Page 7 of A Certain Appeal
Valhalla cocks his head. “Gents, you say?”
“Boylesque is out there, too.” I flash him the card featuring Gorgeous George, the bronze slab of a man on the Two of Diamonds. His assets are concealed by a hat, which I know firsthand is suspended solely by said assets.
“Is this when we’re supposed to ask if you’re on one?” asks the guy I’ve been eyeing. His voice is so low, it’s practically a rumble, but the pleasing timbre is flattened with—boredom?The sound tugs at my flirty high.
“I’ve always felt that question was alittleforward,” I muse, “but, yeah. That’s the usual angle.”
He smirks, unimpressed.
Oh, this willnotdo. I inch the tiniest bit closer, idly fanning myself with the cards. “Right? It’s like they expect me to bat my lashes and say”—I plant the most smoldering look I can on GoodFace, whose smirk gives way to a satisfying flutter of surprise—“one way to find out.”
I release the last bit on a husky whisper, every bit the femme fatale, and wait. This starchy fellow is in need of rumpling, and if burlesque has taught me anything, it’s that time and tension will undo the most rigid of squares.
It doesn’t take long. As my sultry look lingers, his surprise ebbs to something warmer, the temperature rising as his gaze shifts to take in my parted lips. When his eyes return to mine, the heat is enough to make me feel a little rumpled myself.
I snap back to perky salesgirl. “But I’d never do that. It wouldn’t be ladylike.”
The blond claps his hands, leaning back in his seat with a laugh. “You areoutstanding. We’ll take two. He’ll pay.”
The designated buyer reaches for his wallet, eyes still glazed.
“And you’re Kitten?” the friendly one inquires.
“For a few nights a week.”
“Brilliant! I’m Charles, and the money clip across from me is Darcy.”
“Pleasure to meet you both.” I nod at Darcy. “Well, Money Clip, that’ll be forty dollars.”
He nods and thumbs through the bills in his wallet. I certainly do not notice the abundance of hundos, because that would be tacky, and take a quick inventory of his attire, like I might for one of the performers. No wedding band or man jewelry, thank God, and his navy suit has the cashmere sheen the Wall Streeters could only dream of.
“The cleanup thing you do,” Charles continues. “That’s where your name comes from?”
“Stage kitten? That’s correct.”
He rests his elbows on the table. “This just a stepping stone? Do you have to work your way up before getting onstage to drop the wholekit ’n’ caboodle?”
I grin at the wordplay, and at the way Darcy pauses his cash inspection to scowl at his friend, as though the inquiry was in poor taste. “It’s a blast up there, but I have zero head for choreography. And rhinestones are expensive. It would take a lot of time and money to be half as good as those gals.” I shrug. “Besides, if I were onstage, I wouldn’t get to make the rounds and meet lovely people like you. It would be tragic.”
Charles grins at Darcy. “I love this one. I love her!”
Darcy hands me one of the hundreds, and I reach to make change.
“Keep it,” he says, his voice low but light.
I stare at him, thrown by the generosity; this is the largest tip I’ve ever received. I recover with an affected gasp, then beam at Charles. “I love this one. I love him!”
Darcy almost,almostsmiles. He’s regained some of his starchiness since our little moment, but there’s something curious in his look now, an intrigue that wasn’t there before. I can work with that.
I make a minor production of stashing the bill in my garter, patting the little pouch where it’s situated high on my thigh. “Thank you,” I tell Darcy, and lift my tray from the table. “I promise to spend it irresponsibly, and think of you fondly as I do.”
“Then I stand by my investment.” Again, his voice betrays no emotion. But his focus hovers at my thigh long enough for it to feel like contact. Instinct has me shifting closer, my leg a breath from the table’s edge. His fingers curl around his wallet, and he jerks his attention away from me.
Not sure what to do, I wink with a parting, “Gentlemen,” and move toward the next couple. I get two steps before the tug of missed opportunity has me backtracking. I bump Darcy with my hip.
Charles tosses his head back in laughter, clapping again. Darcy looks at me with a wide-eyed expression I have no name for but “dour bafflement.” For a staggering heartbeat, I watch him. He really is devastating, even when he’s staring at me like I’ve insulted his mother.
His grip on the wallet goes white-knuckled.
