Page 5 of Satin Empire

“Carlo,” Helmuth says, and the tone in his voice puts me on edge. I turn around and he’s standing there with a pretty girl, a little weathered, wearing a revealing top and an extremely short skirt. “We’ve got a problem, boss.”

“What’s the matter?”

“This girl says she’s Candy Delicious.”

The girl speaks up, sounding extremely apologetic and tired. “Yeah, that’s me. I’m so, so sorry that I’m late. I can get right on stage, it’s totally fine, I’m ready. I even came in costume and got glitter on and all the good stuff.”

“Ah, shit,” Helmuth says, staring over my shoulder. “Boss, uh, you’ve got to see this. What in the ever-loving fuck…”

I stare at the supposed Candy Delicious then slowly turn around.

And try not to let my jaw break from my face.

The girl on the stage is so clearly not a stripper. She’s wearing a baggy sweatshirt, jean shorts, and sneakers—basically the opposite of a good dancer’s costume. There’s absolutely nothing sexy about what she’s wearing, except the girl’s beautiful.

Absolutely fucking stunning.

Thick, dark hair hangs in waves down her back. She’s got full, pouty lips, and dark eyes that stare around at the crowd with a strange confidence. The girl can’t dance, but she’s playing it up anyway, and even shoves her sweatshirt over one guy’s head in the least sexy move ever.

The crowd’s loving it.

“Want me to drag her off?” Helmuth asks, sounding livid. “I’ll fucking crack the bitch’s neck, whoever the fuck she is.”

I hold up a hand because there’s something familiar about her face and it’s bugging the fuck out of me.

I drift closer to the stage. I spot Gina, one of the more seasoned dancers at the club, miming instructions to her. The girl on the stage seems to get the message and pulls off her sweatshirt—revealing a Buffy the Vampire Slayer t-shirt.

The boys hoot and shout, loving it. I find myself smiling, even though Helmuth is fuming. I’m not really sure what’s happening here, but this club has been nothing but boring for a very long time, and I’ve been looking for something new. I never imagined it would be this—but I take what I can get.

The girl flings her sweatshirt away, grinding her hips against the pole like she’s trying to get herself off. I can’t stop looking at her mouth, at her eyes, at those cheekbones, trying to figure out how the fuck I know her, as she reverts back to corny Dad dance moves, and still somehow looks incredible while doing them.

It’s driving me insane. She must be the hottest woman to have ever gotten up on our stage, and even though she’s awkward and clumsy, and clearly she’s never done this before, her body more than makes up for it.

And then she takes off her t-shirt.

Holy shit.

She’s incredible. Absolutely stacked. Everyone was hooting and laughing before, but now the mood changes, and the guys are whistling and cat-calling and throwing more money at her feet. Everyone in this club just realized that the goofy-ass goober strutting around like an idiot up there is an honest-to-god sexpot. She’s a fucking goddess, with tits like heaven and hips like hell, and when those jean shorts come off to reveal the most boring pair of underwear imaginable, I’m fucking hard.

Her ass is tight and lovely, and when she moves her hips again, I can picture her bouncing on my cock. I want to grab a fistful of her hair, bury my mouth on hers, and pump deep between her legs. I don’t give a shit if she’s dopey as hell. That girl is undeniably beautiful.

It’s not until she unhooks her bra, making my brain go haywire, that I realize who she is.

I’m blasted out of my sudden trance like a bomb goes off in my head and I’m running to the stairs on the side of the stage. Gina says something to me as I hurry past her, but I don’t have time for her shit. My erection’s gone, replaced by my blood boiling in my veins, my jaw set tight, and now the girl’s holding her bra against her breasts, pushing them up and making her look like pure lust, teasing the poor bastards in the seats as they scream at her to give them what they want. She’s the kind of woman most men would die to fuck even once.

And I’m supposed to marry her.

She looks over as I approach and her eyes widen with fear. I grab her arm and hold it tight, speaking low through my jaw. The guys in the crowd start to boo, and I spot Helmuth in my peripheral keeping the peace alongside my bouncers. It feels like a riot might start if they don’t get to see this girl’s breasts in the next two seconds.

“Don’t you dare let that drop,” I say in a growl, leaning close. “From what I understand, those tits are all mine.”

Her shock and terror suddenly shift into something else. She goes from deer-in-headlights to blind fury in half an instant, and I realize much too late that I said the wrong thing. Her smile is vicious as she turns to the crowd.

And lets her bra go.

Cheers roar in the room. The men get half a second to gaze at her gorgeous tits before I’m behind her, grabbing them tight against my palms, and covering them from all those perverted fucking eyes.

I don’t even know why I do it. This girl is nothing to me. She’s Alana Milano, the stepdaughter of Orsino Milano, and the girl Renzo ordered me to marry.

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