First Temptation (10 page)

“Fuck.” Taft dropped his arms. His brain immediately searched for alternative plans. They hadn’t expected Picasso tonight. “What kind of security has he got with him?”

“Three beefy bouncer types. He’s wearing shades and a fedora, but…I’m pretty sure…”

Taft pushed off the wall. Alarm heated him from the inside out. He focused in on Zoe through the window again, but it was hard to see her with all the people milling around.

“Call three of the six guys in from the perimeter. And call in for backup.”

Taft made his way through the store toward two other agents, a man and a woman posing as a couple.

“Are we taking him now, Honcho?”

Dalton had dubbed Taft Honcho, short for head honcho. “Not unless it goes to shit. Way too many civilians here. I’ll call the boss, then come out to get her.”

“Copy that,” Dalton returned.

Taft paused before he reached the agents where he could see Zoe out the window and dialed Rio on his cell. She stood with her back toward Taft, encircled by men. And even though the body language of the group was loose and easy, even though the men were smiling and chuckling as Zoe spoke and gestured, Taft’s muscles tensed.

He forced his mind to imagine her as any other female partner. Or another male partner who happened to be small in stature. He couldn’t say the nerves were truly equal. He had to admit there was a personal element to his concern. But he felt better knowing he would still be acting just as cautiously even if it weren’t Zoe. Neither of them could afford to be weak in the heat of things.

“What’s up?” Rio answered.

“The target’s here with three bodyguards.”

“That was fast.”

“Too fast. We’re not prepared. Zoe’s idea was a little too popular. This place is packed. We don’t have enough men or enough of a plan to take him now. I need a team to follow him when he leaves.”

“Hold on.”

Rio got on another phone and ordered an undercover team to rendezvous at the mall with Taft’s agents to tail Picasso, then returned to Taft’s call.

“You got it,” Rio said. “This could work out even better. If we can follow him to where they’ve got him stashed, we can take him there. Keep your eye on him and hold tight. I’ve alerted SWAT.”

Taft pocketed his phone, released a long breath, and approached the agents. The woman, Aurora, had discovered a portable vibrator disguised as a tube of lipstick and was checking the vibration strengths against her palm.

“This is nifty,” she said to Taft when he stopped.

“A good seller too,” he said, still searching for a decent view of Zoe. “Listen, the target’s here.” Both agents instantly focused on Taft. “I don’t know if he’s going to come in, but he’s got muscle with him. I’ve called in guys from the perimeter and backup. But we’re in defense mode, got it? Nothing is going down here tonight. Too many people.”

Both agents nodded.

“I’m going to bring Brooks in and get this party started.”

He felt like he was swimming upstream just to reach the door. He pushed into the warm night air and propped the glass door open, then approached Zoe.

She wore a little slip of a dress—nothing more than a silky, deep-aqua piece of fabric flowing over her slim body and perfect curves, shoulders to high thigh. The sleeveless piece was cut low in the front, low in the back, and Zoe had matched it with spiked black boots that made Taft groan internally every time he looked at them.

He’d been living with a hard-on since she’d come out of the bathroom in the outfit. One that had taken her all of twenty minutes to find when she’d gone out to get something to eat earlier.

Taft didn’t know a woman who could shop for a lottery ticket in twenty minutes, let alone a dress and shoes.

He paused at the center of the pathway where shoppers mingled and addressed the crowd at large. “It’s almost nine o’clock, folks. If you’re staying for the demonstration, now would be the time to find a seat.”

As people filtered into the store, he walked over to Zoe. She smiled at him over her shoulder, her eyes dancing with that spark of excitement that told him she knew who she was talking to. His ribs cinched down around his chest and lungs—but not because of Picasso. Yes, Taft would enjoy grabbing this guy and wringing information from him, but it was the affection in Zoe’s gaze that touched Taft deep inside. Deeper than he’d been touched by a woman in a very, very long time.

He slid one arm around her waist and held one out to Cantos. Then Vasquez. He lifted a casual wave to the other men, all between twenty and thirty-five years old, purposely taking little interest.

“Joining us?” he asked Cantos, fully circling Zoe’s body and pulling her against him. She melted easily into the fit, and Taft kissed her temple. “She’s a fantastic performer.”

