Electrified (14 page)

Yeah, he got wood from that version of Sienna, too, but his mind was as equally stimulated as his body by the time he left the coffee shop.

Carson had been the best of the best in the FBI. He was the guy who could read a person better than anyone else, yet he must be losing his edge. An hour with Sienna, or whatever her name might really be, and he was questioning the only thing he knew for sure about himself—that he wasn’t a commitment kind of guy.

His thoughts flew around his brain so quickly, he could barely keep up with himself. Jesus Christ. How did he get so freaking obsessed with an adult dancer?

“I just hope you trust me enough one day to allow me to do the protecting.”

Really? He couldn’t believe he’d actually said that. And meant it.

He needed to go out, and not to the Electric Tunnel. Thankfully that was already predetermined; she didn’t want him there. He was wound too tightly with this crazy case of the missing cult member. He didn’t like the people who hired him, and he was beginning to resent looking for the person. He didn’t like the clients, didn’t want their money anymore.

He just wanted to move the fuck on…with Sienna.

Nothing about her outside the club said stripper. Her eyes were all innocence. Clear, blue, wide, and open to life, her eyes weren’t those of someone hardened by selling herself. She had looked so young and pure wearing that ball cap with her hair pulled back, her face practically bare, as if she had nothing to hide.

Come on, Carson, put two and two together. The innocent look can’t be real. Is it just an act to reel in a guy?

His initial pull toward her at the club had been purely sexual. He was a warm-blooded male in need of an orgasm, and he liked her, wanted her in that way. The way that involved hot, steamy, sweaty sex without getting tangled up in each other’s lives.

Meeting her outside the Tunnel was a bad idea, as it brought other latent needs to the surface for him. Desires he’d never had before. All of a sudden he wanted to get to know her, protect her, let her into his life. And she was a stripper.

Carson turned the volume down on the TV and tossed the remote aside, then poured himself another scotch and tossed it back, biting against the burn it brought.

He needed to solve this whole West Coast case and get back to Philly, to his actual life. His life with no one significant in it, but at least he had his bachelor pad, good takeout nearby, his motorcycle, and the occasional date. He didn’t even have the agency to worry about anymore; he was a one-man show. He made his own decisions and rules, both in work and in life.

For some reason this stripper, Sienna, was making him abandon all his own rules, but until he got back to all that was great about the bachelor life in Philadelphia, there was nothing wrong with getting to know her. She was an enigma and the investigator—screw that, the man—in him wanted to know more. His dick wanted to know her from the moment he saw her, and now after talking with her, he was even needier.

He felt the insatiable urge to dive into her head-on, body and mind, and take whatever she would give him, all the while knowing he would be asking for more. But she’d made it very clear that sex with her wasn’t on the menu just yet, which left him with two choices at the moment.

Another woman, or his hand. Again. Fucking hell.

Since he was only a few fingers of scotch in, he decided to step downstairs and see what was going on in the hotel bar, have one more drink, then consider the possibilities.

He was pretty sure that made him an asshole.

Yeah, definitely a jerk.

Ignoring his conscience, Carson dressed to go play some table games in the casino. He was burning up with a feeling he didn’t quite recognize, nor was he sure he liked very much. Jealousy lodged like a bad case of heartburn in his chest as he thought of Sienna dancing tonight, and everyone but him watching her on the stage. He imagined hundreds of other men salivating over her.

Christ, she was a dancer. That happened every night because it was her job to take her clothes off and dance sexually, to make men’s mouths water, and allow them to go home and jerk off to thoughts of her.

Men just like him, only he was dumb enough to pursue the fantasy and think he had a chance of scoring with her.

After a few rounds of blackjack, Carson stepped away to check his cell phone and found he had a voice mail from a number back east. His client, of course. Saturday night brought the end of their weekend, and they would want a progress report, as well as his plan for the following week.

Hell, it was still the goddamn weekend for him, and he was going to enjoy it. They could wait until
his
fucking weekend was over.

