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  “Mark must’ve called in all the goddamn talent they have contracted, even the freelancers,” Ansel, the group’s unofficial leader, said, scanning the crowd. His platinum blond hair already perfectly coiffed, and shimmery eye shadow made his green eyes shine.

  “This mysterious shit is making my Spidey senses tingle,” Z said. “I don’t like it.”

  “I’m sure it’s fine.” Tam, ever the calming influence, squeezed Z’s shoulder.

  Hop wasn’t so confident. He felt ill and it had nothing to do with residual effects of his hangover.

  The cryptic text from Mark, Switch’s general manager, had blinked at him ominously as he’d gotten out of the shower.

  Two words: mandatory meeting.

  Ever since, Hop’s curiosity had run amok. By the time Mark poked his head around the corner, Hop’s anxiety caused his fists to tighten. Roland Lockwood and his errand boy, Rafe, had already taken so much from him. He hated that they could take the Sassy Boyz away too.

  “Let’s talk on stage, there’s more room,” Mark said before disappearing again.

  The group of thirty or so performers all filed out, murmuring under their breath. Everyone was nervous, which wasn’t a comfort because some of them had been working at Switch since the beginning. If they were anxious it meant something was unusual.

  On the way out, Jae glanced at him with troubled dark eyes and a questioning lift of his brow. As the two newest members of the Sassy Boyz, they’d formed a bond. Even though Hop still knew very little about Jae’s personal life, he felt closer to Jae than any of the others. He sent his friend a reassuring smile.

  The club always looked weird during the day, like a skeleton of a monster that came to life after dark. Mark sat cross-legged in the center of the raised floor and gestured for everyone to do the same. They subconsciously made a half circle around him.

  “What’s going on, Mark?” one of the aerialists asked. Hop didn’t know her name, but she’d been working at Switch for a year.

  “Hi, Brooke, great show on Wednesday.” Mark smiled at her, then let his gaze travel over the rest of them. “Welcome, everyone. Thanks for coming on such short notice. I can see you’re all curious, but don’t worry. I called you here because I thought it’d be easier to make this announcement to everyone at once instead of tracking you down individually.”

  “We’re getting a raise?” one of the acrobats joked with a fetching smile.

  Mark laughed. “Not quite, but this is a good opportunity. We’re planning a themed event and we want to hold auditions at the end of next week.”

  “What do you mean, auditions?”

  “Come on, Teddy, you know what auditions are. You’ve probably been to a million.”

  Teddy looked sheepish when everyone laughed, but Mark continued, “We could’ve arbitrarily decided which acts would get the gig but with this event we’re looking to push our own limits, and yours. We’re giving you the opportunity to stretch your boundaries and create something truly unique.”

  “What kind of routines are you looking for?” Brooke asked.

  “Something to blow our minds, something we weren’t expecting. Something hedonistic.”

  Excitement rolled through the group. Tam and Ansel’s eyes lit up like fireworks as they turned to grin at the rest of them. Yeah, this was right up their alley. Hop felt the stirrings of enthusiasm. This could be fun.

  “What’s the catch?” Teddy asked.

  “You’ll have to impress the big boss.”

  Hop’s burgeoning enthusiasm turned to stone. Shit. Shit. Shit.

  There was no way he’d be able to hide from Rafe’s keen eyes. Even if he felt like a completely new person, even if he’d grown and dyed his hair, even though he wore makeup and heels these days, Rafe would recognize him.

  * * *

  Rafe stayed in the shadows on the balcony and watched Mark laugh with the talent like it was easy.

  Hell, it was for Mark.

  Rafe couldn’t quite understand it. Never had. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d held an easy conversation with anyone, let alone a group of people he barely knew. Even watching from the safety of his private catwalk in the rafters left him uneasy.

  He hated crowds.

  This made his choice of career pretty ridiculous if he stopped to think about it.

  So he didn’t.

  This was the path he’d chosen all those years ago. Now that he was walking it, he’d be damned if he wasn’t going to be the best, despite his weaknesses. For his family. And for himself.

