Page 20 of Wicked Takeover
Lauren gripped harder. If she bruised her, too freaking bad. “Please don’t say anything to him.”
“No way.” She crossed her heart and pried Lauren’s fingers off her arm. “It’s our secret.” Jasmina stopped at the door and turned back. “That doesn’t mean I agree. If you don’t make a play for Dante, you might lose out. Those other women will be in there with him, enjoying themselves, while you’re in here listening and maybe watching them on the security camera. Something to think about.”
On that cheery note, she took off and left the door open.
Dante’s clients giggled worse than preteens.
His rumbling voice glided down the hall.
Lauren hurried from the office on a Dove Bar mission. Only chocolate could help now.
She slowed and stopped at Dante’s station.
Two young women relaxed inside.
One lounged on a regular chair and held up photos of boob tats, comparing them.
Lauren had seen several in Van Gogh’s repertoire. She should have asked to see Dante’s binder.
The young woman’s friend was partially nude from the waist down, clad only in a lacy red thong, and bent over the convertible chair. The furniture was flat as a bed, her ass offered to Dante for inking.
Good sense urged Lauren to run. But she couldn’t move or breathe.
Dante messed with his tattoo equipment.
His client wiggled her butt. “Hope you have a steady hand today, sweetie.”
“I always do. You won’t feel much.”
“That’s no fun.”
Dante smiled easily. “You’d be surprised. Now keep still. Wouldn’t want to mess up your design.”
“You won’t. I hear you’re the best.”
The young woman had no idea…or maybe she would if she was Dante’s type, and he asked her on a date, then showed her his real talents with a woman, wooing and wowing her between the sheets.
Lauren stepped back.
Dante glanced up and caught her watching him in the mirror.
He gave her a surprisingly warm look and winked as he might to a woman he considered special.
Her legs felt weird, like they might not be able to support her weight for long. She ached to melt in his arms, which was pure lunacy. He was far too popular with women to notice her on a longtime basis. Say for more than a few seconds. He probably banged a new babe each night. With his killer looks, he’d have plenty of options.
More importantly, he was smart and a genuinely nice guy, offering his salary to save Jasmina and Van Gogh from losing theirs. Lauren figured Dante had also wanted to help because of Frank. She suspected they’d been close, but she couldn’t understand why. Frank had probably come off way different here than he had in her life. Sort of like Ted Bundy, the serial killer, becoming friends with noted crime writer Ann Rule when they’d worked phones at a suicide crisis center. Work relationships never delved deeply into someone’s rotten soul. In any event, Dante’s generosity certainly had nothing to do with any sexual or romantic feelings he had for her, which were nonexistent.
She fled to her office, closed the door, and sagged against it.
The air conditioning shut off. Sounds seeped in, some so low she strained to identify them.
She hung her head, unable to endure much more desire for him. She had to do something other than hide in here or break down and watch the security feed, which would only upset her further.
…
“Be right back.” Dante turned off his ink gun and rushed into the hall.
Empty. Lauren’s door closed.
