her arm, steadying her.
The sudden movement caught Benny’s attention. “Back off,” he ordered from the corner. Kylie realized from Benny’s perspective, it looked as if Trevor had stood up and grabbed her.
“I’ll back off when the lady tells me to back off,” Trevor said. “Until then, you back off.”
Before she could find her tongue, Benny got up, walked over, and stood beside Trevor. Apprehension coiled her gut. Trevor towered over her by more than half a foot, and outweighed her by a good hundred pounds of solid, hard-packed muscle, but Benny had him by at least three inches and fifty pounds.
“Now you’re confused about the rules,” the big man went on. “She don’t need to say a word. You back off when I say so. I’m saying so right now.”
Trevor’s eyes never left hers. “What do you say, Stacy? Want me to back off?” He didn’t let go of her arm.
Fear froze her heart in her chest. She knew what he was trying to do—provoke a confrontation with Benny and get kicked out—and she desperately wanted to stop him. Forcing a laugh, she shook her head. “Don’t be stupid.”
She smiled at Benny, and said, “Thanks. I’ve got this handled.”
Benny didn’t return her smile, but he took a step back and looked at his watch. “This dance is over, and we close in fifteen minutes. Finish your business.”
Much to her relief, Trevor released her, but then he reached into his pocket, withdrew a folded bill, and held it out to her. A tip. Bile rose in her throat.
She closed her eyes and looked away. “I don’t want it.”
“Add it to the Stacy Roberts career change fund,” he said softly and she felt his fingers slide the bill along her hip and tuck it into her thong.
“Come on,” said Benny, impatiently, from the door.
A few seconds later the door closed and she stood alone in the room. With unsteady hands she retrieved her bra, and then opened the door. Somehow, she forced her shaking legs to support her while she crossed the nearly empty club and walked down the hall to the dressing room.
Inside, Ariana, Lee Ann and Ginger were removing makeup, combing out hair, and changing into street clothes. She slipped through the chaos to her vanity and stared at her reflection. Pale face, bruised-looking eyes, fever-red lips. Her gaze traveled down, dispassionately, and took in the sight of her breasts overflowing the gauzy white camisole, nipples visible beneath the sheer fabric. Her attention moved lower still, and snagged on the bill tucked into the hip of her thong. Her stomach revolted. Dropping to her knees, she grabbed the little trash can tucked next to her vanity, stuck her head in, and lost her lunch.
Chapter Seven
“Snowflake, you’re not pregnant, are you?” Ginger crouched close and draped a cool, damp towel across the back of Kylie’s neck. Arm braced on the rim of the waste can, Kylie raised her head and looked at the women gathered around. Ariana handed her a bottle of water. Lee Ann took her hand and tipped some breath mints into her palm. Her gaze swung to Ginger. She sipped the water, tossed the mints in her mouth, and said, “No. I’m not pregnant.”
“Something you ate?” Lee Ann drawled sympathetically.
“I’m sure it’s nothing. I’ve just been under a lot of stress lately.”
“I know, sugar, stumbling on poor old Carlton, dead in the parking lot. We’re all queasy about that.”
“You all need to be careful.” Kylie gave each woman a serious look. “The police don’t know who killed Carlton, but they think it might have been another customer or even someone who works here. Please keep your eyes open. Look after yourselves and don’t take any risks.”
“Always,” Ginger said. “But that’s not what’s got your head in the trash, is it? I’m guessing the cause is about six feet two inches of suited-up sexy. Your private dance?”
She sucked in a breath, coughed, and swallowed the mint lodged in her throat. “ No. ”
“Oh,
The sudden movement caught Benny’s attention. “Back off,” he ordered from the corner. Kylie realized from Benny’s perspective, it looked as if Trevor had stood up and grabbed her.
“I’ll back off when the lady tells me to back off,” Trevor said. “Until then, you back off.”
Before she could find her tongue, Benny got up, walked over, and stood beside Trevor. Apprehension coiled her gut. Trevor towered over her by more than half a foot, and outweighed her by a good hundred pounds of solid, hard-packed muscle, but Benny had him by at least three inches and fifty pounds.
“Now you’re confused about the rules,” the big man went on. “She don’t need to say a word. You back off when I say so. I’m saying so right now.”
Trevor’s eyes never left hers. “What do you say, Stacy? Want me to back off?” He didn’t let go of her arm.
Fear froze her heart in her chest. She knew what he was trying to do—provoke a confrontation with Benny and get kicked out—and she desperately wanted to stop him. Forcing a laugh, she shook her head. “Don’t be stupid.”
She smiled at Benny, and said, “Thanks. I’ve got this handled.”
Benny didn’t return her smile, but he took a step back and looked at his watch. “This dance is over, and we close in fifteen minutes. Finish your business.”
Much to her relief, Trevor released her, but then he reached into his pocket, withdrew a folded bill, and held it out to her. A tip. Bile rose in her throat.
She closed her eyes and looked away. “I don’t want it.”
“Add it to the Stacy Roberts career change fund,” he said softly and she felt his fingers slide the bill along her hip and tuck it into her thong.
“Come on,” said Benny, impatiently, from the door.
A few seconds later the door closed and she stood alone in the room. With unsteady hands she retrieved her bra, and then opened the door. Somehow, she forced her shaking legs to support her while she crossed the nearly empty club and walked down the hall to the dressing room.
Inside, Ariana, Lee Ann and Ginger were removing makeup, combing out hair, and changing into street clothes. She slipped through the chaos to her vanity and stared at her reflection. Pale face, bruised-looking eyes, fever-red lips. Her gaze traveled down, dispassionately, and took in the sight of her breasts overflowing the gauzy white camisole, nipples visible beneath the sheer fabric. Her attention moved lower still, and snagged on the bill tucked into the hip of her thong. Her stomach revolted. Dropping to her knees, she grabbed the little trash can tucked next to her vanity, stuck her head in, and lost her lunch.
Chapter Seven
“Snowflake, you’re not pregnant, are you?” Ginger crouched close and draped a cool, damp towel across the back of Kylie’s neck. Arm braced on the rim of the waste can, Kylie raised her head and looked at the women gathered around. Ariana handed her a bottle of water. Lee Ann took her hand and tipped some breath mints into her palm. Her gaze swung to Ginger. She sipped the water, tossed the mints in her mouth, and said, “No. I’m not pregnant.”
“Something you ate?” Lee Ann drawled sympathetically.
“I’m sure it’s nothing. I’ve just been under a lot of stress lately.”
“I know, sugar, stumbling on poor old Carlton, dead in the parking lot. We’re all queasy about that.”
“You all need to be careful.” Kylie gave each woman a serious look. “The police don’t know who killed Carlton, but they think it might have been another customer or even someone who works here. Please keep your eyes open. Look after yourselves and don’t take any risks.”
“Always,” Ginger said. “But that’s not what’s got your head in the trash, is it? I’m guessing the cause is about six feet two inches of suited-up sexy. Your private dance?”
She sucked in a breath, coughed, and swallowed the mint lodged in her throat. “ No. ”
“Oh,
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