Taft hoped. He didn’t doubt, exactly. She’d come through with everything she’d claimed so far. But he’d seen more than a few good law enforcement professionals freeze up at the most inopportune time. Earlier in his career, he’d done it himself. And pole dancing wasn’t exactly a natural talent.

Cantos’s narrowed gaze strayed back to Zoe. “Have you worked in the clubs, señorita?”

Zoe laughed softly. “No. I just took classes for fun. A sexy surprise for Walker.” She lifted her arm and circled his neck. Taft was instantly transported back to her dining room table. To the feel of her bare, wet sex burning his fingers. “But I did have a professional stripper as a teacher.”

God help him.

Taft released her, took her hand, and tugged her toward the door. “Come on, baby. Your fans await.”

She gave the men a finger wave and fell into step beside Taft.

He lowered his head close to hers. “It’s packed in here. Are you good with that?”

“Walker, do you know…? That guy… That’s…that’s…
him
.” She was so excited, so nervous, she could barely get the words out.

He pried his hand from her death grip and wrapped his arm around her shoulders. “Yes, Brooks, I know. Is he coming in?”

“I…” She heaved a breath and looked straight ahead again. “Don’t know. He was quiet. One of those people who sees everything but doesn’t say a lot. He’s a little…different.”

“Don’t worry about him or anything out here. I’ve got it all covered. Plenty of agents and backup. Just focus on being your sexy self. Can you do that with this crowd?”

They passed through the store to the room where she’d installed the portable stripper’s pole and Taft had set up chairs. She stopped suddenly, and Taft looked down. Her gaze scanned the room, which was already standing-room only.

“Holy shit,” she murmured. Then pulled in a breath so deep it raised her shoulders. She lifted her gaze and beamed a smile he hadn’t expected. It hit his solar plexus like a fist of knuckles. She laughed, a nervous, high-pitched sound. “This would be a bad time to tell you I took classes for fitness at an all-girl gym with six students…wouldn’t it?”

He lowered his lids halfway in warning. “I never thought you’d been a stripper, Brooks, but I didn’t expect this many people to show either.”

“You never fail to underestimate me.” She patted his cheek. “Keep the lights
off
the crowd and the music loud.” Her grin turned sultry. Her hand slid down his neck, his chest, his abdomen. “I’ll think about you…about this morning…and everything will be fine.”

She started past him. Without moving, he pulled her back and cleared his throat so he could speak, but surveyed the audience with his gaze.

“You know where the weapons are?”

“Yep.”

“You know where the agents are?”

“Yep.”

“You’ve got plan B and C memorized?”

“Yep.”

He finally gazed down at her, recalling the way she’d rolled her uniform jacket off her shoulders in the café that first morning. “Fitness, huh?”

She grinned. “Yep.”

Movement behind her brought his gaze up. Cantos and his entire crowd sauntered in.

“What?” she whispered. “What is it?”

His mouth kicked up in a smile. “They’re here. Every damn one. Well done, sugar.”

She gave him one of those grins that showed nearly every tooth. One that would have undoubtedly been accompanied with a squeal of excitement had they been in a different setting.

Taft laughed. “God, you are freaking adorable.”

That’s when he saw the flicker of a shadow in her eyes, the oh-shit-can-I-really-do-this doubt cross her mind.

Taft leaned down and pressed his forehead to hers. “You impress the hell out of me, Brooks. Get up there and dance for me.”

He lowered his mouth to hers for a soft kiss. When he released her and lifted his gaze toward the light switches, she gripped the front of his shirt with a fist, slid her other hand behind his head, and pulled his mouth back. And this kiss was 100 percent Zoe—the Zoe he’d tasted this morning.

His groin flooded with heat at the memory, and his heart swelled with the hope of feeling that Zoe again too.

Nine

TAFT GROANED, rolled his tongue over hers, then pulled away before he lost focus. Or she did.

He scraped a hand through her hair and fisted it, a little too tight. “Head on straight?”

Zoe closed her eyes a second. When she opened them, her gaze was clear. Sharp. She gave Taft one nod, and he let her go. Then he located the agents scattered near opposite exits before shutting off the lights.

