von Willegen, Therése - Tainted Love (Siren Publishing Classic) Read online

  He towered above her, still dressed in black, glossy hair framing a face turned severe in the low light. “I apologise.” His expression softened somewhat. “Thank you for agreeing to dance tonight.”

  They stood staring, Marianne uncomfortably aware of how hard her heart hammered. Although he was so tall…so intimidating…she somehow didn’t feel as if she had anything to fear. Perhaps it was the way he looked at her.

  Marianne caught herself. They’d been observing each other for longer than was proper, saying absolutely nothing. Her face warmed. “I should go…” She gestured at the dressing room. Yet she stood, rooted to the spot.

  “I…I meant to ask. What do you do when you’re not here?” Brett seemed to be clutching at words too, as if he wanted to make conversation in space where no natural conversation would flow.

  Marianne allowed herself to sag slightly against the wall, her gaze never leaving his dark eyes. “I used to work as a graphic designer. Got retrenched. Now…” She shrugged. “Stupid job in call centre. I quit today. I was…” She didn’t want to come out and say it, but she was hoping something would come of her time here at Imperial House.

  “Sorry to hear about that. I guess tonight’s shift is fortuitous.”

  “What do you mean by that?” Marianne tried not to let her confusion show.

  He laughed. “My bad. I mean, me calling you to dance tonight is to your advantage.”

  Ah, hell, now he must think she was stupid and naive. “Oh.”

  Something in her expression must have suggested her embarrassment, because he reached out to touch her arm. It was the briefest contact, meant to reassure, but it sent a jolt through her, like static electricity.

  “Don’t mind me,” Brett said. “My vocabulary is sometimes more complicated than what’s good for me, a simple owner of a strip club.” He inclined his head, a lopsided smile dancing on his lips.

  He was flirting with her, of that Marianne was sure. Well, two could play at that game. Hell, if she could take her clothes off in front of two dozen men, giving a club owner as good as he gave would be easy. Marianne sucked in her breath and straightened her spine.

  As long as she thought of this as some sort of game, she could come out on top. And hell, it felt good that a man found her attractive, even if he’d probably had the pick of the girls already.

  “Well, Mr. Gentle, what would you say is good for you then?”

  “Ah, now that’d be telling.” The lopsided smile had grown, revealing even white teeth.

  “Brett!” A woman called out from behind them. “The debit order didn’t come off this morning.”

  Marianne stiffened, pulling away from Brett as Tonia approached, her almost frost-white hair a halo about her face. She eyed Marianne with more than a healthy dose of suspicion, stopping at Brett’s side, her arms folded in such a way that left no doubt in Marianne’s mind that she was about to be privy to an argument.

  “I’m going to go get changed now,” Marianne said.

  “Yes, you’d better,” Tonia said. She bit off the words.

  For a moment Marianne wanted to find some snappy retort, but the cleverness deserted her. Besides, she was the new girl here, and it would do her no good to make one of the senior dancers look bad in front of the club owner.

  Brett slumped ever so slightly, stepping past Marianne. “To my office, Tonia. Let’s not air these matters where they will provide free entertainment for everyone within earshot.” He sounded resigned and more than a little bit tired.

  Tonia followed him, her high heels beating a rapid tattoo on the screed floor. “I thought you said everything was sorted…” Her voice faded when the door to Brett’s office snicked shut.

  Marianne stood for a few heartbeats, trying to figure out what had actually transpired during this interchange. Her pulse was still up, her breath short. What in the hell was she getting herself into? She was here to dance, not fall in lust with some tall, dark beast of a man.

  * * * *

  The club was busy tonight, and Marianne enjoyed the vibe, glad for the sense of anonymity it gave her. If the place was busy, it meant the other girls didn’t have time to look at her, or judge her, for that matter. She chatted to a few guys, enjoying flirting with them, and played at doing the hustle that would bring in much-needed money.

  It surprised her that she enjoyed the attention, and when the first offer of a lap dance was accepted, she didn’t think much of it.

