Private Dances Page 2

  “I will wait for you, then.” Smiling again, Gen sat back and watched that sweet ass move as Dee straightened. Lovely.

  “Okay.” Dee headed out, a little unsure, a little shaky, eyes hidden. Then that square chin lifted. “You got a name?”

  “Adriano Genovese. Gen, since that’s a bit much.” He would have offered a hand to shake, but that might have overly invaded Dee’s confidence.

  “Adriano.” His name sounded… interesting, drawled into seventeen syllables. “Nice to meet you.”

  “It’s very good to meet you too, Dee. Now go get dressed so we can get better acquainted.” Gen laughed, the sound low and intimate. “I believe that is the first time I have ever said that to someone.”

  “There’s a first time for everything, I figure.” He got another real, honest grin, a nod, and then Dee was gone.

  Now all he had to do was wait and see if Dee would come back. Gen paid the tab and watched the underdressed dancer on stage for a moment, wondering at himself. Ah, well. The only way to see what it was about Dee that so consumed him was to have the boy. Then perhaps he could move on and get on with his business.

  There were people waiting for him.

  Chapter Two

  OKAY.

  Okay.

  Oh, fuck.

  Not okay.

  What was he thinking?

  Worse, what was he doing?

  He wasn’t a whore. He wasn’t, but damn, how did somebody say that when no one said nothing about paying?

  Not only that, but three hundred dollars.

  Twice.

  Which was six hundred dollars. Which was way more than pizza. Which was cool.

  Dale got himself cleaned up, makeup and oil all washed off, and got into a pair of jeans and a decent shirt, a simple leather jacket, his real hat, and his boots.

  Okay.

  Okay.

  He could do this.

  Hell, the man was hot, mysterious. Sexy.

  Foreign.

  He managed not to talk to anybody, just sneak up the stairs and tap on the private box door again without freaking out or running.

  Go him.

  The door opened right away, Gen stepping out, those laser-like blue-green eyes running over him. “Are you ready?”

  “Yeah. Yeah, I am.” Mostly. Of course, he felt less like a boy toy in the real clothes, more like Joe Blow.

  “Would you like to have something to eat? I could take you out, or the hotel has room service.” Gen steered him gently out, brushing past a few of the guys who might look like they wanted to ask for something.

  “I….” His stomach growled, loud enough to hear, and Dale chuckled. “Oh, no. I’m not hungry. Not at all. Lord.”

  The guy didn’t look upset. In fact he laughed too, squeezing Dale’s elbow. “What would you like?”

  “I’m pretty simple, Gen. Meat, potatoes, bread. So long as I can recognize it, I’ll probably eat it.”

  “Then you must try the filet at my hotel.” They stepped outside, and in a pretty darned short amount of time, there was a car with a driver. Just like that.

  “Sounds good to me. Thanks.” He slid into the car when the door opened, looking all around so he could remember it all.

  Gen sat next to him, close enough to feel, close enough to smell spicy-citrus cologne. He never touched or anything, didn’t have grabby hands like the guys a lot of the dancers bitched about, but he made it pretty clear that he wanted to.

  Dale leaned into the seat, trying to decide whether to make conversation or keep his mouth shut. He went with quiet but not stiff, giving Gen a good, long look before offering the man a stick of gum.

  “Do I need it?” Gen looked a little surprised, but not pissed or anything.

  “Need what?” He looked at the gum. How the hell was he supposed to know if Gen was nervous and needed something to chew? Oh. Breath freshening. Duh. “Oh, no. No, I just needed one and was sharing.”

  “Oh.” Gen’s eyes crinkled, and he took a piece, fingers surprisingly callused and rough against his. “Thank you.”

  “No problem.” He took one for himself, the mint sharp, and chewing gave his mouth something to do.

  The car wasn’t one of those huge limos, but it did have an extended back seat and a screen between them and the driver. It was quiet running too. There was a stereo and a laptop computer, and man… he’d never seen so many gadgets. When he was done taking it all in, Gen was still staring at him, chewing the gum slowly.

  “This is something else. Puts my little pickup to shame.” Still, he wouldn’t give for Bessie. She was a honey.

