“I’m afraid you sat down at the wrong table, Mr. Federoff.”
“Why are you so certain of that?”
She gestured toward him, from the top of his head down his chest, grateful the rest of him was hidden. She was finally getting to a place where she could speak to him without making a total fool of herself. She was fully capable of speaking her mind or speaking the truth, but only if she didn’t think too much about the rest of his body.
She pushed her glasses back on her nose. “You have to know what you look like. Even what you sound like. Men as beautiful as you are don’t give women who look like me a second glance. I have no idea why you decided to sit at this table, but it’s absurd. Did the merry widows talk you into sitting with me?”
His eyes had gone hot silver. Gleaming silver. Mesmerizing. She couldn’t have looked away if she wanted to. “Women who look like you? What do you look like?”
His voice made her shiver, as if she had said something that truly annoyed him. It didn’t show on his face, so she couldn’t exactly say what it was that made her think he was disappointed and even angry, but she knew he was. The silver eyes glittered. Moved over her face. Dwelled on her mouth. Dropped lower. He seemed to be able to look right through her boxy sweatshirt to the body she hid from the world.
He leaned toward her. “I’m going to do you the courtesy of telling you the truth since you’re so honest with me. As for the merry widows, as sweet and funny as they are, I would never sit down with a woman I wasn’t interested in.”
His voice made her shiver. Those eyes had come back up to hers and held her gaze captive. He was interested in her? She didn’t know what to think of that.
“In case you hadn’t noticed, I have scars. Not all women find that attractive. Evidently, you do, which is good for me. Your hair is unbelievable. For a man with my tastes and needs, your hair is a fucking miracle. I think you have one of the most beautiful faces I’ve ever seen. Every emotion you feel is transparent. Right there. You have incredible eyes. I would know exactly what you were thinking or feeling just looking into your eyes. I’ve been in this coffee shop numerous times and fantasized far too much about having your lips wrapped around my dick. Just looking at your mouth makes me hard. You have tits and an ass, something that I look for in a woman. You also have brains. You’re not afraid of speaking your mind, yet you’re the kind of woman a man like me needs. Women like you don’t come along that often.”
She wished she was offended by his plain speaking, but she had gone damp. Her breasts ached. Her mouth even watered. Color crept under her skin, and there was no way to slow her quickened breathing, so she didn’t try to hide her reaction to his assessment of her.
“What the hell do you think is wrong with your looks?”
He didn’t raise his voice at all. If anything, it was lower than normal, but all the same, his tone was a demand for her to answer him.
She moistened her lips. The minute she did, her gaze dropped to his lap and the heavy bulge outlined against his dark jeans. Her heart thudded a desperate beat, a wild drumming that pounded through her clit.
“I do have a lot of hair,” she conceded. “It’s thick and wild and isn’t very tamable. My eyes are too big for my face. My lips are too much. If I wear lipstick, especially a bright color, I look…” She broke off abruptly.
Sometimes when she was alone at night, she applied a bright red lipstick and wore the only club outfit she had, which she would never dare to wear in public. She would stand far back from the mirror and walk slowly toward it. She turned even redder thinking about how she performed in front of the mirror. She loved to dance. Loved dancing. It was right up there with reading.
Andrii smiled at her, his gaze on her mouth. “I can imagine how you would look and what every man seeing you would want you to do. I would love to walk into a club with you on my arm. You’re so fucking sexy. I like the idea other men would know you’re mine.”
Azelie could tell he was waiting to see if he’d shocked her or put her off with his crude, explicit way of speaking, but her entire body responded to it. That was her dirty little secret. He had evidently taken the time to study her long enough to figure her out. To realize she was the type of woman to respond to a man like him.
“By all means, Zelie, keep going. What else do you think is wrong with your looks? Why do you hide your tits behind those ridiculous shirts? And your very nice ass in those baggy pants? What is the purpose?”
She tried to stay still under his demand for an answer. She was ashamed of her desire to be anonymous. She had her reasons. She didn’t really need to share everything with him. The bare minimum would do. “I’ve been working as a bookkeeper for one of the local clubs since I was sixteen. It wasn’t exactly legal when I started because I was underage. It just sort of happened. The bookkeeper unexpectedly quit right before an audit, and the owner, Alan, needed someone. I’m really good with numbers. Really good. Really fast.”
“How did this Alan know about you?”
“My brother-in-law knew him. He told Alan about me. Quentin always called me the whiz kid. He told me to wear really baggy sweats and work during the day, to never go to the club at night. So that’s how I started wearing these clothes to work.”
She gave him a tentative smile. She was telling him the truth. Quentin, her brother-in-law, had gotten her the job, and he had been the one to insist she wear baggy sweats.
“This club owner trusted a kid to fix his books when he was being audited?” There was disbelief mixed with incredulousness, as if Andrii wanted to believe her, but the idea was so absurd, he just couldn’t.
Her smile widened. “It wasn’t like he had anyone else. He didn’t have time to find someone professional. Alan had less than forty-eight hours. I was taking classes at the college, and Quentin wouldn’t let me go. I worked nearly the full forty-eight hours straight.”
“I take it you were able to fix the mistakes his accountant had made?”
She laughed; she couldn’t help it. “The point was to keep him out of prison. I managed to do that. Alan’s accountant had a big grudge against him. He had an interest in the clubs. There are actually two clubs, and they make a lot of money. With his partner out of the way, he might have managed a takeover.”
“Was the accountant a full partner?”
Azelie shook her head. “He had been embezzling. That was blatant. Alan trusted him. He didn’t pay much attention to the books. He does now.”
“Do you ever work at night?”
“I work whenever I need to, meaning if I’m behind or the boss calls me in for something, I’ll go in at night. I don’t like to. The clubs are very popular, and both are always packed. The clubs are mostly empty during the day, so it’s easier to work when no one’s around but the security guards. They know to leave me alone. Even Alan sleeps in late. I can have the place to myself.”
“What club is it you work for?” He reached out and ran one finger down the back of the hand curled around her to-go mug, as if the temptation of touching her was too hard to resist.
“The Pleasure Train.” She rolled her eyes. “The name is so ridiculous, I laughed the first time Quentin told me about it. I can’t believe how many people go there.”
“I’ve gone there a few times with friends of mine,” he admitted.
“You have? The upstairs, the Pleasure Train, is a dance club. The floor beneath it is the Adventure Club for the much more adventurous.” She already knew which floor he’d visited with his friends.
The pad of his finger slowly stroked back and forth along the back of her hand. “Most of those men claiming to be Doms are playing roles, Zelie. They’re acting out parts, playacting. Nothing more. It isn’t a lifestyle for them or their partner.”
She nodded. “I’ve been around them enough to have learned they’re only there to have fun.”
“You haven’t ever participated at the club, have you?”
Was there an edge to that soft voice? A hint of steel? A dark thrill crept down her spine. She suddenly had the premonition that he could be very dangerous. “I’ve walked through every room many times and never once felt the slightest inclination to join in the fun,” she admitted. It was true. She wasn’t into games. She didn’t play.
“I think it would be a good idea to keep it that way.”
She wasn’t certain what he meant by that. He held a fascination for her no other man had ever managed to do. It was disconcerting and a little frightening. As a rule, she wasn’t the least intimidated by anyone. She could not care less what they thought of her.