  “Consider a private strip show,” Sherry had told her earlier. “The dude’s not allowed to let his hands wander to the bits that will make your moves considered a sex show, but that sure as hell isn’t going to stop you from suggesting all the wicked things you could do to him short of taking off all his clothes.”

  And he wasn’t a bad-looking bloke, by Marianne’s estimation. In his early twenties, he’d been sitting with a group of his friends. His long blond fringe almost obscuring electric-blue eyes is what had drawn Marianne to him in the first place. She liked the way his T-shirt clung to his biceps, and he must spend some time in the sun, because his skin had a healthy tan.

  There was also no denying that he’d drawn immense pleasure from his three-song stint with Marianne in the booth very much, and, she had to admit, she’d secretly enjoyed seeing the way he twitched when she’d moved in close, running her hands over his chest and stopping just short of the belt. It felt good to have a man at her mercy, knowing he could not act on his desires. It was almost pathetic to see his hips buck, as if he craved her touch.

  He watched her with a lidded gaze, his lips slightly parted, and she could only imagine what was going through his mind as she went through the catalogue of moves she’d discussed earlier with Katja and Sherry.

  What was even better was that he tipped her an extra hundred.

  Buoyant after this initial success, Marianne immersed herself in the songs she’d selected for the evening. She’d picked a song off U2’s Zooropa album, as well as Soft Cell’s “Tainted Love” and another by the B-52s called “Planet Claire.” All had catchy beats and riffs, and it was easy to move to the music, to allow her hips to loosen and the natural inner rhythms to flow.

  It was all about circles, her dance instructor had once said to her. She had to stop seeing herself move in a linear fashion, instead allowing her hips to move in figures-of-eight, circles…flicking out to the side…and to coordinate with her hand and arm movements. The shimmies received the most positive response, and Marianne kept a bright smile to her lips, trying to give the impression that she made eye contact with everyone she looked at.

  She had one bad moment, however, when she happened to lock gazes with Tonia. Marianne hadn’t noticed any of the other girls watching her with the same cold, calculating regard. This caused her to falter, but, as she pivoted, she almost lost her composure again, because she noticed Brett standing by the entrance to the offices and dressing room, and it was very clear Marianne was the focus of his attention.

  He leant against the wall, arms folded lightly across his chest that left her with no doubt of the well-muscled physique beneath the long-sleeved shirt. Brett’s face had softened somewhat, the slightest impression of a goofy smile twitching at the corner of his mouth.

  When Marianne turned again, Tonia no longer glared daggers at her, but watched Brett, a sneer marring her features. Uh-oh. This was not good.

  Some of the spirit went out of Marianne’s dancing, and she could hardly wait for the song to end so she would not be the centre of attention, prancing about the pole as if it were the extension of every man in the building’s dick.

  The rest of the evening passed a lot quicker than Marianne expected. Since it was a weeknight, the place closed at two in the morning, but the last of the patrons only got the hint at about half past, when Katja motioned for Steve to brighten the house lights and play music that was a little more chilled.

  By this point Marianne’s feet were throbbing so much she was only too glad when the last three patrons left so she
could wobble to the dressing room. Would she ever get used to heels? Casting surreptitious glances at Sherry, who walked ahead of her, she suspected not, for the other woman also walked as though she were concealing sore toes.

  A light touch on her shoulder had her whirling around.

  Brett had somehow silently followed her. He stood so close she could only smell his musky cologne. “You want to come see me in my office quickly?”

  Her heart leapt her in chest, as if it would escape. “Sure.”

  He gestured for her to walk ahead, and now that she knew he was behind her, Marianne wondered if she imagined the heat radiating off his body. Nonsense, she hadn’t felt this a moment ago. Her imagination was leading her libido places she wasn’t sure she could afford to go.

  The noise from the club died abruptly when Brett closed the door behind him. Not sure whether she was meant to, Marianne plonked herself down in the seat opposite Brett’s office chaira large, black padded leather numberand hoped he didn’t notice her reaching down to massage the arch of her left foot.

