Falling for Heaven (Four Winds) (4 page)

             
She sank down as his arms enveloped her, gratefully, taking a sip from the bottle of water that he offered.

             
“Wow.  I haven’t danced like that in forever.”  She breathed.

             
“It was beautiful.  I haven’t seen dancing like that in…years.”  Uri murmured.  He was looking at her with new eyes, an appreciative gleam visible, and he seemed excited.

             
“Apparently, I need to start doing it more.  That short little dance really took it out of me.”  Heather was breathing hard, as much from the exertions of the dance, as from the warmth in the stranger's arms.

             
Uri looked at his watch and grinned.  “You were dancing for half an hour---without shoes.  I’d say that’s pretty impressive.”

             
She sank her head back against his firm chest, listening to his heart beat in time with her heavy breathing.

             
“Have you ever thought about going back to it, seriously?”  He asked her after a while.

             
She shook her head.  “No.  I’m too old, now.  I’m twenty-six, and I haven’t trained seriously since I was eighteen.  I wouldn’t be able to get into any good troupes or conservatories.  I wouldn’t be able to afford it.”

             
“There’s got to be something else you could do.”

             
She turned to look at him.  “Why?”

             
He looked at her earnestly.  “You can’t expect to do this much longer.  What about your soul?”

             
Heather bristled at the judgment coming from yet another complete stranger, who assumed he knew more about her than she did.  “What about it?  Are you here to tell me that I’m going to Hell for propagating the sins of the flesh?”  It was an argument she had heard many times, and sadly, she hadn't seen it coming from this guy.  Granted, he didn't seem to be into this scene…but he didn't seem like a Bible-thumper, either.  Anger flared in her cheeks, while indignation snuffed the heat Uri kindled in her belly.

             
He shrugged.  “Well, not in those words, no.  But there’s got to be something else you’re destined to do.”

             
She pulled the money out of her g-string and handed it back to him.  “Thank you for your interest, but I think we’re done here.”

             
“Keep it.”  He said, looking at Heather and not the money.  There was something in his eyes still, some kindness that Heather appreciated but didn't feel the need to explore.

             
Stuffing the money back into her g-string, she grabbed her shoes and walked out the doorway only to be immediately assaulted by the odor of burnt matches.

Chapter 4

              Caught up in her fury at Uri in room two, she barely registered the smell before she ran straight into a rock hard chest.  Massive hands came up to her upper arms to hold her steady, preventing her from falling backwards.  Heather looked up into the cold black eyes of the Mediterranean client who had showered her earlier with twenty dollar bills.

             
She managed a smile.  “Hello there, Mister tall, dark, and handsome.”

             
He grinned at her, but his eyes remained cold, sending a chill down her spine.  “Fancy a room?”  He steered her back into room two, which she had just vacated.

             
“But there’s…”  She stopped, stunned, when they entered the empty room.  Uri had gone already, and she hadn’t seen him leave.

             
The black-haired man sat in the recently vacated chair.  “I’m not going to hum Tchaikovsky to you.  I just want to see what you do so well.”

             
She was taken aback.  He'd obviously been listening at the curtain that separated room two from the hallway, but she managed to keep her wits about her.  Somebody usually escorted the men back here.  They weren't allowed to just wander, listening at the curtains.  Something about this whole night was managing to completely disturb her.

             
“Um…Sure.  It’s twenty-five dollars a dance.”  He eyeballed the three one-hundred dollar bills in her g-string before reaching into his wallet and pulling out five one-hundred dollar bills.  She tried not to roll her eyes at the obvious pissing contest between these guys as she took the money. She wondered if they knew each other.

             
“I won’t lecture you, either.  I just need to know the rules.  What am I not allowed to do to you?”  He leered at her as he spoke.

             
This was something she could handle.  She was relieved at the normalcy of the man, even if he was giving off disturbing vibes.   “No touching the coochie area and no kissing on the lips.”

             
He tossed her a charming smile, and Heather wondered what this guy was doing here.  Surely he didn't have to spend so much money picking up women in regular bars.  “Do you take everything off?”

             
“If you would like me to.”  She started moving as she spoke, anxious to get the songs started.  It looked like she was going to be in this room all night long.

             
“I would definitely like you to.”  A lecherous smile graced his lips, sending a chill through her.  She found herself missing the warmth of the blond one.

             
Heather shrugged off her clothes and began dancing.  She writhed on his lap, as his hands slowly roamed over her body, not straying into forbidden territory.  His fingers and palms were cold, but the shivers that they sent through her body weren’t entirely unpleasant.  When she turned around and danced with her back to him, his hands came around to tweak her nipples, eliciting an involuntary gasp from her.

             
“You are good with your hands.”  She knew that the clients liked the compliments.  It made them tip better, usually, not that she needed to worry about that with this guy.

             
Her hands were on the sides of the chair he was sitting in, holding herself up, while she gyrated above him, when he laid a kiss on her shoulder.  His mouth was cold even.

             
“Mmm…you taste good.”

             
“Thanks.”

             
She continued her undulations around him, before spreading his legs and going to her knees.  She lowered her mouth to his lap and did a fluttering thing with her lips that she had learned from Dusty.  Judging from the man’s reaction, he enjoyed it.