Carson went back to the table, ordered a scotch with some water this time, and placed his bet. He was up for the night, letting loose for the first time that day, and placing some high-stakes bets when a gorgeous redhead sat down next to him.

“Hey,” she said.

Carson slid a sideways glance at the woman and gestured for another card. “Hey.”

“You look like you’re doing pretty well tonight,” she said, eyeing his chips.

He shrugged. “Yeah.”

She tilted her head and offered her name. “Madalyn.”

“Carson,” he responded.

She leaned in and he caught a whiff of her arousal. Rather than being disgusted at the scent of sex permeating from her body, he felt exhilarated.
About fucking time I’m turning someone on.
He had been so strung out at being constantly aroused the last few weeks, that he failed to realize he was hardly the one making this woman hot and bothered until it was too late.

“Want to quit while you’re ahead? Get a drink?” Madalyn asked.

“Sounds like a plan,” Carson said automatically, then immediately began to regret it. For the second time in a week, he didn’t want to follow through with a heady, lush, and ready woman. This one was on the prowl, and could have suggested a drink to any of the other available men in the casino. It certainly had nothing to do with him.

Since he’d already agreed to the drink, Carson cashed out and walked over to the small lounge with Madalyn, not his normal haunt. The two of them found seats along the ornate marble bar lined with expensive liquor. He imagined Victor would be rolling his eyes at him having drinks with yet another overly-willing woman if they had chosen his bar instead of this more formal, Grecian goddess-themed one.

After ordering, Carson tried to engage in conversation with the woman, but she kept purring and cooing while rubbing her hand up and down his chest in the same way Lucinda had given him the go-ahead signal. He practically rolled his eyes at this point. He hadn’t even heard one word she said.

What might have turned him on a few months ago seemed pathetic and desperate at the moment. He wasn’t even getting any movement down below from a willing and able woman running her hands all over him. In fact, her behavior was making him sick to his stomach.

Carson leaned back slightly, then picked up Madalyn’s hand that was sliding its way toward no-man’s land and placed it back on the bar, thinking how different her pawing was from Sienna’s sweet demeanor. This woman was like a lovesick puppy, trying to crawl her way into bed with her new owner.

Madalyn gave him a practiced little pout, then brushed her breast against his arm as she leaned over and asked, “Are you staying here? Let’s go up to your room.”

Shit, she’s desperate…and it’s fucking gross.

He couldn’t do it. He was whipped by a woman he’d only shared a cup of coffee with. A woman who put her naked body on display for any man to see, yet seemed innocent, untouched, and genuine, which was diametrically opposed to her stage personality. A woman who had shyly declared, “I’m not fast.”

His mind made up, Carson gestured to the bartender for his check. “You know what? I’m sorry, Madalyn, but I’m not feeling it. Really sorry, but I’m going to go back to the blackjack table.”

Watching the aggressive ginger strut away from the bar looking for another wealthy stud really stirred up shit again for Carson. Normally, he would have contemplated whether she was a natural redhead or not, but tonight his thoughts were on a blonde. A blonde he couldn’t care less whether she was natural or not. He wanted her no matter what secrets she was packing. They couldn’t be worse than a bad ex-boyfriend in her past, and a good hairdresser on speed dial.

Carson rubbed a hand over his face, tossed back the remnants of his drink, grabbed his chips, and headed to the elevator. Time for bed. He had to put thoughts of Sienna to sleep for the night.

Good luck with that
.

He was less than successful in saying good night to the Sienna in his mind. Her soft skin and delicious curves filled his thoughts. The way she’d said, “You’re handsome,” in that hushed tone that was so seductive, yet seemed so innocent. It was borderline shy. Much like the contradiction between her face and body, her personality reflected a much more intriguing person than her celebrity persona suggested.

At the club, she wore a sexual little pout while she danced. But when they were having coffee, her mouth was relaxed and natural, downright delectable, desirable. The small smile she had flashed him was bright, and her lips were full.

Carson wanted those lips on him. All over him.

S
IENNA WAS
half-dazed by the time the town car came to pick her up before work on Saturday night. She was in such a haze that even Simon asked her if she was feeling well.

