Page 39 of Brutal Betrayal
Chapter 10
Lucia
For the first time, my heart listens to the sirens wailing in my head. “You can’t keep doing this, Dante.”
His name slips out in a moan, and he groans a deep, rough rumble, hearing it the same way. It’s hot and needy—nothing as planned.
My pulse hammers in my throat when I strive to get this wreck back on track. “You can’t keep showing up and?—”
“And what?” He cocks a brow, loving that I’m void of an excuse. “Watch? Isn’t that the purpose of strip clubs? You come, watch, and then leave.” His eyes narrow, and his anger makes a mess of my panties. “Or in some cases, you watch,come, then leave.”
My stomach gurgles. I hate the thought of him leaving to the same degree I loathe the thought of not speaking to my son.
Needing space to get my head screwed back on, I leave the stage. As I head toward the dressing room, my legs shake. It isn’t from nerves. It’s because of the way Dante looks at me like he’s solving a puzzle only he understands.
Heavy footsteps mimic each click of my boots.
Of course they do.
Men like Dante Caruso always have to have the last word.
I know this, so why the hell is his insistence making me more happy than angry?
I shouldn’t want him to chase me. I shouldn’t want his attention. But I do. Very much so.
Hating how weak I’m allowing him to make me, I get snappy. “If you’re here for a remake of theperformanceI gave you the other day, forget it. You can’t afford me.”
He huffs out a half-laugh, half-growl. “I’m not here for that.”
I hide my disappointment with a snarl. “Sure.”
“I’m not.” Anger sharpens in his tone. He’s annoyed I would even imply that’s why he’s here.
I turn to face him. “Then what was that about?” I gesture with my head to the empty club.
He tilts in close, as if his nearness will answer everything. I fight the urge to lean into his embrace. He’s infiltrated my dreams every night since the day we met, and no matter how much I resist, the pull is intense.
I still fight, though. “You’re acting like a jealous twit.”
“Jealous?” His scoff echoes around the barren corridor.
I act as if his dismissive tone didn’t burn me. “And now you’re following me.”
“I’m talking to you.”
“You interrupted my routine.”
He works his jaw back and forth. “That wasn’t jealousy.”
“Then what was it?”
He hesitates for barely a second, but I see the truth beneath the cracks my rejection made in his armor.
He’s jealous. But that isn’t all I see. The protectiveness radiating out of him is just as strong.
It’s a fight not to smooth the groove between his brows with my tongue, but I keep my feet planted when he mutters, “It doesn’t matter.”
“It does to me.”