             
“You are
very
good at your job, Heaven.”

             
The sound of his voice made goosebumps break out across Heather's skin.  She looked up at him, before rising to continue writhing in his lap.  “Thanks.”

             
“I have a different proposition for you.”  He said, pulling her into his lap, so he could fondle her breasts and kiss her shoulders.  She playfully ran her fingers through his silky hair.

             
Flashing a killer smile, she said, “Nothing illegal, I hope.”  She really did hope so.  Heather couldn’t stand the propositions of prostitution.  Men were men, but it still pissed her off.

             
“Nothing illegal.  I am in need of a personal assistant.”

             
She froze briefly, before continuing to twirl his hair in her fingertips.  “Personal assistant?”

             
“Someone to keep track of appointments, make travel arrangements, answer my phone, things like that.  Nothing too taxing.”  His mouth continued to meander across her shoulders, while his hands continued to stroke her breasts, and Heather's body was reacting to his touch in a way that completely belied her discomfort at his words.

             
“No, thank you.  I love my job.”  She said, finally.

             
“It pays better than this job, even on a good night.”  He had stopped kissing her shoulders, but was running his tongue down her collarbone, planting open-mouthed kisses along the way.  “You taste like Heaven.  Did you know that?”

             
“No.  I didn’t,” she breathed huskily.  As good at her job as she was, Heather was only half-acting here.  Moisture pooled between her legs, and her nipples were standing at attention under his manipulations.  This man was taking her breath away, and she was honestly tempted to hear more about this ‘job,’ even if it probably was a not-so-discreet moniker for a mistress.

             
Thinking she needed to change the subject, Heather asked him, “What’s your name?”

             
“You can call me Damien.”

             
“I’ve seen you here before, haven’t I?”

             
“Just the one time, Heaven.”  He breathed her stage name, as if it were an elixir to taste on his tongue.  His fingertips brushed her bare shoulders, sending the goosebumps popping over her skin again.  "You are a good girl, aren't you, Heaven?"

             
She wasn't sure what to say to that.  His voice, hoarse with desire, made her legs tremble in its intensity.  "But you obviously have a naughty side, too, don't you?"  His hands, which had trailed feather light caresses down her sides, were stroking her thighs, and Heather's breaths came in ragged gasps.

             
Abruptly, Damian stopped his ministrations on Heather, and gently moved her off his lap.

             
“I’m afraid I must leave, for tonight.  May I call you?”  He asked politely.

             
Not sure what had just happened, Heather shook her head slowly, as if in a daze.  “I’m afraid not.  It’s against policy.  No outside contact with clients.  I’m sorry.”

             
“Pity.”  He looked into her eyes, with his cold black orbs, and Heather shivered slightly.  “I’ll be back.  Give my proposition some thought, would you?”

             
“No, Damian.  I don’t want to be your personal assistant.”  Heather found herself having to force the words out of her mouth, almost against her will.  What in the world was wrong with her tonight?

             
He smirked at her.  “Just think about it.”  And he walked through the curtain.

             
Heather breathed a sigh of relief and went back to the dressing room to freshen up for her next stage dance. 

             
Once there, she collapsed in her chair, and rested her head in her hands, sighing loudly.

             
“That bad?  I thought you did pretty well tonight.”  Mama’s voice came from behind her.

             
Heather looked up to see the gray-headed matron looking at her with one eyebrow raised in question.  She looked more like a kind granny than the strip-club owner she was.

             
“Just weird.  Two gorgeous men, shoveling money at me.  One with absolutely no reaction to my dancing whatsoever, and the other practically wants me to move in with him.”

             
“Neither of them tried anything kinky?”  Mama asked.

             
“Nope.  Just a verbal proposition to become a ‘personal assistant.’  The other one kept hinting at the sinful nature of my work.”

             
Mama laughed.  “Better you than me.  I’d probably have slugged one or both of them.  Now, get yourself rested, lock up your money, and get your ass back on stage and make me some money.”

             
“Yes, Mama.”

Chapter 5

              He was uncomfortable with this strange feeling of guilt he was experiencing.  Uri couldn't shake the belief that he'd made Heather mad last night, and he felt bad about it.  He actually wanted to apologize to her, and that was definitely a foreign emotion for him.  Running his hand through his hair, he told himself to be patient.  His task would be harder this time, for a multitude of reasons, the greatest of which was he still had no idea what he was doing with her.

             
Except he knew that something was different about this one.  He'd felt something foreign stirring last night when she danced for him.  It was as if the Boss had laid his hand over both of them and cast them together somehow.  But that wasn't what the Boss did, and he'd never experienced the stirring that he'd felt last night.  He didn't know anything, anymore, except that he was weary of all this.  He hated to admit it, but he was tired.  Uri had been doing this for so long, that he could almost predict each target's reaction to him.  Now that he had something different to deal with, he didn't like it.   

             
Uri knew Heather would be at the park to walk the thing that was known as a dog these days, so he was waiting for her in the rose garden when she strolled by.  The tiny rat ran up to him, shaking spastically and wagging its entire body.  He bent over and stroked his fur.