Boston Avant-Garde 4: Encore by Kaitlin Maitland Read Free Book Online Page B

up personally. There was no way he was sending Suri into a room with a man like Flaherty, who was incapable of keeping his hands to himself.
    That issue alone was why Jericho had always had a hands-off policy when it came to dating coworkers. Regular rules didn’t apply inside Asylum. Suri was an exotic dancer. Getting possessive when it came to the nuts and bolts of her job was just stupid.
    So why am I doing it?
    “Did Flaherty bring his mistress?” Dante lounged back in his chair, stabbing a hand through his shoulder-length hair.
    “He did.”
    Jericho had known Dante for more than a decade. In all that time, he’d never said a word about the hidden heritage that gave Dante his exotic good looks. He’d always known his friend hid behind an identity that didn’t belong to him. For most of his life, Jericho had essentially done the same thing. One thing he knew for certain—Dante was no more Latino than the Welsh-born-and-bred Jericho.
    Regardless of his ethnic background, Asylum’s boss was a good-looking man. His dark hair and complexion set off his intense brown eyes. He and Jericho were nearly the same height, his friend carrying a little more muscle in his shoulders and arms. Jericho had never found himself attracted to another man before, but he’d always been drawn to Dante. A condition that had been driving him to distraction since waking up with his arms wrapped around Dante, and Suri nowhere to be found. Jericho had instantly missed Suri’s soft, feminine curves, but there’d been something satisfying about being that close to his friend.

Chapter Five
    Jericho stepped out of Dante’s office and back onto the club floor with a sigh of relief. The executive offices were located on Level Three, the entrance tucked away in an alcove near the stairs. He moved toward the balustrade, looking below. The sound of slot machines and dance music drifted up from the main floor. He had always liked Dante’s club design. The open-floor atrium set up with tiered balconies made security much easier. Jericho could stand on the Level Four mezzanine and keep an eye on all of the main areas.
    Heading toward the back stairs, he nearly slammed into a slender dancer in a harem costume made from sheer pink material.
    “I am so sorry! I…” Her voice trailed off when she looked up and met his eyes.
    Suri.
    How had it taken him almost two years to do more than utter a one- or two-word sentence to her? And why had Dante been the one to force him to acknowledge the attraction he felt? Jericho’s feelings were tangled into a knot of shame and regret. They should have never taken advantage of her when she was depressed and drinking. She deserved so much better.
    A pretty blush stained her cheekbones. Her features were delicate, her blue eyes intense beneath her thick makeup. He hated her hair. It had been sprayed up until it was stiff as a board. Jericho wanted it the way it had been last night, soft and silky on his fingers.
    “I didn’t mean to run you down.” Her gaze shifted away. “Have you seen Terrence? He’s supposed to be taking me to a party up on Level Four.”
    Aggravation swept Jericho like a storm. He’d excluded her from that list on purpose. Why the hell was she going to Flaherty’s party? He took a deep breath to get control. “You weren’t on that list.”
    She looked stung. Why? He wasn’t trying to be rude. “I guess I wasn’t, but Shelby didn’t want to go, and I was the only blonde standing around. Apparently the guy has a thing for blondes. As long as he’s got cash, that’s fine by me.”
    He didn’t believe her. Something in her words rang hollow. He wanted to grab her shoulders and shake some sense into her. What was she doing working as a stripper anyway? The more he’d watched her, the more he’d known she didn’t belong. Beautiful as she was on stage, she wasn’t stripper material.
    “There you are, baby girl.” Terrence trotted down the last few steps and headed their way.