“How did we not hear any of this upstairs?” Sahara asked in awe over the loud, brassy number the redhead onstage was gyrating her hips to.
Noise was everywhere, from the din of voices at the bar, to the slot machines lining the walls on the open second level. The catcalls, whistles and creative suggestions from the audience around the stage were the loudest and most enthusiastic, of course.
“The penthouse is completely soundproof,” Berlin answered.
“Oh,” Sahara replied, before looking at him quizzically. “Why the penthouse and not the club?”
Berlin looked down at her, lust still swimming in his eyes from the scream Damascus had lured out of her diaphragm. “You really have to ask?” He countered. “What happens in Vegas, still gets reported to the Vegas P.D. I doubt they’d buy that we have a pension for horror movies and a damn good surround sound system.”
Hot Water #WIP