Waking Up to You: Overexposed (20 page)

Before she could duck into it, she heard his voice. “There you are! Hold up a second, I want you to meet someone.”

She was in no condition to meet anyone—especially not another one of Harry’s cousins or old fishing buddies. There was always someone ready to play on old friendships or family connection to meet the dancers.

On the positive side, Harry was as protective as a papa bear and the introductions never went further than a quick handshake or a signed autograph. Despite how much some of the men he brought around seemed to want it otherwise.

Pasting on an impersonal smile behind the mask she hadn’t yet removed, she turned around.

“This is Nick Santori. I’ve just hired him to beef up our security.”

Izzie sagged against the wall. If it hadn’t been there, she might have just fallen sideways onto the tile floor, but thankfully, her shoulder instead landed on some hard wood paneling and it kept her vertical.

More than she could say for her heart. It had gone rolling down and had landed somewhere in the vicinity of her stomach, which was now churning with anxiety.

“This is...”

“Rose,” she quickly interjected, cutting Harry off before he could say her real name. She cleared her throat, seeking the sultry, husky tones she’d always used when greeting fans backstage at Radio City. The one that was quite different from the voice Nick had heard at the bakery just a couple of days before. “Nice to meet you.”

He held out his hand. She took it. Time didn’t stop or anything, and the floor didn’t buckle beneath her feet. But, damn, his touch did feel
fine.

He had big hands. Strong hands. A soldier’s competent hands. They were capable of brute force. Yet equally capable, she knew, of tender care. Like when those hands had helped her pull her ugly bridesmaid dress into place, then gently lifted her back onto the dance platform and back into their waltz so many years ago.

“Nick’s brother Joey Santori sent him in. You remember him, don’t you? He did all the work upstairs. You met him last month.”

Yes, she had...and it had been a closer call than this meeting with Nick, who could see almost nothing of her face because of the mask. She’d barely had time to duck behind a changing screen before coming face-to-face with Nick’s older brother.

Now she had to wonder...had Joe seen her? Recognized her? And was he now playing Mr. Neighborhood Protector by sending his baby brother in to watch out for the girl up the block?

Possible.

God save her from Italian men.

One plus—he hadn’t told Tony. Because no way would her overprotective brother-in-law have let Izzie’s new job go undiscussed. He’d have come down on her with some big-brother lecture about how she simply had to quit now, immediately, if not sooner. Either that or he’d have told Gloria, who would have had a shrieking meltdown over what the neighbors and her sweet, impressionable boys—wild little maniacs, in Izzie’s opinion—would think.

“Harry, help! Some CEO’s at the door saying he had reservations for ten,” a frantic voice called from the top of the stairs. The hostess who worked the front desk came clattering down three stairs and spotted him, relief evident in her face. “You need to get up here.”

Muttering under his breath, Harry offered Nick an apologetic shrug. “Sorry. Never fails. Tell you what, why don’t you talk to...Rose...get an idea of what her routine and schedule are like and then meet me upstairs in thirty minutes?”

Nick nodded and they both watched Harry walk away. Well, Nick watched Harry. Izzie watched Nick.

She hadn’t noticed at first—she’d been too frazzled herself—but Nick appeared tense. The muscles in his neck were rock hard, his jaw jutted out stiffly. Beneath his wickedly tight black T-shirt, his broad shoulders were squared in his military posture and his hands were fisted at his sides.

Interesting.

If she had to guess, she’d say he wasn’t particularly happy to meet her. It was as if he actively disliked her...which didn’t make much sense.

The only reason he could have for
already
disliking her was that he had somehow recognized her. That he’d looked into her eyes, revealed behind the mask, and seen something familiar. Or heard a note in her voice that he’d heard before. He certainly hadn’t seemed very happy with Izzie-the-baker when she’d practically pushed him out of the bakery the other evening and imagined he’d convinced himself she was at best a pain in the ass and at worst a complete tease.

