Page 26 of Heart Over Heels

“Apologies for the interruption, my loves. Give us a moment, and we’ll get this show back on track.”

I squinted through the throng of bodies, trying to locate the owner of the voice. But he wasn’t on the floor. He was on the stage, framed in spotlight, and bare-bodied except for thigh-high stockings and ruffled panties.

Manager.

Stripper wrangler.

Luxe.

Blame it on my thoughts still being in a knot from the conflict or the adrenaline making me fuzzy, but I’d never even seen an angel glow the way he did.

Hard as it was, I tore my eyes away long enough to watch Colette shooing the problematic customer out into the night.

A large portion of the crowd watched along with me, then we all turned back to where Luxe held his pose front and center. With the door secured and the situation resolved, he flashed a coy smile.

“Well, since I’m already up here…”

Pivoting toward the DJ booth, he made a circling motion with his hand. A fresh beat rolled out over the speakers, bass low and sultry. The spotlight seemed to burn hotter, and Luxe prepared to make the whole place forget why they’d been upset in the first place.

He didn’t move immediately. He let the song build and breathe while his orange eyes skimmed over the crowd. Then his hips rolled in a fluid sweep that seemed to pull every gaze in the room along for the ride.

He didn’t need a prop, didn’t need a partner. Hewasthe act.

His shoulders swayed, and his spine curved. Each ripple and twist was timed to the music like he had the rhythm wired into his bones. He shifted his weight, crossing one leg over the other in a slow turn that highlighted the perfect curve of his ass.

He prowled to the edge of the stage, one hand trailing up his own side, fingers dragging over glitter-dusted skin. On the dark buds of his nipples, something sparkled. Piercings?

As he pranced and pivoted, his legs flexed, muscles visible through the sheer fabric of the stockings. Every move was purposeful. Every pause a pose, creating angles that made his hips look luscious and turned his torso into lines like arrows pointing out everything on display.

I couldn’t look away as he sank to his knees and pressed his hands to the floor. Then he crawled forward, stretching that tight body out longer, leaner, lower.

The crowd whooped and whistled, but it barely registered over the pounding of my pulse in my ears. I leaned in. Tracking him. Tracing his shape and the shadow he cast across the stage.

I’d been to a strip club before.

I really, truly had.

And they really,trulydidn’t hold a candle to this.

He danced for two more songs, each as sensuous as the last.

My break must have ended, but I lingered till the final note. And the applause. And the shower of cash raining down on the stage. Then Luxe made his grand exit, shaking his ass and waving his tail every step of the way.

By the time I got back to the bar to finish my water, the glass was gone, wiped clean from the counter like I’d never been there. Parched and still running circles in my head about what I’d just seen, I turned toward the entrance.

Then a tap on my shoulder spun me around.

There, just as undressed as he had been on the stage, stood Luxe. At close range, it was impossible not to be overwhelmedby… all of him. His white hair was luminous in the dim light, and his eyes burned bright as he gazed up at me. The glint at his chest drew my gaze to where his definitely pierced nipples gleamed silver against the backdrop of his skin.

My throat went dry.

“Nice moves, Mercy.” He jerked a thumb toward the stage and smiled.

He was probably being cheeky, but the truth was, I hadn’t heard that nickname since I’d moved Stateside. The guys in my unit had used it—sometimes with affection, sometimes as a jab. It came easy, a natural shortening given my medic role.

Part of me warmed at the familiarity, but another part felt… disconnected. Like that version of me belonged to someone else entirely. Another piece I’d left behind.

I swallowed and forced out, “It’s Mercer.”