Bare Your Soul by Rochelle Paige Page B

seemed to have long, gorgeous legs. She was wearing fuck-me heels and a blue dress with buttons down the front. She looked innocent and sexy at the same time, and my cock jumped at the sight of her. At my words, she looked up at me, her green eyes getting big as she realized someone else was in the club.
    “Yeah, boss. She’s here to audition,” he answered. “Not that she really needs to with looks like that. She came in yesterday and stole a lot of attention away from the dancers just by sitting at a table for lunch.”
    “No audition,” I growled.
    “That’s what I was saying. A chick like that? Fuck, she could just stand there and guys would pay money to look. But there was no way in hell I was going to turn down the chance for a private show,” he admitted.
    Brian had worked for me ever since I bought the club five years ago. He was my employee, but we’d become friendly over time. In the past, I never cared if he screwed the girls as long as it didn’t cause any drama, but the mere mention of him wanting alone time with the girl on stage pissed me the hell off.
    “Thank fuck I don’t live by your rule,” he rambled on without a clue that I was livid. “’Cause you can be damn sure I’ll do my best to get her in my bed. Hell, I might even keep her there.”
    “Get the fuck out!” I roared as I saw red at his words. The very thought of him in bed with her made me lose control. The girl shook her head and lost all color in her face as she stumbled towards the bag she’d left at the corner of the stage. “Not you,” I barked out. “Him.”
    I glared at her to make sure she understood I wanted her to stay put before turning to Brian. “What the fuck, man?” he mumbled.
    “You heard me. Out,” I repeated.
    He swiveled his head to the stage to look up at the girl and then back at me. “It fucking figures that now’s the time you’d decide to get your dick wet with a girl you met at the club. Damn,” he grumbled as he walked away, leaving us alone.
    When the door closed behind him, I walked to the steps leading up to the stage. “Down,” I ordered her. “Now.”
    She picked up her bag and clutched it to her chest as she strolled towards me. I reached my hand out to help her down the steps, worried that she’d fall on her ass in those ridiculous shoes. It didn’t matter that the girls who danced here wore ‘em and tramped up and down the steps all the time. I didn’t like the idea of her risking her pretty little neck. Plus, it gave me an excuse to touch her.
    Of course I didn’t let go of her hand as I walked over to one of the tables and made the girl sit down. I pulled the chair next to her closer before joining her. 
    “What’s your name?” I asked.
    “Angelica,” she stuttered out, blushing and looking down at her hands in her lap.
    “Angelica,” I repeated, liking the sound of her name on my lips. “You seem a little too innocent to be here.”
    If the glare she shot at me was any indication, she didn’t much like my comment. “It can’t be that bad. It’s not like I wore a ton of clothes when I used to do gymnastics.”
    A gymnast? Holy fuck! My cock practically burst through my zipper at the thought of how far back I could push her legs while slamming into her tight body.
    “Doing flips and shit dressed in some leotard and tights is nothing like strutting your stuff buck ass naked on my stage, Angel,” I argued.
    “Angelica,” she corrected me with a hint of sass in her tone.
    “How old are you?” I asked, hoping like hell she was older than she looked.
    “Nineteen,” she mumbled under her breath.
    Motherfucking nineteen. Old enough that she wasn’t jailbait but a far cry from my thirty years.
    “Shouldn’t you be in school or something?” I wondered aloud, earning myself an eye roll.
    “I graduated high school and college doesn’t start for a few months,” she explained.
    “So you figured you’d pass the time stripping in between?” I asked.
    Angelica