Текст книги "Heated"

Автор книги: J. Kenner

Соавторы: J. Kenner
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Chapter Four

Thirty minutes later, I was on the dance floor in the arms of Murray Donovan, a reporter who Tom happened to know had hassled some of the girls at Destiny and pissed off all the knights. Considering everything that Kevin had told me, that made Murray either a very brave man or an idiot for coming tonight.

Idiot though he might be, he was perfect for my purposes.

He was actually the second guy I’d sought out from Tom’s list of potentials, the first being a real estate broker named Reggie from whom I’d disentangled myself after only five minutes. He held me too tight on the dance floor and, frankly, it was a toss-up which was more annoying—the way the beer on his breath mixed with the prime rib and asparagus he’d obviously enjoyed from the buffet, or the manner in which he pinched my ass.

Murray, at least, wasn’t a pincher. But even that small blessing soon faded under the weight of his inane and ill-advised comments about women in general. And the girls at Destiny in particular.

“I’m just saying it made no sense to me,” he said, referring to the way the girls had not only refused his repeated hounding for interviews, but had gotten the knights involved to end the harassment.

“Maybe the girls weren’t interested in being featured in a magazine article.”

“That’s bullshit. The article would have gotten them some attention. Gotten them out of that shit-hole of a life, maybe. And what woman wouldn’t want to be featured in a national magazine?”

“I wouldn’t,” I said, my back already up at the “shit-hole” comment. My first year as a detective, I’d put away a rapist who was targeting exotic dancers. That’s when I’d met Candy. She wasn’t a vic, but she’d been dancing the nights of two of the attacks, and she had a good eye, a solid memory for faces, and a habit of eavesdropping on the clientele.

Like several of the other dancers at the club, she was a single mom, high school dropout. She was raising a kid, studying to take the GED, and doing her damnedest to make a good life for herself.

The job was solid—paid the bills and gave her time to study and be with her little boy. In the past three years, she’d earned the diploma, then started taking business classes at the community college. She’d moved from the dance floor to management, and gotten herself engaged to the bartender she’d been eyeing since his first day on the job, not to mention very happily knocked up with kid number two. She’d carved out a life for herself—a good one—and it all centered on that job.

Sure, there were some clubs that treated the girls like shit, the customers worse, and ran a few profitable-yet-illegal side operations out of the back. But that wasn’t where Candy worked, and it wasn’t what she wanted. She was a dancer with dreams of owning her own club, and never in a million years would she have agreed to be the focus of a magazine article that suggested that either the club was sleazy, or that she was struggling through a life of slime. She was just a woman doing her best for herself and her kid, and I respected the hell out of her for it. Murray Donovan, I could tell, didn’t.

“I wouldn’t have anything to do with an article like that,” I repeated, just to emphasize the point.

“Hell no, you wouldn’t. I can tell just by looking at you. You’ve got too much class,” he added, ruffling my feathers even more. “What do you do, baby?”

“I make it a habit of breaking the nose of assholes who call me baby.”

He snorted. “That’s what I mean. You’ve got too much spunk—too much drive—to whore yourself out like that.”

Honestly, that nose-breaking thing was looking better and better.

“Come on, seriously. What do you do?”

“I work in a government office.”

“Well, there you go,” he said, in the kind of voice that suggested I’d just corroborated the theory of gravity. “Upstanding. Respectable. Honest work. You wouldn’t take a job serving drinks topless or sliding up and down a pole.”

“Wouldn’t I?” My voice was icy. My stare even more so.

“Would you?”

“It’s my body, and if I can make more in a four hour shift dancing with a pole than I can pulling eight hours behind a desk, why wouldn’t I? Especially if I was working my way through school or had a kid to feed.”

“Nah, you’re just being contrary. I like that in a woman.”

Oh, dear god, just shoot me now.

I glanced feverishly around the room, hoping to see Tyler seething in a corner, about to come and rescue me. I knew he’d seen the two of us together, because I’d caught him looking our direction when I’d first slid into Murray’s arms. But there was no sign of a knight riding to my rescue now.

Tyler Sharp either had serious willpower, or just didn’t give a damn.

I really hoped it was the first.

I suffered through another five minutes, then excused myself to go to the ladies’ room. I didn’t need the facilities, but I dampened a towel and pressed it to the back of my neck. It was my trick for calming myself down. I can’t say that it was working particularly well at the moment.

Still on edge from my unpleasant turn with Murray, I headed back out. My plan was to go home and regroup in the morning. Instead, I bumped into Reggie, aka the Ass Pincher.

