Tiny Dancer [Divine Creek Ranch 13] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting) (8 page)

“What do you mean?”

“You can’t tell me I’m the only one who comes in just out of curiosity to see what costume Camilla has on.”

Camilla giggled. “It’s a sad, sad day when customers plan their leisure time around my costumes.”

Nodding at her increasingly full tip jar, Tom replied, “Something you’re doing is working.”

“Well, any day you come in is a happy day for me, Tom.” She placed the drink in front of him.

“You still saving for your own place?”

“Yes, sir. And thank you for the investment advice. I did what you suggested.”

Tom smiled but shook his head like it was no big deal. “Just helping out a little.” He looked down the bar at Ben and Quinten, who were speaking quietly outside Ben’s office door. “Those two know their stuff about this industry.”

“Ben mentioned the possibility of helping me too.”

“I’d bet money they’d never steer you wrong.”

The customer next to Tom accidentally knocked a glass over, and she stepped up on the ledge to blot up the spill as Quinten passed behind her to get to the register. She turned to check on him and noticed his eyes, which had been hooded and aloof, were now bulging as he asked, “Who hit you?”

Holding the sopping-wet towel in her hands, Camilla turned and heaved the drippy mess into the sink.

“What?” Ben poked his head out of his office door, question in his eyes.

Damn it!
She’d forgotten about the pop on her ass on the dance floor. “It’s nothing.”

Ben’s eyebrows arched as he ogled her ass, and such a wave of heat simmered through her that she could’ve sworn she blushed with
both
sets of cheeks. “Did someone hit you, sugar?”

“It’s fine. Nothing, really. It happened on the dance floor.”

In an uncharacteristic move, Quinten tilted her chin so she’d look at him. She’d expect that more from Ben than from Quinten. “Do you see what happens when you wear outfits like this?” His touch, combined with his proprietary air, sent a wave of heat through her. Anger followed on its heels.

She flicked her gaze to the mirror and realized that several customers were surreptitiously tuned in to what was about to become a high-level discussion. Ben gestured toward the cooler with his chin and then called out to Corinna and motioned for her to cover the bar.

Camilla faced off with them in the cooler when the door shut. “It was a light smack on my ass. My skin reddens easily. I experienced far worse at the Dollhouse.”

Ben’s expression was so intense she took a step back. “It does not help to tell us that, Camilla. I’m talking to the guys about their women dancing together. One of these days someone is going to get hurt in here, or worse, outside in the parking lot. I’m not gonna allow it anymore.”

Camilla’s jaw dropped and her forehead felt crinkled as she gaped at him. “Why are you such an alpha male lately?
Both
of you? You know what I’m wearing is par for the industry. If the smack had been followed by rude behavior I would’ve complained. I wasn’t intentionally provoking anyone—”

Quinten’s frustration was palpable as he replied, “You
were
. You’re driving—” Ben put his hand on Quinten’s chest, and Quinten growled. He looked like he wanted to say more but didn’t. Did he think she was driving customers away?

Camilla continued, “I know a thing or two about the entertainment industry, Quinten. I’m not some stupid bimbo.” She ticked off as she counted, “One—it’s my job to make sure everyone has a good time. Two—the outfit may be risqué, but at least I’m not taking my clothes
off
. Three—the only people who seem provoked are
you two!
And four—you haven’t said one word to Corinna—”

With heat shimmering in his dark eyes, Ben grabbed her by the shoulders and gave her a firm shake. “Corinna is not—
argh
!” He looked ready to grind his molars to powder as he glared at her along with Quinten.

Their behavior had her pissed as hell, but there was a wave of tension vibrating between them as both men stared at her breasts, which were bulging from the confines of her fringed top as Ben clutched her. Their combined gazes sent a bolt of heat shimmering through her, centering in her pussy, which was embarrassingly wet since their confrontation. Ben’s hands didn’t hurt, but she had a sensation of being under his control, which was in itself intoxicating, a feeling she’d nearly forgotten in the last two years.

She blamed that sensation when her voice cracked. “What? I
need
those tips. What have I done that’s so bad?”

Maybe it was the electrical charge of the moment, or his gentle grip on her arms, but she didn’t
want
to be in trouble with either one of them.

So much for getting their help with opening my club
.

She’d never stand a chance at running her own place her way with them pulling crap like this. If they helped her get her place started they would likely have something to say about the way she ran it. She might as well not bother. “Maybe I should open my club somewhere far away like San Antonio or Austin. All we do is clash nowadays.” The thought of actually doing that created a painful hollow chasm in her chest.

Ben’s intense expression faltered, and his hands slipped down her upper arms to her elbows, and he pulled her to him. She caught her breath as his hand tangled in her long hair and his lips came within a hair’s breadth of her own. He’d pulled her so close, she could see the mahogany brown flecks in his dark eyes.

“Boss?” Corinna peeked through the slightly open door of the cooler. “Everything okay?” Ben released her suddenly, and she nearly collapsed before she caught herself.

Quinten’s voice was strained when he replied, “We’re fine.”

“I could hear raised voices. So could the customers.” Corinna didn’t look as concerned as she did curious, and possibly amused.

Ben didn’t look at Corinna, but kept his eyes on Camilla as he replied, “Everything’s fine. Give us another minute, okay?”

“Sure.” The door slipped closed behind her.

She looked at both of them, feeling like she’d missed out on something and wishing they hadn’t been interrupted. She rubbed her hands over her arms to ward off the chill from the cooler. “They’re probably gossiping up a storm out there.”

Ben nodded. “I know you have plans tonight after work, Camilla, but we both need to talk privately with you. Soon.”

Oh, no. They’ve changed their minds.

She ducked her face so they couldn’t see the disappointment in her eyes.

