Most of All You: A Love Story(4)

I changed quickly into my uniform—tiny white shorts, a black-and-white-striped shirt that tied between my boobs, and red stiletto heels—and opened the door to do a few last rounds of the bar floor. I startled, as did the man standing outside, leaning against the opposite hallway wall. What the hell? Where was Anthony? My eyes darted down the empty hall, no Anthony in sight. The man—he was the one I’d wondered about earlier—stood tall and ran a hand through his brown hair, looking momentarily unsure.

“You’re not supposed to be back here,” I said, crossing my arms over my breasts, unsure why I was attempting to cover what he’d probably been gawking at earlier.

“I’m sorry. I wasn’t sure of the protocol.”

I raised a brow. “Protocol?”

He shook his head slightly. “The, ah, procedure for meeting with you.”

I cocked my head to the side. Okay, this guy was potentially crazy. “The procedure is that you have to go through Anthony. Big black guy? Mean looking? Snaps men in half if they mess with one of his girls.” My eyes darted down the hallway again.

“Ah. Yeah, he’s breaking up a fight outside.”

I glanced back to him. “Uh-huh. And so you made your move?” I took one step back into the room, ready to barricade myself inside if he tried anything.

He blinked and paused for a second before reaching into his coat pocket. Bringing his hand out, he tossed something my way. Instinct made me reach out and catch it. A set of keys. I looked at him, creasing my brow in confusion.

“If I do anything to make you nervous, you can gouge my eyes out with one of those.”

“Gouge your eyes out? Yeah, I’d really rather not.”

“I won’t give you reason to. I don’t mean you any harm.”

Anthony appeared at the end of the hallway, shaking his hand as if he’d injured it. “Yo, you’re not supposed to be back here.” Oh, thank God.

“I know. I’m sorry. I didn’t know the rules.”

“Ignorance is no excuse, my man. Gotta eighty-six your ass. You okay, Crys?” I nodded.

“I only want ten minutes,” the man said quickly, raising his hands. I wasn’t sure if he was doing an I’m unarmed gesture or whether his ten fingers went in tandem with the promise of limited time.

“Sorry, my lap-dance card is full for the night, sugar.”

“I don’t want a lap dance. I just want to talk.”

Ah, one of those. I almost rolled my eyes. But something inside made me pause. I couldn’t say what it was. He was handsome, sure. Pretty, even, with that thick brown hair curling up at his collar and classic masculine bone structure. But I’d known a few handsome men in my time. Each one had a mean streak three miles wide. Handsome got you a big fat nowhere in the end. In fact, sometimes worse off. In my experience, the handsome ones thought they were God’s gift to womankind, and that it was their moral duty to spread themselves far and wide.

No, it was something other than that. It was his eyes. His eyes held some sort of innocence I hadn’t seen before. Gentleness I certainly wasn’t used to. His expression was hopeful, but not desperate, and I didn’t detect lust in his eyes. He looked … sincere. Maybe he really did just want to talk. “It’s okay, Anthony.”

Anthony lowered the hand that had been about to clamp down on the man’s arm and stepped back. “You sure?”

“Yeah.” I looked at the man. “Ten minutes.” I held the keys up, one stuck through my fingers. “And don’t make me use these. I don’t want to but if you force the issue, you’ll exit this room blind, sugar.”

“Gabriel,” he said, a small smile lighting his face. “My name is Gabriel.” Like the angel? No wonder I’d thought he didn’t belong here.

“All right.” I stood aside, and he moved past me into the room. I nodded once at Anthony and then pushed the door so it still stood halfway open. I knew Anthony would stay close by.

“So what brings a nice guy like you to this den of sin, sugar?”

“Gabriel. And you’re Crystal?”

“Around here I am.”

He looked at me steadily, and it was disconcerting. After a moment he nodded as if he understood something I didn’t. “I see.”

At his words, his knowing look, a small burst of flustered anger ricocheted through my belly like the ball in a pinball machine. I smiled suggestively and took a seat on the small, dirty gold settee, reclining, and then crossing my legs. I used my hands to play idly with the knotted material between my breasts. I watched his eyes follow my movement and flare slightly before he looked away. Ah, there it was—lust. Just like every other man. Familiar. I took a breath, satisfaction and calm moving through me. “So what is it you want to talk about?”

He cleared his throat and put his hands in his pockets, tilting his head slightly so his hair fell across his forehead. His posture, the way he squinted slightly as he looked at me, triggered my memory, and I suddenly realized how I knew him. Lost boy. The words moved through my mind as if someone had scribbled them there. His name was Gabriel Dalton, and he’d gone missing when he was a kid. It was a big-time national news story when he escaped his kidnapper and came home. I was only a pre-teen at the time, but I’d still heard about it here and there. Of course, right about the time Gabriel had come home, my world was—yet again—falling apart.