But if he looked at her and saw only a complete stranger...what could he dislike about her after knowing her for all of two minutes? Nick wasn’t the judgmental type. She couldn’t see him working here if he had some kind of problem with women stripping.

Besides, his dislike seemed personal, directed only at her. He’d been perfectly fine with Harry.

“So, is tonight your first night?” she asked, keeping her tone low and thick. She sounded sultry—wicked—but that couldn’t be helped. She needed to disguise her voice, at least until she knew for sure whether Nick had recognized her. Or if he’d been tipped off by his big brother.

“Yes.”

“How do you like the club?”

He shrugged, noncommittal.

“Come now, you’re not shocked are you? I imagine you’ve been in places like this all over the world.”

His dark eyes narrowed. “How would you know I’ve been all over the world?”

Oh, man, that was stupid. She’d just tipped her hand. “I mean...you look like the military type, with the hair and the all-black commando look you have going on. Am I right?”

He nodded once, still not unbending one iota.

Izzie had to force herself not to react to all that simmering, intense male heat. Nick had been adorably sexy when flirting with her and trying to pick her up. And incredibly sensual when seducing her with his kiss.

Now...when he was all dark, intense business, he was absolutely devastating. Dangerous, almost, and though she’d never feared him, she couldn’t contain a tiny shiver.

If he decided to kiss her now, it wouldn’t be with sweet, sultry persuasion. It would be with raw, overpowering hunger.

She wanted that kind of kiss from him.

“I saw you here last weekend,” she said, not even realizing she was going to admit such a thing until the words had left her mouth. That probably wasn’t smart. She needed to keep the upper hand here—letting Nick know she’d been aware of him from first glance wasn’t a good way to do that.

“I came in to talk to Harry about the job.”

“And you watched me dance.” She dared him to deny it.

He nodded once. The jaw flexed.

“Did you like it?”

“You’re talented.”

Oh, if only he knew.

“You’re not...uncomfortable around me, are you?” she asked, trying not to laugh. “I mean, having seen so
much
of me?”

He shook his head. The shoulders tensed. “This is a job, Miss...”

“Rose will do.”

“As you wish. The point is, I want to keep you...all of you...safe. Meaning we need to implement some new security procedures.” He sounded impersonal, but every movement or flex of his body screamed that his tone was a lie. He was definitely reacting to her and Izzie would lay money it had nothing to do with him knowing her real identity.

If he knew who she was, he’d never remain stiff and unyielding, trying to keep up this professional act. He’d be either seducing her—finishing what he’d started the other day—or else he’d be lecturing her for doing something so out of character for a nice Italian girl from the neighborhood.

Nope. He didn’t know who she was. No way in hell. So why he was being so stiff and gruff, she really didn’t know.

“Would you like to come in while I change?” she asked, gesturing to the closed door behind her. It had a cheesy little tinfoil star on it—a joke from one of the other dancers, who’d been remarkably welcoming after the first week or two. Considering their clientele had increased significantly since she’d been performing at the club, she figured they were all benefiting from the “mystery” of the Crimson Rose.

He hesitated for only a moment. Then nodded. “Sure.”

Opening the door, she walked in and ushered him in behind her. “Sorry for the mess.”

The space was crowded—one mirror, surrounded by bright lights, covered an entire wall. A long, sturdy vanity, connected to the wall, ran the width of the room, reducing the floor space to about a three-foot-wide aisle. The vanity was covered with makeup and hair products. Not to mention G-strings and pasties.

He saw those and blanched, quickly looking away. Shifting uncomfortably, he moved back the tiniest bit, but was stopped from going far by the door, which Izzie had closed behind him.

A muscle worked in his cheek and he crossed his massive arms tightly across his chest. His feet spreading a little apart, he looked like a sturdy, unmovable sea captain standing on the deck of a ship. Unapproachable, unweatherable, unflappable.

Only, he
wasn’t
unreachable. Because she’d seen that look at her sexy, glittery underthings. And his reaction to them.

Which was when Izzie started to get an inkling of what was bothering him. It wasn’t a matter of him liking her or disliking her. Of him recognizing her or not recognizing her.

