Pinups and Possibilities (5 page)

I smiled down at the man who had touched me, waggled my finger back and forth and mouthed the word
naughty
. Then I sashayed lightly back to the centre of the stage. I took a tiny, calming breath when I got there. I buried the memory that threatened to overwhelm me and tapped the phonograph with my stockinged toe.

A double-time riff blared over the speakers, then cut off.

I spread my legs hip distance apart and bent my body in half so I could examine the old-fashioned music machine. The action flipped my negligee up over my hips. The crowd had a perfect view of my lace-trimmed, full-bottomed underwear. I fiddled with the phonograph for a second, and a languorous, sensual beat filed the club. As I stood up slowly, my negligee hooked onto the phonograph and slipped over my head. I swayed in time with the music, rocking my hips and closing my eyes.

Glitter and racy thongs be damned.

My undergarments—circa 1950—covered more of my body than an average swimsuit, and excited the crowd more, too. I could
hear
the men breathing as I raised my hands over my head and arched my back. I could
feel
their desire. In a few moments, I would give them a little more, but for right now, they were content to look at me. I didn’t need a pole or a raunchy routine to command their attention.

Maybe it was what made me good at this job, that awareness of power.

I opened my eyes so I could watch them, watching me.

And I froze.

A pair of intense green eyes stared up at me from the front row.

He came back.

For a second I was pleased. But it didn’t last long.

The man was alone, and the expression on his face was filled with something more than lust. Yes, the want was there, but it was secondary. It wasn’t the enthralled awe of last night. It was far more frightening.

He’s looking at me like he wants to own me, like he’s calculating my worth.

My heart seized and my head pounded at the realization that he was there for more than a follow-up to our one-night stand.

Misty’s text.

It wasn’t a joke. This man wasn’t a cop, but he was the kind of man who would say he was to get what he wanted.

The man’s asshole boss.

He worked for Cohen Blue.

Six years of fear crashed through me as I dragged my gaze away and stumbled slightly before recovering.

Quickly, quickly,
I urged myself.

I ditched my plan to get unclothed and did a syncopated version of my dance moves. It didn’t matter if the customers complained, because they would never see me again. I wouldn’t even be giving Ellis a chance to scold me.

I have to get away.

But my shoes were just out of my reach, and damned if I could run fast enough.

I’d been searching the crowd for Jayme, but no longer.

The music started and I was stuck to my seat, mesmerized by the girl in the charming polka-dotted dress.

My girl.
The thought came, and I couldn’t shake it off.

She looked different and it wasn’t just the wig and the make-up. She was self-assured and calm and sexy as hell in an entirely different way.

Her presence was agonizing.

Every hip jerk. Every tiny smile. Every
move
.

Each one filled me with a deep longing. Every bit of me was on fire with it.

In a vague way, I knew that every man in the audience quite possibly felt the same. It was the goal of her dance, after all. That was the goal of this club.

I don’t like it one bit.
I felt weak, admitting it, so I tried to placate myself with another reminder.
Those other men…they didn’t take her home last night.

But maybe they had, on another night. It was irrational to feel sick with jealousy the way I did. We’d spent one night together, and she had run out without a word.

Still, my gaze was riveted to the girl. She slid past my table and her dress caught on my chair then fell to the ground at my feet. She glided up the stairs, losing the bit of puffy lace she’d had wrapped around her waist.

I had to beat down the urge to rip her from the stage, toss her scantily clad body over my shoulder, and drag her forcibly to my car.

Just as I was thinking about doing it, a man did grab her, and I came to my feet, ready to defend her. She brushed him off and went straight back to her act. I swallowed thickly, noting which man it was in case he caused any more problems later in the evening, then brought my eyes back to the girl.

She moved in time to the music, not quite oblivious to all the panting, leering men around her. Something nagged at the back of my brain, something important, but all I could do was will her to notice me.

At last she did meet my searing gaze.

