Page 45 of Mace

I raise my eyebrows. “I can dance.” That’s a lie—I have no rhythm, but I’ll learn.

“You ain’t a dancer, Maylie.”

For some reason, his lack of belief hits a nerve. I hate being told I can’t do something.

My lips turn down at the corners. “Well, you’re wrong. I have moves, Mace, and I know I’ll bring in money.”

I don’t know what possesses me, other than the fact I really need to be on that stage, but I start to sway my hips from side to side, playing an imaginary beat in my head.

His lips part in… shock? Irritation? Disgust?

“What are you doing?” he demands.

“Showing you that I can strip.”

My hands move over my thighs, rubbing close to between my legs in the way I’ve seen the other girls do on stage.

What the fuck are you doing, Maylie?

I need to stop, but I can’t. I need this job, and he is the one with the power to give it to me. I channel my inner stripper, swaying from side to side, my hands moving up my body to my breasts, touching along the sides of them.

“Maylie…” A warning cracks through his voice, but I ignore it, dipping low and thrusting my ass out.

As I turn, his hands latch around my biceps, stopping my motions. “Darlin’, stop.”

Embarrassment floods me, shame and defeat vying for attention. He isn’t going to let me do this, and why would he? I’m awful.

“I’m sorry,” I mutter, lowering my head so I don’t have to see the disgust in his eyes.

I can’t believe I just did that.

I need to get the hell out of here, and quickly. I darttowards the door as if I’m being chased by the devil, but as I reach for the handle, he steps behind me, his hand planting against the door above my head. His weight prevents me from pulling it open, and my stomach plummets to the floor.

Am I about to get fired?

“Mace…” I whisper.

“I ain’t going to deny you look like a fucking wet dream doing that, but you ain’t going on that stage.”

He thinks I look good?

A wet dream?

Suddenly, the back of my neck is warm, and I’m acutely aware of his heat behind me. “Turn around. I ain’t talking to your back.”

Slowly, I do as he asks, my spine pressing into the wood behind me as he keeps me bracketed between him and the door.

My chest is tight, my heart fluttering beneath my ribs as he dips his head.

Is he going to kiss me?

My pulse kicks up several notches.Do I want him to kiss me?

But his lips don’t descend. “I’m not tryin’ to hurt you, but this… it ain’t happening.”

“Why not?”

His eyes narrow, and his mouth slackens. “It just ain’t.”

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