Sin (4 page)

He’s impossibly attractive, arrogant, and too quick with his tongue. I’m standing outside the office, wondering why I’m giving in to his ridiculous demands. Safety protocol? And I just found out from a couple of girls in the dressing room there’s a new dress code. Joshua Camden is an Ivy Leaguer who’s trying to change a blue-collar bar into a gentlemen’s club. I hug myself, the air-conditioning is so cold on my uncovered arms. I also can’t deny how my body responds to him
automatically—that’s
something to avoid, now and in the future.

“Come in, Ms. Taylor.”

How does he know I’m here? I open the door. “Can’t we do this another time? One of my regulars is waiting for me.”

He looks up. “He’ll keep.”

“Great.” I slam the door. “That doesn’t mean
I
will.”

“Sit.” He points at a chair.

I plop down, crossing my arms over my chest. I look around the office, trying to figure out how he knew I was standing outside his door. There’s a tiny monitor on a table behind his chair. I can see most of the poolroom.
“Unbelievable.”

He follows my gaze. “I told you before, I’m careful. And if you’ll just give me fifteen minutes of your time, maybe you’ll agree with some of the things I’m changing here.”

“I read half the handbook already.” I roll my eyes. “Slips, trips, and falls. A new illicit drug policy. And now a dress code?”

“I don’t think you understand the severity of the problems a lot of your coworkers have or the fines Darren has paid over the years.”

I frown. Where does he think I spend the majority of my time? I’m here four or five nights a week. I’ve witnessed the harassment and intimidation tactics the cops utilize every night when they invade our space and try to arrest us for stupid things like public lewdness. Has he even looked up the broad legal definition of that Class A misdemeanor? “I’m fully aware.”

“And?” he presses.

“Banning cutoffs isn’t going to stop the police.”

“No,” he agrees, thrumming his fingers, “but it will help keep certain personality types from frequenting our
establishment.”

I don’t think so. “And no gangsta rap? That’s racist.”

“Is it?”

“Maybe not,” I admit. Not being a fan of the lyrics of most of that music, I do understand his point. “All right—I get that one.”

“Good.” He opens up a copy of the employee handbook. “Five girls slipped or fell down the stairs last year. Darren paid over ten thousand dollars in medical costs alone. Accidents can be avoided. As for the dress code, Ms. Taylor, unless you’re doing a theme set onstage, I expect all the entertainers to dress appropriately. Men come here to escape the drudgery of everyday life, not to hang out with girls they can meet at work or on the beach.”

“This isn’t San Antonio,” I say. “We cater to the locals.”

“And we’ll continue to welcome our regulars,” he assures me. “But I’m here to increase the Den’s net earnings.”

How can I argue with that? “Fine,” I give in. “Show me where to sign.”

He flips through a few more pages, then closes the pamphlet. “I wish I could say it’s that simple.” He stands, his casual V-neck slipover hugging his muscles. He struts to the door and locks it. “Your leadership skills haven’t gone unnoticed.”

I sit back, crossing my legs. Now he’s trying to stroke my ego. “I wouldn’t refer to it as leadership. I just do my own thing.”

He laughs, walking to the leather couch across from my chair, then sits down. “You don’t?”

I try to control my core temperature as my gaze wanders over him. He moved closer on
purpose—putting
his hot body on full display. I pivot on the edge of my seat so I can look him directly in the eyes. “Get to the point, Ivy League.”

“I’m hiring a den mom this week. As you know, shepherding fifty girls a night won’t be easy. I’d like to pay you to help her manage the dressing room.”

I cackle like the wicked witch, impressed by his nerve to even consider me for such an enterprise. “Aren’t you diplomatic,” I taunt. “Quit hedging. You want me to be your snitch.”

He shrugs.

“Absolutely not.”

He maintains a neutral expression, his left arm draped across the back of the couch. Nothing seems to rile this man. “You didn’t give me a chance to tell you what incentives I’m prepared to offer.”

“Save your breath.” I hold up a hand. “I mind my own business.”

“I appreciate that.” He leans forward. “But this isn’t Huntsville, Ms. Taylor—no one’s going to shiv you for passing along a bit of information.”

“I prefer things the way they are.” If he only knew how dangerous the dressing room politics were, he’d change his mind about the prison thing. Dancers might not stab each other with knives, but a six-inch stiletto can do a lot of damage.