Before I could smile, though, her eyes filled with panicked recognition. I was close enough to see her pupils dilate and a line of sweat bead across her forehead. Why did she look like she wanted to run for her life? Why did she look like she knew exactly why I was there?

The worry on her face finally allowed me to separate my brain from the lust-filled haze of my body to make some calculations.

Mike the mechanic told me Duncan worked at the club. He’d told me Duncan would stand out. I’d been thinking of a bouncer. A bartender. Hell, even a janitor. This…

Shit.

It couldn’t be true.

Except I knew it was.

Jayme Duncan is a woman.
The conclusion hit me like a bullet.
Jayme Duncan is
that
woman, up there. She’s the same woman I slept with last night, and she knows why I’m here for her.

The mechanic’s reluctance to say he knew her, Cohen’s preoccupation with treating this assignment with discretion…it all made sense. In fact, it made so much sense that I almost tossed aside my commitment to bringing her in. I didn’t want any part of dragging in a woman, presumably against her will, to face Blue and his associates.

She continued to dance, but it was hurried now, like she couldn’t wait to get it over with. She was going to bolt the second she got off that stage.

I was going to have to be fast if I wanted to catch her.

* * *

The crowd was not happy that Jayme Duncan left them wanting. I was grateful for it. Their grumbling was an excellent cover for my sudden flight from the table. It kept the bouncers busy being intimidating, and it kept the waitresses hurrying with the drinks. No one was looking my way as I slinked across the club and eased my way through the same backdoor that girl and I used the night before. I was almost disappointed at how easy it was.

Out of habit, I pressed my back against the wall as I sneaked down the poorly lit hall in the opposite direction of the exit. I paused across from a closed door and listened. Feminine giggles poured out from behind it. My instincts told me Jayme Duncan wasn’t in there. I moved past it to the silent, partially open one farther down the hall. I pushed gently, and the door swung open soundlessly, revealing the girl’s quick-moving form.

She was fully covered now, in another, knee-length dress. It swayed appealingly with her hurried actions.

Does she own a pair of jeans?
I wondered.
Or does she always dress like a ’50s housewife?

Irrationally, I wanted it to be the latter.

It was hard to dismiss the memory of the curve of her near-naked behind on the stage just moments earlier. It was even harder to push aside how she felt, poised over me with passion clouding her eyes the night before. The blond wig was gone, and so was the unhurried sensuality of her performance. I watched her toss things into a soft-sided, flower-covered suitcase for another moment before speaking.

“Don’t scream,” I cautioned.

She turned around, and the full force of her blue eyes, dark hair, and creamy skin hit me again.

Damn it. She’s even more beautiful than I remembered.

Her mouth was a perfectly round, perfectly kissable
O
in the centre of her face. She recovered her surprise quickly, though, and stood very still, watching me with a guardedly nervous expression dominating her features.

I gave her a tight nod. “You recognized me when you were up there on stage. I knew you did.”

“I’m not interested,” she replied coldly.

“That’s a bit of lie. Or at least it was yesterday.” I shot her a smirk.

Her face went pink. “It was a mistake.”

“You think so? Is that why you sent my car back?”

“That wasn’t me. That was Ellis.”

“Is Ellis your boyfriend? Or your pimp?”

The words were intentionally cruel and intended to drive a wedge between us. Instead, her sharp intake of breath made me feel guilty.

“Ellis is my boss,” she corrected. “He owns the club and he doesn’t like cars left overnight in his lot.”

I took a step closer. I touched her cheek, and told myself it was because I wanted to prove a point, and not because I felt compelled to feel the softness of her skin. She jerked away, but not before her face started to colour. It was easy to see, even under her thick make-up. I stared in fascination at her blush, watching it bloom from tiny dots into large, pink stains.

How does a woman who takes off her clothes for a living manage to achieve that level of schoolgirl embarrassment?

It didn’t really matter, though. The colour on her face made my body heat up, and I had to brush off my sudden, base reaction. I needed to find a way to forget everything that happened the previous night. Quickly.

