Page 5 of Glorious Sinner

And hoped that whatever Tomas did to him, it hurt like hell.

1

Stephanie

Twelve months later

I felt his eyes on me as soon as I walked into the room.

Tomas was back.

A multitude of uncontrollable flutters erupted in my belly and my pulse thumped erratically at my throat. I forced myself to ignore it all and carried on across the shiny black floor at Stilettos, the upscale Brooklyn strip club I’d worked at for over a year.

Usually I looked forward to coming into work; today not so much. Today I just wanted to hide under the covers.

I glanced in Tomas’s direction. There was no way in hell I could go over there and look into those dark eyes like everything was okay, not with the way they always tore through me, searching out places that didn’t exist anymore, places that hadn’t existed for a long time. Not when my defenses were damaged and crumbling.

Because if he looked hard enough, he’d see it. He’d see the fear and the exhaustion, and he’d also see my relief.

Relief that he was back.

I hadn’t seen him in two weeks. The longest he’d been away since he did what he had for me a year ago.

I’d started to think he wouldn’t come back.

I curled my fingers into a tight fist, letting my nails dig into my flesh, letting the bite of pain halt those thoughts before they could fully form, and carried on toward the bar. I felt that gaze following me, but he didn’t stand, didn’t try to come after me. He’d wait. It didn’t matter how long I took. He’d sit there and he’d wait.

A shiver slid through my body, like it always did when Tomas was in the room, and I dug my nails deeper, ignoring that as well.

My back was to him and I drew in a steadying breath. How was I going to get that close, feel his hard body against mine, breathe in his dark scent, and act like everything was normal?

Tomas would see the fear, because he was looking for it. He was always looking for it.

He saw me as broken.

A weak, broken little bird.

And I hated that so damn much.

Usually my mental armor was in place when I danced for him—armor that protected me, that I wasn’t afraid to say I hid behind. Sometimes I went days without letting that barrier drop. It had gotten so tough and thick I’d almost forgotten who I was underneath it.

But today, today it was fractured and, God, I didn’t want him to see it. No, there wasn’t much left of me, of the girl I’d once been, but what was left I planned on keeping for myself. And tonight, if Tomas really wanted to, he’d break through.

Because I thought, I had an awful feeling that…I’d missed him. I tightened my fist, my nails probably breaking skin, drawing blood.

The music pumped through the club and I let it pound through me, drew strength from the driving beat, anything not to show my weaknesses.

Everyone knew why Tomas came here. I was his standing order. I didn’t understand it; I never would. He never touched me. He barely talked to me. He just watched me with those dark eyes while I danced in his lap. After, he’d stand and walk out, but not before handing me a stack of bills that was more than most girls made in a week.

I planned on giving it back. Every penny. It sat in my dresser drawer. I didn’t want to think about why I kept taking it from him, why I let him think I needed it when I made more than enough on my own. We had a good clientele here, men who were generous with their money, especially after a few drinks.

I didn’t want his money.

That’s not what I wanted from him.

What I wanted was something else entirely. Something that equally terrified and excited me.

Something I’d wanted from him since I was sixteen years old, the first time I saw him working construction with my father.