Lace and Bullets: A Hitman Romance (16 page)

J
essica stared
at the front door, shocked and outraged and unable to move. How dare he leave her like that! Run away after turning her on and admitting his attraction. The bastard.

She’d already come, but he’d left her aching. If she knew where he’d gone, she’d be slipping on her shoes and running out the door.

God, men could be such assholes. She didn’t understand why he fought so hard—why they couldn’t explore this need. Together. She knew they were step-siblings and what people would say. But she didn’t care.

He could give her what she craved. What she’d looked for in every man she’d ever kissed. The freedom that came from relinquishing control.

Peeling herself off the wall, she walked into the kitchen. She rifled through his piles of papers on the counter, searching for something—anything—that would tell her where he’d gone and how she could find him.

Bills, junk mail, magazines. Nothing that helped.
Damn it
. She spun to face the fridge and a flyer caught her eye.

Leather & Lace Night at Blur. Featuring DJ T.

That’s got to be it
. She’d never heard of the club, but she’d never spent much time in Miami, either. Scampering over to her bag, she pulled out her phone and searched for it.
Wow
. Upscale and swank, the club played top forty, techno, and electronica depending on the night of the week. She clicked on the banner for Leather & Lace and smiled.

A picture of Tate with headphones on behind a mix table was splashed across the page.
Yes!
Glancing at the time, she made up her mind. If he wouldn’t stay and listen to her, she’d go to him and show him all that he’d be missing.

All she needed was the right outfit for the club and she’d be set. After calling a cab, she clapped her hands like a cheerleader. Jessica loved to dance. Especially when a hot guy was involved.
Mmm. Tonight will be fun
.

T
he cab pulled
up outside the club and Jessica climbed out, holding her dress down to keep from flashing the line. The black lace hugged her slim figure, giving her the illusion of bigger boobs and a butt to match.

The see-through factor didn’t hurt, either. Only partially lined, her skin peeked through everywhere the nude slip underneath didn’t cover. From a few feet away, she looked practically naked. She hoped it’d be enough to drive Tate wild. And make him act on it.

She knew she didn’t have the body most men lusted after—big boobs, curvy hips—no hourglass for her. But lanky and skinny with good muscle tone gave her a modeling gig. And she hoped a career. It just meant she had to work harder to come off sexy.

Walking up to the bouncer, Jessica bypassed the line, sashaying as best she could in five-inch heels and tugging her dress down to expose as much cleavage as possible.

“Line’s back there.” He pointed with his burly arm, refusing to even look her way.

“I’m DJ T’s guest. He invited me.”

The bouncer glanced up, gaze hovering boob-level for a beat before moving up to her face. “He didn’t tell me.”

“He probably forgot. So amped up for the gig, you know?”

He raised an eyebrow and she batted her lashes. “You wouldn’t want him to put on a bad show because I wasn’t in there, would you?” She licked her lips, running her tongue over her deep red gloss before tugging on her bottom lip with her teeth.

The bouncer rolled his eyes and waved her inside. “You better be telling the truth. If I find out you’re some groupie, your ass is out of here.”

Jessica gave him a shimmy, shaking her butt at him as she turned around and smiled. “I’m telling the truth. I promise.”

“Uh-huh. That’s what they all say, honey.”

She slipped inside and breathed out in a rush. She’d done it—gotten inside before Tate’s show and without too much trouble. Party people milled everywhere, groups of girls gossiping out on the dance floor, guys swarming the bar. But no sign of Tate. The DJ booth sat empty along the far wall and he wasn’t in the crowd.

Navigating through the throng to the bar, she wedged her way between two men and tried to catch the bartender’s eye.

One of the guys next to her turned towards her and flashed a cheesy grin. “Hey, sweetheart. You come here alone?”

Great
.
An asshole at the bar.
“No. I’m with someone. Thanks though.”

The bartender came over and she exhaled in relief. “I’ll take a vodka, lime, and soda, please.”

“Put that on my tab, will ya?” Leaning over and winking, her new-found annoyance flashed a shiny gold watch and looked her up and down.

