Elle eut soudain l'impression que la température était montée drastiquement. Tandis qu'ils bougeaient sur la musique, Shane se serrait contre elle, leurs corps soudés de la cuisse à la poitrine. A chaque pas, à chaque mouvement, la poitrine de Crystal effleurait son torse puissant. Elle se laissait guider dans ces bras solides entre lesquels elle aurait voulue s'étendre nue. Son désir s'&agite comme un lion sur le point de se réveiller : prudent, curieux mais dangereux..."
So please don't run away. Say you'll stay with me. Say you'll give us a chance. I love you, and things are different now. You don't have to be afraid.
- En faisant semblant de me marier. Et quelle est la chose qu’il faut absolument faire avant de se marier ? questionna Marz avec un sourire extatique.
-Trouver une épouse ? répondit Shane.
- Mais ça ira, reprit-il. Je vais arranger ça (Refusant de croire que cela lui serait impossible, il se tourna vers Marz) Pourquoi tu étais si heureux de me voir ? Enfin, je veux dire, mis à part le fait que je suis phénoménal ?
Crystal Dean hurried out of the private party room and let the fake smile drop off her face. Damn bachelor party. A lot of times, the groom-to-be was totally embarrassed by his buddies’ surprise strip-club party, so things stayed low-key. No such luck tonight. Instead, her guest of honor was so rowdy, handsy, and intent on sampling the wares that she wished she could warn this slimeball’s fiancée to run fast and hard in the other direction.
Not that Crystal was an authority on making good choices. Or else she wouldn’t be working at Confessions, the strip club where her sorry excuse for a life had landed her as a waitress. Although, it wasn’t like she’d had much of a choice. At least her wares weren’t up for sampling . . . anymore. And she didn’t strip or give “private shows” in the back rooms.
No, Crystal’s boyfriend had shielded her from all that. And, anyway, Bruno was too possessive to share her with anyone else. At least there was some benefit to his control-freak tendencies.
Hurrying down the dim, private hallway that threaded between the party rooms, Crystal ran through a mental checklist of what she needed to do. Another round of drinks for this party. Deliver the appetizers for her other party. Check in with Bruno to see if he was ready for dinner—
The door to the back parking lot wrenched open and a group of men—some who worked for her boss, Jimmy Church, the head of Baltimore’s most notorious gang, and a few she hadn’t seen before—poured into the narrow space. Crystal stepped back into the shadows, hoping to avoid their notice.
Decked out in a suit and tie that must’ve strained the resources of even a men’s big and tall shop, Armand Lewis, or Big Al, guided the men down the other end of the hall toward Mr. Church’s private lounge. The big guy was an Apostle, a senior gang member who had paid his dues, earned the operation some serious money, and proven his loyalty in a whole host of ways you just didn’t want to know about.
With their dark slacks and jackets, nothing about the newcomers’ appearance was particularly noteworthy, but they exuded an air of authority and self-assurance Crystal recognized. And the unusually subdued demeanor of Al’s men proved she wasn’t the only one.
She’d place good money she didn’t have that these were the “guests” everyone had been preparing for and whispering about the past few days. Tensions had been tight as a rip cord around here. Crystal didn’t know who they were or what their business with Church might be, and she didn’t want to know. Ignorance—real or feigned—was a survival skill she’d honed early.
Thank God they hadn’t seen her. She didn’t want any part of whatever they were about.
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