  He tried to put names to the faces below and cursed when he failed miserably. He should know them. He’d approved their auditions, even signed their contracts, but fuck if he could figure out who they were.

  This was why he’d hired Mark. Mark was the social one. Mark remembered people.

  Mark was good at everything Rafe wasn’t.

  They made a good team. He should be thankful, not jealous. Still, he couldn’t help wishing he could be as open and casual with his own employees. But he stood in the shadows, listening intently to every concern the performers brought up and made notes for later when Mark would ask for input.

  Rafe’s eyes caught on a flash of color. A woman in gorgeous four-inch blue suede Louboutin stilettos stood in one smooth move, all legs and ass. Her long wavy hair faded from baby pink at the roots to lavender at the tips. It brushed the curve of her lower back as it swung from side to side in soft ripples. Rafe had the unexplainable urge to sink his fingers into that cotton-candy hair and sniff it. Would it smell sweet like sugar?

  A hot rush of lust shot up his spine.

  Jesus.

  When was the last time he’d gotten laid?

  He couldn’t remember, which meant he’d have to make time soon. He tried not to go more than three months without a visit to the condo. He made a mental note to call Dalia and schedule an appointment.

  It was those shoes, that’s all. They were perfect. He’d always been a sucker for a graceful woman in Louboutins. For some reason, those red-bottom heels drove his libido crazy. But it wasn’t the shoes his gaze tracked. It was the swish-swish of confectionery hair as it tickled the top of a delicious ass. It brought to mind a candy apple, and hell if Rafe didn’t want to take a bite.

  He tugged the crotch of his slacks and forced himself to breathe.

  There was no way he’d sample that particular sweet treat. He was her boss, and employees were off limits. The last thing he needed was a fucking sexual harassment accusation. Plus, he preferred to keep his kinky proclivities limited to professionals. No confusion. No seduction. It was all business, just how he liked it.

  He fucked to clear his mind, not to get emotional. Emotions meant tangles and he had enough of those without adding sex into the mix.

  He turned away from the pastel princess and made his way into his office. Mark would be up soon with an update and Rafe needed time to pull himself together.

  * * *

  Three hours after hearing Mark out, Hop was back at the club, staring at his reflection in the backstage mirror. He had to figure out how to avoid Rafe or, at least, how to deal with the fallout of their inevitable clash. For seven years he’d avoided anything to do with his father, and now he was about to come face to face with Roland’s lackey again.

  This time would be different. This time he wouldn’t need rescuing. He would be strong and self-assured. He’d had almost a decade to come to terms with his flaws and penchant for danger. Rafe would never see him cower again.

  He had until Friday to find a solution.

  Tonight, all he could do was dance.

  He painted his eyes a deep purple at the outer corners with teal sparkles inside. Their first routine was all about setting up the fantasy. He’d cut and re-stitched the shorts he wore so the slits up the sides tantalized with flashes of skin and
added a layer of organza.

  It wasn’t an original piece of art, but at least it was better than a store-bought dance uniform. With his colorful hair and highlighted cheekbones, he’d look like a creature of myth under the lights.

  The others were all doing their own versions so together they’d look like a crazy group of pixies.

  He finished his makeup and stood to get dressed. Their costumes included lacy leggings and knee-high leather boots in their individual color scheme. The pièce de résistance? A pair of colorful jeweled handcuffs they’d wear for the last song.

  Hop smoothed the purple leather up his calf, then shrugged on the matching straps and harness. The leather was cool against his heated skin and sent tingles to the roots of his hair. He turned back to the mirror to take in the whole picture. He looked like someone’s gay hallucination.

  “You’ll do,” Z winked at him in the reflection.

  Hop tilted his head. “Bitch, please, I’m killing it.”

  Z laughed and straightened his shorts.

  “Ready to make them scream?” Ansel asked.

  Z snickered. His straight black hair had grown out to brush his shoulders as he tugged on his black faux-leather collar and shoulder piece. He’d used pigmented reds to give all the black some extra pop.

