Iron Rods: 1 (Strip Club) (16 page)

“Well, you can tell Camma that I’m fine. I got little more
than a scratch.” Bennett forced himself not to lean into Anne’s gentle
caresses. He was a man and his father was there.

“You got fifteen stitches in your arm,” Lyle said, nodding
toward Bennett’s bandaged biceps. “That’s a hell of a lot more than just a
scratch. Should leave a mean-looking scar. No one will mess with you once they
see that scar and know you got it in a knife fight. When you’ve got kids, you
can tell them you got it from wrestling a bear.”

Anne sighed and shook her head as though she too couldn’t
believe the crazy things that sometimes made their way through Lyle’s lips.

“Are you all right?” Bennett asked Tatum. To his relief, she
didn’t bear the marks of being hurt. No Band-Aids or gauze dressing showed on
any visible parts of her body.

“Yes,” she said, her voice soft. “Thanks to you. I don’t
know what you were doing in that parking lot, but I’m so glad you were there.”

He’d actually been in and around the warehouse for most of
the afternoon, waiting for her to finish with the two strippers. When he’d
heard she was there, he’d about come unglued. The warehouse wasn’t exactly on
the best side of town. Though her height might intimidate most people, or at
least make them think twice about pulling anything funny on her, he doubted she
could protect herself if she had to. He just never imagined she’d actually need
physical protection. Who knew one of the former strippers would try to attack
her?

A cold shiver rippled down his spine. If Mad Dog had hurt
Tatum in any way, Bennett most likely wouldn’t have stopped punching the
deranged man until he’d killed him.

“You can thank Lyle for that. He told me you were there. I
thought you might like to get a bite to eat after your practice,” Bennett
replied. Despite his better judgment, he’d decided to give in to the temptation
that was Tatum one more time. The craving to kiss her lips, touch her skin and
release himself deep within her had grown too strong to resist. He hated
himself for wanting her so badly, not to mention his lack of restraint, but he
was a man. A man with needs he could no longer deny.

“Ah, here’s the orderly.” The doctor pulled the curtains
completely aside, making room for a thin young man in green scrubs pushing a
wheelchair. “Once we get your undershirt back on, he’ll take you down to your
car, if one of you will drive around to the emergency room doors.”

Tatum dangled the key to Bennett’s car. “I’m driving him
home.”

“How did you get my keys? Where’s my car?” Bennett sat up
too quickly. Once again stars danced before his eyes.

Lyle pushed him none too gently back down onto the bed.
“Don’t get your drawers all balled up into a wad, boy. I drove your fancy car
to the hospital. When Tatum called to say you were on your way to the emergency
room, Anne and I stopped at the warehouse and checked on your vehicle. We
figured the keys were still in the ignition, and they were. Didn’t reckon you
wanted your car stolen, so Anne dropped me off and we met here.”

Anne nodded. “I believe Tatum’s truck is still there
though.”

“Don’t worry about my truck,” Tatum waved a dismissive hand.
“If it gets dinged or scratched, I’ll never notice. If I’m lucky, someone will
steal it and I’ll be able to get a new one from the insurance money.”

“Then it’s settled. Let’s get the h-e-double hockey sticks
out of this place.” Lyle adjusted his Western hat as though saying good
riddance to the emergency room. “Hospitals give me the willies.”

As Lyle and Tatum made room for the orderly to come closer
to the bed, Anne bent over Bennett. She placed a quick kiss on his cheek, then
whispered in his ear. “I really like that girl. I don’t know if you’re fishing
for a woman these days. If you are, you have a keeper on your line.”

Bennett glanced at Tatum. She chatted casually with Lyle,
her megawatt smile captivating his father just as it had done him so many
times. His heart ached as it squeezed in his chest. Yes, Tatum might just be a
keeper for some man. A man who deserved her. Unfortunately, he wasn’t that man.

