Brutally Beautiful (2 page)

Alberto wore the least he could get away with, a barely there pouch that covered his erect and impressive cock, the fabric so fine it might as well not have been there.

Nick glanced at the woman at the other end of the bar to see how she was enjoying the show. Good though Freda and Alberto were, he’d seen them already. He hadn’t seen this woman’s reaction before, and he intended to enjoy it.

The light was clearer here, the extra spots behind the bar illuminating the people near it. He didn’t miss the flush that had risen to her cheeks, emphasizing her high cheekbones and fine features. Until now, the act had done nothing but engage his admiration. That was before he’d looked at the woman in the dark red dress. He saw the distinct shape of her erect nipples under the silk, and she’d crossed her legs, probably to squeeze them together and bring her pussy some relief. When she got home, would she use an aid or just her fingers to bring herself to orgasm? His mouth watered as he imagined watching her doing it, watching with her acceptance. She’d glance at him to ensure his complete attention, and hold his gaze while she worked herself in the way she liked best to climax.

Nick’s cock rose, filling and pressing against the zipper of his pants. Instead of hiding it, he leaned back against the bar, resting both elbows on the wooden surface behind him. The action pushed his pelvis forward so he displayed his shaft like a fighting cock putting up its ruff. She could look if she wanted to. He invited it. He wasn’t ashamed of what he owned and what he could do with it. He wanted to see her reaction to that too. Women usually teased men. No reason he couldn’t turn that around and make her suffer a little bit.

As if she couldn’t prevent herself doing it, her avid gaze crept down his body, arousing him to a point he hadn’t experienced recently. All without touching him. He’d let her stroke him, circle the base of his cock with her hands, and finally take it into her mouth.

Then he’d pull away, taunt her for a while before letting her back. Drive them both crazy.
Mmm, nice.

Too close. His breath short, Nick tore his attention away from the temptress at the bar and back to the couple on the stage who were now doing what they did best. This he could cope with. Moody Argentinian accordions played in the background as Freda slid down her partner’s powerfully built form. She paused to run her wicked fingernails over his cock, clawing her fingers to score the sensitive skin under the thin fabric.

Alberto pulled her away, and she panted, opened her mouth, but he brought her up and kissed her, an openmouthed kiss, their tongues exploring each other.

Nick breathed in deeply, reached for his drink, changed his mind. He hadn’t watched the glass closely enough. Onstage, Alberto brought Freda down on his cock, and they turned the dance into a long and sinuous bout of simulated sex.

Giving the woman at the bar something to think about. Under control again, Nick dared another look, just as she did exactly the same thing.

Eye contact. Sizzling. Fuck, he could get something really interesting going with her. Fill a few empty hours. If she felt the same, then they were on.

This time he smiled, feeling his lips curve and his eyelids droop into a sensuous invitation that was hers to accept. If she did, he’d have her tonight. Somewhere. Maybe one of the party rooms. Maybe somewhere else. Not his apartment, though. He kept his private rooms private. He’d spent enough years in shared spaces to value his privacy once he’d achieved it.

While the couple on the stage bumped and ground, twisted their dancer’s bodies into impossible contortions, Nick found the cautious glance of the woman at the bar more of a turn-on than anything Freda and Alberto could show him. He was one of the few men in the club who usually finished watching this act without a hard-on tenting his pants. But this wasn’t usual.

He moved so he could see the woman in red with his peripheral vision and still keep his attention on the action on the stage. Less because he was desperate to see it, more because he wanted to see her reaction to it.

He was right. When she thought he wasn’t watching, she shifted, working her thighs over what Nick guessed was an active pussy. Her clit would be full and plump, the color of her slit richer, pinker than normal.
Fuck, yeah
. Her breasts moved, enough to tell him she was wearing a bra, but maybe one of those half-cup things, because he could see her nipples as if she wasn’t wearing anything under her dress. Although she hardly moved at all, that slight shift sent his imagination soaring.