  “It allows me to do what I need to on the road, I suppose.” Gen shrugged. “I have my own car at home. I like it better.”

  “Well, there’s nothing like one that’s set all like you like it. What kind do you have?” Cars he knew.

  “It’s an Aston Martin.” Those blue-green eyes actually lit up, genuine pleasure in the smile. “It handles like a dream.”

  “No shit? They’re fine beasts. I saw one once, gray as a dove’s wing.”

  “Yes. I love it.” They shared a grin, two men who knew their cars, and for a minute he could actually relax. Then they pulled up at the hotel, and the driver popped the door open.

  He stepped out, settled his hat. Damn. Ritzy and shit. Definitely not the Motel 6.

  Gen just swept him right in, ignoring the doorman and everything, and took him right on in like the guy at the desk wasn’t wrinkling his nose at his jeans and boots. There was nothing Gen did without confidence, it looked like.

  He tried not to feel like a bumpkin and stare at shit, but damn, he wanted to. The place was fine—big-assed mirrors with gold frames, chandeliers, a huge staircase going up and up. Even a fountain. Inside.

  The room or suite or whatever Gen took him to was as huge and just as fancy. It had a front room with couches and fresh flowers and mirrors and shit too. Man, the front room was bigger than his whole efficiency. He walked over to the window, looked out over the city and the lights, and smiled. Damn, that was pretty.

  “It does have a nice view, doesn’t it?” He’d almost forgotten Gen was there, but the voice came from right behind him, reminding him. Gen’s hand on his back, resting right above his ass, warm through his shirt, stopped him from turning.

  “It’s right fine.” He surprised himself by getting a little flushed, that hand on his back the focus of all his attention.

  “It is.” Oh, growly. Those fingers moved, tiny little motions that raised the hair on the back of his neck, made shivers go up his spine.

  Oh. Oh, damn. He swallowed hard, trying to think of something to say and managing only to swallow his fucking gum.

  “Do I make you nervous, Dee?” There was nothing mocking in the question, not that he could hear. There was just that relentless heat as Gen moved even closer.

  “Yeah. Yeah, you do. I… well, it’s no secret I’m out of my league.”

  “Are you?” That damned hand climbed up his back, between his shoulder blades, before sliding back down real slow, stopping at his hip, curling around. “How do you like your steak?”

  “Medium-rare.” The words were harsh, husky, and he swallowed, cleared his throat.

  “Oh, good. There’s nothing worse than a well-done filet.” The heat behind him faded away, and he could hear Gen ordering supper. Steaks, potatoes, salad, all of it so normal it gave him a bit of his balance back. Just a bit.

  He took his hat off, set it on one of the fancy wood tables, and ran his fingers in his hair.

  He almost flinched when someone else touched his hair—had to be Gen, but damn, he hadn’t heard the man move. Stroking, teasing, Gen pressed close behind him. “What a wonderful color.”

  “Straw, my momma used to say.” He tried not to shiver. Everywhere the man touched him was hot, almost burning, making the not-touched bit goose-pimpled.

  “Straw hardly does it justice.” Gen combed through Dale’s hair, palm cupping his scalp. “But then, mine
has been compared to black wool. Mothers are hardly complimentary at times.”

  “Wool? It looks softer than that.” His head followed those touches, resting in Gen’s palm for a second before he thought about it.

  “Does it? You’re welcome to touch it.” Gen turned him a bit, and they were so close, almost eye to eye. He could feel Gen’s breath on his cheek.

  Dale couldn’t even imagine how he’d go about turning that offer down, so he didn’t try. Gen’s hair was soft, catching a little on the calluses on his fingers. The curls clung to his fingers, springing back into place as he let go. Gen stared at him, eyes going dark, and they seemed to sway, coming closer, until those surprisingly soft lips settled at the corner of his mouth.

  Oh.

  He inhaled, the scent of mint making him smile. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  Gen gave him the barest kiss, Gen’s lips moving so, so gently over his, and the knock came on the door announcing room service. Damn. He had no idea they’d been standing there that long.

  Dale caught a glimpse of himself in the big mirror, cheeks flushed, lips parted. He looked… dazed.

  Of course, he sorta felt dazed, so that made sense.

  Sort of.

  Lord, Lord.