  Ansel, with his platinum locks, was the angel to Z’s devil. Honey-sweet Tam was wearing a sexy nude vinyl waist cincher and rosy blush. Jae played up the Asian angle with a high-neck crop top and perfectly winged liner.

  Together they’d own the stage and have the audience drooling.

  The atmosphere was eager as they prepared for their first set. Any spark would set them on fire. Rife with passion, their anxious nerves filled the air and made Hop’s skin tingle. It was a feeling he’d gotten used to. The first time he’d gone on stage in full makeup and heels with the lights shining down on him and the Sassy Boyz on either side, he’d become addicted.

  Hard to believe it’d only been five months ago.

  At the time, he and Jae joined because Z had been unable to dance after twisting his ankle. A few weeks later, the whole situation blew up. The club where they’d worked had closed down and Lirim, another original Sassy Boy, had been arrested. Hop had been sure the adventure would be over, but they hadn’t given up. After months of auditions, they’d finally landed this gig at Switch. Hop had grown to really respect this group of guys. They were tenacious, like him.

  Dancing with them was a dream come true.

  They gathered together and held hands as the music of the last song began to fade. It was their cue to take the stage.

  “Let’s get out there and earn our hot cocoa tonight.” Tam squeezed Hop’s hand.

  They took their places in the dark. With his back to the bar and the majority of the crowd, he lifted his arms, curling one over his head with the other straight up, and cocked his hip.

  The club was alive. Hop felt the energy of the audience lick up his spine.

  He wiped everything else from his mind except the dance. As Rihanna’s voice rose above the club noise, Hop gathered all his nerves and bound them up in a knot. He flexed his fingers once and loosed his shoulders.

  Worries vanished as the lights came up and the thumping beat of Rihanna’s “S&M” pounded from the speakers. The sensuality of the song spurred him on.

  The first line of the chorus was Hop’s motto. It spoke to the deepest darkest parts of himself he kept hidden from everyone. So, yeah, he lived this routine like Tam had created it for him. And on stage, no one would judge him. No one could stop him.

  The freedom was almost as intoxicating as having all those eyes on him.

  Chapter Three

  “Prince is here.” Mark bent at the waist. He was out of breath like he’d run all the way from Central Park. Rafe’s office door stood ajar behind him, and music from the club filled Rafe’s office enough to make hearing Mark’s voice difficult.

  Rafe had been in a trance working on the budget when Mark rushed in like the dogs of hell were on his ass. It took all of three seconds for Mark’s words to sink into Rafe’s shocked brain. But when they did, Rafe dropped the pen in his hand and stood so fast his chair tipped over with a loud crash.

  “What?” His pulse sped.

  “Prince. Here.” Mark shouted between huge sucks of air.

  “Now?” Rafe sprinted around his desk to the door. “Why? When? How long?”

  Mark shook his head. “I don’t know. I saw him in the VIP section by accident.”

  “Fuck!” He pushed past his general manager and hurried down the serrated steel walkway leading from the stairwell to his office as fast as he could without actually running. Below his feet, the lights of the club flashed and swirled like a trippy mushroom-induced dream.

  He recognized the song that was playing. It was a sexy pop tune by Rihanna. Dalia liked this one. He used to play it during their sessions and watch her squirm. But he couldn’t stop to listen, couldn’t even take a moment to appreciate the memories because fucking Parker Prince had shown up at the club without warning.

  What the hell was he doing here?

  In the shadows, Rafe squeezed his fists closed as anxiety bubbled in his stomach. He had to go out there and face him. This wasn’t something he could let Mark handle. And even though the VIP section was smaller and private, there’d still be too many people for him to be comfortable.

  What other option did he have?

  None.

  As he dashed down the stairs he heard Mark following. His heart beat too fast. He needed to calm down before he showed his face. Be professional. Be stoic. Be confident. Never let them see how much he wanted this deal. Never let them see a weakness.

