What was he doing here?
It was Dante Rousseau, owner of Bayou Sin, and one of the people Sabrina cleaned for during the day. With a scowl marring his strong brow, he pushed through the throng with ease, his wide mouth set in a grim, firm line. Before she realized what Dante was up to, he’d grabbed her by the wrist, hauled her forward, and tossed her over his shoulder.
Over the din, Sabrina heard the director introduce Jessica. Shock gave way to fury. How dare he?
“Put me down!” She kicked and pounded her fists against his back. Male laughter reached her ears, and it only made her rage burn that much brighter.
“Quiet,” he ordered. His iron grip on her body tightened, and he swatted her rear with a hard wallop.
He had spanked her, like she was a misbehaving child! She was too stunned to respond.
His broad, muscled shoulder dug into her belly. She grew dizzy from having her world turned upside down. Where was he taking her, and why? The scent of frying food assailed her as they left the main floor, while an old Etta James number played in the background. But Dante kept moving, kept walking, passed through another door, and shut it behind them.
Her world was righted, and she found herself sitting on a leather couch in the man’s office, with Dante kneeling before her.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” she snapped.
“I’d like to ask you the same thing.” His gaze dipped to her chest. And for the briefest of moments, she spied hunger in those intense chocolate depths before he flicked his gaze back up to hers. Dante reached over his head and dragged his tee shirt off.
Miles of smooth, contoured chest muscles were now exposed to her gaze. She’d always thought Dante was hot, with his simmering, magnetic stare, but that was before she had seen him without a shirt on.
Holy Mother of God!
Her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth. They were both half-dressed and alone in his office. When he reached toward her, she stuttered, “W-w-w-what do you think you’re doing?”
His dark brow rose. “Covering you up, love.”
Shame, thick and putrid, slammed into her. Because, for the briefest of moments, she’d thought he might want her in that way. Now, instead, her naked chest made her feel ashamed.
“I don’t need your shirt.” She crossed her arms in front of her breasts and stubbornly refused the offer. He’d made her a laughing stock in his club.
“Put it on. Because I sincerely doubt you’re going to like being dragged down Bourbon Street with your cleavage on display.”
“I’m not going anywhere with you.” Especially when I still have to figure out how to make enough cash to pay rent. She was paying an in-home nurse to watch Alex, which was extra money they couldn’t do without if she didn’t make up the difference.
He cocked his head. “Or maybe not… maybe you want to strip. Do you? Is this the life you want?”
Sabrina flushed. Of course she didn’t want to do it. But there were a lot of things she had been forced to do in her lifetime, things she didn’t enjoy yet did them anyway because someone had to get the damn job done. If not her, then who?
Warily, she yanked the shirt from his hands and held it against her chest. The spicy scent from his cologne engulfed her. She said raggedly, trying not to cry, “Why did you do that? I’m never going to be able to go back out there after that. After what you did.”
“Thank God for that.”
“Why do you care? You own this place,” she said, shoving her arms through his shirt and pulling the material down over her chest. The material dwarfed her body, but then again, he was a big man, who stood at least six foot two, and was powerfully built. Dante was a man who took care of his body, and likely spent hours in the gym maintaining the level of fitness he displayed.
“I do. And you’re not a stripper, love. If you are, if that’s what you truly want to do, then I won’t stop you. But look me in the eye and tell me that it absolutely, one hundred percent is what you want to do with your life.”
Her lower lip quivered. She pressed them together. She wouldn’t cry. Wouldn’t let herself cry. She glanced away from the intensity of his gaze.
“Can you, Sabrina?” His voice took on a patient, kind tone.
She squeezed her eyes shut to hold back the tears that wanted to fall. “No.”
“Then why are you here?”
Because her life was circling the drain and she had no other options. She had no other way to make enough money to keep a roof over their heads.
“I need the money,” she whispered raggedly. The enormity of her failure slammed into her. They would be homeless by the end of the week. Her brother, for whom she had fought long and hard to keep his condition relatively stable, or as stable as it would ever be, would descend into madness. And it was all her fault. She couldn’t work enough, wasn’t smart enough, or educated enough to have a job that would pay her what she needed to support him.
“Why didn’t you come to me? You know I would help you out.”
She shook her head. It was too much; she needed too much money. This wasn’t something that could be solved with a few hundred bucks. She needed thousands, between rent and her brother’s care. He should be in an assisted living facility, but she couldn’t afford it. Sabrina had scraped by paying for an in-home nurse so that she could work. And she wasn’t financially viable enough to get a loan from a bank. She knew that because she had tried. The bank manager had all but laughed at her feeble attempt.
“I have to get back out there. I need to earn it.” She started to rise, but Dante clamped his hands on her wrists.
“No, love. Sorry but you won’t be taking your clothes off here.”
“Then I’ll find another place on Bourbon Street.” She steeled her shoulders, hating the disappointment that swamped her, that made her want to curl up into a ball and weep.
“No, you won’t. I’ll tell them I fired you for stealing, and none of them will hire you. Come on. I have something better, something you won’t need to take your clothes off for.” Dante dangled a carrot.
What could he possibly have to offer? She had no idea but at this point, she was willing to listen. “I need to get my things.”
“Where are they at?” he asked her.
“In the back with the other girls, at the station they gave me to use. Why?” she asked with suspicion. Just what was the man up to?
Before she realized what he was doing, her hands were cuffed and attached to a loop she’d not seen before on the wall above the couch. Her wrath resurfaced in a blink. “Dante, let me out of these things. What are you doing?”
“Making sure you don’t leave while I get your stuff. I’ll be back in two shakes,” he stated, rising. He strode out of his office without his shirt on, shutting the door behind him.
They would all think she had been in here banging the boss after the way he had carried her out of there, only for him to head back out without his shirt on.
“Aargh!” she screamed, and twisted, trying to yank her hands out of the cuffs, all while blinking back the flood of tears that threatened. She wasn’t going to let them fall, or let him see what this did to her. But that didn’t mean she wasn’t going to fight like hell. If she was going down, she would rather do it swinging than whimpering in a corner.
The door to Dante’s office opened and he emerged, his arms full of