They think I’m too stubborn or no longer a good risk since I won’t toe the line.

“Sure. I’ll get back out there.” She scooted to the door before they could stop her. She smiled as she walked out of the cooler, making eye contact with everyone, but inside she was shriveling. What had just happened wasn’t her best showing. Maybe she should find funding for her club on her own. Maybe she should rethink her views about how she’d increased her tips. It rankled her because she knew she was a good risk.

And damn it, sexy sells!

“Damn it, damn it,
damn it
!”

The rain seeped down into Camilla’s socks and inside her cowgirl boots as the cold rivulets trickled down her calves and the chilly wind blew wet gusts crossways under the umbrella.

She looked back at her Camaro, where it sat in the growing distance on the shoulder of the road. The white body glowed with the occasional flicker of distant lightning. She prayed that the lightning didn’t come any closer to Divine before she made it to Grace’s place. Out there in the open, leaving the relative safety of her car no longer seemed like a good idea.

“Dumb, dumb, dumb ass!”

Her phone sat on her kitchen counter, still plugged to its charger, utterly useless to her. She had a little less than three miles to go and had decided fifteen minutes before to make the walk to the Divine Creek Ranch. It was after midnight, and no one was on the road but her. One vehicle had passed her while she sat in her car, still staring in shock at the dashboard as the unresponsive car had finally died on her. She hadn’t even had enough juice for her hazard lights to flash, so on top of everything else, she was worried that her poor baby might be accidentally damaged on the side of the road. She’d tried to push it farther off the road but hadn’t been able to get it to roll very far in the rain-drenched ground.

Squish, squish, squish
.

With each soggy footstep, she wished more and more that she’d worn jeans that night. She might still be getting soaked, but at least her boots wouldn’t be getting waterlogged from the inside out.

“Short-shorts not such a good idea now, huh, Blondie?” Camilla had a habit of talking to herself when she was nervous. It was awfully late to be walking to Grace’s place in the rain, in short-shorts, on a lonely stretch of highway where anything could happen.

She bit her lip as the cold wind forced a gust of rain straight up her light Windbreaker and hit her right on the ass. She’d thought the men had been unreasonable earlier about her shorts. In her mind, they had
not
been that short. She was thinking differently now. Her butt cheeks were going to be numb before she ever reached the river bridge.

“At least I’m going downhill. And I didn’t have to stay at work until closing. It could’ve been later when this happened.”

Uncharacteristically quiet, Quinten had lifted the tip jar from its spot by the register when business behind the bar had slowed down, and she’d watched as he stacked all the bills up and handed the entire wad to her. They normally split the tips in half between them but he’d refused them.

All he’d said was, “I’m sorry, Camster.”

His penitent tone had softened her heart. She’d wanted to stay mad at him. But he’d given her a shamefaced grin and laughed when she’d punched his arm. She hated that lame nickname. At least that was what she’d told him when he’d come up with it two years before.

“At least he never uses it in front of others,” she said to herself.

Another gust of rain hit her square on the ass, and she growled. “There’s definitely going to be chafing.”

She thought about her nice, long rain slicker, at home on its hook by the back door where it did her absolutely no good at all. “That’s okay. I’m a self-rescuing princess. I can handle this.”

Yeah, right
.

She knew she’d most likely huddle in the dark if any cars came along rather than wave someone down for a ride. Divine was a small town and they looked after their own, but bad stuff happened there too. Just a few weeks before, Jayne Sheridan had been abducted right out of Seth Carter’s house along with his son, Toby. And that wasn’t the only instance of trouble. No, she wouldn’t take the chance. She’d make it to the Divine Creek Ranch on her own two feet.

For some reason, her friend and mentor, Joseph Hazelle, a reputable Dominant and the proprietor of Hazelle House, an exclusive BDSM club in nearby Morehead, came to mind. She could hear his baritone voice speaking in clipped tones inside her head.

“You forgot your phone?”

“Yes, by the time I remembered it I was halfway to work.”

“You remembered it and you didn’t go back for it?”

Uh-oh. Busted
. “It wasn’t that far. I was going to go back for it…and forgot.”

“And now here you are. Walking in the rain, late at night. Undeniably an unsafe endeavor.” Censure was clear in his tones. “What is your most clear-cut responsibility?”

“To see to my own safety as much as I am able.” She pooched her lip out at how disappointed he would be. She’d technically been
able
to go back for her phone.

“But here you are, alone and vulnerable. If you were mine, you know what I’d do, don’t you?” Oh boy, did she
ever
. Joseph took the care and discipline of the submissives in his service very seriously.

“You’d put me right over your lap and turn my booty red.”

“Well put, little sub.” A gleam would no doubt come into his eyes as he enjoyed her discomfiture. But there in the moment, she knew he’d be incredibly worried about her. Joseph held a special place in her heart. While he was very handsome, she’d never been sexually attracted to him. Her feelings for him were completely different and tied to the fact that he understood her as a submissive and gave her what she needed—to feel safe and under someone else’s control.

She hadn’t seen him in several months, since the last time he’d visited The Dancing Pony. She knew this situation would be unacceptable to him. She missed him. She knew where she stood with him, even if she technically wasn’t his submissive, or anybody else’s.

She’d needed a break from the lifestyle after parting from Brandon, leaving him behind in England. They’d both been submissives and had loved each other, but she’d always known that Brandon craved a Mistress. Someone who could give him what he needed most—total power exchange. Camilla hadn’t begrudged him his happiness when he’d finally found it, had been happy for him, but she’d returned home from her summer in Europe in need of a break from all of it. It was then that she’d gone to work for Ben. Gone to work with Quinten. She hadn’t returned to Joseph’s club and from time to time had wondered at that. She hadn’t felt the pull. She’d been very happy working at The Pony, at least until recently.