Strip Search (21 page)

After glaring a dagger or two his way, Nicki's sister said, "I'm off to bed. Lots of research to do tomorrow. I want to wrap up early in case my friend Ashley can visit in a few weeks. You don't mind, do you?"

Before Nicki could say a word, Bocelli breezed in the side door, dressed head to toe in black.

He looked like the
GQ
model of the thug underworld, sporting a hundred dollar haircut, two days' growth on his jaw, and a black leather jacket to ward off the desert wind. And all that money had come from somewhere, starting right between Mark's ex-wife's thighs.

When the asshole spotted Nicki, his strut became a stride as he crossed the room.

Much to Mark's satisfaction, Nicki turned her back to the jackass. Maybe there was trouble in paradise ...

"Heck, no, I don't mind!" she answered Lucia. "I think it's great that Ashley wants to leave her sheltered existence and visit Sin City. The two of you could do damage," Nicki asserted.

"A history professor and a librarian. Won't we set all the men on fire?"

"What if you do, Doc?" Bocelli drawled. A challenging smile curled up his mouth.

As if she couldn't resist a moment longer, Lucia's gaze slid to the resident Goodfella. Her expression said he both fascinated and scared her. Finally, a frown creased her forehead, and she looked away.

Nicki's face tightened at the exchange. Was she jealous at Blade's subtle flirtation with her sister? The man had to be doing it to piss Nicki off.

Purposefully not looking at Blade, Nicki hugged her sister. "Good night, Lucia."

"You look tired, Nik. Go to bed soon, huh?"

"I will, Mother." She laughed.

Lucia took herself upstairs, leaving behind an awkward silence.

For about two seconds.

Then Blade turned and took two aggressive steps forward. "Nicki, I wanna talk to you."

"Not now," Nicki barked before Bocelli even reached her. "When? Hell will fucking freeze over before I let this go another day. We gotta talk about this, Nicki."

"Not at three in the morning!"

Bocelli grabbed Nicki's arm and tugged her closer.

Mark felt his fist closing around the dishrag he held. The sight of Bocelli's hand on Nicki made Mark's blood pressure soar.

"Ten minutes. Maybe fifteen, tops. You got that much time," Blade challenged.

"I'm tired, and I'm not in the mood to deal with you. Take your hand off of me."

In typical thug fashion, Bocelli ignored her. When he tugged her even closer and towered over her, Mark nearly lost it. If the motherfucker hurt a single hair on her head, Bocelli was going to die painfully.

"You forget who you're talking to. Don't screw with me."

Nicki ripped her arm from his grasp, then flashed him a narrow-eyed glare that impressed Mark with its meanness.

"Ditto that for me, buster. I'm sick and tired of your attitude. You don't own this place, and you don't own me."

Bocelli took a menacing step forward.

Mark had had enough.

He threw down the dishrag and dropped the plastic bin of glasses on the nearest table. They rattled in the tense air. Both Nicki and Blade both turned to him in surprise.

"You're not going to be alive long enough to worry about this conversation if you don't get the hell away from her," Mark told Bocelli.

"What, are you her fucking bodyguard?"

"I'd like to be the one to teach you some manners."

"Mark--" Nicki pleaded.

Blade cut her off. "Yeah? How? You gonna fight me?"

The Italian thug's insolent pose made Mark gnash his teeth. He crossed the room, grabbed Nicki by the shoulders, and shoved her behind him. Then he glared down at Bocelli. The other guy was only a handful of inches shorter than him, but Mark relished every bit of it.

"I've got a black belt, and I spent six years boxing. Pick your poison or leave her the hell alone."

It occurred to Mark belatedly that he was defending the very woman he'd been cursing just minutes ago. That aside, the fact remained that he hadn't liked bullies on the play-ground when he'd been a kid, and he didn't like them any better now.

"Mark," Nicki said from behind him, slender fingers latched on to his biceps. "You don't have to do this."

He heard her utter the words, but a quick glance over his shoulder showed her wide blue eyes filled with equal parts fury and fear. She might not need him here, but she wanted him.

