Conceit (Se7en Deadly SEALs Book 1) by Alana Albertson Read Free Book Online Page A

my bluff? My mouth became dry and my heart palpitated.
    We were in the same room, breathing the same smoky air. Dreaming of his face every night for months made him seem like my own mirage. But this time he was very real.
    “Blurred Lines” started playing. Well, at least the song was appropriate. I glided to the pole, my partner in this urgent dance, a dance that could help me enter into this new world I so desperately sought to infiltrate.
    My hips swayed, I licked my lips. Climbing to the top of the pole, I spread my legs, determined to get Grant to notice me. I had to remind myself to stay the course, not blow my dance or run over to him.
    I made eye contact and he winked. I knew that wink, that look of desire. The first time he’d winked at me, sitting across from me at a coffee shop, I’d completely melted. Back then the giddiness of first love consumed me. Now, I had to hold back tears, since I was pretty positive that he had no idea I was Mia. Just some sexy stripper he hoped to see naked.
    I pranced up and down the catwalk, narrowing my own gaze on him. Dancing for him, willing him to connect with me. His eyes turned hungry as he followed my every movement. Soon I could barely see him through the bright lights and smoke. My hair whipped in the air, my body seduced the pole. The song ended, the smoke waned, the lights dimmed. And Grant was relaxed in a chair, motioning me to come toward him.
    The plan. Stick to the plan, Mia. Watch which girls go over to his group. Don’t approach him immediately, take your time. You have dreamt of this moment, planned, prepared—now it was show time.
    I gave him a coy smile, blew a kiss, and walked off the stage. I headed to the bar to get a better vantage point and some liquid courage. A quick shot of vodka calmed my nerves. Grant’s skin looked darker, perhaps he had just returned from the Middle East. His massive biceps bulged out of his black T-shirt looking bigger than when I had last seen them. His hair was longer, his beard fuller. And he was looking right at me.
    I waved and he moistened his lips. If I avoided him, he might suspect something. I was just another dancer, and if a customer was staring at me, it was my job to flirt back.
    Shoulders back, tits up. I reapplied my red lipstick, locking my gaze on his. I’d turned myself into his dream girl, his personal fantasy pinup. But I was real—well, mostly. And he was still the only man who had ever sent ripples of pleasure pulsating throughout my body.
    A casual flaunt of my blond locks, a batting of my false eyelashes, and I made my way over to him. “Hi, handsome. My name it is Ksenya. How are you doing tonight?” My accent was crisp, I rolled my r’ s, my tongue touching the top of my mouth.
    “Much better now that I saw you, sexy. I’m Grant. Where you from?” He pulled me onto his lap. I ran my fingers through his hair. He smelled the same as I remembered—pine, lemon, and vodka, as if he had just chopped down a Christmas tree and drunk a spiked lemonade to refresh. Did I smell the same to him? Could he recognize my scent despite me switching to new brands of lotion and shampoo?
    “Kharkov, Ukraine.” I figured my recent-immigrant ruse would explain my terse conversation. Reduce the chances for him to find me out.
    His eyes zeroed in on my chest. I arched my back to give him a better view. My mind flashed to him sucking on my nipples, cradling my small breasts. He’d always seemed so pleased with me, with my body—did he really want a girl with fake tits and silicone lips?
    “I’ve been around the world twice, but never to Ukraine. Maybe you could show me around some time.” His words were slurred.
    I’ve been around the world twice? Really—he was actually quoting the Navy SEAL “Ballad of the Frogman”? His bloodshot eyes told me he’d been wasted before he ever set foot in here.
    I focused my energy on controlling my facial movements, ensuring that my eyes didn’t shift or my nose didn’t