtedly supposed to engage in some sort of bump-and-grind routine next. After all, it was called a lap dance. But that left a whole lot to the imagination by way of technical details.
Experimentally she tilted her hips forward and then back. Oh, my. That felt rather nice. She tried it again. Her nervous tension eased a little, and this time it felt even better.
“That all you got?” Ashe murmured in obvious amusement.
Concentrating intensely, she tried circling her hips to the left. Ooh, that was interesting. And better, unwilling heat flared in Ashe’s eyes. Quite a bit of heat, in fact. If she wasn’t mistaken, the region behind his zipper was getting harder. More enthusiastically, she circled back to the right.
“This may not be the right moment to mention it, but most lap dancers do it facing away from the guy. It costs extra to get a full frontal. I expect the girls don’t want to get their chests grabbed, nor do they want to be tongued or kissed.”
She sprang to her feet, outraged. “You let me writhe all over your lap the wrong way?”
“I didn’t say it was wrong. Just more suggestive than usual.”
“You are such. A. Jerk.”
His voice dropped so low she could barely hear it over the Jamaican music blaring from hidden speakers overhead. “No, baby. It’s called protecting your cover. Vitaly’s going to be watching us when we leave here. And I’d better have a hard-on and you’d better be embarrassed all to hell when we walk out of here if you want either of us to make it out of this club alive.”
Of course he was right. Darn it. “How in the heck do you know so much about this stuff, anyway?” she demanded, chagrined.
The corner of his mouth quirked up. “I’m not exactly a teenaged virgin. Of course, I don’t generally have to pay for what I want from women, either.”
She glared at him a moment more, then whirled around and backed onto his lap. Her toes barely reached the floor, and she overbalanced slightly. His hands came up to clasp her hips. He didn’t do anything crude like pull her down onto his male parts, but he did steady her until she regained her balance.
Ashe shifted beneath her. Abruptly, warm breath caressed her neck. He must have taken pity on her because he murmured, “Most girls squat over the guy and keep their weight on their feet, which is why this chair is so low and has no arms. That way, the girl can pull away if the guy gets fresh with her. Then the girls twerk a little.”
“I don’t know how to twerk,” she wailed under her breath.
“It basically involves relaxing your rear end and shaking it up and down. Don’t worry about it. The view I’m getting is fine just the way it is.”
Thank God she had a skirt on. And stockings. And panties. This was embarrassing enough without her having her rear end hanging out of a skimpy thong.
“My thighs are burning.”
“Then sit down on me, silly.” He gave a little tug, and her tired legs gave out. She plopped down unceremoniously on his lap. She lurched, but he held her in place with that easy, overwhelming strength of his.
“I cannot believe you’re making me
