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

twitch as I spewed out my lines. “I’d love to show to you whatever it is you like to see, handsome.” Had he gone to strip clubs behind my back when we were together? My heart wrenched, thinking of those nights I’d spent practicing lines from a script for class in his apartment, waiting for him to come home from boys’ night, supposedly at bars and steakhouses. He’d always sworn to me he was the designated driver, that the older Team guys had forced him to join them, since he was merely a SEAL pup.
    By now, every Team guy was talking to a girl. My gaze scanned to the other present members of Joaquín’s Team—Paul and Mitch. Had one of them murdered Tiffany and framed my brother?
    I turned back to Grant. Rules for keeping a SEAL’s interest: #1 always make him the center of attention, #2 never let him see you checking out his Teammates, no matter how insanely gorgeous. “Can I dance for you?” Talking too long would arouse suspicion. He thought I was a stripper. I needed to earn my tips.
    “Sure, sexy. Follow me.”
    Follow me? Even now, even in here, he was taking charge. I usually led my customers—emasculated husbands, inebriated frat boys, insecure businessmen, even conceited rock stars—back to the VIP room. But no, Grant was in control. He was a regular. He knew the drill.
    He grabbed my hand, and instead of recoiling at his touch and being disgusted about his ease in this place, I couldn’t fight my arousal toward him. What the hell was wrong with me for still wanting him? Especially in here, when I looked like a porn star. When would this pain end? The combination of disgust, sadness, and guilt crashed through my mind. Had my abandonment driven him to seek comfort with these women? Or had he been seeing them all along?
    But I didn’t have a moment to reflect. I needed to give the performance of a lifetime.
    ***

 

     
     
    I LED KSENYA—HOWEVER THE fuck you pronounced it—to the back room. After months on a mission, I couldn’t wait to see her peel off her clothes. Alone with me, without a group of guys also getting off on her.
    She was so fucking hot. Physically, she was exactly my childhood fantasy pinup, as if she had been designed for me. Long, platinum-blond hair. Full, round breasts which busting out of her black negligée. Plump, pouty lips. Definitely not the girl-next-door type, like my ex Mia, the only woman I’d ever loved.
    But I could tell something was off with this chick. I was a regular here, and she didn’t seem the type to take her clothes off for money. She was too stunning, almost too sexy. Why was she stripping?
    Strippers were the best; I didn’t care what other anyone thought. They were fucking hot, listened to your problems, loved sex, didn’t nag you, didn’t expect anything in return. Sure, they danced practically naked for money, but men paid for women no matter how you looked at it. Whether it was nice dinners, designer clothes, expensive jewelry—nothing was for free. At least with strippers, you got what you paid for. I hadn’t been this callous, cynical man when dating Mia. It was what it was now.
    Fuck it, I didn’t care. I wanted to see her naked. That was the problem with these titty bars—rules, cameras, bouncers.
    I sat on the blue velvet sofa. “Dance for me, baby.”
    Her mouth turned up into a smile, and her long hair brushed against my face. That sweet, citrusy scent of her skin—smelled like Mia, even though she had always masked it with coconut products. I pictured Mia naked, rubbing lotion all over her thighs, an image I could recall to my head anytime, anywhere, day or night—a useful skill when I was stuck in a dirt hole in Afghanistan. I wondered if Ksenya tasted like Mia, too?
    Fuck. I couldn’t think of Mia now. I had a sexy woman in front of me and refused to think about my ex. All those nights when I was alone in the hospital, missing her, hoping she would come back to me. She had made it clear she didn’t want me. I had moved