He wanted her. She just
knew
it.

Nick wanted to have sex with a stranger—a stripper—and he didn’t like that about himself. He didn’t like that weakness. She could practically hear his thoughts now, since she’d been raised exactly the way he had.

It wasn’t good. It wasn’t nice. It didn’t quite fit the wholesome neighborhood-kid image.

It was, however, very honest. And despite how
he
felt about it, Izzie liked that very much. As a matter of fact, she
loved
that he wanted her. Not quite as much as she’d loved that he’d wanted Izzie—the invisible girl—but pretty darn close.

Trying to hide her smile, she walked around behind a changing screen and slipped the silky robe off her shoulders. Tossing it over the top of the screen, she murmured, “You’re not...uncomfortable in here with me, are you?”

He didn’t reply at first. Glancing at the mirror, she saw his reflection—saw him shake his head. Then he cleared his throat, answering aloud, “I’m fine.”

He was turned toward the wall—away from the screen, away from the mirror. Which was probably a good thing, considering the reflection ran all the way to the far wall...even on her side of the changing screen.

If he looked in that mirror, the screen would prove to be completely superfluous. He’d see every bit of her...except her still-masked face.

She took her time getting dressed.

“That’s good. If you’re going to be working here, I suppose you’re going to have to get used to seeing a
lot
of your coworkers.” She licked her lips and almost purred as she added, “Much more than you’d see in a normal job.”

“I’m not easily shocked,” he muttered.

Turn around and we’ll see.

But he didn’t. Curse the luck.

“Can we talk about your routine, how you drive to work, what time you usually arrive?”

Bending over, she slipped out of the tiny G-string, then straightened and draped it over the top of the screen, answering his questions as she undressed. She never took her eyes off him, waiting for him to turn around, imagining how his eyes would widen and his mouth would drop when he realized he could see every move she made in the mirror.

He remained in the same position; however, the flash of movement must have caught his eye. Because his gaze shifted over—quickly, almost imperceptibly—but he definitely glanced.

She watched his reflection, seeing the way his body grew harder. His black trousers highlighted the clench of his muscular thighs and that tight butt. Though he made no sound at all, he dropped his head forward and slowly shook it, desperation rolling off him though he remained entirely silent.

Triumph surged through her as she realized what was happening. He was dying for her. And desperate to resist her.

Izzie continued to take her sweet time as she pulled on a pair of tiny panties—not much bigger than the G-string she’d just discarded. Then she added a matching lacy bra, cut low, almost to her nipples. Not the type of underclothes one would expect of a baker...they were the types of silky things she wore beneath her clothes to remind herself that she was
not
a sweet Betty Crocker wannabe.

Through it all, Izzie was careful not to dislodge the mask. She was also careful of her clip-in hair extensions. They took her shoulder-length dark brown hair down to the middle of her back, and added reddish highlights that worked well in her act. If he recognized her, the game would be over. And right now, Izzie was enjoying the game too much to let it end.

Particularly because she’d begun to see exactly how it could be played.

With no rules. No restrictions. Complete anonymity.

As the Crimson Rose, she could have him—take him—completely free of the repercussions that would surround her if she dared to do such a thing as Izzie Natale. She could have incredible sex with him, enough to get her deep-rooted need for him out of her system for good, then walk away, without anyone ever knowing the truth.

Including, if she was very lucky,
him.

The question was—could she pull it off?

Catching sight of movement, Izzie realized Nick had finally turned around. He was reaching for the doorknob of the dressing room, his mouth open as if he was about to tell her he was leaving. Then he glanced toward the mirror and caught sight of her.

Nick’s defenses dropped. He looked utterly helpless as he completely devoured her with his eyes. Visible hunger—primal and urgent—rolled off him in nearly tangible waves.

And in that moment, Izzie knew she could, indeed, pull it off. She was finally going to have the man she’d wanted for half her life.