Zoe took the platform they’d created earlier, with a smile that seemed to have its own light source. She stretched one arm high on the pole and leaned her body toward the metal as she introduced herself and explained pole dancing with the charisma of an inspirational speaker. She accompanied her talk with a sexy stroll around the pole, never taking her hand off the brass bar, all the time caressing the shiny surface.

Just the look on her face, the way she moved, the
click…click…click
of her boots on the platform made Taft hot. And he wasn’t the only one. When he checked on Cantos’s gang, he found them riveted.

When she faced the pole and reached high, placing both hands on the metal—the signal for Taft to start the music—her body curved lazily.

The store’s speaker system poured out a soft female voice with electronic enhancement announcing, “It’s Britney bitch…”

A deep, sexy bass immediately followed, filling the room with a thick pulse. The effect jolted awareness through Taft’s body, leaving a sizzling trail of sensation from his neck to his groin.

Zoe began her dance the same way, soft, sexy, and hot. She lifted her body in a straight line to the top third of the brass with what looked like absolutely no effort, hooked one bent knee on the pole in a smooth, elegant move, and hugged the bar close as she spun easily, once, twice, three times. Then came out of the last spin and let go, slowly arching backward, one arm extended overhead, eyes closed.

Taft’s heart thudded quick and hard. She definitely knew what she was doing, and he didn’t want to pull his gaze from the sheer elegance of her body, but had to.

Swallowing to wet his dry throat, he scanned the room before studying Cantos and crew, hovering at the back of the crowd. As if Cantos felt Taft’s gaze, he glanced sideways until their eyes met, then tipped his head, silently calling Taft over.

Taft didn’t immediately respond. He refocused on Zoe just as her feet touched the floor again. With her back to the pole now, arms overhead, she caressed her hands down the brass the way every man in this place wished she was stroking their cock—Taft included. She pulled the clip from her hair, and as she continued toward the floor, it spilled everywhere.

Cheers and applause rose from the audience. Cat calls. Whistles.

With her back rigid against the pole, she inched toward the floor. Splayed her knees wider. Her skirt rode higher. And tiny black panties—so tiny they barely covered that perfect peach-fuzz pussy he wanted to taste—crept into view.

The crowd went wild.

Taft’s body joined in, and he swore under his breath.

Zoe rose to her feet, every glorious inch of her body stretched back against the bar, the clingy turquoise outlining her curves and planes. With her back to the pole, her arms overhead, she lifted herself into another effortless spin, tilting her head and curving her spine around the bar. Her body bowed toward the audience, head back, eyes closed, and her hair cascaded in the air behind her.

He could watch her for hours. She was mesmerizing.

Which was why he had to stop watching her.

Taft’s cock pulsed beneath his jeans as he made his way through the audience. He checked the position of agents, evaluated the crowd and gritted his teeth when they cheered or hooted for another of Zoe’s sinful moves.

When he stopped, Taft left too much space between himself and Cantos for the man to talk to Taft without moving closer. The easier Taft made setup, the more suspicious he would look. Criminals were distrustful that way. But it wasn’t Cantos who approached Taft. It was Picasso.

Cantos smoothly moved backward, allowing Picasso, who’d been standing closer to the stage, to step next to Taft. With another few quick shifts of the other Diablos, Taft found himself trapped amid the group. His blood cooled, and he envisioned a knife to the side and himself bleeding out on the floor, unable to utter a word before the lights came up.

“She’s yours, amigo?” Picasso’s voice raised the protective hackles on Taft’s neck.

Taft’s need to slam this man into a prison cage skyrocketed. “She is.”

“Mmm,” he hummed in appreciation, his gaze never leaving Zoe. “Lucky, lucky man.”

“I am.”

Taft smiled watching Zoe, as if he saw nothing else in the room. As if he didn’t know anyone else was around. Her speed had picked up, matching the beat of an extended version of Britney Spears’s “Gimme More.” Her trim belly tightened and released with each roll or swing of her hips. Her head tilted and circled, swaying her curtain of silky hair. Arms and hands rubbed that pole like a lover, keeping it between her thighs as she turned and bent.

Another series of wide steps with those fuck-me spiked boots. Big, smooth hip checks. Her hand caressing a path down the side of her body from the curve of her breast to the top of her thigh.