"Well, ain't this sweet," drawled Bocelli. "So, Gabriel, what's the price of chivalry these days? A piece of ass? She give you some?"

The urge to taunt Bocelli that he'd had more of Nicki's ass than the son of a bitch ever would leaped to the tip of his tongue. The only problem was, it wasn't true. He swallowed the bitter lump, and Blade smirked, almost as if he knew what was going through Mark's mind.

Fury rose inside him, like an elevator careening to the top floor. As if bursting through a glass ceiling, his control shattered. If someone had told Mark steam was coming out of his ears, he wouldn't have been surprised.

"That's it. I'm going to pound your face."

"Mark!" Nicki screamed and grabbed his right arm.

Fine. He had another arm that worked, which led to a fist itching to plow Bocelli's smug smirk.

His left hook connected with Bocelli's jaw. Satisfaction poured through Mark when the asshole's head snapped back and he staggered. Mark wrenched his right arm from Nicki's grasp and followed with a fist to Blade's stomach.

He set up to punch the thug in the nose when Bocelli retreated and flung back one side of his jacket. He withdrew a stainless semiautomatic from his shoulder holster and pointed it right in Mark's face.

C
ontempt dominated Blade's expression. "You better watch yourself, dancer boy."

Holy shit, would Bocelli really mow him down with bullets here and now? Mark's heart pounded like a jackhammer. Nicki was so close and could easily be hurt. That thought made his blood ice over.

Nicki gasped, and before Mark could tell her to take cover, she jumped in front of him.

"Get out of here!" Mark grabbed her and tried to shove her aside.

She wasn't having any of it.

Nicki jerked away from his hold and glared at Blade. He had to admire her courage--even if it was stupid as hell.

"Put the damn gun down!" she snarled at Bocelli. "What is the matter with you? I told you I didn't want you carrying that thing around here. You want to talk? I'll talk to you tomorrow."

Blade slid a rude stare from Nicki to Mark and back again. He tucked the gun back in its holster and grumbled, "Fine. Neither one of you is worth having to clean up the blood and make excuses for doing everyone a favor."

With that, Bocelli stomped past them, disappeared up the stairs, slamming the door behind the bar in his wake.

Cold fear and even colder fury deflated from Mark faster than an overstuffed balloon stabbed with an ice pick.

"Thank God," Nicki whispered, one hand raising to clutch his forearm for support. "He scared the hell out of me."

She trembled. Mark felt her as that one hand clung to him. Shoving aside his questions, he pulled her against him and folded her into his arms. "You okay?"

"Yeah." She eased back and looked up into his eyes. "That's twice now that you've come to my rescue. Confronting Blade like that was so dangerous! You scared me to death."

"Likewise, baby. Why the hell are you jumping in front of him when he's got a gun?"

"He isn't going to hurt me," she assured him.

Privately, Mark disagreed. Tonight put a whole different spin on Nicki's relationship with Bocelli. Was the asshole abusive? And did she put up with it? Or could it all be part of the act?

"Nicki, why are you going to give him the time of day after he threatened you?"

She sighed and stepped out of his arms. "I have to."

"You don't have to do anything with him you don't want to. Like you said, he doesn't own this place, and he doesn't own you."

"It's more complicated than that."

Mark gritted his teeth. Complicated how? Did she think she was in love with the guy? Why else would she would put up with his threats and bad behavior--and allow her club to be used to launder Mafia money? Was that how she'd gotten involved?

Nicki in love with someone else ... The thought was more painful than serrated knives carving into his gut. Which made no sense. Mark had no claim on the woman. But he couldn't lie and say he didn't want to kiss her, taste her, plunge deep inside her until she acknowledged otherwise.

The realization sucked the air from his chest, leaving him gaping, blown away.

What a stupid ass. The last thing he needed was a woman as any sort of fixture in his life, especially one like Nicki. He had a case to complete--and she was a suspect.

What a fucking nightmare.

Maybe she just didn't see a way out of Bocelli's clutches. Maybe if someone showed her an exit, she'd take it.

"It doesn't have to be complicated." He grasped her shoulders. "I can help you."