4

H
E
SHOULD
NEVER
have come in here. Should never have walked into a small room with a woman who already had his head reeling and his body taut with anticipation. One he was
supposed
to be protecting from guys who’d already threatened her.

Nick had been handling things okay up to now. Even while watching the dancers perform—while watching
her
perform—he’d felt in control of the situation. Yeah, she’d affected him. Any man not affected by the Crimson Rose had to have been castrated or born with no libido. But her effect was purely physical—not mental, not emotional. In his head, he still only saw one woman. Wanted one woman. And that was Izzie Natale.

He’d been feeling cool and confident when Harry had brought him downstairs to meet her. A little of that confidence had disappeared when he’d gotten close enough to her to smell the light, delicate perfume she wore—so at odds with her surroundings and her profession. His coolness had gone right out the window when she’d ushered him into her small dressing room where he’d felt like a bear trapped in a telephone booth.

And now...this...seeing her in the mirror?

Madness.

He’d seen her almost naked onstage and she’d stunned him. Now, close up, she blew his mind. Even wearing something that might pass for clothing on a sun-drenched beach, she was every bit as seductive as she’d been during her naked dance.

She was tall and she was curvy and she was soft and she was breathtaking. Her full breasts were contained by a bra that cupped the bottoms but left the tops nearly bare. Her cleavage spilled over the seam and the dark, pointed tips of her nipples thrust against the white lace, demanding attention.

Every man in the room had seen her breasts upstairs minutes ago, but now, up close, Nick was able to truly appreciate their perfection. How perfectly they’d fit in his hands, how delightful her nipples would taste against his tongue.

Nick drew in a deep breath, letting his attention drift lower. His gaze skimmed over the midriff, the slim waist. It lingered on the generous hips highlighted by the strips of white—the strings of her panties—slung over each one. The elastic top of her panties skated across the pale, vulnerable-looking skin below her hip bones. A tiny tuft of pretty brown curls peeked out from the top of them, the dark shadow behind the white silk was all he could see of the rest.

This was
more
than she revealed in her dance, and every male cell in his body reacted to the glorious sight. His heart rate slowed, the way it did when the world around him became dead serious. He swallowed—his mouth flooding with hunger. And his cock leaped, raging for release against his zipper.

The vanity interfered with the rest of his view, leaving him ripped with curiosity as his mind filled in the blanks of what he was not seeing. Those long legs. She had legs that could wrap around him twice, he knew that much from her dance.

It was all too easy to imagine lifting her onto that strong, flat surface, spreading her legs, then pulling up a chair to sit between them. He’d push her back, then loop her knees over his shoulders. Dipping his head in close for a thorough exploration, he’d sample those pretty curls and the shiny folds that they concealed. He’d pleasure her completely, devour her until his face was wet with the slickness of her arousal. He’d take the edge off his hunger, then focus only on her, giving himself a long time before he’d look up to watch the pleasure on her face as her orgasm rolled through her.

But in the vision, it wasn’t the masked face of a stranger he saw. It was
Izzie’s
face. This stranger had aroused him. Izzie was the one he wanted to fulfill him.

He needed to get out of here. Now. Because even if Izzie
had
shot him down—if there was absolutely nothing between them—she was still the one he really wanted. The one he’d dream about tonight, whether he got his rocks off right now or not.

He could do this stranger...and it might even be good. But it wouldn’t get rid of his hunger. And it sure as hell would complicate things here in his new job.

Logically, he knew all that. The good Santori son who couldn’t imagine bringing a woman like this around his traditional family should have been gone long before now.

Something made him stay. Maybe it was the
other
Nick. The one who’d grown predatory on the battlefield and bored in the real world. The one who’d been shot down by the reluctant woman he craved and was face-to-face with a willing one he desired.

They just locked eyes, hers mostly hidden behind that mask she still wore. Her lips slowly curled up into a sensuous smile and her chin came up in pure visual challenge.

Nick couldn’t help it. He started to smile, too, a tight, dangerous smile that few would have recognized on the face of one of the affable Santori boys. “I don’t think that screen works very well,” Nick managed to say, his voice throaty.

