Brutally Beautiful (4 page)

The job had got her into a government agency, and it had got her tuition assistance at the university to pursue her studies. That was why Nolan Bennick had chosen her for this assignment. She had a ready-made connection with Nick Taylor; they attended the same university but different departments.

The man who’d taken her home last night looked like no poetry lecturer she’d ever met. Poetry? She checked the form. Yep, that was what it said.

If she saw Nick again and went to bed with him, she’d be violating ethical guidelines unless she signed off on him. Before she got involved, she had to think rationally, consider if she should consider taking the case any further.

After a few minutes concentrated thought, she couldn’t see any reason not to do so. So he went to a sex club. The place was legal. Nothing rang alarm bells in her mind. He’d come over to the States nearly five years ago, done his studies at the university where he now did some part-time teaching while waiting for the results of his PhD. He had money, but a good reason for having it. A legacy, a substantial one. Since he was older than the average student, that probably accounted for the delay in his studies. His parents died, or a relative, and he used the money to fulfill his life’s dream. His employment history before he came over here seemed fine, schoolteacher for the most part. The only thing she found astonishing was the sheer power and charisma he had in person, but she couldn’t reject his application because of that.

The phone on her desk rang. “Yes?” she said into the receiver.

“Come into my office and bring the Taylor files. I want to know how it went last night.” Nolan’s deep and resonant voice boomed at her.

After gathering up her files on Nick, she crossed the large open-plan office and entered the smaller one occupied by Nolan Bennick, a handsome African American man with a smile as broad as James Earl Jones playing a genial uncle. Nevertheless, she had her doubts where he was concerned. Somehow he was too friendly, too accommodating. “Did it go well?”

“Fine.” She took the seat in front of his desk and dropped the files on it, pushing aside a couple of empty cardboard coffee cups. “It was like you said. Simulated sex, a bit close but no penetration. Useful for my paper, but not really helpful for the report. And Taylor was there.”

Nolan leaned forward. “So walk me through it.”

Her first decision. Tell him? She’d better get it out in the open. “Nothing unusual for a place like that. Someone tried to drop a roofie in my drink. Taylor stopped him, and the owner of the club apologized.”

Nolan frowned and steepled his fingers, studying her carefully. “Any reason to suspect them?”

She’d already considered that possibility. She shook her head. “They took me to the office until the taxi arrived. They could have done anything to me then, offered me a bribe if they’d wanted to, tried to attack me, but they didn’t. The manager was upset, and promised me it wouldn’t happen again, if I went back. No hint that they knew why I was really there.”

He pursed his lips, leaning back. “So you’re sure your cover is intact. You watched Taylor carefully? Observed his body language?”

“Yes.” She had no doubts about that, but just the mention of body language had made her heat and her pussy dampen. That cock had filled out Nick’s pants beautifully. She could see it now, as clear as if he stood in front of her. Oh shit, she couldn’t think about that here.

“Okay.” Nolan made the word long. “I think we’re done with this one. Thanks for your good work.”

She was off the case and off the hook. Maybe she should tell Nolan about her date with Nick, but it looked like he was out of the department too, and his application would go through. No need to tell her boss why she was there last night. After all, it was only one date, wasn’t it?

Even while she told herself that, she knew it was bull.

* * * *

Nick turned up on her doorstep promptly at ten on Thursday, as promised in the text he’d sent her. He’d asked her to dinner beforehand, but, not knowing how much of Nick she could take all at once, she’d declined. Gen was ready, wearing her best. Not the red dress from Monday night, but a midnight-blue, bias-cut dress that consequently clung to her body like a loving friend. Not tacky. She’d bought it the day before, after finding something wrong with everything hanging in her closet.

When she opened the door, her breath caught in her throat. He gave her a slow up and down, something she wouldn’t have accepted from any other man. When Nick did it, she urged to preen for him like some mindless bimbo.

He didn’t seem to notice. Probably a good thing. But he did smile, slow and sultry. “Ready?” He still didn’t look like a poetry lecturer. He’d matched the same leather jacket with a dark blue shirt and black pants. Mouthwatering, especially the way the pants molded the shape of his powerful thighs.