  “A drink?” Brett asked. He busied himself at the counter next to the door, behind her. She didn’t turn around but could hear ice dropped into a glass, and the sound of a bottle cap unscrewed.

  “Um, no.” Good God! He was offering her a drink.

  He did not seat himself as she’d expected, but instead perched on the corner of the desk, so close she could touch him if she wanted to. And a strange little voice at the back of her head suggested it may even be quite an adventure to do so. Brett certainly wasn’t like anyone she’d ever been with, and she recalled the brief college-era flings she’d had with pimply students. None had been this…this…

  Marianne looked away, her cheeks warming, all too aware of the man’s intense gaze. He was still watching her when she looked back, and raised the crystal tumbler to his lips to take a small sip of what she assumed was whiskey.

  “You really have no idea of the effect you have on men, do you?”

  “What?” Marianne thought she’d choke.

  “Here you are, fresh from amateur night, and you’ve got them all eating from your palm, yet you’ve no idea of what you’re doing to them. An innocent.”

  “I’m sorry?” Marianne gripped the armrests in her confusion. “What are you getting at?”

  Brett smiled, leaning back, a faraway glint in his eyes. “Oh, my dear. You really are special.” He looked back at her, his eyes intense. “You really have no conception of how lovely you are up on that stage. One can hope to encounter a dancer like you maybe once or twice in a lifetime, a woman who moves and who is in touch with and draws upon that X-factor most of the others try to emulate to varying degrees of success. Perhaps it is because you are not conscious of it and, therefore, until now, you have not thought of trying.”

  His words, although not what she was expecting to hear were oddly flattering, yet she wasn’t sure if he meant them as a compliment. For that matter, what had she been expecting to hear? Marianne shook her head as though she could bring some order to her thoughts.

  “I, erm…” She fumbled for words but then lost the train of thought, unable to break eye contact.

  Marianne realised then they were staring at each other, and she rose abruptly. “I need to go. It’s probably late, and I still need to walk up to my apartment.”

  “Walk? It’s not safe.” Brett’s hand was hot on her arm, and she couldn’t bring herself to tear away from him.

  “It’s not far. I walked down.”

  Brett frowned. “I can’t let you do that. Really. I can drive you up. Errol can lock up this evening.” He rose in a fluid motion. “Come.”

  Marianne couldn’t argue with him. Although good sense screamed that going off with this tall and somewhat intimidating man was not a great idea, that part of her that craved risk and the unexpected needled her to take him up on his offer. Besides, up until now he’d not made her feel as if she were in any way in danger.

  Brett grabbed his leather coat from behind the door and shrugged it on, an action which gave Marianne a good view of his powerful shoulders, the way the muscles flexed as he dressed. What would he look like without his shirt on?

  She swallowed hard, tearing her eyes from the man to concentrate on the door. The last time a guy had made her feel this way was in college, when she’d developed a crush on one of her lecturers. He hadn’t even noticed her. To have Brett take such a shine to her was more than she was capable of dealing with.

  Playing the perfect gentleman, Brett followed her down the passage, stopping just short of guiding her with a hand to the small of her back, of that she was sure.

  “Errol, I’m taking Marianne home,” Brett called to the manager, who crouched by the bar fridge busy taking stock. “You’re locking up tonight.”

  Tonia exited the ladies’ rooms at that exact moment, her expression murderous for a brief second. She schooled her features as Marianne and Brett passed her, however.

  “Goodnight, Brett,” she called, her tone unpleasant.

  “Night, Tonia,” Brett replied, as if nothing in the world was wrong.

  Marianne suppressed a shudder. Something was definitely up between Tonia and Brett, and she was sure there was more to it than money issues. Should she ask Brett when they got to his car? It was probably not a good idea, and she wasn’t sure if she really wanted to know. If she was going to be a regular dancer here, she’d find out in good time. She didn’t want to come across as too much of a snoop.