  “Come and eat, Dee. I think you will like it very much.” Shit, that man could move. Gen was across the room and holding out a chair for him, waiting patiently.

  “It smells good.” He managed to walk over and sit without making an ass out of himself. Go him.

  “It does.” Gen flashed him a smile, opening a snowy white napkin and putting it on his lap. “Tell me where you’re from?”

  He got himself settled and grinned. “Ranger—it’s, oh… a few hours northwest of here. Little town in West Texas. Nice enough place. Dusty and dry.”

  The cover was whisked off his tray, and damn, that was a fine looking steak. Big fluffy potato. Texas toast. Yeah.

  Gen cut into his own steak, nodding easily. “I come from a very small town myself.”

  “Yeah? You’re not from Texas, though.” He grinned over, winked. “I notice a distinct lack of ‘y’all.’”

  “True.” Gen chewed for a moment, closing his eyes and humming at the taste. It was sexy as hell. “I am from Cetara, a town on the Amalfi Coast, just south of Naples.”

  Naples? Come on, Dale. You know this. You do. Naples. Not the town by Texarkana, either. Right! The boot country. Italy. Fucking-A. “Oh, damn. You’re a far ways from home.”

  “Yes. Though I suppose I live in Rome more than anywhere now. Still, Texas is very different.” There was a glint there that told him Gen was teasing him. Texas wasn’t like anywhere else, for sure.

  “That’s how I felt about Houston when I got here. It seemed very different.” Hell, he’d never been anywhere but Abilene before he’d come here. Different didn’t begin to tell it all.

  “Yes.” Gen indicated his meal. “Please. Eat.”

  He nodded, dug in to the steak, groaning low as the meat almost melted in his mouth. Damn. Just, damn.

  They ate, both of them intent on the meal for a good long while. And just as he was thinking he couldn’t eat another bite, he found out there was cobbler for dessert. With cream.

  He chuckled, stretched up to make room. “Oh, now, that’s plumb unfair. Cobbler’s one of those things on the ‘better than sex’ list.”

  “Dessert that is better than sex?” He got a look. “I don’t believe it. Obviously you have been having sex with the wrong people.”

  “Either that or you’ve been eating the wrong desserts.” He grinned over, almost feeling like he wasn’t the biggest dork on earth.

  “That could be. This, according to the menu, is a specialty. I have not had it before.” Gen shared his grin.

  “No? Honest? Oh, cobbler’s good. I swear it.” He couldn’t dig in like he normally would, but he gave it a good go.

  He could see Gen out of the corner of his eye, trying it gingerly, and had to laugh at the look of sheer bliss on the man’s face. Yeah. That was cobbler.

  “See? I told you no lie.” He took another small bite, licking the cream off the spoon.

  “It is very good. You will have to tell me, after, if it is better than sex, hmm?”

  Oh. Right. Damn. Although, after the last hour, he wasn’t feeling reluctant—nervous, yeah, but not reluctant.

  “You needn’t look so worried.” Reaching out, Gen covered one of his hands, the fingers closing around his. “We have shared a fine meal. If you wish to leave, I will have Paolo take you home.”

  Dale gave Gen a smile. “Not worried, nervous. There’s a difference.” Not much of one, but there was.

  “There is.” Rough in texture, soft in touch, Gen’s fingers stroked his hand, turned it so the touch found his palm, making his fingers curl. “Come and sit with me awhile. Such a meal needs time to digest.”

  Dale nodded, stood, fingers still twined with Gen’s, strangely reluctant to let go. They made their way to the largest of the sofas, and Gen pulled him down to sit close. The muscles all along Gen’s arm and thigh were firm and strong against him, the fabric of Gen’s shirt soft, maybe silk.

  “Thank you for supper, sir. It was good.” He felt all lazy and excited at once—like he could feel every inch of skin.

  “I enjoyed it the more for the company. It has been a long time since anyone intrigued me so, Dee.”

  “Dale. Dale McBride.” He met Gen’s eyes, shrugged. “Dee’s my stage name.” If he was gonna get personal with the man, he’d best do it for real.

  “Dale.” Gen smiled, and Dale was getting good at telling the real smiles, because they actually drew the skin up around Gen’s eyes. “We progress, I think. How long have you been dancing?”

