Dante

Riley Mullvain is unconditionally off-limits. Irresistibly forbidden.
So, when she strides into my lair, auditioning to be a dancer, my first instinct is to warn her off. But when she protests, burning with defiance, I show her in.

Silly Feds for thinking they could keep her safe. I’m more danger than she’s ever known. And now, she’s in my domain.
My club. My rules.

It’s all too easy to give her exactly what she craves: a high-paying job with ironclad guarantees no one will find her, wrapped up in a binding contract with a few small rules.
Rule One: Tell no one.
Rule Two: I select her outfit, complete with a blindfold.
Rule Three: No other men in her life.

Why the blindfold? Call it a little trust exercise. For us both. That and clients enjoy a certain amount of anonymity.

Why Rule Three? Because I’m a possessive prick, and that Fed Knox is already on my last nerve. If she breaks the rules? Let’s just say little girls shouldn’t break rules. And every inch of me thrums with the certainty that she will.

I study her, the way her body sways in perfect rhythm to the slow ballad. My newest obsession is marked off with bright yellow Do Not Enter tape. But as long as I just look with my eyes, no harm, right?

The whiskey burns a line down my throat as I tally up all the ways I’m damned. Because deep down, I know it’s not a question of if Riley will be ruined. It’s when.

Because sweet, little Riley has one client and only one client—me.