“I think you know I’m not here about yesterday. Or about my car,” I stated.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she replied, but the fact that it was a deception was evident in her too-wide eyes.

I cleared my throat. “Let’s go.”

“Go?”

“Cohen expects a prompt delivery.”

“What’s he paying you?”

I rolled my eyes. “Why? Are you going to double it? Save it for paying what you owe. I’m not in this for the money.”

“What else is there?”

I raised a lecherous eyebrow, and her face somehow managed to get even redder. She tipped up her chin defiantly.

“If that’s that case,” she said. “Then you already got what you came for.”

Tell her you didn’t know she was the target,
urged a small voice in my head.

I shrugged it off. “It never hurts to ask for seconds. Now. Let’s go.”

“No.”

“I prefer my women unbound and un-gagged, but if that’s the way we have to play this…”

“I have someone waiting for me,” she announced. “If I don’t come home, he’ll worry.”

I assessed her expression. Her eyes were clear, and I thought she might be telling the truth. At least partially.

“Who’s bigger?” I asked. “Me? Or him?”

She opened her mouth to answer, then closed it.

“Save the size-doesn’t-matter speech, Jayme. We all know it’s a lie anyway.”

“Jayme?” Panic came through in her voice, loud and clear.

“Save that denial, too. There’s no point in saying you aren’t Jayme,” I replied, and grabbed her arm.

“What if I’m not?”

I paused. There was something sincere about her question. I let go of her arm and gripped her chin with my fingers instead. I had to stop my thumb from impulsively tracing the line of her jaw once more.

What if it
isn’t
her?

Doubt and hope mingled in my mind. My instincts were rarely wrong. Of course, I’d never slept with a mark before, either. Proof that nothing was certain.

“Cohen wants Jayme Duncan presented to him on platter, preferably with a shiny bow. I’ve spent a lot of time tracking that name,” I said slowly. “So, if that isn’t you…if it’s that guy who has you so worried at home, or if it’s your BFF on the pole, you’d better speak up now.”

“Polly!”

At the sound of the frustrated, masculine voice, I dropped the girl’s chin and prepared to hand out a punch. I’d been dying to hit someone all night. Warm fingers on my elbow made me stop, mid-swing. I looked down to see that Jayme—or not-Jayme, if she was telling the truth—had placed her hand on my arm.

“It’s okay, Ellis,” she said to the angry, potbellied man who barrelled through the door.

“Doesn’t look okay,” the dude—Ellis—grumbled.

The girl slid her hand down my forearm and laughed lightly. “Doesn’t it? This big lug is my boyfriend. He
just
found out where my pay cheques have been coming from.”

Big lug? Boyfriend?

I was too confused and too amused to argue.

Ellis ran a hand over his nearly bald head and eyed me uncertainly.

“
This
man is?” he asked.

“Is that a problem?” I demanded.

The other man ignored me and focused on Jayme. “Ah. Well. Thought you said he knew you worked here.”

“I lied.”

“She’s good at that,” I added.

In spite of my biting remark, the girl moved a little closer to me, and slid an arm around my waist. I didn’t know what her angle was, and at that moment, I didn’t care. Her hip was resting against mine, and when she gave me a little squeeze, the rest of her body seemed to melt into me. She was so close I could smell the sweet scent of her floral shampoo.

“Sweetie, this is my boss, Ellis Green.”

“Pleased to meet you.” My greeting walked a line between sarcasm and pleasantness.

“I somehow doubt that,” the other man muttered, then directed his attention toward the girl once more. “I was going to ask why you didn’t finish the dance, Polly, but I guess the answer is obvious.”

“
Polly
needs to come with me now,” I stated agreeably and leaned down to kiss her neck and nibble her earlobe affectionately, before whispering, “I hope you’re enjoying this as much as I am.”

“Not in front of the boss, sweetie,” she said, and tried to pull away.

“Don’t worry, my love. He’s not your boss anymore.”

She stiffened, but there was no way in hell I was letting her go again until I had her standing in front of Cohen Blue.