Scarlett’s POV

​I began to sway, my movements slow and seductive. I didn’t use the pole this time; I used him. I moved in a slow circle around him, the silk of my wrap brushing against his suit jacket like a phantom’s touch. I saw his throat bob as he swallowed hard. Every time I passed his line of sight, his eyes followed me with a desperate, starving intensity.

​I moved closer, my body almost flush against his chest. I could feel the rhythmic beat of his heart. It was fast—too fast. I lowered my head, my lips inches from his ear, and whispered, "Where is your mind tonight, sir? You look like you’re lost in thought."

​Leonard’s hand suddenly shot out, his fingers wrapping around my waist with a grip that was almost painful. He pulled me sharply against him, forcing me to straddle his lap. The air left my lungs in a rush.

​"Don’t," he hissed, his face buried in the crook of my neck, right where the fake floral scent was strongest. "Don’t speak."

​He was shaking. The great, powerful Leonard was trembling against me, his face hidden against my skin as he drew in a deep, shuddering breath. I felt a dampness against my neck—a tear. My Alpha was crying.

​"I’m sorry," I whispered, my real voice almost slipping through the cracks. I reached up, my fingers trembling as I buried them in his hair, holding him to me.

​He didn’t speak for a long time. He just held me, his breath hitching against my skin until he finally managed to pull himself back. I felt his muscles stiffen as he composed himself, the raw vulnerability fading back behind the mask of a cold, distant Alpha.

​He pulled back just enough to look at me, his hands still firm on my waist. I wasn’t dancing anymore; the music had become nothing more than a dull sound in the background. The only thing that felt real was the weight of his stare.

​"What is your name?" he asked, his voice low and raspy.

​"Samantha," I lied, the name feeling heavy on my tongue.

​Leonard’s eyes searched the silver feathers of my mask, his gaze so intense it felt like he was trying to peel back the layers of my skin. "You are something else, Samantha. I can’t explain it. There’s something... familiar and special about the way you move and feel."

​I forced a small, fake laugh, though my heart was breaking. "That is what all my customers say, Sir. Every man thinks he’s found something special in me."

​"You won’t understand," he said, his voice dropping to a somber whisper. He looked away for a moment, his jaw tightening. "In three years, this is the closest I have ever been to a woman. The closest I’ve let anyone get."

​I swallowed hard, the guilt of the afternoon with Leo surging up in my throat. I had to remind myself to breathe, to stay in character. "Three years is a long time to be alone, especially for a man like you."

​"I haven’t been alone," he countered, a bitter edge to his words. "I’ve been haunted. There’s a difference."

​"You talk like a man who has lost everything," I said softly, my fingers still resting at the nape of his neck, playing with the soft hair there. "Are you a werewolf?" I asked, pretending to be a curious human.

​He froze, his eyes snapping back to mine. "You know about us?"

​"I’ve lived in this city long enough," I shrugged, giving him a playful, mysterious look. "You have the aura of a leader. An Alpha. But your eyes... they look human enough tonight. Human and hurting."

​He let out a short, dry laugh. "I am as human as the whiskey in this bottle, Samantha. Which is to say, not at all." He reached up, his thumb tracing the line of my jaw, his touch so light it made me shiver. "You’re human, aren’t you? I can’t smell a wolf on you. Just flowers."

​"As human as they come," I lied, thanking Zoe silently for staying so deep in the shadows of my mind. "And because I’m human, I can tell you this: whatever has happened to you, whatever you’re mourning... I hope you find a way to stay happy. Life is too short to live miserable."

​I started to pull away, my heart aching with the need to end this before I broke down and told him the truth. I needed to get out of his lap, out of his reach, before the fake scent wore off or my mask slipped.

​"I have to go," I whispered. "I have to attend to other customers."

​But as I tried to stand, his grip on my waist tightened. It wasn’t a command this time; it was a plea.

​"Please," he said, his voice straining. "Stay."

​I swallowed hard, looking down at him. "I can’t, Sir. My boss expects me to work the floor. I’m a dancer, remember?"

​Leonard didn’t let go. He reached into the inner pocket of his jacket and pulled out a thick roll of bills, tossing them onto the table without even looking at them. It was more money than a dancer would make in a month.

​"How much to have you to myself for the night?" he asked, his eyes locking onto mine with a desperate, starving hunger. "Just to talk. Just so I don’t have to be alone with my thoughts. Stay with me, Samantha."

​I looked at the money, then back at his pain-filled expression. I knew I should say no. I knew every second I stayed was a second closer to being caught. But seeing him like this—seeing the powerful Leonard reduced to buying a stranger’s company just to survive the night—I couldn’t walk away.

​Every instinct told me to run, but my body had other plans. Instead of pulling away, I sank back down, my weight settling firmly against him.

​I began to move again. It wasn’t the showy, acrobatic dance from the stage. This was slow. Sinful. I rolled my hips in a tight, agonizing circle against his lap, the thin silk of my wrap offering zero protection against the heat radiating from him.

​Leonard let out a sharp, choked-off gasp. I felt it instantly—the heavy, thick surge of his cock hardening beneath me, pressing hungrily against my center. The friction was electric. A jolt of pure, unadulterated need shot straight to my core, and I felt myself go slick and heavy with my own arousal.

​"Samantha... stop," he rasped, his hands tight on my hips. He squeezed, trying to hold me still even as his body betrayed his words. "I’m sorry. I didn’t... I shouldn’t have let this happen."

​He sounded so ashamed, so disgusted with himself for feeling desire when he was supposed to be in mourning. It broke my heart and set my blood on fire all at once. I didn’t stop. I leaned down, my breasts brushing against his chest, and ground my hips into him again, harder this time.