“I’d like to pick up where we left off.” In a flash, he launches off the couch. I moan as he presses against me, his mouth slanting over mine. I swallow my protest, silenced by his roving tongue. The flurry of expletives that race through my mind are soon forgotten as his hands slide up my back. He’s done it again, hijacked my thoughts and body.

When he releases my lips, I’m panting.

“Incentive number one…working closely together.” My head falls against his chest. “Number two…” Somehow he works his fingers underneath my short skirt, finding the edge of my very small G-string. “Should I?”

His pupils are dilated with mischief. There’s a fire in my belly, and if his fingers venture any farther, he’ll spark a wildfire between my legs.
No thanks.
I’ve already experienced what Joshua means by
working closely together.
The allowances he seeks with me are beyond what I’m willing to give up right now. However, when I meet his heated gaze, I fist my hands in his hair and pull him toward me, until our mouths collide again. I close my eyes, breathing in the unforgettable fragrance he wears.

He sighs, snaring both of my wrists with one hand, stretching my arms above my head. “Look at me,” he commands. I do. “You’re tempting the devil, Ms. Taylor. Is that wise?”

“I don’t care if you’re an angel…”

He releases my hands, guiding them around his neck. Then he gathers my legs around his waist and lifts me off the chair. He steps back, then slowly lowers us onto the sofa. His hot breath scorches my neck. His gaze roams up my body—stopping on my breasts, which are nearly popping out of my scoop-cut belly shirt.

“Jesus Christ,” he cries, squeezing my breasts together. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you to cover up before?” The question doesn’t require an answer; his head dives between my breasts.

I close my eyes and arch my back, enjoying the feel of his tongue on my skin. Pressure builds deep in my stomach as I start to grind against his crotch. I drag my eyes open when I feel the extent of his erection. I release my breath in a nervous rush, suddenly regretting my lack of self-control. Sooner or later I’m going to end up naked and on my back with Joshua rooted deep inside me if I’m not careful. It’s too soon—I’m still recovering from my breakup with Wesley. Even though it’s been over two months since I’ve slept with him, something doesn’t feel right.

“What’s wrong?” He cups my face, pulling me down to eye level.

When his talented fingers start to circle down my arms I nearly give in. “Do you know how many girls Darren Starr has banged on this couch?” It’s a viable excuse. The last place I want to have sex is where my boss has been.

His warm, wet tongue connects with mine and I’m lost in another languid kiss. Possessed by something that quite honestly I don’t comprehend. I’m into the spontaneous attraction thing—who isn’t? But this redefines it for me, takes it to a completely different level. Chemistry like this only happens in the movies or in some smutty romance novel—the kind my best friend buries her nose in.
Climb off of him now or you’ll never be able to stop.
I hate my inner voice, but sometimes I listen. I release his mouth.

“Macey…”

When he whispers my name like that I want to let him suck, lick, and stroke his way inside me.
Good God.
He nips my bottom lip, then bites my earlobe. A deep shiver suffuses my whole body.

“Cold?” he asks, resting his big hands on my hips.

“I’m not ready for this,” I confess, inching away. But my body disagrees.

Someone knocks.

I’m gently lifted and placed on my feet. “Fix your skirt.” He smooths his own clothes. “Damn it, woman.” He looks down, and naturally my gaze follows.

He’s
ginormous—that’s
all I’m going to say. I avert my eyes, focusing on the door now. He walks behind his desk and removes his sports coat from the back of his chair and slips it on. Then we both gaze at the monitor; Dave is waiting.

“Get the door, darlin’.”

I swallow, knowing full well I look like a guilty puppy. I tentatively reach for the knob.

“Let me.” Joshua gently moves me aside and opens the door.

Dave stares at me first, then at Joshua. “Forty-five minutes.” He taps the face of his watch, clearly irritated at Joshua, then gazes at me. “Wesley is here, Macey.”

“What?” I’m in shock.

“You heard me.” He exhales exaggeratedly. “He’s waiting by the pool tables.”

My gaze zigzags around the office. I’m not ready to see my ex, don’t know if I ever will be. Especially after what just happened with Ivy League.

“What’s up?” Dave takes my hand, looking deeply concerned.

“Nothing,” I say on a huff, slipping by him. “Best get this over with.”

I can’t help watching as she approaches a guy wearing an expensive cowboy hat and boots. “Who is he?” I growl at Dave.