She told herself to snap out of her funk as she entered the club through the back door, and was happy to see Petey at the rear entrance. He was looking rough and impassive as usual in his leather jeans, white T-shirt wrapped tightly around his biceps, and silver chains dangling from his belt loop to his pocket. Petey minded his own business, and Sienna was in no mood to deal with mother-hen Mike now. She had given him his coffee earlier in the parking lot of the coffee shop, and had sent him on his way before he could ask too many questions.

Putting on her unflappable and confident face, Sienna walked like a gazelle into the club. With long strides, her hair loose and swaying behind her, she decided to put Carson in the back of her mind. She was an exotic dancer, adult entertainer, and half owner of a gentleman’s club. She wasn’t the type of woman men wanted to form a lifelong commitment with.

Men wanted sex from her. Only sex. Sex with “Sienna Flower,” without even really knowing who she was. Or all she could be if she weren’t hiding.

Normally the thought of sex, especially sex without strings, turned Sienna off, which was why she was so inexperienced. If she wanted, she could have a different flavor of man every night of the week.

Settled at her vanity, carefully applying her makeup, she only glanced up from time to time when she heard footsteps outside her dressing room door. Except no one ever knocked or entered. Wishing one of the girls would come by and give her a report on the floor, Sienna realized she was only looking for an excuse to talk to someone, get her head out of the gutter, and put her one-track thoughts to rest.

She actually had to reapply her eyeliner four times because she jumped each time she heard feet approach, and she would smear black glitter clear across her cheek. The sexual banter in her head wasn’t helping matters. The mere thought of a certain man’s hands touching her were making her body quiver.

With Carson, she was starting to believe she could be persuaded to take a taste test, and this was precisely what was so troubling. She was sexually attracted to Carson in a way she’d never been to anyone else. Ever.

She had no idea why or what sparked the change. Perhaps because he was drop-dead gorgeous with a strong exterior, but clearly not indifferent to feelings on the inside?

Which is a hundred percent different from the man I’m still married to.

Carson was a real man, and all man at that, physically fit with broad, thick muscles. He was confident with a touch of arrogance, yet kind at the same time. His eyes were like a dark pool with moonlight shining down through them, and so compelling it was hard to pull your gaze away. She itched to touch his tanned skin and explore that mysterious tattoo she’d only seen glimpses of. And his hair, oh how she wanted to thread her fingers through those dark waves. Carson was an attractive package, and she liked it all a little too much.

He would be her flavor of choice if she could pick one, and she wanted a nice, long lick.

Sienna knew it was really her mind playing tricks on her. Forbidden fruit was only desirable because you couldn’t have it. Carson was intriguing because he was so different from any of the boys she knew while growing up. Those boys were slight, bony, messy, unkempt, and boring. There were definitely no tattoos to be found anywhere on their bodies; it simply wasn’t allowed.

She gave up on makeup for the moment and moved to her soft purple velour chaise. She didn’t know why it had to match the rest of the club. No one ever came back to her room other than the girls or Asher, but it did. She reclined on the sumptuous fabric, smoothing her hands down its plush sides, letting her head fall back, and sighing deeply. She had no idea what was happening to her mind. She resigned herself to the fact she couldn’t stop herself. Her heart was on its own path, just like her fingers trailing up and down the sofa, making their way back and forth, skimming the edges of her thighs, leaving soft touches here and there, perhaps even reminders of what she really wanted.

God, was she one of those women who chased after bad boys? No, she was just lonely. If she really thought about it, she’d been lonely her entire life. Growing up with an austere, devout father concerned with impressing the neighbors, a mother who made her father’s happiness her main role, and three brothers who had paid no attention to her since she was a girl, she hadn’t felt much affection.

Then there was the man she was arranged to marry. No love and affection lost there. Her husband was the type of man her parents wanted for her—a religious man from a wealthy family with good standing in the community who would provide her with the best. She was expected to make a life and babies with him. Her parents demanded nothing less.