Fuck.

“There you are,” he said, bathing me in the scent of old beer. “I thought you’d escaped.”

“I thought I had, too,” I said, with a smile that was both cold and simpering. All around me people were laughing and dancing and having a good time. And here I was, stuck in my own version of hell.

“Another dance?”

“No. Thanks, but no.”

He moved closer. I took a step back.

“I thought we hit it off.”

“We really didn’t.”

He laughed as if I’d just said the funniest thing in the world, then slid his arm around my waist.

I jerked away. “Watch the hands, buddy.”

“You are so fucking beautiful.”

“You’re going to want to take a step back,” I said, somehow managing to speak despite my gritted teeth.

“What I want is to taste you.”

My hand curled into a fist. “Dammit—”

“I’d do what the lady says.”

Tyler.

I jerked free of the Ass Pincher even as Tyler yanked him away from me.

“I mean it, Reggie,” Tyler said. The charm that had colored his voice earlier was gone, replaced by a steel-edged hardness.

“I—I didn’t realize she was with you, Tyler. Honestly. I mean, she danced with me, and—”

“Sloane shares my interest in supporting charitable causes.”

“What?” Reggie’s brow furrowed. “But this isn’t a charity event, and—” His mouth snapped shut as anger and insult flashed across his face. “I’m the charity? Now, you listen to me, Sharp. No way am I—”

“Yes,” Tyler said smoothly. “You are going. And right now.”

Reggie’s eyes cut to me. “You can do better.”

“Than you? Oh, most definitely.”

It was a low blow, but the guy was a prick, and I felt nothing but satisfaction when I saw the angry red start to creep up his neck. “Fuck it,” he said. “You two deserve each other.”

Tyler turned to me, ignoring Reggie’s retreating back. “First thing that man ever said that’s made any sense at all.”

“I could have gotten rid of him myself.”

“I believe that.” He glanced down at my still-clenched hand. “But I didn’t think Angie would appreciate it if you laid him out. Fancy hotels like this add an up charge to the cleaning fee when blood is involved.”

I laughed. I also relaxed. “Fair enough. And I suppose I should thank you for the rescue. Even though it took you long enough.”

“Is that a criticism?“His hand slipped around my waist, but rather than jerk out of his embrace as I had with Reggie, I had to force myself not to press closer.

“Just an observation.”

He eased us toward the dance floor, then started to sway with the low, slow strains of music. I felt light, as if Tyler’s hands were the only things keeping me anchored.

“I’m glad to hear it,” he said. “Still, I suppose I lost some of my chivalry street cred.”

“A bit.” My voice sounded breathy, and I wanted to close my eyes and melt from the heat that his palm pressed against my naked back was generating.

I’d gotten lost in the swirl of sensations and emotions, and I stumbled blindly, trying to find some sort of rope to draw me back to myself, but failing miserably. I’m not the kind of woman who falls apart in the arms of a man, but right then, I was unraveling. And my dark and scary secret was that I liked the way it felt.

“I suppose I’ll have to earn it back.” His words, whispered at my ear, skittered across my skin like an electric current. They were only sounds, with no meaning attached to them at all. Just the low, sexy tones of his voice.

“Hmm?” I asked stupidly. “Earn what back?”

He chuckled, as if he knew damn well that he was the source of my confusion. “Chivalry. You said I lost some street cred.”

“Oh. Right.” I managed to gather myself, then tilted my face up to look at him. I saw desire behind the blue fire of his eyes, and I wrapped it around me, reveling in its warmth. “I guess you will. I mean, what’s a knight without his chivalrous reputation?”

“For the record, it was worth it to make a point.”

“What point is that?”

His expression changed, and I once again felt trapped in his gaze. As if he didn’t just desire me, but had claimed me for his own. “I didn’t like it when you walked away from me. And I’m guessing you didn’t like me staying away.”

“No,” I admitted. “I didn’t.” I turned my head again, not wanting him to examine my face too closely. Not because I was lying, but because there was more truth in my words than I wanted to admit.

He stroked his hand lightly over my back as we continued to move on the dance floor. I pressed against him and sighed, my body feeling warm and melty.

“Remember that,” he said gently. “And don’t walk away from me again.”

The meltiness hardened into steel as I came to a stop, then stepped out of his arms so I could face him dead on. Around us, other couples continued to swirl, but I barely noticed them. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

“No,” he said simply. “I’m not.” He tugged me back to him, then slid us seamlessly back into the mix of dancing couples.