Onstage, Freda worked her body over Alberto’s cock. The man had a great arse, rounded and currently taut with tension. His arms, roped with muscle, strained to hold his partner steady while she worked him. Nick had no idea if Freda and Alberto were partners in real life, but they fit together perfectly onstage. If they weren’t lovers now, they had been in the past. They knew each other’s bodies too well.

Freda and Alberto exited the stage to waves of enthusiastic applause. The poles glided back up, and the girls returned, this time dressed. They’d dance for a while in the fancy underwear that passed as clothes onstage. Then they’d do slow strips, but coordinate with one another so they weren’t all taking their clothes off at the same time.

They didn’t twist and turn with that bored, don’t-want-to-be-here expression on their faces, or the stoned-to-the-eyeballs one he’d seen in similar places. This was a classy joint. Men could bring their women here to learn a few tips. Odell even let the girls run pole-dancing classes in the daytime. Lap dances were with thongs on and no touching. About as straight as these places got these days, although Nick didn’t for one minute assume that everything was on the level here. He’d run a few clubs himself in his time. No more, though. Keeping his head down was the best he could do. In the strange limbo between illegal and going straight, Nick was a hybrid of two spheres—the academic and the underworld. A natural chameleon, he adapted to fit his surroundings.

“Do you plan to talk to her?” Odell asked him.

“Hell, yeah.” No coy pickup line either. No point. He knew what she wanted, and he’d shown her what he could offer her.

“Ask her if she wants a job. If she does for the clients what she’s done for you, she’s got something special. I’ll give her an audition.”

Strangely, anger simmered deep inside Nick, an emotion that didn’t get much exercise these days. He wanted to protect her. Oh, he knew all about protecting his assets, and sometimes in the past that had included women, but this was far more personal, leaving him oddly vulnerable. Used to brushing his finer feelings aside, Nick ignored the urge and grinned at Odell. “I can ask.”

Lights flashed across his face from the swinging lamps that sent colors rippling over the club, and as he turned away to put his drink on the bar, he saw it.

The guy standing next to her, ostensibly waiting for his drink was tipping something into her drink, a clear liquid from a tiny vial. He’d have missed it, but the light glinted on the glass just as Nick turned his head.

In a movement so efficient that most people in the club wouldn’t notice anything wrong, he left his spot and took a couple of long strides so he could clamp his hand over the bastard’s wrist. The guy jerked his elbow back, trying to slam it into Nick’s stomach. Like he wouldn’t be ready for that one. Nick turned to one side, still with his hand over the wrist, and applied pressure, finding the nerve and pinching it. He felt rather than heard the man’s low cry of pain. Nick gave him another squeeze, just to get his point across.

The woman stared at him, her shocked eyes dark and wide in the dim lighting. Odell must have had the strafing lights redirected and the bar lights dimmed, or one of his staff did. Good thinking.

He cursed the necessity of making this move. He’d been so careful to keep a low profile in this place, but now Odell knew for sure that he could take care of himself, and a little more. Couldn’t be helped.

He turned his attention to the would-be attacker. Picking up the bright blue drink the woman had put on the bar at some point, he shoved it at the bastard. “Drink it.”

Horrified, Gen saw Nick Taylor force her blue lagoon down the unwilling guy’s throat by tilting his head back and pressing his wrist again. He must be hitting a nerve, because the guy cried out. Taylor tipped the whole thing, cherry included, into the open mouth and then waited until he swallowed. With a mirthless grin, her savior pulled out the cherry and dropped it in the glass, which he put carefully back on the bar.

Freda and Alberto had fascinated her so much that she’d taken her attention away from her drink, the very thing she wasn’t supposed to do in a nightclub, however respectable. Furious with herself for letting her guard down even for a minute, she grabbed her little purse from its resting place in her lap, scrambled off her bar stool—none too gracefully—and headed for the exit. Being at the center of a fight was the last thing she needed, and this situation was showing every indication of becoming just that.

She didn’t get far. Blocking her path stood a powerful African American male in a white shirt and dark pants, his face wreathed in an urbane smile. “If you would come this way, I’m sure we can clear this up.” He offered his arm in a courteous, almost old-world manner. She had no choice but to take it and let him lead her toward a private door set in a shallow alcove to one side of the bar. Had they made her after all? Would they offer her a bribe, threaten her? If she used her initiative well, it would look good on her record.