  “Almost eight months.” He hadn’t intended on dancing. Hell, didn’t know he could.

  “You have a talent for it. You are quite something to watch.” Gen… leaned, and suddenly their joined hands had slid down to the inside of his thigh.

  His legs parted instinctively, muscles shifting in his jeans. “I just sort of do what feels right. It works better than a big choreographed deal.”

  “Yes. It works very well. I’m sure I am not the only one who thinks so. The man I was with the first night. He wanted you as well.” The back of Gen’s hand rubbed against the seam of his jeans, so lightly that it seemed accidental.

  He wrinkled his nose without even thinking. “That part… that’s my job.”

  “So you like the dance, but not so much the customers, hmm?”

  Okay, that was no accident. Gen had very deliberately turned their hands so Dale was touching himself through the denim, pressing down against his cock.

  Dale shifted, hips rolling a little. “I like some of the customers. The private dances are… challenging. Unnerving sometimes.”

  “I imagine.” The warm weight at his side increased as Gen leaned against him, the pressure of their joined hands sliding, pushing. His chin dipped, lips parting on a low groan. Talk about unnerving. Oh, Lord. Gen finally gave up acting like they were just sitting, turning to catch his lips, kissing him like the first time. Gentle. Easy.

  Oh, now. That was… fine as all get-out.

  He returned the kiss, finding it easy to do, like falling off a log, one hand reaching up, touching those soft curls again. His mouth was open, Gen pushing in with his tongue, slow and soft, tasting. Oh, that felt good. Almost as good as Gen’s free hand coming up to rest against his throat, thumb pressing where his pulse beat. Gen tasted like cream and peach and sugar, and he moaned without meaning to, easing a little closer. Damn.

  “Mmm.” The sound was low, happy, like the one Gen had made biting into the steak or the cobbler. Just like Dale was a treat. Gen pulled him closer, hand slipping around to the back of his neck, fingers scraping across his nape. Oh. He shuddered, belly and balls going tight as a board.

  Gen moved, turning him so he slid back along the back of the couch, off-balance, kicking
like an overturned turtle. Then Gen shifted down on top of him, kissing him, tongue running along the inside of his lips. He opened up, his tongue touching Gen’s, so careful, so slow. Sweet.

  Gen hummed a little, rubbing against him, lips moving on his, tongue tasting him. Gen moved one hand up his thigh to his hip, holding on, anchoring him. They were breathing together, slow and easy, his hand cupping the back of Gen’s head, fingers fascinated by those curls. Gen’s fingers curled in return around his hip bone, slipping under to cup his ass. There was nothing urgent in it, no frantic grabbing. Just feeling. His cock filled, nerves dissipating, melting under the slowly building heat.

  Gen’s cheek was rough against his, the late-evening whiskers obvious this close up. Gen’s eyelashes were dark and spiky, eyes stunning blue-green. Those lips were soft, moving over his chin, Gen’s tongue dipping into the little hollow below his lower lip. It made him wonder what Gen was seeing, whether it seemed as much like a dream, like a fantasy he told himself after he’d jacked off and the bed got cold.

  “What’s going on behind those eyes of yours?” The question startled him, Gen smiling at him, lips curving against his.

  “I was thinking you were like a dream.” Oh, God. Out loud that sounded ten types of heavy-duty stupid.

  “A good one, I hope. You’re much more solid than a dream.” The hand on his ass squeezed, and Gen’s mouth headed down his neck to bite lightly at his Adam’s apple.

  That surprised a sound out of him—half-gasp, half-chuckle—as he rolled, hips pushing against Gen’s heat.

  “Yes. Like that.” He could hear the smile, feel it against the base of his throat as Gen licked and nibbled, never hard enough to leave a mark, which was good, ’cause that could get him fired. Then he was left kinda cold and gasping as Gen sat up, fingers working the buttons of his shirt. “I want to see you, Dale.”

  Dale smiled, sitting up himself. “Again.” He worked his cuffs open, fingers steady now. “You’ve seen all I have.”

  “Not like this. Not just you and I.” His shirt slid right off down his arms, Gen staring intently at him as it went. “And now I can touch.”