  They left by a side entrance which opened directly into a small parking lot where she assumed the staff kept their cars. One of the bouncers she knew only as Thulani kept watch by the gate, giving the barest of nods when they exited, but immediately started unfastening the padlock.

  “Glad to see security’s good here,” Marianne said, desperate to make some conversation that would distract her from the sheer presence of the man who was accompanying her.

  Brett gave a low laugh. “When you’ve had to replace your windows for the sixth time in as many months, it makes sense to take some measures. Thulani knows his job. He is, of course, eminently qualified to catch would-be thieves.”

  “How so?”

  “He’s done his time.”

  “And you’ve hired him? What if…”

  Brett paused, giving her a sharp look. Marianne quailed, not liking how severe his features were, the glare from the spotlight throwing his cheekbones into sharp relief.

  “Surely it makes sense giving people a second chance, don’t you think? Otherwise this country would go to hell rapidly.” His expression softened, and he placed a hand on her shoulder. “I’m sorry if I came across a bit harsh there. Most people aren’t used to how we do business here.”

  Marianne shivered and pulled her coat closer to her frame when a particularly cold gust hit them.

  “The chariot awaits,” Brett said. His grip on her shoulder firmed, and he guided her ahead of him toward a gleaming BMW Z3, its black paintwork making Marianne think of the carapaces of beetles.

  For fear of sounding like a complete ditz at her mingled surprise and fascination at having a chance at a ride in such a flash car, Marianne said nothing when Brett opened the door for her so she could step into the vehicle. It was considerably lower than an ordinary car, and she inhaled deeply of the leather scent of its upholstery.

  Brett’s eyes flashed with mischief when he got in on the driver’s side. “Most girls would have squealed some delight by now.”

  Marianne was grateful for the relative low light so he could not see her blush. “I’m hopefully not most girls.”

  At this Brett laughed. The car started with a muted roar, giving Marianne the distinct impression it could go very, very fast if Brett wanted to.

  “Let’s get you home.”

  She said very little as Brett drove, save for giving directions. He took obvious delight in pushing the car to its limits, but at the same time she could detect that he held back. For her sake? It took him less than fi
ve minutes to stop the car before her apartment a block off Buitenkant Street.

  “Nice place,” Brett said. “Art Deco.”

  Marianne laughed. “Art Deco it might be, but it’s still a nasty old building. The wirework and plumbing leaves a lot to be desired, and some of the other tenants swear it’s haunted.”

  “Still…a grand old dame.” He looked back at Marianne then, his dark eyes catching small flashes of light from the streetlights. “I suppose this is goodnight then?” He seemed at once savage yet noble.

  Marianne sucked in a gulp of air, her chest tight. “I must go…”

  “But you will dance tomorrow?”

  “I wasn’t scheduled a shift.”

  “I’d like you to.”

  Before things could grow any more heated inside the small car, Marianne grabbed her sling bag to her chest. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  She all but scrambled from the car, her heart beating madly in her chest. The cold rush of air outside slammed into her like a fist, but she was grateful for it, to cool her skin.

  Brett sat there watching her as she made for the front security entrance, only gunning the engine once she’d slammed the gate. What was with her? Jumping about like a startled antelope? And why was this man having such an effect on her? Stomach roiling, she took the stairs to her first-floor apartment two at a time. Whatever was the matter with the entire situation, she couldn’t wipe the silly grin off her face.

  Chapter 10

  Falling into a routine proved easy, and, although the majority of the other dancers at Imperial House remained aloof, if not downright catty like Tonia, Marianne found herself making firm friends with Sherry and Katja, both of whom gave her much-needed advice with regard to slotting into the routine and perfecting her hustle. She didn’t want to know what it must be like at the bigger clubs.

  Then there was Brett. It was all too obvious he’d leave his office particularly to see Marianne dance. She was always aware of exactly where he stood, an imposing, tall shape melting into the shadows, his heated gaze following every contour of her body, every turn, every gesture.