Page 45 of Bombshell (Whiskey Dolls 1)

I had no doubt about it, and something told me Ms. Weatherby was the type of woman who, if she didn’t like what you were saying, would shove your head right back up your keaster until you learned your lesson.

I could only hope that when I got to be her age, I could be even half as cool as she was.

19

Pierce

Iknew Whiskey Dolls was a big deal, but I guess I’d never stopped to consider what that meant until now. I’d stood in the growing line outside for half an hour before I finally reached the front and was able to pay my cover charge to get in.

The place definitely wasn’t what I’d expected. The deep reds and rich woods, the soft lighting and the uniforms the bartenders and waitresses were wearing felt like stepping back in time to the prohibition era. There was only one way to describe the atmosphere, and that was just plain cool.

I’d avoided the club like the plague, knowing that seeing Marin up on that stage would be too much of a temptation, but I no longer had to worry about that. After tonight, she’d be mine. I didn’t have to avoid it any longer. In fact, the need to see her before she showed up at my house later was like a siren song: too strong to ignore.

Dressed in a pair of black slacks and a white button-down, I weaved my way through the club, surprised at the sheer size of the place, especially the stage that extended across the entire back, with a long platform that came out, leading to another smaller stage area that fell in the middle of a whole section of tables.

Of course, all the seating in that area was taken, so I did my best to find any empty seat available. I finally lucked out, coming across an empty high-top four-seater.

The woman on the stage was dancing to an energetic, sultry number and holding two huge feathered fans in front of her. She was terrific, no doubt about it, and the audience was riveted, but there was only one woman I’d come to see.

A woman dressed in an old-school cigarette girl uniform came up to me. “Can I get you something to drink, darlin’? Kitchen closes in thirty if you’re wanting something to eat.”

“Just a scotch, thanks. Make it a double.” She scribbled it down and began to turn when I called her back. “Can you tell me when Marin Grey is performing?”

For some reason that question made her expression go guarded. “So you’re a fan, huh? You’re not gonna cause any problems tonight, are you? Because I won’t hesitate to call security over.”

“No, nothing like that,” I assured her, but I could tell she wasn’t buying it. “Does that happen a lot here?”

“These girls are the best at what they do. If I had a dime for every man who went falling into lust with one of the Whiskey Dolls, I’d be able to retire tomorrowandstill afford to put my kid through college, and he’s only two. Our security guys are built like brick shithouses and paidverywell to take care of problems.” She arched a brow pointedly.

I did my best to ignore the niggling unpleasantness in my gut at that information. I lifted my hands in surrender. “We’re just friends. She babysits my son, and I wanted to see her perform tonight. That’s all. You won’t get any problems out of me. Promise.”

That put her at ease. “So you’re the dad of that cutie-pie she’s been showing all of us pictures of?”

My chest swelled with pride and warmth to know she’d been doing that, especially considering how smitten my son was with her. “Yeah. Eli’s my son.”

The waitress smiled then, all hostility gone. “She goes on right after this number. Then again at nine thirty.”

“Great. Thanks.”

“No problem. I’ll be right back with your drink.”

She took off and I was left wondering if Marin had ever had any trouble with an overzealous admirer. There wasn’t really anything I could do to stop it, so I hoped the security was as good as the waitress had indicated.

I did a slow scan of the club, noticing for the first time that there were men dressed all in black, standing a few yards apart up against the walls. Sure enough, each one was built like a fucking Mack truck, and they were all scanning the area in front of them with eagle-eyed clarity.

Just like that, I relaxed.

The performance on stage came to an end, and the whole building erupted into applause as the woman left the stage dressed in a barely-there bra and panties that looked like it was covered entirely in gemstones.

Seconds later the lights went out. The atmosphere in the place went wired as everyone, including me, waited with bated breath to see what was going to happen next. The song started, a heavy bass beating through the floors, then, just like that, the stage lit up. There were four screens on the stage, two on each side, with a woman behind each. All you could see were their silhouettes as they moved to the song. Then, as soon as the song hit the first chorus, they came stomping out like they were walking down a catwalk, and my jaw nearly hit the floor when I finally got my first look at Marin in all her glory.

She wore a pair of ankle boots with a heel so thin and high, they looked impossible to walk in, let alone dance. Butfuck me, could she move.

Her long legs were encased in fishnets that disappeared under black underwear that sat high on her waist and cut high up on her ass cheeks, giving just the barest peek at those firm, round globes. Her breasts were pushed high in a black bra that was covered in silver fringe all the way around that hung to her hips, and every time she moved it swayed, giving the audience a glimpse of the toned stomach and tiny waist behind it.

I was transfixed as she danced. She’d bend forward then snap back up, sending all that long, silky hair flying. She was a goddamn vision, and I couldn’t rip my eyes away from her.

“She’s good, huh?”

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