“You’re pretty damn sure of yourself.”

“Very. What did you think? That walking away was going to wind me up? Was somehow going to make me want you more?” His voice, low and smooth, sent shivers coursing through me. “I’ll tell you a secret, Sloane. I already want you more. I saw you, and I knew I would have you.”

I licked my lips, but stayed silent. In part because I wanted to see where he was going, but also because I couldn’t trust myself to speak.

He paused on the dance floor, then took a single step back so that he could look at me fully. “I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing, but I don’t care.”

I shook my head. “I’m not playing a game.”

“No?” His gaze lingered on my face, and I had to fight the urge to turn away, afraid he’d see the truth in my eyes. “Too bad,” he said. “Because I am. I started playing the moment I saw you.”

I swallowed, not sure if I should run away or wrap myself in his arms. “I don’t understand.”

“Yeah,” he said. “I think you do,” and though his smile was warm, I saw heat and danger in his eyes. “You’re the prize, Sloane. And I’m in it to win.”

“Me?”

“You,” he said. He stepped closer, and the air seemed to shimmer from the intensity of my desire. “Does that excite you, Sloane? Knowing I want you? That I will have you?”

“Yes.” My voice was soft. Breathy. My heart was pounding an unsteady rhythm, and even as the fact of my victory settled over me, it wasn’t celebration that burned in my veins, but heat. A raw, primal heat that I’d never experienced before, but couldn’t deny liking. “God, yes.”

He drew me to him again, his hands at my waist, then easing up to brush the swell of my breasts. I drew in a shuddering breath, and though I wanted to simply close my eyes and let the wave crash over me, rational thought kicked in. “People,” I whispered in protest. “Tyler, there are all these people.”

“Do you care?”

“I—yes. Maybe.”

I felt my cheeks burn as he chuckled. “Fair enough. With me. God, Sloane, with me, now.” His voice sounded as raw as I felt, and as he led me to the far side of the room, maneuvering us through the other dancers, I followed willingly. Eagerly. And a little bit giddily from the simple high of knowing that my plan was in full swing, and I was about to enjoy the perks of my success.

He led me to the back of the restaurant and then through a hidden door into a concrete-walled service corridor lined with rolling tables topped with covered serving dishes. The staging area for the buffet and waitstaff, I realized, though I didn’t have long to think about it. Tyler had me up against the wall, squeezed in tight between two tables, his hands cupped on my breasts.

He gently pinched my already sensitive nipples, and a hot-wire of desire shot from my breasts to my sex. I gasped with pleasure even as I wanted to protest that there were still people around. The waitstaff. A few maids. But somehow, I didn’t care anymore. Somehow, all I wanted was his touch.

“Shall I tell you?” he asked. “Shall I tell you exactly what I want? Exactly what I will have from you?”

His mouth was beside my ear, so close I could feel the brush of his lips as his words teased me. I didn’t want to be entranced—didn’t want to feel my body go soft with longing. But dammit, he was drawing me under, and soon I was going to drown in the swell of his words.

“Shall I go over in intimate detail how I will touch you? The way my fingertips will tease your nipples. How my tongue will dance over the curve of your ear. Will it make you wet to know how hard I am? How much I want to sink deep inside of you.”

I made a little sound. I think I meant it to be a yes.

His hands eased lower, sliding down to my waist, then behind to cup my rear. He drew me in, nestling my sex against his thigh, and pressing so tight against me I could feel the hard bulge of his erection against my lower belly. I reached out to steady myself, and found the edges of two serving tables. I clutched at them, desperate to hold on, because I knew damn well that if I let go, I’d melt into a puddle on the floor.

“I imagine you taste like honey,” Tyler murmured. “And when I slide my tongue between your legs, I’ll lose myself in the sweetness of you. I want to watch your face as the orgasm builds inside you. I want to feel you tremble beneath me. And when you finally explode, I want to hold you in my arms and let my kisses pull you back together.”

I trembled, my body hot and sizzling. I was aroused, my breasts heavy, my sex aching. I wanted his touch—wanted him to do all the things he was saying.

Hell, I simply wanted.

I breathed in. Once, twice. I needed to gather myself, my thoughts. I needed to maintain at least some illusion that he hadn’t completely destroyed me with nothing more than words.

“Wow,” I finally managed. “You don’t waste time, do you?”

His smile was slow and lazy. “As far as I’m concerned, time is the one thing too precious to waste.”

