Page 10 of Hot-Blooded Killer

As I step outsidemy Bentley, the dry desert air hits me like a blast from an oven as the sun shines down bright from a cloudless blue sky. I push my shirtsleeves up on my forearms and stride into the building, where the cool dim interior, smelling of last night’s alcohol and cigarette smoke hits me.

The scent is pure comfort.

That’s how I feel in this place.

Our father had been bringing us to the clubs to learn the business since we were in our teens, and Max and I both view the clubs as a second home.

I give Benny, our current daytime bartender, a wave as I head back toward my office, certain there will be something I can do to keep my mind off the prenup that is even now being written out by Edoardo Rossi’s lawyers for mine to glance over. Once all the attorneys are satisfied, Gia and I will sign one version, while her father and I will sign another stating our obligations to one another.

Until that’s done, I’m sure I’ll be a ball of nerves, unable to focus on much of anything else.

I can at least get some basic paperwork done. And then in about half an hour, I’ll see who’s dancing tonight.

At least one of them will be willing to go home with me.

I’m sure of it.

* * *

When I leavemy office an hour later, there are as usual several dancers hanging around backstage.

I let my gaze drift across them, realizing as I do so that none of them are as attractive to me as Gia Rossi.

Not that I’ve ever been concerned about that kind of thing before.

After all, they’re all pretty enough.

But not a single one of them has Gia’s sharp gaze, all hard darkness over inner light.

No, these women are hard all the way through—no matter how pretty they are, many of them have seen the worst of life.

I almost laugh aloud as I consider the irony in the idea that Gia, who grew up in the middle of the Mafia, and who had by all accounts been training to take over from her father in a business renowned for bringing out the darkest parts of people, would retain her inner spark, whereas these women had lost theirs.

Brittany, who goes by the stage name Diamond, comes off the stage and moves toward me, pulling dollar bills out of her G-string, her face flushed and her eyes sparkling. She’s as hard as the gemstone she named herself after.

Catching sight of me, she turns on her heel, making a beeline toward me.

“Lorenzo,” she purrs, her eyes brightening even further. “I didn’t expect you to come in today.”

She sidles up next to me, leaning in and pressing her pasties-covered breasts against my arm. The sequins covering her nipples scratch against my skin, and irritation flickers through me. Still, I remain cordial. It isn’t the poor girl’s fault that her clothing—or lack thereof—rubs me the wrong way. Literally.

“Diamond,” I say, sticking to my policy of always calling the girls by their stage names. No need to get too familiar with any of them. “How’s your shift going?”

“Oh, you know. Not too bad for a weekday.” She finishes smoothing the bills in her hand and folds them over. “What are you doing here?” Her voice turns coquettish, and she glances up at me through her lashes, a practiced move I’ve seen many women perform.

I let my voice drop into a low, seductive register. “I just dropped by to see how you girls were doing.” I glance around at the small group of dancers, including them all in my comment, but I slip my hand down along Diamond’s arm, barely brushing it with my fingertips. Goose pimples pop up all over her, and my smile deepens. “Would you like to talk to me in my office?” I ask suggestively.

“Absolutely.” She waves the wad of bills. “Just let me deal with this and I’ll be right there.”

I move back into my office, planning to have Diamond shut and lock the door behind her when she comes in.

But as I sit sprawled in a round leather chair in the corner, waiting for her to arrive, I find myself considering all the ways Diamond and Gia are polar opposites.

It goes far beyond the expressions in their eyes.

Although they’re both muscular—after all, it takes a certain amount of athleticism to be a successful pole dancer—everything about Diamond is hard, from her body to her eyes. If I were going to describe her impartially, I’d probably use words likestringyorlanky, though I’m certain she would prefer adjectives likethinorslender.

Gia, on the other hand, is muscular and round, with an inherent softness to her body that matches the gentleness I feel emanating from her soul.

---