For once, Bennett won an argument with his father, although
he understood and disapproved of Lyle’s motives for giving up the fight so
easily.

After they all had arrived at his downtown Austin condo,
Bennett had professed to feeling absolutely fine and not needing anyone to stay
behind to watch over him. The fact that the furniture appeared to be spinning
and the marble floor kept shifting below his feet didn’t keep him from telling
the small lie. Now that he was at home, he would be fine. Nothing that a few
hours sleep and the meds in his pocket couldn’t fix.

The game changer to the heated discussion didn’t happen
until Tatum volunteered to stay with him and sleep in his guest room. The
conspiratorial look exchanged between Lyle and Anne hadn’t gone unnoticed. The
two meddlers seemed all too happy to leave him in Tatum’s care and practically
ran out of his home when the blonde beauty made her offer. Too physically
drained to fight any longer, he’d agreed to let her stay.

Now as she guided him to his bedroom, her soft, steady hands
so warm on his skin, he questioned his judgment. Not only for allowing her to
spend the night in his home. No. That poor decision simply topped his list of
bad calls. He should have listened to his internal voice long ago and avoided
being around Tatum altogether.

How could he, in good conscience, continue to be with her,
to want her so badly, when he knew in the pit of his blackened soul he wasn’t
ready to let her in emotionally? He couldn’t risk being hurt again. Better to
have sex with and then leave dozens of beautiful women than to have his
bleeding heart served to him on a platter yet again.

Tatum deserved more. More than what he could give. Why
wouldn’t his heart obey the directives from his more rational head?

“Listen, Tatum,” he began after she led him to his bed. “I
appreciate you volunteering for Bennett duty tonight, but I think it’s best if
you leave.”

“Don’t be silly. You’ve been hurt while coming to my rescue.
Staying to make sure you’re okay is the very least I can do,” she replied, her
Southern accent sounding so soothing and sweet.

She switched on one of the bedside lamps, illuminating the
spacious room with a pleasant golden glow. The lighting and her presence seemed
to alter the cool whites and straight lines of his modernly decorated bedroom.
The place had never felt so warm and inviting.

“You may have noticed,” she added, “I smell to high heaven.
As soon as I get you out of your things and tuck you into bed, I’m going to run
along for a quick shower. But I’ll be back to check on you in a jiffy.”

He caught a whiff of her scent and couldn’t disagree with
her more. Her personal musk perfumed her skin and wafted up from the pale locks
of her long hair. He wanted to tell her she smelled wonderful. Possibly the
most breathtaking fragrances he’d ever taken in. He’d gladly savor her unique
aroma all night, if he could.

Bennett held his tongue. He didn’t need to encourage her. He
truly needed her to leave before things progressed too far. Before she chiseled
another brick from his protective wall.

She latched on to his undershirt and started to tug it from
his slacks when he placed his hands on hers.

“That’s not necessary. I can take off my own clothes,” he
said more gruffly than he’d intended.

Though she stood only inches shorter, when she stared up at
him with her big green eyes, she looked small and fragile, as well as wounded.

She nodded and took several steps back. “I’d still like to
take a shower, if that’s all right.”

He felt like an absolute shithead. Here she was, trying to
be helpful and he refused her assistance and pushed her away.

Just like what used to happen to you when you were a kid.
Remember?

The realization smacked him so hard, his knees nearly
buckled.

He reached out, trying to stop her from leaving the room.
“Tatum, I’m so—”

“It’s okay, Bennett,” she softly cut him off. “I’ll give you
some privacy while you get undressed. As soon as I’m clean, I’ll check in on
you.”

Her gentle voice suggested she was unaffected by his
rudeness, but he knew better. After years of similar treatment, he understood
exactly how she felt at that moment, which caused his gut to twist into painful
knots.

The minute her long frame passed through the doorway and he
heard the guest room shower running, the familiar coolness of his bedroom
returned. Perhaps the chill prickling his skin after he’d carefully pulled off
his undershirt and slacks had nothing to do with the temperature of the room at
all. Perhaps it had everything to do with the fact that he was, indeed, a huge
shithead.

