The night air kissed her skin like a dare as Taryn stepped out of the club's side exit and into the alley. She exhaled slowly, steadying her heartbeat, her heels clacking against the pavement as she approached the sleek black limo idling at the curb.
Zane stood waiting, one hand casually tucked into his coat pocket, the other holding the rear door open like a gentleman born in another century. Under the streetlight, his face looked like it had been carved from stone, cold, elegant, and totally unreadable.
She hesitated for half a heartbeat.
Not out of fear, exactly. More like the quiet warning of instinct brushing up against curiosity. The inner voice that said this man could ruin you if you let him.
But maybe she didn't want to play it safe tonight. Maybe she was tired of being cautious, tired of measuring every step like she was walking across broken glass. Maybe he was insanely attractive, and rich. Whatever it was, she felt excitement flooding her mind, and she liked it.
"After you," he said, voice low and even.
She slipped inside, letting the buttery leather swallow her whole. The scent of expensive cologne and aged whiskey clung to the air. The door closed behind him with a soft click, sealing them off from the world.
Silence stretched between them for a moment, taut and simmering.
"You always buy private dances like that?" she asked, crossing her legs and letting her heel dangle.
"No," Zane replied, eyes on her. "Just this one."
Taryn arched a brow. "That's a lot of money to drop on curiosity."
"I wasn't curious," he said. "I was certain."
"Of what?" she asked.
"That you're not like the others."
She rolled her eyes, but her pulse jumped. "That's what they all say."
"Then they were right," Zane said smoothly. "But they probably didn't mean it."
She stared at him, trying to get a read. He didn't lean in, or try to touch her. He just looked at her, his gaze intense. He studied her like she was a riddle he already knew he could solve.
"What is this, then?" she asked. "You trying to play savior? Collector? Or are you just bored?"
Zane's lips lifted into the faintest trace of a smile. "I don't collect. I don't save. And I'm never bored."
His confidence was maddening. Effortless. It pressed against her skin like warm silk, luxurious, and above all, dangerous. Taryn leaned back, folding her arms across her chest, just enough to set a boundary without closing the door entirely.
"I'm not for sale," she said. "I don't care how many zeroes you can stack behind a number."
His expression didn't change. If anything, he looked amused. "I know," he said. "That's why I'm here."
That gave her pause.
He meant it. That was the strangest part. For all his cold precision and blunt delivery, something in his voice held… reverence. Or maybe restraint.
"You don't strike me as a man who wastes time," she said carefully.
"I don't," he agreed.
"Then what are you doing with me?"
He leaned forward slightly, elbows on his knees, hands clasped between them. "I spend my life surrounded by liars, Taryn. Business partners. Politicians. Gold-diggers. Actors. Every smile has a price. Every compliment is a bribe."
"And you think I'm not one of them?" she asked, tilting her head.
"I think you're better at hiding it," he said. "Which means you've had to learn the hard way."
Taryn's mouth went dry. She hated how close he'd gotten to something real in just a few words. Hated how his gaze peeled her open like paper.
"So what's your angle?" she asked, voice sharper now.
"No angle. No offer," Zane said, then paused. "Just a question."
She waited.
"What would you do if no one was watching?" he asked. The limo went still around them, as she processed his question.
Taryn opened her mouth, then closed it again. Because the truth was, she didn't know.
She'd built her life around being seen. On stage. In danger. Under threat. Under judgment. Every move was a performance, whether it was for the men who threw cash or the girls who judged her from the dressing room mirrors.
What would she do, really, if no one was watching? Who would she be?
"I think I'd sleep," she said finally. "For a year."
Zane smiled, and it wasn't a smirk this time. It was soft. Almost sad. "That sounds like freedom."
Taryn swallowed. Her walls were starting to crack. Too fast. Too easily.
She needed to regain control.
She leaned forward now, close enough to feel the heat of him, to let the air between them buzz like static.
"Let me guess," she said. "You ask all the strippers soul-searching questions before taking them to bed?"
He didn't blink. "Only the ones I'm afraid might not say yes."
Taryn stilled. That wasn't a line. It was a confession. And it was working.
Before she could stop herself, she reached up and touched the knot of his tie, adjusting it slightly, not because it was crooked, but because it gave her something to do besides think.
His breath hitched the smallest amount. So, he wasn't made of ice after all.
"I'm not sleeping with you tonight," she said, letting the words fall like a gauntlet.
"I didn't ask you to," he replied, voice even.
Her hand hovered on his chest for one second too long. Then she pulled it back and sat straighter.
The driver took a turn and the lights outside flashed like a camera bulb across the windows. They were getting close to the penthouse.
Taryn's stomach twisted. It wasn't fear exactly. She had the feeling that the ground beneath her was shifting.
This wasn't how her nights usually went. She didn't get driven around by billionaires with observant eyes and sad smiles. She didn't get asked what she wanted to do if no one was watching.
She certainly didn't feel the maelstrom of feelings she was feeling now- exposed, curious, guarded, intrigued.
"You really don't want anything from me?" she asked, almost disbelieving.
Zane studied her face for a moment.
"I want to know you," he said.
To Taryn, that felt more dangerous than anything.