“I’d say that depends on what I want it to do.”

Knowing better, he asked, “If not giving you privacy to change, what is it you want it to do?”

The smile widened, a glitter of pleasure appearing in those shaded eyes. “Perhaps just heighten the anticipation. It’s amazing how much more arousing it is to see some...but not all.”

“You show almost all onstage.”

“Almost,” she conceded. “But if you noticed, it’s mostly flash and petals, and only a tiny glimpse at the end.”

His jaw clenched. “I noticed.”

“Did it make you want more? Did a glimpse make you hunger for a look...which in turn made you ravenous for a touch?”

Which would make him insane for a taste.

He didn’t answer, he didn’t need to. She saw the answer in his face. As if tired of the game, she stepped out from behind the screen, still wearing only three things: the minuscule panties, the skimpy bra and the red velvet mask, which was bigger than either of the other two.

“Why don’t you take that off?” he asked, needing to see her face. He needed to find something about her that turned him off so he could get upstairs where his boss was waiting. So he could put her out of his head and get his libido back under control.

Quirking a questioning brow, she pointed to her bra, which startled a small laugh out of him. Because hell, yes, he’d like to see her without the bra—up close—but he knew he couldn’t let that happen. Not if he wanted to keep his job. Not if he wanted to have the kind of life his brothers had.

Not if he wanted to work things out with Izzie.

“No. I mean that.” He nodded toward the mask.

“I don’t think so.”

“You really take this anonymity seriously?”

“More than you know.”

She moved closer and Nick honestly didn’t know which pleased him more—feeling her warmth as she approached, or seeing her both in the flesh and reflected in the mirror. The woman’s panties were not only tiny, they were thong-style and he could see the succulent curves of her ass in the mirror. His hands clenched with the need to fill them with those curves.

She reached for his left hand and lifted it. “No ring.”

He shook his head.

“So there’s no one...special?”

He hesitated a second before answering. A week ago the answer would have been an unequivocal no. Right now he wasn’t so sure. He hedged. “That one’s in the air right now.”

Her bottom lip edged out in a tiny pout, glistening and wet against the red velvet cupping her mouth.

He wanted to bite it. Suck it into his mouth and lick the plumpness of it, then pull her down on his lap and explore all those curves and soft angles of her body.

“I’m unattached, too,” she murmured, licking her lips as if she’d read his thoughts. “And frankly, in my line of work, I don’t have much use for dating and get-to-know-you chats.”

He suspected he knew where she was going. With some other woman—just about any other woman—he’d watch for signals, wonder if she was trying to pick him up. With this one, he knew she’d be very frank about what she wanted.

Her hand came up, she trailed the tips of her fingers across his shoulder, her nails scraping the cotton of his shirt. He felt the touch
everywhere.
Her scent overwhelmed him. Her heat screamed to him in pure sexual invitation.

She made it even more clear. “I want to have sex with you.”

His heart skipped a beat. His pants shrunk across his groin and if the woman looked down, she’d know he could quite easily accommodate her. Several times, if she’d let him.

Before he could say a word, she quickly continued, “Despite what you might think since we just met, I’m not making this suggestion lightly. As Harry could confirm...I’m not in the habit of letting men in my dressing room. You are, in fact, the first one I’ve been alone with since I started working here.”

Interesting. She sounded as if she was worried he’d question her morals or think she was trashy. He’d known trashy women. But in his experience, they were women with low self-confidence and lower self-esteem who grasped at sex with anyone in an effort to feed their egos and fill their empty hearts.

He could already tell Rose wasn’t like that. She was
incredibly
self-confident. She could lift a finger and have any man upstairs ready to give her anything she wanted...and she knew it. She didn’t need physical devotion to feed her self-esteem. In fact, he suspected it was her unshakeable self-esteem that enabled her to take off her clothes in front of a room full of men and yet remain so completely out of reach of all of them.

