What He Shields (What He Wants Book Seventeen) (10 page)

“So,” he said.
 
“You want to dance here?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

I tried to think of an appropriate
response.
 
“Because I think it would
be fun.
 
I love meeting new
people.”
 
It was all lies.
 
The real reason I wanted to dance there
was because she had no other choice.
 
I needed money.
 
A lot of money.
 
Money you couldn’t get just from working at Burger King or CVS.
 

“Right.”
 
Colt chuckled and then leaned back in his chair.
 
His dark eyes bore into
me,
so intense I expected to hear a crackle of electricity
echo through the room. Couldn’t he have been fat?
 
Or old?
 
Or just… not so
devastatingly gorgeous.
“Can you stand up for me?” he asked.

I stood up.

“Turn around.”

I spun around in a slow circle, letting him get
a good long look at my body. My face reddened as I turned back around to face
him.
 
It was weird, the way he was
making no bones about the fact that he was looking at me.
 
The weirder thing was that I kind of
liked it.
 

He was just so beautiful.
 
Stop, I told myself.
 
So what if he’s good-looking?
 
He’s obviously a complete pervert.

“Do you have a job right now?”
 
Colt asked.

“A stripping job?”

“Any kind of job.
 
Somewhere I can get a reference.”

I shook my head.
 
“No.”
 
It was pretty much impossible to get a
job when you were homeless.
 
I still
hadn’t figured out what I was going to do when they asked for my address, but I
was thinking I could just give the
shelter’s
, then
change it once I found a place to live.
 
I was hoping strip clubs weren’t too picky about things like that.

Colt’s eyes slid down my body again, and this
time, they landed on my wrist.
 
“What are the scars from?”

“Oh.
 
Um…” My sleeve had slid up, and I yanked it down.
 
Shit.
 
I’d worked so hard to make sure they’d
been covered.
 
But that was the
problem with scars – they never really went away, never really stayed
hiding.
 
They forced you to live
your life constantly on the edge, constantly scared of being exposed.

“We don’t allow drugs here,” Colt said.
 
There was no judgment in his tone.
 
In fact, he sounded completely
matter-of-fact.

“I don’t do drugs.”

“Then what are the scars from?”
 
He reached out and took my wrist,
turning it over so he could get a better look.
 
His touch sent fire roaring through my
body and I snatched my wrist back.

Colt’s mouth snaked up into a cocky grin,
almost like he was enjoying the fact that he had me squirming.
 
I pushed my chin into the air and met
his gaze, refusing to back down.
 
“I
don’t do drugs.”

He raised his eyebrows but didn’t say
anything.
 
The air crackled with
tension and I felt like I couldn’t breathe. His eyes flashed so dark it seemed
like I was falling into them.
 
He
was looking at me from under lowered lids, his gaze so penetrating I shivered.

Only one other man had ever had that effect on
me.
 
Declan.
 
The thought of him flooded my body with
guilt.
 
Declan.
 
I’d made him a promise.
 
And even though I was nowhere near close
to breaking it, I made myself look away from Colt.

Colt leaned back in his chair.

“Dance,” he commanded.

“What?”
 

“This is an audition.
 
I have to see if you can dance.”

Of course it was an audition.
 
Of course I knew that at some point I
was going to have to take off my clothes.
 
But when I’d imagined this moment, it had been much different.
 
I’d thought I’d be standing here in
front of a middle-aged man, not a guy only a few years older than me who was so
sexy I could hardly look at him.

I’d imagined it would be easy, taking my
clothes off.
 
All I’d have to do was
disassociate, let my mind wander while I took my clothes off for whatever
disgusting old pervert was sitting in front of me.
 
I was no stranger to
pretending
 
I
was somewhere else.
 
I’d been doing it my whole life.
 
It was called survival.
 
Anytime I’d had to do something
unpleasant, or been hurt by someone, I’d disassociated.
 
Later, when the feelings would
inevitably resurface, I’d cut my wrists to let the pain out.

I rolled my shoulders and tried to relax.

“You don’t have to be nervous,” Colt said.
  
He reached over and picked up his
phone.
 
He pushed a few buttons, and
after a second, a slow beat began to pulse through the room.
 
It got louder and
louder until I could feel the rhythm in my chest.

I closed my eyes and let the music fill my
body, letting it take over.
 
I moved
my hips and imagined myself floating up toward the ceiling, looking down at
myself while I danced.

After a few moments, I felt my hips start to
loosen just a tiny bit, felt myself start to get into the dance.
 

“Look at me,” Colt demanded.

I opened my eyes and my gaze locked onto
his.
 
His stare was mesmerizing, and
even though I was doing everything I could not to connect with him, I couldn’t
look away.
 

“Come here,” he whispered huskily.

I took a step toward him, and his eyes blazed
as he reached out and put his hands on my hips, guiding me.
 
“That’s it.”

The bottom of my shirt rose up just a tiny bit
and his thumb grazed against my bare skin.
 