A fool.

An emotionally crippled freak.

Any normal man would charge into the guest bathroom, rip
every stitch of clothing from her long, graceful body, then toss her onto the
bed in the adjoining room. Any normal man would take her in his arms and tell
her how amazing, brilliant and beautiful she was. Any normal man would do these
things and beg her to never leave his side.

Why, oh fucking why, couldn’t he be a normal man?

Releasing years of pent-up frustration, Bennett slammed his
right hand onto the white lacquered top of his chest of drawers. Powerful
reverberations jolted up his arm and spread through his body, finding their way
to his bruised ribs and injured biceps. A shock of horrific pain gripped him.
He doubled over and fell to his knees as a howl ripped from his throat.

Before he could find his feet, Tatum was by his side,
dripping water on the marble floor.

“What happened?” she gasped. “Are you hurt?”

Anger flooded his bloodstream. He’d acted out and look what
he got in return—a sharp pain in both his side and his arm, and a solid hit to
his pride. Tatum was seeing him when he was at his most vulnerable. On his damn
knees, even.

“I’m fine,” he snapped, then instantly regretted his
brusqueness. He sounded just like his father and grandfather. All cruel bark
and cutting bite.

“I’m fine,” he repeated using a calmer tone. Glancing up, he
saw her standing barefoot before him, wrapped tightly in a white towel, hair in
long, soaked tendrils. Freshly clean and without a hint of makeup on her face,
Tatum was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.

Another chip flew from the wall around his heart.

“No you’re not, Slick. Let’s get you into bed.”

She slipped her hands under his armpits and hauled him to
his feet. The motion jarred his ribs. Another bright burst of fireworks
exploded in his head. He gritted his teeth, refusing to moan, groan or say
anything to give his discomfort away. The last thing he wanted from Tatum
Reynolds was her pity.

“I see you managed to get your clothes off by yourself.
That’s good,” she grunted as she strained to hold him upright while turning
down the bedspread. With evident care, she eased him onto the bed, adjusted his
pillow and pulled the covers up to his chin. “Now where did you put your pain
pills? I think you were supposed to take two of them already.”

“In my pants pocket.” Bennett sank his aching body into the
welcome fluff of the mattress pad and closed his eyes. Never in the few months
since he’d moved into the condo had his new bed felt this good.

When Tatum returned, she helped prop him up and gave him his
meds, along with a glass of cool water. Afterward, she wiped his mouth, brushed
back his hair from his face and placed a chaste kiss on his forehead. Her
nurturing ministrations were more of a snug comfort than his bed could ever be.

He sighed, longing for her to crawl into his bed and
continue to fuss over him. How long had it been since someone cared for him in
such a tender, loving manner? Too long. Way too long.

“Good night, Slick. If you need me, just give a shout. I’ll
be by your side faster than a sixty-second waltz.”

He let out a drowsy snort. For some reason, her twangy
comment struck him in the funny bone. “You have such a way with words.”

“Well, you have a way of saying things that makes me wonder
what you really mean.” She tightened her towel with an indignant tug.

Ah, there she was. The perky Texan he was inexplicably drawn
to. He’d give a million dollars to have her sleep next to him tonight if for
nothing else than to feel the warmth of her body. He’d throw in a million more
if she’d wrap her arms around him, hold him tight and never let him go.

If he asked her to do these things, she most likely would.
But was feeling contentment in her loving embrace worth surrendering more
mortar from the wall safeguarding his heart?

Rivulets of water continued to run from the ends of Tatum’s
soaking hair onto her bare shoulder and down her back and chest. As soon as
she’d heard his howl, she’d rushed out of the shower without bothering to dry
off. She undoubtedly looked like a drowned poodle. A rather large drowned
poodle, but a drowned poodle all the same.

