Page 4 of Lucky or Knot
On the other hand, I was an adult, and a professional, and I forced myself to channel my body’s reaction into displaying my claws and fangs and glowing eyes, giving my mostly human audience the thrilling edge of erotic danger they’d come to Lucky or Knot to experience.
Right below, a cluster of women threw bills at the stage, and I gyrated my hips in their direction, flexing my muscles andmy claws. More money rained down.
The part of the song with lyrics was almost over, which meant Scott would be fading it out soon, thank the gods. My hip-thrusting bump-and-grind, aimed at the women paying me for my time, was taking a lot more effort than it should, and I desperately needed a few minutes of quiet to simmer down and get myself under control.
I gathered up my money, bowed and waved, and smiled and flexed some more, bulging my biceps and rippling my eight-pack.
When I sucked in a deep breath, that scent hit me again, a thread of almost unbearable freshness in the sweat-and-booze-and-sex reek that always pervaded the club, no matter how powerful the air conditioning system might be.
My cock stiffened again. Shit, I had to get off stage before I got myself fired after all. With a last flourishing bow, and a waggle of my ass at the particularly appreciative group down in front, I scooped up my pants and booked it down the stairs.
I slumped against the wall in the little hallway, breathing deep, grateful for once for the stale reek of concrete permeated with decades of cigarette smoke that characterized the area backstage. It almost completely drowned out the mysterious scent. One breath, two, and I let my head fall back as some of the tension drained out of me and common sense flowed back in to take its place.
Someone trying to sabotage my dance seemed ridiculously unlikely.
So a prank, probably. Jesus. Why couldn’t people just act their ages?
Prank or not, though, I had to head out to the floor. Immediately after a dance was the best time to mingle in the crowd and hopefully capitalize on their enthusiasm, turn on the charm and get a few private or semi-private dances, make thereal money.
Louie’s deadline…
Of course, thinking about that wouldn’t help me bring my blood pressure down.
Another deep breath, a flex of my claws to stretch my ligaments before I retracted them, and I pushed off the wall and went to toss my pants and my stage money into my locker.
As I slammed it shut, footsteps came down the hall, and one of the bouncers stuck his head in.
“Guy’s in room four hoping you’ll come and join him,” he said. “He put half an hour totally private with a bottle of champagne on his card already, so maybe he’ll be good for more. You up for it?”
A guy in a room who’d already paid even though he didn’t know if I’d want to do a private dance—or anything else. Yeah, not suspicious at all after what had just happened. Too good to be true, actually.
Noah might be big, built, and not a total idiot, but he was also human, with a human’s limited sense of smell and insensitivity to magic. He wouldn’t be able to tell me anything useful about whoever had asked for me, so I’d be going in clueless.
Fuck it. Curiosity and the possibility of a good night’s pay won out over my reluctance to give whoever was screwing with me what he wanted. I could practically hear my father’s voice in my head: “Don’t argue with morons, Tuncay. It only makes you stupid, but it doesn’t make them any smarter.” When he had some serious wisdom to impart to me, Dad used my traditional Turkish name instead of the American alternative he and Mom had given me as a middle name. I always kind of wished they’d been more familiar with their new home’s pop culture before they named me, but too late now.
Anyway, engaging with someone who pulled childishpranks was the definition of getting stupider, but I’d never claimed to be a genius in the first place.
“Be right there.”
Noah nodded and left, and I took a second to put my pants back on before I followed him. After all, you never knew. This guy might be totally legit, and he’d pay more to get me to take them back off again.
But the second I pushed open the door to the private room, Iknew. That perfect scent wafted out as if blown on a sweet spring breeze, and for an instant, I was standing in an orchard, surrounded by fresh grass and bees and apple blossoms.
I blinked away the madness, strode through the door, and shoved it closed behind me with way too much force, irritation eroding my usual self-control.
This room was the smallest one, designed to hold one or two customers and one stripper, max—one large stripper, given the club’s theme. But even though the guy who jumped up, startled, from the L-shaped padded bench as I came in barely qualified as normal-sized, the room felt even smaller than usual. His mouthwatering scent surrounded me, along with the faint tingling skin-prickle of his magic.
Long, glossy black hair, sheened faintly pink by the room’s low red lighting, pale skin tinted rosy, and jet-black eyes gone wide and glossy. Slim, dressed all in black from the high collar of his shirt down to the tight fit of his capri pants and…
And…
I should’ve done my job and seduced money out of him, or subtly asked him about his scent, or tried to work out if he and Dominic were in cahoots.
Instead: “Who the fuck comes to a strip club in stripper heels?” I demanded, totally and uncontrollably nonplussed.
Also, horribly aroused.
His nails sported some subtle pastel color where they peeked out of his open-toe pumps, and I’d never once in my entire freaking life been a foot guy, but his toes were so slim and delicate and his ankles looked breakable, and let’s be honest here. Anyone who smelled like he did? I’d have sucked any part of their bodies, including toes. Maybe starting with toes and working my way up. I wouldn’t mind being on my knees.