“No, really, it’s okay. You don’t need to buy me a drink. Like I said, I’m with someone.” She glanced up at him—slicked back hair curling on top of his head, shirt open one button too far.
Ugh
. Every bar was always the same. Too many pushy, drunk guys trying to score. Not enough space to breathe.

The creep slid even closer, wedging his body against hers and sneaking a hand onto the small of her back. “I don’t see anybody on your arm, sweetheart. So until some dude shows up and tells me to get lost, I think you’re fair game.”

The bartender passed the drink across the bar and Jessica grabbed it.
I have to get out of here
. She gave him a tight smile and shoved her way out of his reach. “Thanks for the drink. I’ve got to go.”

Pushing through the bodies, Jessica headed straight for the DJ table, hoping with all her might the creep wouldn’t follow her. When she reached the booth, she turned around.
Thank god
. He’d stayed at the bar, turning his sights on the next girl who’d made the mistake of sliding up next to him.

Jessica couldn’t stand the meat market of clubs. All those jerks pumped up on alcohol, trying to take a girl home and get sloppy. She made a point of wearing stilettos whenever she went out—not only did they make her super tall, but they also doubled as a tidy little weapon. Stomping on a guy’s foot with a poky heel could make him scream.

Not that she’d had to resort to that very often. Almost never, in fact. But always better to be prepared. You never knew when you needed to defend yourself.

As she finished off the last of her drink, a faint buzz of alcohol filtered through her system, loosening her up and turning her on. The piped in electronica—a pre-DJ dance party—echoed through the club and Jessica made her way to the floor. She wanted to lose herself in the music before Tate showed up.

If she could catch his eye—show him what he was missing by grinding up against a few guys—maybe she could convince him to take it further. To give her what she so desperately needed. Him. All over her in the dark.

Finding a spot on the dance floor, she started moving, letting the music seep into her pores and light her up. It didn’t take much. In a few minutes, she’d lost herself—forgetting all about the frustration and guilt and giving herself over to the music.

T
ate hated
the start of the show. He didn’t have nerves, but every crowd was different. Did they want it hard and filthy? Smooth and chill? He wouldn’t know until a few minutes in. Gauging the audience—reacting and adapting to the hum around him—was what set him apart from so many other DJs. What made him in demand. In control.

He could manipulate thousands of people with his beats. Turn all the guys and girls out on the floor into a teeming hive, buzzing and grinding and worshipping at his altar. But it took finesse. One wrong mix and he’d lose them to the bar or the club next door.

The mic cracked and the club owner spoke over the noise. Party time. The crowd whooped and Tate bounced up and down, revving himself up, pumping adrenaline through his veins like a fighter on the edge of the ring.

Pulling his hat down tighter over his face, he strode out from the back, black t-shirt and pants blending into the shadows of the booth as he slipped inside. He picked up the headphones from the table and put them on, filtering out the shouts and catcalls and focusing on his job.

Slow burning lust and anger filled him and he knew exactly what kind of night he’d spin. With a nod to the crowd, he started up, filling the speakers with a hard-hitting, guttural bass that shook the floor. A wave went through the crowd—a steady rumble of bodies bouncing and mashing together.

Harder and harder the music hit, ramping up the energy, revving the crowd into a frothy frenzy. Everything he felt inside—his attraction and Jessica’s need—poured out of his fingers and into the controls.

The crowd swayed, rolling on his energy, feeding off the electronic beat he created. He didn’t know if they’d come expecting dirt and grit and neon magic, but he gave it to them. Channeling his guilt and shame into a velvet fist that reached out and took control. And they loved it.

The crowd ate out of his hand, girls crushing against the booth in skimpy little skirts and dresses, halter tops with boobs spilling over the top. Guys grinding up against them, tearing their hands up and down their sweaty bodies in simulated sex right on the floor.

With every song, Tate felt lighter. The burden of his stepsister fading into the corners of his mind and eclipsed by the bass. He launched into a rising crescendo, a rhythmic swell of music and sound that lit the club on fire. His favorite part of every show.

Looking up, he surveyed the crowd—his crowd—thousands of people all lost in the moment. And he let the bass drop. The dancers roared—screaming out in ecstasy as the music opened up and swallowed them whole.

