be ready in ten minutes? Shit!
She quickly rushed to the back of the room behind the pink curtain. Emma needed much more than ten minutes to prepare. Usually she needed at least an hour. Again, shit!
As she scurried around trying to get ready, Emma caught a glimpse of a white shoe on the floor. She stopped, and then stared at the shoe with the little diamond bow on top. It was one of the shoes she had worn during her show for Mr. Blake— Nicholas. But where was the other shoe?
Emma quickly scanned the room and searched under the tables and cabinets. Nothing.
She remembered being so caught off guard by her own desire that had suddenly skyrocketed when Nicholas whispered in her ear, that she kicked off the heels in a rush to get out of the room. Somehow she knew that once she loosened the cuffs, he would try to catch a glimpse of her. And she was right. But luckily she was out of sight by the time he removed the blindfold. So where was that other shoe?
Another knock on the door. “Ready in five, Cinderella. Your first client just walked in.”
Crap. She would have to search for that shoe some other time.
Emma tied her curls in a sleek ponytail and attached the hair extension. In this line of business it was all about disguising yourself. Not one of her clients knew what she looked like. She changed it up every time, and whenever one of her clients chose the sight show, she would wear a wig hiding her true hair color, along with a mask. Emma didn’t want to risk running into one of her clients on the street, and then have to look them in the eye after they had seen her in this type of environment. Her anonymity was most important to her. So with her touch and feel show she would wear a plain black mask, even though the client was blindfolded, just in case.
Then she heard the bell chiming as someone opened the door, signaling that her client had arrived. She hadn’t even had a chance to check the schedule to see who this client was.
“Pick a pair of shoes.” Emma tried her best to sound sexy even though she was rushing her ass off to get ready.
“I have three types of shows. Touch, feel, and—”
“See.”
Emma froze.
That voice.
She immediately recognized that voice. She would recognize that voice in a room filled with a thousand men.
Nicholas.
Her heart stopped. Her blood swooshed through her veins as warmth spread to her core.
“Mr. Blake,” she whispered.
“You remember me?”
Of course she remembered him. How could she forget?
Emma leaned against the cabinet with all her makeup and hair accessories on. She clutched the edges so tight, her knuckles turned white.
There was no way. She wouldn’t be able to do this again, not with him. The risk was too much. What if he somehow recognized her? He had already sensed that her voice sounded familiar when he had taken care of the wound in her palm.
The wound! Crap.
She glanced at her palm and saw the remnants of the wound. It had healed well, but there was still a scar, a scar that he might recognize. In panic she searched the area and found a pair of white gloves. It just had to do.
“I remember you, Mr. Blake.” She pulled on the gloves.
“I’m glad to hear that.” She could almost hear the smirk in his voice.
Emma took a deep breath and closed her eyes, counting to ten in a bid to compose herself. Her heart was still beating at a hundred miles an hour, blood rushing to her head.
“I choose see ,” he said.
Emma almost choked on a breath.
When she turned around, she saw that he had slipped his hand through the curtain and he held the missing shoe she had searched for earlier. “I want to see you dance for me, Cinderella. And I want to see you wearing these again.” His voice sounded low, rough and strong and did strange things to her insides.
“Mr. Blake, did you steal my shoe last Saturday?”
His hand along with the shoe disappeared back to the other side of the curtain. “Not steal, just borrowed.”
“You borrowed a
She quickly rushed to the back of the room behind the pink curtain. Emma needed much more than ten minutes to prepare. Usually she needed at least an hour. Again, shit!
As she scurried around trying to get ready, Emma caught a glimpse of a white shoe on the floor. She stopped, and then stared at the shoe with the little diamond bow on top. It was one of the shoes she had worn during her show for Mr. Blake— Nicholas. But where was the other shoe?
Emma quickly scanned the room and searched under the tables and cabinets. Nothing.
She remembered being so caught off guard by her own desire that had suddenly skyrocketed when Nicholas whispered in her ear, that she kicked off the heels in a rush to get out of the room. Somehow she knew that once she loosened the cuffs, he would try to catch a glimpse of her. And she was right. But luckily she was out of sight by the time he removed the blindfold. So where was that other shoe?
Another knock on the door. “Ready in five, Cinderella. Your first client just walked in.”
Crap. She would have to search for that shoe some other time.
Emma tied her curls in a sleek ponytail and attached the hair extension. In this line of business it was all about disguising yourself. Not one of her clients knew what she looked like. She changed it up every time, and whenever one of her clients chose the sight show, she would wear a wig hiding her true hair color, along with a mask. Emma didn’t want to risk running into one of her clients on the street, and then have to look them in the eye after they had seen her in this type of environment. Her anonymity was most important to her. So with her touch and feel show she would wear a plain black mask, even though the client was blindfolded, just in case.
Then she heard the bell chiming as someone opened the door, signaling that her client had arrived. She hadn’t even had a chance to check the schedule to see who this client was.
“Pick a pair of shoes.” Emma tried her best to sound sexy even though she was rushing her ass off to get ready.
“I have three types of shows. Touch, feel, and—”
“See.”
Emma froze.
That voice.
She immediately recognized that voice. She would recognize that voice in a room filled with a thousand men.
Nicholas.
Her heart stopped. Her blood swooshed through her veins as warmth spread to her core.
“Mr. Blake,” she whispered.
“You remember me?”
Of course she remembered him. How could she forget?
Emma leaned against the cabinet with all her makeup and hair accessories on. She clutched the edges so tight, her knuckles turned white.
There was no way. She wouldn’t be able to do this again, not with him. The risk was too much. What if he somehow recognized her? He had already sensed that her voice sounded familiar when he had taken care of the wound in her palm.
The wound! Crap.
She glanced at her palm and saw the remnants of the wound. It had healed well, but there was still a scar, a scar that he might recognize. In panic she searched the area and found a pair of white gloves. It just had to do.
“I remember you, Mr. Blake.” She pulled on the gloves.
“I’m glad to hear that.” She could almost hear the smirk in his voice.
Emma took a deep breath and closed her eyes, counting to ten in a bid to compose herself. Her heart was still beating at a hundred miles an hour, blood rushing to her head.
“I choose see ,” he said.
Emma almost choked on a breath.
When she turned around, she saw that he had slipped his hand through the curtain and he held the missing shoe she had searched for earlier. “I want to see you dance for me, Cinderella. And I want to see you wearing these again.” His voice sounded low, rough and strong and did strange things to her insides.
“Mr. Blake, did you steal my shoe last Saturday?”
His hand along with the shoe disappeared back to the other side of the curtain. “Not steal, just borrowed.”
“You borrowed a
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