Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 91507 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 458(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91507 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 458(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
The dancers were good, really good.
But only one held Rafe’s attention. Pastel Princess. Cotton-candy queen.
Except...
Wait a minute.
The dancers spun on their heels and swept their hands sensuously down their flat chests. Rafe’s breath caught in his throat and he coughed.
“Oh! Mr. Marson, I didn’t see you there.” Prince held out his hand, distracting Rafe from the dancers. The male dancers.
Rafe shook it. His mind whirled but he forced himself to focus. “My general manager just told me you were here. If I’d known you were coming I would have welcomed you at the door.”
One of Prince’s eyebrows rose. So that was why he hadn’t known in advance. Prince wanted to scout the place. This was a test.
Goddamn it.
“I’ve heard a lot about Switch, but I’ve never been myself.”
Rafe breathed through his nose, stone mask in place. This bastard wasn’t going to see him sweat. “In that case, welcome.” He spread his hands out, palm up, in an inviting gesture.
“You’ve created a provocative ambiance here, it excites the senses.” The woman next to Prince leaned her slender hip on the railing and glanced at the performers. Rafe’s eyes followed.
They wore knee-high boots, short-shorts, leather straps and harnesses. A costume so clearly bondage inspired it tickled Rafe’s kink. Everything else was exposed skin, glistening with sweat and glitter. His fingers curled against the metal bar until his knuckles turned white. Male.
All of them.
Their bulges were clearly visible beneath the lacy boxers, if such tiny scraps of fabric could really be called boxers. He wasn’t so sure. More like panties.
He forced his gaze away. He needed to concentrate on Prince and his purpose for coming.
“Switch aims to push boundaries and entice hidden desires. We’re not just a nightclub, we’re an experience.” His voice was gruff and maybe a bit defensive. He consciously relaxed his shoulders and tried to paste on a charming smile.
Prince laughed. It was a warm, rich sound that blended with the tail end of Rihanna’s song. “You sound like a brochure.” He slipped a hand to Rafe’s elbow and guided him to the corner booth. “Sit with us,” he said, sliding into place between a blonde with a large bust and a wide-shouldered ginger with a pronounced Adam’s apple.
So, this was the posse. Models. Five of them. Damn, but they were all gorgeous. Including Prince, the asshole.
Rafe didn’t have a choice. He sat, taking a position across from Prince so he could read the guy better.
Problem was, over Prince’s shoulder Rafe had a perfect view and his gaze kept straying. When he should have been focused on the man who held his future in his hands, he was distracted by the confusing mix of masculinity and femininity taking place on stage.
Soon after they’d taken their seats, the music changed. It slowed and became even more sensual. During the opening lines when Selena Gomez sang without music, the dancers gathered near the back curtain. When they finally turned around at the chorus, Rafe’s mouth watered.
They wore jeweled handcuffs with long chains and sank to their knees. Smoke filled the floor, and the lights dimmed, creating a private erotic scene.
Holy fuck. They were perfect little sex slaves. His palms itched with the desire to take control.
In his mind, pink hair wrapped around one fist while the other held his cock out for a pair of full painted lips. Under the table he smoothed his slacks to his knees.
“They’re stunning,” the woman who’d been standing with Prince said in his ear. At some point she’d slid in next to him. He hadn’t noticed. “Where did you find them?”
With a deep breath, Rafe put a stranglehold on his lust and cut his gaze to her. Rafe had no idea, but damn, he wanted to know too. Where the fuck had they come from? “You’ll have to ask my GM, I only sign the checks.”
Her throaty laugh was the kind that would have another guy pouring all his charm into getting her out of her clothes. Not him. Especially not today.
“Refreshingly humble,” she said. “I’m Gigi, Parker’s assistant.”
Ah. That explained the suit. Rafe shook her hand and flicked a quick glance to Prince, who eyed them with calculation. Huh. Were they setting him up?
“Nice to meet you,” Rafe said, but quickly let go and leaned forward, propping his elbows on his knees and looking straight into Prince’s eyes.
“Let’s cut to the chase, Mr. Prince. What is it I can do for you?”
“I suggested he come,” Gigi said.
Rafe glanced over his shoulder to see her blink at him but refocused on Prince.
“It’s true. She said I should have a look at what a normal night looks like. I prefer seeing models in their regular clothes. Their style can tell you a lot about who they are. I wanted to know the club’s personality.”
Rafe didn’t see any signs of falsehood on Prince’s too pretty face. Some of the tension he’d been carrying since Mark rushed into his office drained away. He leaned back. “So, what have you concluded?”