Total pages in book: 126
Estimated words: 124077 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 620(@200wpm)___ 496(@250wpm)___ 414(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 124077 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 620(@200wpm)___ 496(@250wpm)___ 414(@300wpm)
The thought followed Terra out of the dressing room and down the dim hallway toward the VIP lounge, but she tried to push it out of her head. She needed to get through the next fifteen minutes, collect whatever tip Orlov wanted to give her and get back on stage–that was all.
She just hoped she could make it through without slapping the slimy bastard.
9
TERRA
Viktor Orlov was already sitting in one of the private booths when Terra entered the VIP lounge.
She knew which one before Marty even pointed it out. Orlov always chose the same booth in the far corner, where the dim red lighting was lowest and the curtain closed more completely than the others.
“There he is,” Marty murmured.
Terra took a deep breath.
“Yeah , I can see him.”
He gave her a look.
“All right now. Be nice.”
Terra shot him a look right back.
“I'm always nice.”
Marty's eyebrows rose.
“Is that right?”
Terra frowned.
“All right, I'm nice when the customer deserves it.”
“Just don't piss him off,” her boss ordered.
And before Terra could answer, he was already walking away.
So much for staying nearby. Well, there was nothing to do but get this over with.
She drew in a deep breath and approached the booth.
Orlov looked up as she came toward him. He was dressed as he always was—expensively and almost entirely in black. Tonight he wore a charcoal suit over a black silk shirt open at the throat. His hair was slicked straight back from his narrow face, gleaming under the low lights. The strange white streak at his right temple cut through the black like a slash of paint. Candy and Crystal called him “Skunk Man” behind his back but Terra had never thought the nickname was funny.
There was something cold about Viktor Orlov. Not simply in the way he looked– though his pale gray eyes were certainly chilly enough. It was more in the way he watched people, as though he were studying them and deciding how useful they might be and how exactly he could use them.
His mouth curved into a smile when he saw Terra.
“There she is–my Bunny.”
Terra lifted her chin and gave him a thin smile.
“Hello, Mr. Orlov.”
He frowned faintly.
“So formal.”
Terra kept her professional smile in place.
“Well, what would you like me to call you?”
“Viktor, of course,” he murmured.
Terra nodded.
“All right. Viktor.”
His smile returned–a predatory slice of white on his narrow face.
“That’s better, my Bunny.”
There was a drink sitting beside him, something clear over ice. Vodka, probably. Terra had never seen him order anything else.
He patted his thigh.
“Come sit with me, Bunny.”
“I'll dance for you,” Terra said, frowning. “But we're going to go over the rules first.”
Orlov's smile widened.
“Rules? Come on now–we don’t need rules.”
“Oh, yes we do,” Terra said firmly. “No touching between my legs, no fingers under my thong and no grabbing my ass unless I tell you it's okay.”
Orlov shook his head and made a tsking sound.
“My, my. My Bunny has become very strict.”
Terra felt her shoulders tighten.
“I'm not your Bunny.”
“No?” He tilted his head. “That's what they call you here.”
“Bunny Canyon is my stage name.”
“I know.”
Something about the way he said it bothered her, but Terra ignored the feeling.
“Those are the rules,” she said. “Are we clear?”
Orlov lifted both hands in surrender.
“Perfectly.”
“Good. Then I’ll dance for you.”
Terra stepped forward and started the dance.
At first, Orlov behaved himself which almost made things worse. Terra had expected his hands to be on her within seconds, but instead he sat back and simply watched as she moved to the slow pulse of the music drifting through the lounge speakers. She rolled her hips and ran her hands over her body, keeping the movements sensual without giving him more than she had to.
His pale eyes followed her. But he wasn’t looking at her breasts or her hips–he was staring at her face.
Terra didn't like that. Most men in the club barely looked above her neck. It was annoying in its own way, but predictable. Orlov watched her as though he was waiting for something.
After several minutes of him staring at her, Terra turned her back to him and moved between his knees. She lowered herself until her ass barely brushed his lap, then rose again.
His hand closed around her hip.
She stopped abruptly.
“Hands off,” she snapped.
“Forgive me, my Bunny,” Orlov said smoothly.
He removed his hand and Terra resumed dancing.
A minute later his fingers slid over the bare skin of her thigh.
Terra moved away.
“Viktor…” she said warningly.
His hand dropped.
“You are tense tonight, my Bunny. You weren't so tense the first time you danced for me.”
“The first time I danced for you, I didn't know you wouldn't listen when I told you not to touch me,” Terra said tightly.
His smile vanished for a fraction of a second.
“Such a sharp tongue.”
“So I've been told,” Terra said dryly.
Orlov frowned.
“My Bunny needs to learn how to relax.”
Terra straightened and frowned back at him.