Here, in front of Bennett Truitt, the most handsome man
she’d ever met, she stood wet, half-naked and embarrassed. For what felt like
the hundredth time since meeting the slick New Yorker, she appeared utterly
ridiculous, a feat she desperately had not wanted to repeat. Her self-esteem
had dropped a few notches after Bennett caught her stripping and then swinging
like a damn monkey on the pole at Iron Rods. Now, as she gripped the ends of
the plush towel to prevent any further indecent exposure, her dignity nosedived
yet again.

It was bad enough that she felt like a clumsy, lovesick
schoolgirl when he was around. Did she have to look and act like one too?

Bennett rearranged his position in his big, ultramodern
white bed and then tried to hide a grimace.

“Tatum,” he gritted out. “Why are you here babysitting me
instead of doing something more important?”

Babysitting? More important? Everything in his question
struck her as completely odd.

“I’m not babysitting. I’m making sure you…are…” She
stumbled. She couldn’t tell him the truth about how gaga she had become for
him.

Though he was the wrong man for her in so many ways, he’d
become her John Wayne. Her big, bold and handsome fantasy cowboy come to life,
even if he was a city slicker from New York. He challenged her. He excited and
aroused her. And today he’d saved her from an attack from a deranged
ex-stripper. How could she possibly tell him all these things when he obviously
didn’t feel the same way or even want her in his condo?

“I’m making sure you’re comfortable and safe,” she finished
matter-of-factly. “You’re hurt and taking pain pills. Someone needs to watch
over you, at least for tonight. Plus I don’t have anything more important than
you to worry about. Until you’re better, you are my one and only priority.”

She may have gone a step overboard with that last statement,
but she couldn’t let him think that he was of no importance to her. She did
care about him, very much. Perhaps there was a chance he felt the same way. And
after what she’d heard from Dan Camden, it seemed as though Bennett had
suffered through a lifetime of feeling insignificant. Regarding him now as the
grown man he was, it was difficult time to perceive him as anything less than
supremely confident and a force to be reckoned with.

“I’m your priority?” he asked, amused.

“Of course. Friends and family always come first.” She
lifted her foot and, with her big toe, wiped off a drip of water running down
her other leg. “I think people who are unhappy forget how to prioritize the
important things in their lives. I mean, look at all those celebrities who make
a lot of money and seem to have everything, then end up strung out on drugs or
committing suicide. Aside from being clinically depressed or mentally ill, I
bet you a dollar to a donut they weren’t close to their families or didn’t have
anyone to love.”

Oh, she had really stepped over the line that time. When
would she ever learn to keep her big trap shut?

“You’re tired and it’s late. Good night.” Tatum yanked her
sagging towel and turned to escape before she managed to further humiliate
herself.

“Wait. Don’t go,” Bennett called out, then let out a loud
groan.

She glanced over her shoulder. He had once again
repositioned himself on the mattress so he was resting on his good arm. His
face held a smile so tight and forced it looked as though a clown had painted
it on.

He was clearly hurting. Yet despite his pained expression,
the handsome man pulled at her with his raw sexuality. She may have seen his
exposed chest before, but seeing his washboard abs beneath firm, rounded pecs,
and knowing full well what lay hidden beneath the covers kick-started a slew of
erotic thoughts that were totally inappropriate. She was here to nurse him, not
wreak illicit havoc on the poor guy.

“Would you stop moving around? You’re going to hurt yourself
even more.” The aggravation tainting her voice was meant more for herself than
for him. Just for ten minutes could she be around Mr. Perfect without wanting
to live out every sexual fantasy she’d ever constructed in her sex-starved
mind?

Wet bare feet slapping the marble floor, Tatum stomped back
to the side of the bed to help him lie back. When she leaned in, he lifted his
head and kissed her. His lips, so warm and inviting, drew her in. God, the man
could kiss. Any thoughts of leaving him alone vanished. She angled herself
closer and pressed her lips harder to his while she held on to the ends of the
towel for dear life.