She stepped out the door and pulled it closed behind her before securing the double lock. He had a taxi waiting by the curb, its engine idling. When he put his hand to the small of her back to guide her into the cab, she shivered. He shouldn’t have felt it through her dress and jacket, but he stopped and turned her to face him. “Something wrong?”

She swallowed. “Just nerves. I’ve never seen something that—well, you know.” She really was nervous but not because of watching people fuck. The nervousness came from his proximity.

He gazed at her, his eyes grave. “Do you want to go somewhere else? Go to a regular club, go dancing?”

“You dance?”

“Sure I dance.” He waited for her as if they had all night.

She shook her head. “No, I want to see this.” She did; she truly did.

“You do, don’t you?” Leaning closer, he snatched a quick kiss, and just like that she melted. Putting her hands on his arms, she moved closer until the warmth of his body seeped into hers. Closeness, intimacy, she felt all that with him. Gently, he finished the kiss and guided her away. “Let’s get going, shall we?”

In ten minutes they were walking into Bared. Like most clubs, its entrance was narrow, presumably to throttle the flow of guests if there was trouble, but she’d seen no locks on the fire exits, which as far as she could tell were plentiful, and the back of the club had its own doors. No regulations broken. She’d even seen the barman check someone’s ID the last time she’d been here. Odell worked hard to keep everything legal—except for the activities upstairs in the private part of the club.

Girls danced around their poles, some naked, some wearing thongs. She stopped and watched. She’d tried sex with a woman, and while it wasn’t for her, she enjoyed the sight of a female body working hard. It just didn’t turn her on; that was all. A wicked murmur brushed her ear with heat. “Would you like to do that? Dance naked?”

Immediately her arousal ratcheted, and she had to fight to hide the visual evidence. “I don’t know. Would you like me to?”

She glanced at the stage, imagined herself dressed in something scanty, busting moves for the clientele. They’d watch her every sway, waiting for her to get naked. Thong on or off? Not all the girls got completely naked. The audience would wait, watch, and she’d tease them, do some crotch thrusting before she decided whether to flash them some pussy, make them slaver for her. Then she’d walk off, exaggerating her hip sway, giving them glimpses, but not a blatant look.

Wow. She always knew she had a bit of a thing for exhibitionism, but not something that turned her on this powerfully. What racked the fantasy up to stellar stood next to her, the big, powerful male. Unable to stop her, but watching her, desperate for her to look at him, to pay him extra attention.

Every cell in her body perked up and came to attention. The familiar urge to rub her thighs together to ease the tension in her pussy came on her, but she forced her mind away.

Fuck, she’d have to save that fantasy for when she needed it. When this man wasn’t here to fuel her dreams. She turned back to him, trying for nonchalant teasing, nothing deep and heavy. Not yet.

“It’d turn me on to see it, yeah.” She liked his easy assurance. “Let’s get a drink. Or would you like to go straight up?”

She considered. “I think I’d like to go up. I’ve seen this part.”

He chuckled. “As the lady wishes.”

Fuck, she loved that accent and the way he said it as if she were a countess or something. Instead of guiding her, he took her hand and led her. Already she felt—not comfortable, never that—safe with him. Ah no, she couldn’t let down her guard that way. While the club might be safe, Nick Taylor was far from it. About as much as a hunting leopard was safe. No proof, but up close and personal, he just
felt
dangerous, sent out an aura of menace.

Upstairs proved to be through two more doors, each guarded by a suited bouncer. Neither door seemed to be anything special, but once up the narrow staircase the hallway widened, doors opening off either side. Nick led her to the one at the end, guarded by yet another big guy, who opened it with a smile and ushered them in.

She stood in a room about half the size of the club downstairs, filled with comfortably upholstered, high-backed sofas, set facing each other like booths in a diner. Small tables were dotted around, presumably to hold drinks since there was a bar on one side of the room. The small raised area at the end was currently empty and dark. Mood lighting enhanced the atmosphere of restless anticipation.

Nick took her to the only unoccupied booth in the room before going to the bar and coming back with a couple of drinks. She’d asked for a tall vodka and cranberry, and it came served in a tall glass with black straws and ice. Good quality spirit too, she decided after her first sip. He sat next to her. “It’s very remiss of me, but I should have told you the minute I saw you that you look beautiful tonight.”

