Page 27 of Heart Over Heels

“Sure it is.” He planted a hand on his hip, and it took every ounce of willpower not to let my eyes drop to where those tiny, frilly panties barely concealed him.

Would I like his cock as much as I liked the rest of him?

I jerked my gaze back up before I could answer my own question.

“You never called me,” he said.

Customers parted around us as I thought of the business card stashed in my wallet. And the interview. And Antonella’s request.

“I must’ve lost your number,” I lied.

He smiled, full lips curving into rouged cheeks. “Along with your angel casino gig. I warned you.”

Should I let him think that?

If he knew I was still working for the Rossettis… hell, I wasn’t even surewhyI was still working for Rossettis, or what Antonella might eventually want from me. Better to keep it to myself.

“Yeah.” I shifted, suddenly aware of how close he was. “Guess you were right about that.”

His laugh was light, almost girlish. So much about him was more woman than man. More human than demon. But there was nothing innocent about the way he looked at me now.

“Honey, I’m right about a lot of things,” he said. “But I might have been wrong about you. You saved my ass at the Basilica, and tonight you saved one of my boys. That means I owe you. So, I’m taking you to dinner.”

I shook my head. “You don’t need to…”

Luxe ticked a finger at me. “It’s a gift, Mercy. And one thing a gentleman should know about gifts is how to accept them gracefully. So, I’m taking you to dinner,” he repeated, inching ever closer. “What do you say?”

I hesitated. “Thank you?”

“Atta boy.” He patted my chest—light touch, heavy impact. “Pick me up tomorrow. Let’s say six. I’ll tell you where we’re going when you get here.”

“Yes sir.”

Luxe giggled again and tossed me a mock salute before dipping into the crowd. The last thing I saw was the sharp tip of his tail flicking like a wave goodbye.

CHAPTER

EIGHT

Darby

It was a rough night.

Elliot skipped the rest of his sets and locked himself in his room. I knew he had certain… hangups. The kinds of issues that made our line of work harder than it needed to be. Mazzy used to ride him about it, always griping over his refusal to work the floor or interact with customers. Since stepping into the manager role, I’d taken a different tack and gave him the space he clearly preferred.

It seemed to be working too. Onstage, Elliot was hot as hell—aloof, untouchable, and the kind of beautiful that left people begging to be ignored by him. His frigid bitch act proved that sometimes the best game was playing hard to get. And as long as the club kept raking in money, that was good enough for me.

But when he still hadn’t surfaced by the next evening when I was getting ready for dinner with soldier boy Mercer, my concern ticked up a notch.

Passing his bedroom door, I noticed a brown paper bag parked neatly on the floor. Oz’s handiwork, no doubt. I picked it up and knocked, then waited a beat.

“Hey, Ellie?”

I leaned in, ear to the wood, but heard nothing. Typical. He was probably lost in music or folding those little paper animals he littered the place with.

After a few more seconds of silence, I crouched and set the bag back down.

“Make sure you eat something before we open, okay?” I called through the door. “No stripping on an empty stomach.”