Smooth and attractive though he was, he didn’t engage her attention right now. That belonged to the man in front of them, currently with one arm locked around the neck of the guy who had done—what? Bewildered, she could only guess what had happened.

The African American man took her to an office with comfortable but not exceptional furniture. He led her to a well-worn leather sofa, and she sank down gratefully into its softness.

“I’m Odell Prejean, and I own this club. Would you like a drink to replace the one you lost?”

She began to shake her head but then changed her mind. What the fuck? Alcohol would work for her right now. “Tequila, if you have it.”

He shot her a crooked smile. “I can mix you a blue lagoon if you want.”

She shuddered. “I’ll pass on that, thank you.”

He gave her a tequila on the rocks, and she sipped it gratefully. “So what exactly happened back there?”

“Someone tried to drug your drink.” Instead of taking a seat behind his desk, he perched on the side, far enough away for her not to feel threatened, but maybe a little bit intimidated. “I want to apologize and assure you that you’ll be perfectly safe here any time you wish to grace my club with your presence. I will personally see to it.”

“He wants to offer you a job.”

Her heart leaped at the dark, amused tones. She hadn’t heard him come in, stealthy and silent like a cat. She jerked her head to look at the big man from out front, the one who’d shamelessly flaunted his cock. Amazing how quietly he could move. Their gazes met for an instant before hers skittered away, turning her attention back to her drink. Ice clinked against the glass as she steadied her hand. He unnerved her like nobody else, as if he could read her soul. She barely believed in souls, but he made her aware that she had one.

Bad. Very bad, especially considering he was her target tonight, the reason she’d come to Bared. She’d recognized him instantly, even though he looked very different from his ID photo in the files in her office. Different hairstyle for one thing, and no student-y clothes. The air of danger and command he exuded in person made her understand why her boss had his doubts. Nick Taylor seemed bigger than he looked in his photograph, and this time she was talking about more than his cock. Hidden depths. But then a lot of people chose not to put everything up front.

She glanced up and caught Odell’s glare, but he didn’t aim it at her. When he turned his attention back to her, his dark eyes were soft and friendly. “This is—”

“Nick. Nick Taylor.” He held out his hand, clearly expecting her to take it. She drew a deep, bracing breath and placed her hand in his.

Nothing had prepared her for this raw magnetism, a vitality such as she’d never encountered before. Warmth enveloped her, together with an edge of danger. Strange bedfellows, safety and danger. When she raised her eyes to meet his gaze, she saw an unguarded…something. A warning? He couldn’t know why she was here, surely. The dark hair, smoothly and neatly brushed back, the simple, expensive-looking clothes said nothing at all. Only those eyes, those dark blue eyes, revealed hints of humanity. She wet her lips and cursed herself for giving away that little, telling action. “I’m Genevieve—Gen.” No surname, though she didn’t mind giving her first name. She didn’t want either of these powerful males making it their business to research her.

Nick’s expression sharpened, but his lips relaxed into a smile. “Pleased to meet you, Gen.” Only then did he release her hand, but worse, when she sat, he took a seat next to her. She was sitting between the two men, two gorgeous specimens: Odell perched on his desk, Nick next to her on the sofa. She’d dreamed about situations like this, but not precisely in this way. For a start, in her dreams the men were naked.

So not the time, but she guessed the return of one of her fantasies meant her shock and anger were dissipating. How could she have let it happen? Self-protection 101 had
Keep an eye on your drink at all times
its number one precept.

“Sorry it had to be in these circumstances,” he—Nick—said.

Fuck, she couldn’t afford this attraction. She’d come here to watch him, report back to her boss, and that would be the end as far as she was concerned. Had to be. “Do you know what the guy put into my drink?”

Nick shrugged, a movement that sent his muscles rippling in a way that made her want to see the motion again, but with no charcoal-gray shirt between her and his skin. She couldn’t think that way, she reminded herself with a shiver.

He glanced at Odell. “I left the glass with one of your guys. Alejandro. He said he’d bag it and label it.”