“Thanks.” Again, that instinct to preen surprised her.

“Here’s the deal. There’s a camera outside recording everyone who comes and goes from this room. Normally, it’s the only way in and out. There are cameras trained onto the stage, to record what happens there. People can buy copies if they want. No private photos can be taken in here, not even of each other. That’s because some people who come here want their privacy.”

“Wow.” That meant important people could come here. The place certainly hadn’t stinted on the decor. Downstairs was comfortable, but this was positively luxurious. She couldn’t make out anyone in the gloom, only shadowy figures, sometimes more than two in a booth. “Do they…you know?” A wave of shy embarrassment swept over her, sending heat through her body. Why, she didn’t know. Except—the thought of what they might be doing before the evening ended had an effect on her mood.

“Yes, sometimes they fuck.” He grinned. “Maybe we will. What do you think?”

She swallowed; although he’d said it lightly, he meant it. His eyes burned into hers, searing his desire deep into her. “I-I don’t know.”

“We’ll take it slow.” He covered her hand with his where it lay on the table. “I want you, Gen.”

She didn’t withdraw her hand, didn’t look away. “I want you too.” That simple statement had taken all her courage. Investigation, posing as someone else; that was one thing, but here she was opening herself and investigating a part of her she hadn’t explored before. And he knew it. She didn’t have to tell him, because he knew. She could see it. “But not here,” she added. “Not tonight.”

“Which part of that do you mean?” he said. “Not here or not tonight?”

“Both, neither. One of the above.” She laughed when he smiled. “Not here tonight.”

“Okay.” He leaned back, lifting his arm to rest it over her shoulders. Pausing only to shrug her jacket off, she took his invitation and nestled close against his hard body. Muscles shifted as he moved to make them both comfortable.

The lights went down.

Tonight’s show wasn’t Freda and Alberto. Instead, lights above the stage spelled out ONCE UPON A TIME WITH PRINCESS LILY and the show began.

A woman stepped onto the stage, followed by a man who placed a throne-like chair down. She deigned to use it. She was dressed like a princess, with a crown and an enveloping mantle, creating curiosity. What did she have on under it? Nothing?

In a dramatic gesture, she swept the robe aside, revealing a gown very much like a prom dress—except it was transparent. The folds nestled against her body, the bright spotlight emphasizing the gauziness of the fabric. Her long blonde hair curled around her, much too abundant and golden to be entirely natural. Her breasts were full, round, and—to Gen’s eyes—obviously artificially. Her pussy was bare, the cleft easily visible, perhaps even enhanced by makeup.

Princess Lily swept her gaze around as if studying her court, then put up her chin and beckoned.

The man who’d carried the chair dropped to his knees before her. Since all he wore was an Egyptian-style skirt, he gave them a great view of his ass when he bent. His balls swung below, bare like her pussy. “Shit, that must hurt,” she murmured.

“What must?”

“Waxing balls.”

“Oh yeah. Makes them sore.”

She turned her head to regard him with shock. “You’ve done it?”

He grinned and shrugged. “Can’t say it’s an experience I want to repeat. Some women don’t like hair on their men.” She shared his smile, and he drew her close for a soft kiss before releasing her so she could settle in the shelter of his arm once more. He took her hand, put it on his leg. She didn’t move it away. His thigh, hard and muscled, pulsed heat. If she moved her hand up a little, she’d have his cock. The thought heated her, and she chose not to do it because she was enjoying the anticipation too much.

The princess was enjoying her suitor’s pose. Leaving him there, she beckoned again, and another man came into view, dressed as a Scot. At least he wore a kilt and sporran, with tartan socks and black boots. Nothing else. He swirled, making his kilt lift, giving the audience a great view of his assets.

He knelt too, and Gen savored the sight of two men’s beautiful legs, although she couldn’t see more than the very edge of the Scotsman’s balls—enough to know he was naked, but that was all.

The third suitor wore nothing but a thong and laces that crisscrossed his body, bondage-style. Gen wondered what kind of suitor he was, but she couldn’t deny he looked mouthwateringly good. His cock, erect or padded under the leather, was ready to go. His skin was the dark caramel of a Latin American, his hair black, his eyes dark.