A tremor ripped down her legs, causing them to quiver
uncontrollably. The inside of her belly whirled and twirled as though
completing an endless ballet of dizzying pirouettes. Her gorgeous savior with hair
as black as ink was responsible for all this new and bewildering physical
stupefaction and emotional consternation.

Could this be love?

After a lifetime of refusing to fall for someone for fear of
having to come and go while pursuing her professional dream, had she finally
found someone worth contemplating settling down for? Someone to love and call
her own? Or was this all lust? How could anyone ever tell the difference?

Bennett ended their kiss all too soon. Despite the fact her
lips stopped touching his, her legs continued to shake. She rested her knees
against the mattress to keep herself from slipping to the floor.

“Stay with me,” he implored huskily. The anguish haunting
his eyes silently pled his case. “Don’t make me sleep by myself tonight. Please.
I want you with me.”

Those magic words descended on her like fairy dust.
Weightlessness overtook her body from her head down to her pink-painted toes.
If she wished hard enough, she was certain she could fly.

The silly thought reminded her of one of her favorite quotes
from the musical theatre production of
Peter Pan
she’d danced in during
her sophomore year of high school.

Dreams do come true, if only we wish hard enough. You can
have anything in life if you will sacrifice everything else for it.

She had repeated that line a thousand times as she
sacrificed everything for her dancing career. Clearly that particular dream
hadn’t come true. Although she’d never be a professional dancer, she might end
up with a man she could love. Maybe they could have a future together. A very
happy future. That was a dream worth pursuing. Wasn’t it?

“Only if you promise we’ll only sleep,” she insisted,
knowing full well the statement was more a reminder for herself than a demand
to him. “You’ve got bruised ribs and stitches in your arm. I don’t want to be
responsible for sending you back to the emergency room.”

Bennett chuckled. “You’ve got a lot of confidence in your
sexual abilities if you think you can send me back to the ER.”

“If you’re trying to charm me into that big bed of yours, I
have to tell you, you might want to work on your technique.”

“Touché, Ms. Reynolds.” He tilted his head toward the empty
half of the mattress. “I plan only to talk with you. Though, considering how
you behaved the first time we were alone together, perhaps it is I who should
be asking the promise from you.”

“You can talk as fancy as you like, Slick.” Tatum raised her
nose and sniffed as she padded around the end of the bed to the other side.
“But we both know who is responsible for the demolished door in the manager’s
office.”

“Touché again,” he said, lowering himself back onto the
mattress. “I surrender. Just be gentle with me. That’s all I ask.”

“Oh brother. You’re lucky you’re laid up. Otherwise I might
just have to teach you a lesson.”

If only she could. Bennett had years of experience
practicing and perfecting the art of sex. He’d shown his skills several times
and caused her to nearly speak in tongues on more than one occasion. She, on
the other side of the spectrum, was such a novice that her greenness made
Kermit the Frog look pale.

Tatum pulled back the covers and realized she had to take
off her wet towel before crawling into bed. Her gaze strayed to Bennett, who
stared at her from beneath hooded eyes, a doped-up expression on his face. The
meds he’d been given in the emergency room and the two he popped several
minutes ago must have strong juju. No wonder he seemed more glib than usual.

Still, having to perform a second striptease before him made
her feel terribly self-conscious. Whipping off the towel and diving in between
the bedsheets would make her appear nervous. She was, but he didn’t have to
know that.

A slow and sensual unveiling could only suggest she was in
the mood for a little romance. She definitely was up for that, but now wasn’t
the right time. He was sore from the fight and the knife wound. Trying to turn
him on and have her way with him now could only be wrong. Right? She’d have
another chance at a night of passion with the sex bomb after he healed,
wouldn’t she? Surely she wouldn’t have to wait too much longer to be alone and
naked with him. She’d already pushed the limits of her patience.

