Logan took a deep breath. Some part of him felt ashamed, and some part of him felt angry, but mostly, he just wanted her, and that was enough to drown out everything else. “How much will it take?” he implored. “What can I do to convince you? I’ll pay ya three. I want a private dance, darlin’, just for me.”
“No,” she said stubbornly. “Stop it, please.” Her tears began to flow faster. “You were nice to me.” This in an oddly accusatory tone. “You were nice, and—and I know your name. I can’t. I’m not gonna sink that low. Maybe it seems stupid to you, maybe it is stupid, but I have,” she glanced at the neon sign, blushing, “standards. I’m not like this. I don’t do this. I don’t do this.” She shook her head, as if her denying it could make it go away. “I don’t do this.”
Logan almost believed her. She obviously wasn’t like this, if she’d rather work in that shithole restaurant with a boss who didn’t bother to pay her, than dance here for three times the money.
He didn’t see what was so damn bad about stripping, but it bothered her. It hurt her. That much he could tell. “You’re lookin’ at it all wrong, honey,” he said, taking an involuntary step towards her. “If this kinda thing really upsets you so much, wouldn’t it be better to dance just for one man? To make even more money and only let me see you? You want all those drunk guys in there pawin’ at you, comin’ onto you?” He bit back a growl. “That’s worse.”
She sniffled. “I—I guess . . . no, I mean, you’re right. You’re right. I just thought you . . . I just had a different image of you. It’s stupid, but I kind of let myself think we . . . back at the restaurant, when you waited with me, and protected—I felt safe and—God, I’m a fucking idiot. Sorry. Nevermind. Please, forget what I just said. Sorry.”
For a brief moment, he wanted to try to live up to whatever image she had built of him. Some nice regular guy, some decent guy who kept her safe without asking for anything in return. But he knew he couldn’t. He was a mutant, and in a couple of days he’d be back in a cushy mansion in New York, busting skulls for a man who made the President look like a pauper, and she’d still be in this shitty little town living day to day, driving her beat-up old car to work and calling strangers “ma’am” and “sir”. Going to amateur night at The Silk Stocking and crying in the parking lot and telling herself she wasn’t a stripper.
But maybe . . . maybe he could try to give her part of her fantasy, just a little bit. Just for one night. That could be nice. The words began to pour from him as he breathed her in, coaxing, insistent, “I want you to feel safe with me,” he said. “You’re safe. Listen, I didn’t mean to come on so strong . . . I just want you, wanna see you so bad, darlin’. Want you to dance for me. From the second I saw you in that restaurant, I wanted you. It’s—it’s not gonna be like the times you’ve danced before, for all those guys. It won’t be like that with me. C’mon, I’ll treat you good. You can be safe . . . comfortable. I’m not even from around here. You’ll never have to see me again. Just one night. Just gimme one night.”
She was softening under his arguments, he could tell. He took another step towards her. She bit her lip, still crying some. “Alright,” she said, dull, numb. “Alright. I think we can rent a private room inside. I never did it before, but I—I think they do that.”
Logan shook his head, not liking that idea. They’d be behind a curtain at best, and all the other sounds and smells of the place would filter in. “Nah. You don’t even have to set foot in that place tonight, darlin’. Just come back to my hotel. That’d be nicer for you, right?”
The fear smell was back. She shifted her duffle nervously. “I’m sorry. I’m not comfortable going—“
“If I was gonna hurt you, I would’ve done it by now,” he said pragmatically, trying not to let his frustration show. He was trying to make this better for both of them, and she wasn’t making it easy. Still, he supposed he couldn’t blame her for being scared. “C’mon, you know I could’ve done anything to you back at that restaurant, or in the parking lot, but I didn’t. I’m not some creep. I won’t treat you bad. You’re safe. I’ll take care of you.”
“. . . You promise?” She looked up at him, big brown eyes shining, lip jutting out in a pout.
In an instant, his frustration with her was gone. He couldn't lie; that really did it for him, the naughty mix of innocent and sexy in her features, the honeyed timbre of her voice. His blood stirred, his cock twitching awake and pushing up against the front of his jeans. He nearly rumbled in pleasure. “Oh, I promise, sweet thing. I promise.”
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