She could strip for them, entice them, seduce them...but never lower herself to a level that said she’d
ever
give them what they wanted.

But now, that’s exactly what she was doing. Offering herself...to him. “I’m flattered,” he said, his tone husky.

She reached for him, scraping the tips of her fingers along the waistband of his pants, tugging a little at his shirt.

“But it’s not going to happen.”

Her hand stilled. “You said you weren’t attached.”

“That’s not the only issue.”

“You’re attracted to me.”

He couldn’t deny something so obvious. “We work together.”

Shrugging in unconcern, she stepped closer, sliding one bare foot between his so that her leg scraped against his thigh. “Working together is what makes it so very...convenient.”

She tilted her head, glancing toward the sturdy-looking vanity, and Nick knew she was picturing a very similar scenario to the one that had filled his mind earlier.

It would be shockingly easy to lift her onto that surface, step between her legs and drive into her body. Or to turn her around, lay her over it and come into her from behind. Their eyes would meet in the mirror...but he wouldn’t see the passion in their depths. He could barely make out their color behind the fabric of her mask. And he knew one thing for sure—he would never make love to the woman as long as she wore the thing.

“I’m sorry, Rose. You’re very attractive and sexy, but you’re just not who I’m looking for right now,” he said. “I’ve done the one-night-stand thing and I’ve had enough of it.”

“Who said anything about one night?” Her words were flippant. Her husky tone was not.

The idea of having more than one night appealed to him. But it didn’t change the basics: she was not the kind of woman he needed to get involved with right now. Not even on a purely sexual basis. “I’m sure there are a hundred guys upstairs who’d take you up on this in a heartbeat.”

“I don’t want any of them,” she murmured. “I want you.”

“You don’t even know me.”

“I don’t have to know you to want to have sex with you.”

“I’m not wired that way.”

She made a sound of disbelief. “You’ve never had raw, wild, uninhibited sex with someone just for the sake of feeling good?”

“Just to get off, yeah,” he muttered, making no effort to be delicate. “But only because time and expediency demanded it. I don’t operate that way anymore.”

“I could make it so good for you.” She lifted his hand again, this time putting it on her bare hip.

Nick couldn’t help squeezing it. “I don’t doubt it.”

“
Let
me,” she ordered. “Let’s see how good it can be.”

His jaw stiff, he pulled his hand away. “I
know
how good it could be. I don’t doubt we could screw ourselves senseless and make each other come a dozen times in an hour.”

Her eyes closed behind the mask. He could see her pulse fluttering in her neck. Still talking in that throaty, sultry whisper, she asked, “And what would be so bad about that?”

Nothing would be so bad about that. In fact, it would be incredible. But he’d feel like shit afterward. He knew it as sure as he knew his brother Mark was never going to let him forget he’d been born twelve minutes before Nick had.

Some things were inarguable.

Like the fact that he couldn’t have sex with this woman tonight and still look Izzie—the woman he sensed could be right for him for all the
right
reasons—in the eye tomorrow. So glancing at his watch, he found some nugget of resolve and said, “Harry’s waiting for me upstairs. I’ll see you later.”

Without giving her a chance to try to stop him, he turned around and walked out of her dressing room. Judging by the way something went flying in that tiny room once the door was closed behind him, he knew he’d left a very angry woman in his wake.

* * *

“S
O
HOW
YOU
DOIN
’
, little brother?” Nick heard a woman’s voice ask as he sat in a booth at Santori’s the next day. It was early Sunday afternoon and the church crowd hadn’t yet shown up for their traditional Sunday big midday meal, so he’d taken advantage of the lull to grab some lunch. Glancing up, he saw his sister-in-law, Gloria, Izzie’s older sister.

They didn’t look much alike. Gloria was pretty—especially for a thirtysomething mother of three—but she didn’t have Izzie’s flamboyant looks. Her face was sweet, not dramatic. Her mouth soft, not sensual. She didn’t have Izzie’s amazing figure. Nor had she inherited her sister’s desire to escape from here.