Page 3 of Lethal Lover

“Ms. Cortez,” he says, taking my hand. He brings it to his lips and presses them against my skin. I feel a shiver of nerves race across my skin as he gazes into my eyes. He must be very powerful or very wealthy, or both.

And he’s very good-looking, dark hair and stormy eyes. The stubble on his chin is attractive, just enough to give a hint of a shadow, not enough to scratch my face in a make out session. I like it. He’s charming.

“Hello…” I have no clue what to say to him. I’m literally fresh off the boat. I don’t know what standard hospitality looks like for something like this, and if I knew who this guy was, I’d have a better understanding of what he wanted with me.

“Pardon me. My name is Liam Salva.” He lets my hand go and looks around the room. “I’m a fan.” His head tilts as he speaks, and again, I feel my cheeks warming. So he came to watch the show and liked it enough to step backstage and visit me. My first real fan. I almost squeal in delight, but considering how hot he is, I manage to maintain my composure.

And I don't know if this is normal. Do fans typically go backstage at Broadway? This isn’t a concert with VIP tickets or seating. And besides, I’m not anyone special.

“I’m so glad you enjoyed the show.” I feel nervous as he slowly spins around, looking at my modest digs. “I’m sorry I can’t offer you a refreshment here.” I chuckle nervously, understanding this sort of thing may be normal for Trixie or Warren, but this is my first time. My first play on Broadway. My first time being in New York. I feel overwhelmed by it all.

“That’s alright, Elena.” His voice is silk, wrapping around me as he says my name in such a sensual way, it arouses sensations in my body. “I’m not here for refreshments. I’m here to ask you to have dinner with me. Tomorrow, after the show.” He adjusts his tie and touches each of his wrists, pulling his shirt sleeves lower beneath his jacket sleeves. I’ve never been asked on a date like this, though I have dated a few guys.

But theater guys are usually gay men who love the arts, or in my experience, they’re already strongly attached to someone. I don’t have much experience outside of that because acting has been my life. Some of my best friends who I thought mightbe interested in me came out of the closet or fell for my best friends instead of me. I am happily unattached and available to entertain this handsome stranger.

But I know nothing about him. And this is a huge city with very scary people. How do I know who this guy is? Other than his security detail, I have no reason to think he’s anyone special, but I also have no reason to fear him.

“I’m not sure. Our cast usually does an after party on show nights.” I squirm a little, wishing I were wearing my own clothes, not this hideous costume. He’s so handsome, and I look like an impoverished waif. Of course, that’s my character for this show, but still. I’m not homely at all, or at least Warren says I’m not.

“Hmm,” he says, grunting. “Well, perhaps they won’t have one tomorrow. If that’s the case, I can send a car for you. Or would you like for me to come myself?”

My cheeks burn at the comment as I remember a stupid “that’s what she said” joke my high school bestie would have said right about now. “I, uh… You can come. Maybe I’ll pass on the party.” How can I say no to my biggest fan? Or really, my only fan right now. I’m sure others liked the show, but only time will tell whether people genuinely like me.

“Fantastic. Now, I’ll be here at curtain call and I’ll expect you in something… casual.” His eyes trace up and down my body, and I feel naked—like he’s undressed me, spread me, and devoured my essence with only his eyes. It makes my groin feel warm, and I know when I use the toilet later, I’ll be mopping up a mess.

“Of course. This is just my costume.” I’m so stupid. Why did I say that? He knows this is a costume. And judging by his smirk, he likes watching me fumble for words in embarrassment. He’sprobably one of those men who has a humiliation kink or something. God, I'm so embarrassing.

“I like the costume, but I prefer something a little moreimpish.” He winks at me and takes my hand again, kissing each knuckle while seductively holding my gaze. I’m not that sort of girl, but if this man pushes me, I’ll become that sort of girl real fast.

“Thanks for stopping by, Mr. Salvo.”

“That’s Salva, and you’re welcome. Come hungry. I know I’ll have a raging appetite.” The way he says the word appetite makes me believe he’s not talking about food, as if I’m the thing on the menu he wants. It makes my heart beat a little oddly as he walks toward the door. Do I really want to be devoured?

I watch him leave the room and touch my hand to my chest. My heart is palpitating and I have no clue why. He is so fucking hot, I think I might need to go home and rub one off just to calm my raging hormones. Man, do I have a story for Warren and Nina.

3

LIAM

The radio plays an annoying rock station while I wait for the show to be over and Elena to be all mine for the evening. Slick already called ahead for me and bought out every table at the Jean Georges that was available. There will be a few other people dining while we’re there, but my father’s name and money work for me as much as possible. I watch the seconds tick by on my Rolex and try to content myself with the idea that for tonight, the most dazzling face currently on Broadway will be joining me.

“Show’s up, Boss,” Slick says, eyeing me through the rearview mirror’s reflection. I nod at him and watch the stream of people exiting the theater. It will still be a short time until Elena joins me. She’ll have to change and wash off that hideous makeup they make her wear. It looks good on stage, but standing face to face, it’s atrocious.

I sent her a dress too, something appropriate for the restaurant, since I figure she doesn’t have many outfits worthy of a Michelin-star restaurant. Dinner alone will cost more than she gets paid for one night’s work onstage. I don’t mind flaunting thewealth a little since there’s plenty of it to go around, and I hope she doesn’t mind being spoiled. The note I sent with the dress is pretty specific about how I expect her to look.

When after several more long, boring minutes she steps out the front door, Slick jumps out of the limo’s driver’s seat and walks around to the passenger side. I hear him speaking to her, though I can’t make out what he’s saying until he opens the back door and the rush of the evening smog overtakes me.

Elena slides into the back seat next to me and smiles nervously, tucking a strand of her blonde hair around her ear. Her face is clean, only a hint of dark mascara lingering, and she looks exquisite in the black, beaded evening gown. The sweetheart neckline plumps her tits perfectly, and the bare expanse of porcelain skin draws my eye.

“Wow, I didn’t expect a limo.” Her eyes take in the dark interior of the Mercedes until Slick shuts the door and the dome light flicks off. Then they lock onto my face. I sit angled to face her with a smirk on my face, enjoying her amazement. It’s obvious to me that she hasn’t been with a man who’s well off. I like that she’s entertained by what I consider the little things.

"This is how I travel daily. Is it too much?” I ask, adjusting my tie a bit looser.

She settles in and looks for a safety belt, but when she doesn’t find one—I had them taken out because they annoy me—she seems to curl inward on herself. I take her hand and bring it to my lips, pressing a kiss into her palm and folding her hand into mine. It appears she feels out of place, and I can’t have that. This night is about making her feel like a queen.

Slick pulls into traffic and heads toward our destination, and I strike up a conversation.

“How was the show this evening?” I continue to press kisses to her hand as she tells me how many dozens of roses she got, the gifts cast at her feet during curtain calls, and the mountain of fan mail she has to go through. I feign a smile, though if I had it my way, no one would be permitted to openly admire her like that.

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