A searing heat pulsed through my body, almost
in time to the music.
 
I went to
pull away, but Colt’s hands held me firmly in place.

“Take off your shirt,” he commanded, his voice
still low and sexy.

I reached up, mesmerized, and did as I was
told.
 
I would have expected my
hands to be shaking, that I would be nervous about taking my clothes of in
front of this gorgeous stranger.
 
But it was the opposite.
 
His
gaze was like an anchor, keeping me grounded, holding me in place, right there
in the moment.

One button.
 

Two.
 

Three.

I felt the cool air on my bare skin as the top
of my bra became exposed.
 

When my shirt was completely open, Colt’s hands
moved from my hips up the sides of my body, stopping just below the band of my
bra, right under my breasts.
 
His
touch was setting me on fire and an ache I’d never felt before rolled up inside
of me.

His hands moved slowly up my back,
then
hooked around my shoulders.
 
He pulled me to him, his grip
strong.
 
I leaned forward, meeting
him, not even caring that my shirt was completely open, that I was exposed to
him, more exposed than I’d ever been to any person in my life.
 
And even though I’d only just met him,
my instinct was to let him in, to give myself to him and do whatever he
asked.
 
My nipples tightened and my
pulse quickened as his mouth moved toward mine.
 
Colt’s eyes were still locked on mine,
and I felt like I was falling into them.

His intent was clear.
 
He was going to kiss me, and maybe more,
right here, in this room, on this chair.
 

His lips parted slightly, and his eyes began to
close.

My breath was coming in short, ragged bursts as
I lowered myself onto his lap.

And then I remembered.

Declan.

The
promise.

I’ll
wait for you.

I
 
pulled
back
from Colt like I was a rubber band released after being pulled taut. The sour
taste of bile filled my mouth and I was afraid I was going to throw up.
 

“I’m sorry,” I said.
 
“I’m so sorry.”

I grabbed my bag and ran out of the club before
I could change my mind.

***

Out on the street, I hungrily gulped in the
fresh air.
 
My pulse started to slow
and my stomach stopped rolling.

You
almost kissed him.

Disappointment and guilt filled my body,
pushing out any other emotions I had including any attraction or pull I felt to
Colt.
 
I reached into my purse and
pulled out the picture of Declan.
 
It was taken three years ago, in our group home in McLean.
 
His arm is slung around me, our cheeks
pushed together.
 

The picture is printed out on a piece of old
copy paper, and it’s faded.
 
The
ribbon wasn’t that great to begin with, and I’ve looked at it millions of times
since then.
 
Seeing his face calms
me.

I was so rattled that at first I didn’t realize
a couple of guys had come out of the liquor store across the street and were
standing on the curb, leering at me.

“Hey, sweetheart,” one of them yelled.
 
“Nice
titties
!
 
You want to come over here and shake ‘
em
?
 
I’ll give
you twenty bucks.”
 
He elbowed his
friend next to him, and they both snickered.

I glanced down at my shirt, which was still
open, exposing my bra and the top of my cleavage to anyone who happened to be
passing by on the street.
 
I turned
around and walked quickly toward the bus stop, buttoning up my shirt as I
went.
 

What was I thinking, trying to be a
stripper?
 
It was the most
ridiculous idea I’d ever had.
 
I
wasn’t sexy.
 
My body wasn’t voluptuous
– I was too skinny, my hips were bony, I
was
 
pale
.
 
Strippers were supposed to be tan and
busty, with curvy hips and sexy smiles.

They’re
also not supposed to be virgins.

I was halfway to the bus stop when I heard the
footsteps behind me.
 
It was the two
men from the liquor store.
 
Following me.

“Come on, baby,” one of them said.
 
“Where you going so fast?”

“Yeah, baby,” the other one chimed in.
 
“Where’s the fire?”

I turned around and looked to see how far away
they were.
 
I was no stranger to
being followed by leering men.
 
You
didn’t get through ten years of foster homes and a couple of months of being
homeless without getting your fair share of men thinking they can get away with
doing whatever they want to you.
 

The two men who were following me now were in
their
thirties, both of them wearing khaki pants and
heavy-looking plaid shirts.
 
One of
them was holding a leather flask, and he grinned at me when he caught me
looking at him.

“Hey, baby.”
 
His teeth were yellow and rotting.
 
“Where
ya
goin
’ so fast?”

“Leave me alone!” I yelled.
 
Sometimes if you looked like you were
going to put up a fight, they would decide you
weren’t
 
worth
the trouble.
 
But sometimes it just made them more
excited.

“
Aww
, don’t be like
that,” one of the men called, obviously falling into the latter camp.
 
“We just want to talk.”

“I don’t want to talk to you!” I screamed.
 
I quickened my pace as the adrenaline
began to course through my body.
 
Don’t look at them, Olivia, don’t get them
excited to come after you.

But my
yelling
 
had
obviously infuriated them.