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The four goons had all come in a few minutes before and headed to Richie’s office. Butch had gotten off the stool and lumbered to the back as well.
I continued to do my job, fixing drinks, running food for the girls, and chatting with my customers, but my mind was unfocused. I did all of my tasks by rote. I knew this was the day, and I was well aware that, by the end of the day, things would be changing around here—one way or another.
Just when I’d tried to put everything out of my mind, Danny sauntered into the club, his smile bright. He looked so good that my mouth watered, his dark hair shining, the white dress shirt, sleeves rolled up, hugging his wide chest. I ached to run my hands over his firm muscles and tight abs. I ached even more to slip my hand into his pants and wrap my fingers around his cock. I wanted to grind against him, rub my clit over the hard bulge, and find some release from the tension coiled in my body.
He stopped for a minute to talk to Jonell and then gave a wave to Tiffany as she shimmied on the stage. After that, his gaze locked on mine, and he strolled to the bar. I met him at the pass-through. The cacophony of the music and conversations seemed to die away, and a peace slipped over me.
“Hey, girlfriend,” he said.
“Hey yourself, but I’m not your girlfriend.” I couldn’t help smiling. I was happy to see him, but still, his appearance bothered me. I knew Richie wouldn’t like him being here at this time of the day, for being so bold and making a move in public like this.
He snagged my hand and twined our fingers together. I tried to pull away, but he kept a tight hold. “How about a real date?”
“I can’t do that.”
“Why? Because Richie wouldn’t like it?”
“You know he wouldn’t,” I said softly.
“I don’t give a flying fuck what Richie wants,” he said lightly. “What do you want?”
That was a question I’d asked myself so many times. I’d never had an answer until lately. Now I knew I wanted a real career—one I’d carved for myself—a happy, safe life, and a man who could share all that with me.
I wanted Danny to be that man.
He lifted my hand and kissed it the way he had at our first meeting. Once again, fire flashed through my veins, hot enough to melt all my resolve.
“I’d like to go on a date.”
One of the guys at the bar said, “Lucky bastard.”
“Good. I’ll take you to the Navy Pier. Are you a Jimmy Buffett fan, Miss Hannah?”
I laughed as “Rock You Like a Hurricane” thumped in the background. “I think liking Jimmy Buffett is against company policy.”
“We could go to Margaritaville. Have a cheeseburger in paradise.” He wiggled his brows. “Then we’ll come back here and find our own paradise.”
“And you’ll rock me like a hurricane?” I blushed and gave him a smile, suddenly feeling shy. This was new territory for me. I hadn’t had a real date in a long time.
“A hurricane, a typhoon, a tornado, and any other weather phenomenon you can conjure in your wildest fantasies.”
“It sounds fun.” This was what I wanted. This might be the beginning of my future.
The door to the hallway slammed open, and Butch filled the space. His stare moved from Danny to me. He frowned, his brows drawing down so far they cast shadows across his eyes.
“Stop dicking around, O’Shea,” he said. “Get your ass back here.”
“Fuck off,” Danny said, “I’ll be there in a minute.”
Butch disappeared, and everything in my body seemed to liquefy. I had to hold myself up on the pass-through. I slowly brought my gaze back to Danny. His smile had vanished, those dark eyes filled with a bit of shame.
“Oh, no, Danny...” I gripped his hand. “Don’t do this.”
“I’ll be okay.” He squeezed my fingers. “You just pick out a pretty dress and think about sunshine and soft breezes and tropical drinks. I’ll be back before you know it.”
He leaned over the pass-through, grabbed my shoulders, and practically yanked me off my feet. His mouth covered mine in a hard, brutal kiss that caused images of soldiers going off to war to flicker through my head. When I dropped back to the floor, my head reeling, he gave me a smile, and then he, too, disappeared through the hallway.
I grabbed a bottle of vodka, splashed several inches into a glass, and downed it in one swallow.
“Hey, Hannah,” Charity called from a table. “I need another bucket of Bud.”
I got back to work.