Private Dancer

“I’ll give you the hat, Jacey. But I want something first.” His gaze scorched her features.

Her lower lip trembled. “What is it going to take for you give back the hat, and take a cab home, Harry?”

“A deal.”

“A…what?”

“I want a private performance, little dancer. Then you can have your hat back. Then I can let you go.”

****

Jacey’s eyes widened at Harry’s outrageous proposal. A private performance? Someone howled. Several people clapped.

Her nostrils twitched, catching a whiff of lemon juice, and the grainy nuance of whiskey clinging to his breath.

She could hardly believe her eyes, but it was indeed her Harry pinned to the floor. That he’d yelled out her name as it took two men to bring him down convinced her that his presence here at the club was real, and sent her rushing from the stage and into the crowd to get to him.

Staring hopelessly into his glowering face, her senses fought the intoxicating sway of his good looks. Aggression churned from him, and she resisted the urge to lean over and kiss the stern set of his mouth.

Then I can let you go.

“Whatever you want,” Jacey whispered, pain searing her heart to see him again, knowing that this chance meeting, and what came of it, wouldn’t end in her favor. “Just walk out the door right now, before you get your ass kicked.”

“How about you come with me?”

She shook her head firmly. “Not a good idea. We’ll talk when you’re sober. Please promise me you’ll take a cab—”

“I’m not promising jack shit until you give me a time and a place, angel.”

“Call my cell tomorrow. You tell me where, and when. I promise you I’ll be there.”

“What’s your going rate for a private show?” he asked, his deep voice lowering to a buttery-smooth murmur.

For someone drunk off his ass, there was a crisp gleam in his eyes that made her skin burn with wild excitement. Hot shivers streamed down her spine.

“No charge for you, Harry.”