Nicki stood on tiptoes and laid a soft kiss on his cheek. "My hero."

The feel of her mouth on his skin jolted Mark with both lust and frustration. "Nicki--"

"Let's not talk about Blade, okay? I have something else I want to ask you about."

Mark let the subject of Bocelli drop--for now. They weren't nearly done talking about this. But getting back in Nicki's good graces had to be his top priority, and arguing with her wasn't the way to get there. If he could win her trust, convince her to let him help her, maybe he could get her out of this mess she'd dug herself into ... provided she actually wanted out.

"Ask away," he said finally.

"So, the other night when you invited me to dinner, which was wonderful, by the way, I went looking for a hand towel and found your Viking costume."

Shit! He'd forgotten he'd stashed it there. Luckily for him, she didn't look angry as much as she looked amused. Evidently, she enjoyed the thought that she'd foiled him all by her little, clever self.

"You caught me." He shrugged and smiled.

"And then, Zack informed me just today that you actually can perform the routines. That you know them, haven't really developed the grace of an elephant on roller skates since I hired you, and can shake, wink, and gyrate with the best of them. How do you plead to that?"

Damn Zack! Mark had half a mind to strangle the blabbermouth the next time he came through the door.

Wincing, Mark said, "Guilty."

"So I'm guessing the issue is stage fright. Am I right?"

This he didn't have to lie about in the least. "Kind of. I'd never been in a male strip joint. It's different than guys watching a woman take it off. Touching there is discouraged, other than slipping tips in a G-string. More than that can get you tossed out on your ass. Here ... there's a lot of touching. And kissing. I didn't expect that. I didn't expect the leering, the clapping, the suggestive comments, and propositions."

Nicki burst out laughing. "Did you think we sat and watched in silence, legs crossed like perfect ladies, and hands folded in our laps?"

"No, but I expected something more restrained than women trying to cop a cheap feel and asking how many inches a guy has."

"You've got something against a woman who knows what she likes and goes after it?" Her gaze challenged him.

"I like assertive women ... just not five hundred in the same room, most of whom have had too many kamikazes and wine spritzers. After that, they start demanding their screaming orgasms--and not the kind they pay the bartender five-fifty for. The decibel level in here starts at ear-splitting and only gets worse."

"It is loud," she conceded with a smile. "But I don't think that's what's stopping you from performing the job I hired you to do, nor do I recall you having a specific problem with screaming orgasms. So spill it. I want the truth."

Mark hesitated. He couldn't exactly tell her that he hadn't wanted to do this job in the first place. It had been a way to buy time and proximity to pry into her accounting records. To his frustration, nothing had happened recently with the accounts. Less than zero. If it took weeks before Blade and Nicki made another move, he'd be forced onto the stage. Probably sooner rather than later.

"If you can't tell me," she said, "I can't help you. And I'll have to let you go."

Her clear blue-sky eyes said to Mark that was the last thing she wanted. She all but begged him to give her something so she could help him. Keep him.

That expression really begged the question, why did she want to have him around if she felt the need to distract him with sex so she and her lover could commit a crime? Maybe Nicki was innocent. It was possible. Mark didn't have a solid answer. Or hard evidence. Until he did, she was a suspect. Period. He couldn't let his guard down until he had proof one way or the other.

But now, he had to respond to her--fast. The only thing he could think of was the truth.

"I don't like crowds. I really don't like being the center of attention. It's ... embarrassing to know so many total strangers are looking at you."

"You mean when you're taking your clothes off?" "Even if they were watching me do nothing. It's the crowd and the staring. It just makes me freeze."

"Hmm. Most guys who come to work here love the attention. This is a new one for me." Nicki blinked and cocked her head to one side, as if in thought. "What if you weren't dancing on stage alone?"

"Maybe it would be easier. I could at least tell myself the crowd had something else to focus on."

A mischievous smile crossed Nicki's face.
Uh-oh.
She grabbed his hand before he could protest.

Climbing up on the stage, a dicey proposition in a very short skirt, Mark followed, guided by the tug of her hand on his and the amazing view of red silk inching up her thighs.