He stroked my cheek, my hair. His fingers twined in my curls as he played and stroked. Tighter and tighter, not enough to hurt, but enough so that I gasped in surprise when he tugged my head back and met my eyes. There was ice in the blue now. A cold, winter storm, the chill of which laced his voice as well. “Tell me the truth, Sloane. Are you wasting my time?”

I felt the blood pump through me, the rush filling my head. Not fear—not really. This was excitement. Challenge. And, yes, a bit of frustration, too, because the victory I’d so greedily claimed had apparently been premature.

“Let go of me,” I said, my voice matching the ice of his eyes. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He released his grip on my hair and took a step back. I used the motion of standing up straight to shake off my nerves. Despite my desperately pounding heart, right then, this was all about playing it cool. Just like in a suspect interrogation, I wasn’t about to let him see that he’d shaken me.

“I know what my game is,” he said. “I’m trying to figure out yours.”

“I’m not playing a game,” I lied.

“Everyone’s playing a game.” There was no humor in his voice.

I said nothing. I’d already denied. Repeating myself would get me nowhere.

“A lot of people want a piece of me, Sloane. What do you want? An introduction? A loan? I want to know why you’re here. I want to know what you want.”

Slowly, I shook my head. “I’m not gold-digging, if that’s what you think. And I already told you what I want. Hell, you’ve already told me what I want.” I took a single step forward, then pressed my hand over his cock, hard inside his tailored slacks.

I watched his face as I touched him, not moving, simply touching. “‘I want to feel you tremble beneath me.’ That’s what you said. That’s what I want, too. Christ, Tyler, isn’t it obvious what I want? Why I came here? I want you.”

Beneath my hand, I felt his cock stiffen. He glanced down, then back at me. His face was all hard lines and angles, as if he was fighting for control. “Don’t move,” he said. “Don’t even breathe.”

“I—”

“No.” His finger pressed against my lip before skimming downward. Over my chin, down my neck until he delicately traced my collarbone. Then lower, teasing my nipple with slow circles as I sucked in air and bit my lip in defense against the sounds of pleasure that wanted so desperately to escape.

The bodice was a halter, with two triangles of material attached to the waist, then rising up to tie behind my neck. He followed the material up, his finger skimming under the bow at the base of my neck.

“Shall I untie it? Let it fall? Shall I close my mouth over your bare breast right now, tease your nipple between my teeth? Tell me the truth, Sloane, would that make you hot?”

I swallowed. My mouth was so dry. I thought of the waitstaff. Of camera phones. Of the Internet and the image of us, his mouth on my breast, my head back, my lips parted in pleasure. I thought of it, and I felt the quickening in my belly. The clenching in my sex.

I thought—and I whispered the only answer I could. “Yes.”

“Good girl,” he said, as his hand sneaked down, leaving my dress intact. I breathed a sigh of relief, then gasped as he traced his way down my cleavage, his hand slipping beneath the material just long enough for his fingers to tease and for the heat of his palm to cup my breast.

“Tyler,” I moaned when he withdrew his hand, leaving me clutching the tables on either side of me, because if I let go, I would surely fall.

“Hush,” he said, as he moved closer. His hand snaked around my waist to find the zipper at the back of the dress, then slowly eased it down. “Now spread your legs,” he ordered as he slid his palm inside my dress, over my lower back, and then down to the curve of my ass.

I wore a stretchy lace thong, and he stroked my bare skin before finding the thin, damp strip of material between my legs and tugging it aside. I heard the desperate sound of my own whimper as he teased me, then sucked in a gasp as he slid a finger easily inside me and my body clenched tight around him.

He groaned in satisfaction. “Christ, you’re wet,” he said, his voice raw. “I don’t doubt you want me, Sloane. And god knows I want you, too.” He stroked my sex once, twice, then withdrew his hand, and I had to bite my lower lip in order to silence my protest. “But there’s something else going on in that pretty head of yours,” he added, as he zipped up my dress, leaving me wanting and confused and frustrated. “And I will find out your secret.”

He stepped back from me, then paused to look me up and down. I could only imagine what he saw. Clothes askew. Skin flushed. But I lifted my head, determined to hold my own.

He moved to the door, and pulled it part of the way open. The sounds of the party wafted in, echoing in the service hall. His eyes locked on mine, and for a moment I saw the true depth and power of this man who held so much of Chicago in his hand.

“I’ll give you what you want, Sloane,” he said. “What we both want. But think long and hard before you come to me. There are things that I like. Things that I want and expect from the woman in my bed. And I don’t play by anyone’s rules but my own.”