“Her ex, Wesley,” he answers. “Something going on here?”

I’m hesitant to say, but I know he cares about her. “Maybe.”

He hums in satisfaction, then stares at Macey. “The dickwad cheated on her while she was vacationing in Paris.”

I wet my lips, eyeing the son of a bitch with something a little more powerful than disapproval. “He looks intoxicated.” If I can find a reason to kick him out, I’ll be happy to.

“Buzzed.” Dave shrugs. “Is she cleared for stage?”

“Sure.” The little vixen hasn’t signed off on the handbook yet. Although I do need a reason to keep inviting her to my office. “Pencil her in low on the list.”

“No problem.” He takes off.

Now they have my full attention. I shut the door, leaning against it, straining to hear what Macey is saying. Her hands are moving a mile a minute.

“No,” she says. “You don’t get to come crawling back to me like you’re the one who was victimized.”

“I made a mistake.”

“Really?” Her tone is toxic. “Bet
Monica
doesn’t think so.”

“Leave her out of it.”

“You can’t tell me what to do anymore, cowboy.” She flicks the edge of his hat. “Go ride something that gives a shit.” She turns to leave, but he grabs her arm, snapping her back to attention. “Let go.” He shakes her.

I’m across the room before he can say anything. “Hands off,” I snarl.

I’m a head taller, so he gapes up at me, all glassy-eyed. “Fuck off.” He reeks of cheap beer.

I immediately clamp on to his free hand, digging my thumb into the soft flesh of his wrist. “Last chance.”

“Joshua…” Macey says, stepping back, finally released from the asshole’s clutch.

I take a quick look at her. “Go to the DJ booth.”

That’s when her ex takes a swing. I duck and his fist connects with air. I take advantage while he’s off balance and coldcock him in the side of the face. He staggers, smacking his head on the wall. It’s not worth the effort, he’s beyond buzzed, so I signal for the bouncer who’s already on his way to the back. My wish came true—he’s outta here.

“Couldn’t leave well enough alone…” Macey’s hands are balled at her sides while she chastises him. He’s clinging to the wall, his hat on the floor. “Coming here is one thing, but showing up drunk?”

She’s ready to burst, so I gather her in my arms; her whole body is shaking. “Come on.” I carry her to the office. She kicks her feet in protest. “He’ll regret it in the morning, trust me.” I open the door and stash her inside.

“Don’t keep me locked in here,” she says as soon as I let her go. “I want to watch Martin escort his drunk ass outside.”

She tries to maneuver around me, but I hold my ground. “Eight years of wrestling experience,” I warn, crouching. “I’m always happy to find a new sparring partner.”

That makes her smile. “Not football?”

“Nope.” I shake my head. “Why? Do you like the Cowboys?”

She frowns, throwing me a questionable look. “Live, eat, and breathe the game.”

Hmmm.
For some reason that excites me. “Ever watch wrestling?”
Say yes
.

“WWE?” she asks. “Do I look like the kind of girl who’d waste brain cells on that crap?” She rolls her eyes. “I
appreciate
Olympic wrestling.”

That answer changes everything. Now I want to rip her clothes off and show her a few moves. “If you’re ever in the mood,” I offer. “Can’t promise I won’t cheat—there’s no way I’ll be able to keep my hands above your waist.” I can’t help the big smile that breaks across my face.

I’m rewarded with one in response, but her grin fades suddenly. And I know why.

“I need to see him,” she half pleads.

“No.” I lean down and brush my lips across her cheek. “Let’s get out of here.” She shouldn’t work tonight and there’s no way I’m leaving her alone. “Burgers and beer?”

She scrutinizes me with those wide blue eyes that seem to have a direct link to my cock. “Buffalo burgers?”

“Whatever you want,” I say. “Fuddruckers?” They have the best selection of exotic burgers in town.

“No,” she answers. “I’m not in the mood to go to a restaurant, but I have some buffalo meat at home.”

Not while her ex is on the prowl. And if I run into him again, I won’t be able to control my temper. “Compromise,” I counter. “We’ll stop by H-E-B on the way to my place.”

“Your place,” she repeats. “Can I rely on you to take care of me, Mr. Camden?”

I rub my chin, eyeing her, loving the way she looks in her
costume—desperate
to taste her again. “I’d say that depends on you, Ms. Taylor.”