  He paused at the bottom and took a deep breath. Then another, because one wasn’t enough.

  Mark rested a palm on his shoulder. “You got this, boss.”

  Rafe nodded, straightened his tie and strode through the secret doorway hidden behind a thick curtain and into the VIP lounge. No one noticed his arrival, which was good. It gave him a chance to observe before he made his presence known.

  Prince, wearing his platinum blond hair tied in a ponytail and a tailored tuxedo jacket made of what looked like neoprene and vinyl over a graphic T-shirt and jeans, stood near the railing with a woman. She had short hair curling around her ears. Her red pantsuit said she wasn’t one of Prince’s posse. Maybe an agent? She pointed below and smiled at Prince, who nodded.

  Rafe had no idea who was performing at the moment. He had so many performers on retainer and Mark was in charge of the schedule. He took a quiet step forward to see what they were looking at and caught a glimpse of lavender and pink hair. His heart gave one excited thump, and without realizing it he walked right up to the railing to stare down at the dancers.

  The five of them were in perfect sync. God, they danced like sin, down on their knees all submissive and wanton. No wonder Prince couldn’t take his eyes away, the image they made was intoxicating, especially with the suggestive song lyrics.

  The dancers were good, really good.

  But only one held Rafe’s attention. Pastel Princess. Cotton-candy queen.

  Except...

  Wait a minute.

  The dancers spun on their heels and swept their hands sensuously down their flat chests. Rafe’s breath caught in his throat and he coughed.

  “Oh! Mr. Marson, I didn’t see you there.” Prince held out his hand, distracting Rafe from the dancers. The male dancers.

  Rafe shook it. His mind whirled but he forced himself to focus. “My general manager just told me you were here. If I’d known you were coming I would have welcomed you at the door.”

  One of Prince’s eyebrows rose. So that was why he hadn’t known in advance. Prince wanted to scout the place. This was a test.

  Goddamn it.

  “I’ve heard a lot about Swi
tch, but I’ve never been myself.”

  Rafe breathed through his nose, stone mask in place. This bastard wasn’t going to see him sweat. “In that case, welcome.” He spread his hands out, palm up, in an inviting gesture.

  “You’ve created a provocative ambiance here, it excites the senses.” The woman next to Prince leaned her slender hip on the railing and glanced at the performers. Rafe’s eyes followed.

  They wore knee-high boots, short-shorts, leather straps and harnesses. A costume so clearly bondage inspired it tickled Rafe’s kink. Everything else was exposed skin, glistening with sweat and glitter. His fingers curled against the metal bar until his knuckles turned white. Male.

  All of them.

  Their bulges were clearly visible beneath the lacy boxers, if such tiny scraps of fabric could really be called boxers. He wasn’t so sure. More like panties.

  He forced his gaze away. He needed to concentrate on Prince and his purpose for coming.

  “Switch aims to push boundaries and entice hidden desires. We’re not just a nightclub, we’re an experience.” His voice was gruff and maybe a bit defensive. He consciously relaxed his shoulders and tried to paste on a charming smile.

  Prince laughed. It was a warm, rich sound that blended with the tail end of Rihanna’s song. “You sound like a brochure.” He slipped a hand to Rafe’s elbow and guided him to the corner booth. “Sit with us,” he said, sliding into place between a blonde with a large bust and a wide-shouldered ginger with a pronounced Adam’s apple.

  So, this was the posse. Models. Five of them. Damn, but they were all gorgeous. Including Prince, the asshole.

  Rafe didn’t have a choice. He sat, taking a position across from Prince so he could read the guy better.

  Problem was, over Prince’s shoulder Rafe had a perfect view and his gaze kept straying. When he should have been focused on the man who held his future in his hands, he was distracted by the confusing mix of masculinity and femininity taking place on stage.

  Soon after they’d taken their seats, the music changed. It slowed and became even more sensual. During the opening lines when Selena Gomez sang without music, the dancers gathered near the back curtain. When they finally turned around at the chorus, Rafe’s mouth watered.