Page 2 of Heart Over Heels

I wondered if they treated my mother the same way.

We didn’t discuss it.

“I’m waiting for someone,” I sputtered while casting about for Micah once more.

The man’s smile widened as he closed in. “Mind if we keep you company?”

“We?” The question escaped as a squeak.

Behind him, three other men fanned out. Dockworkers at the end of their shift, left with nothing to do but sniff out trouble now that the steamer was ready to set sail.

I shook my head, curls whipping across my cheeks. “That’s not necessary. My fiancé will arrive any moment…”

Even as I said it, doubt soured the words.

None of them answered as they closed in, herding me backward until the stacked crates dug into my spine.

My gut twisted with dread at what they would discover once they laid hands on me—what they would feel and know.

At the parlor house, it was different. Patrons there considered me a curiosity. A novelty, not an aberration. Not an abomination.

But not every man was so merciful.

When the first one reached me, a plea for mercy died in my throat. I’d already seen his intention, and men like him didn’t yield.

While the others crowded in, I closed my eyes and wished I could do the same with my body, mind, and heart.

But my heart betrayed me. It struggled, and thrashed, and sang a broken song.

For Micah, who swore he loved me. For our plans to run away to Milwaukee, or farther. To a place where I could be whole.

But he never came.

And the last thing I felt was being torn apart.

CHAPTER

ONE

Darby

Sensory deprivation was not my favorite kink.

If I ever made a list or menu of my services, blindfolds and hoods would not be on it. I liked to see and hear what I was getting myself into, or who was getting into me. But it had been a good night. I was full of food, tipsy from wine, and relaxed enough to bend a few personal rules.

In the back seat of the Lincoln Town Car, Graham Callahan threw his arm around my shoulders, dousing me in the heavy scent of his cologne. My nose wrinkled, but otherwise I maintained the pleasant expression that was practically engraved on my face. Soft lines, sweet looks, or sultry ones when needed. Everything a sugar daddy could want in one petite package.

I couldn’t see Graham’s expression, though. I’d been rendered blind after he insisted that I donned a satin sleep mask while en route to our next destination. The piece of fabric was secured only by a strip of elastic, so I could have removed it, but I’d decided to play along.

Graham was excited, bragging about the “fun surprise” he had lined up for us.

I’d be the judge of how “fun” it really was.

For now, it was novel enough to be out. Since Club Daddy Lucas Beckett took over the Dollhouse and let me and my fellow dancers off our leashes, I’d been making the most of it. I spent my days in the company of Las Vegas’s most powerful men, and my nights serving drinks, sass, and ass to the VIP customers of the Devil’s Dollhouse.

Graham was typically a gentleman. His money was good, and he liked to make a night of it: dinner, drinks, dancing, and eventually the bedroom. He appreciated the whole package. I got to wear nice clothes and keep them on for more than ten minutes, which wasn’t always the case in my line of work.

Regardless, I hoped the sleep mask would come off soon. Cloth on my eyes was bound to smudge my makeup. And if this surprise wasn’t a good one, I was going to be annoyed.