She swallowed against the ball of anxiety that had formed in
her throat. Why was the simple task of taking off her stupid towel causing her
so much worry?

Because Mr. Perfect asked you into his bed. We aren’t
exactly in some office or a hotel. This is his personal space. His home turf.
His den of fornication.

Refusing to overanalyze the situation any further, she
removed the towel, used it to dry her hair and eased herself onto the bed,
careful not to disturb the patient. The instant her weary bones met the soft
support of the mattress, she let out a sigh. After a full day of dancing and
teaching Steele and Gangsta G, every muscle in her body ached.

She’d been away from her craft too long. Too much time had
been spent brewing coffee and perfecting leaves in the foam of cappuccinos
instead of dancing in a studio. Her body was no longer used to the brutal
workouts.

“So tell me,” Bennett said, a lazy smile tugging at one
corner of his full mouth. “Why is a pretty girl like you not seriously involved
with someone?”

Luckily Tatum was already in bed. Had she not been, his
blunt question would have bowled her right over.

His direct, no-bones-about-it question delving into her
personal life could only be a side effect of the meds swirling in his system.
He and she might have had great sex and a lot of fun conversations, but he had
never tried to tap into anything quite so…intimate.

Combing her forefinger and thumb through her tangled mass of
hair, she sectioned off a thick hunk while thinking through her answer. With
years of mindless practice aiding her, she twirled the long lock of hair around
and around her finger, creating a twisted coil.

“The simple truth is I didn’t want anything serious. The
life of a career dancer equals a lot of instability. Dancers have to go where
the work goes. I knew that one night I might be doing a show in one town and
the next morning the production might move on to another town. Even
professional dancers working on Broadway eventually find themselves hitting the
road.” She untwisted the coil of hair and tossed the lock over her shoulder.
“That’s the nature of the beast for a dancer. Not exactly the kind of life that’s
conducive to healthy relationships.”

“Conducive. Nice word.”

“Don’t forget, I went to college too, Slick. You aren’t the
only person in the room who can drop fifty-cent words.” She moved her gaze to
the bottom of the mattress, refusing to look at him and give away her hurt.
“Since professional dancing isn’t in my future and managing Iron Rods is, I
don’t have to worry about picking up and leaving at a moment’s notice. Austin
is my home now. I guess I won’t be going anywhere but here.”

Bennett wasn’t a stupid man. He had to have read into what
she’d said. Her dancing career was over and she had to settle for something
else. The irony of her circumstance meant she could now have a love life. She
was available to pursue a serious relationship with someone. Perhaps even get
married and start a family.

Could it be him?

“So why did you want to be a professional dancer?” he asked,
his voice languid.

He’d changed the subject and she couldn’t have been more
grateful.

“I had one of those moments you sometimes hear about. When I
was really young, I saw
The Nutcracker
on television and fell head over
elbows in love with all those beautiful women dancing so gracefully in gorgeous
gowns. I decided right then and there that I wanted to be just like them. I
guess that sounds kind of silly.”

“No. I appreciate anyone who knows what they want and works
hard to get it. Did you ever audition for Broadway or off-Broadway shows?”

She nodded. “Dozens. I hit every production that had casting
calls each time I made the long trip to the Big Apple. Unfortunately, I only
got one callback.”

“Really? For what show?”

The audition had happened years ago, yet a self-deprecating
chuckle still made its way out of her mouth. “Just a little production called
Haute
.”

“
Haute
?” His eyebrows hit his hairline. “The
Tony-nominated musical? That
Haute
?”

He sounded so genuinely shocked, she couldn’t help but feel
offended. Cutting her eyes to his, she directed an irritated look at him meant
to burn his innards to crisps.

“Yes,
that
Haute
. You may not believe it, but
I’m actually a very good dancer.” Tatum yanked on the top blanket, jerking it
out from under Bennett’s stitched arm.