As he smiled, surveying his domain with satisfaction, he froze.
No. No. Fuck.

She was there. Jessica danced twenty feet in front of him, hips swaying and rocking like everyone else. Her dress fit her like a glove—all see-through lace and mesh. And with her heels, she looked six-foot tall.
Damn
.

As he watched, spellbound by her rhythm, a man crept up behind her. He grabbed her hips, grinding his dick into her ass and not letting go. Shoving the bastard off of her, Jessica stepped away, only to have him close the gap and try again. The guy snaked his hands up her hips, running higher and higher until he palmed her tits.
What the fuck!

White hot rage filled him and he ripped his headphones off.

She wasn’t doing it on purpose, was she? Letting some man paw her like a damn animal to get back at him? He shook his head, grinding his teeth as the guy ran his hands back down, sliding down her bare thighs and up her dress.

Tate balled his hands into fists, ready to march out on the floor and punch the guy into last year, when Jessica whipped around and stomped. Hard. The asshole’s face contorted with pain and anger and Tate wasn’t waiting another second.

It didn’t matter why she was there dancing with some stranger in front of his booth. She needed him. He leaped over the table and stormed through the crowd, parting the seas of his fans and reaching Jessica just as the man reached out to grab her.

Tate swung without thinking, slamming his fist into the man’s face before the son of a bitch could even react. The asshole fell to the floor in an instant, knocked out cold.

The crowd parted, forming a circle around Tate, Jessica and the heap on the floor. Bouncers tore through the crowd, moving people aside with one hand as they talked into earpieces.

Shit
. Spinning on his heels, he turned to his stepsister. “Are you okay?”

She dove for him, wrapping her arms around his waist as she buried her head into his chest. “I am now.”

Tate pushed her back, searching her face as the music faded.
Damn it
. He needed to get the party revved back up before he ruined the club’s entire night. He didn’t care about the job—it wasn’t like he couldn’t get another gig in a heartbeat, but he liked the owner. And he didn’t want to cause him unnecessary expense.

“Come on. You’re with me in the booth for the rest of the show.”

He pulled Jessica back around the tables and up into the DJ booth. Slipping his headphones on, he launched into the music, turning the heavy, gritty thump into a sultry purr that calmed the crowd and mellowed the buzz. He’d had enough punches for one night.

A pair of bouncers walked up to the booth and motioned for him to come over. He pulled one ear free and leaned toward them. “Hey guys.”

“What the hell was that, T? You know fighting’ll get you fired.”

“Yeah, I know. But that asshole assaulted her. Slid his hands under dress and grabbed her tits. If I hadn’t stepped in, it could have been a lot worse.”

The bouncers glanced at each other and then back at Tate. “All right, man. If you say so. But next time, leave the fighting to us, okay?”

Tate nodded and the pair walked away. He wasn’t about to tell them he’d do it again without a second thought.

Turning to look at Jessica, Tate shook his head. She leaned back onto the wall, hugging herself and swaying to the music.
So beautiful
. The lace hugged all the right places—showing off her sexy ass and miles of legs. As she rocked back and forth, her hair fell across her face in dark waves and he groaned.

He hated to admit it, but after seeing her with that asshole…He didn’t want to share. Or think about her pinned beneath some other man, calling out his name instead of Tate’s. He wanted her for himself. And no one else. Fuck it being wrong.

Reaching out, he wrapped his hand around her wrist, pulling her towards him. Nuzzling her neck, he brushed his lips across her ear.

“So did you come here to make me jealous?”

She turned her head and smiled into his cheek. “Did it work?”

Tate held up his hand, the knuckles bloodied and swollen. “What do you think?”

“I’m sorry, Tate. I didn’t mean to get you in trouble. He just wouldn’t leave me alone. The jerk bought me a drink at the bar and when I blew him off, I guess he got pissed. I tried to get away from him. I—”

“It’s okay. But you’re not leaving my side the rest of the night.”

Wrapping his arm around her, he pulled her in front of him, nestling her ass in front of his crotch. He could spin with her wedged against his dick. It wasn’t that hard. Yet.

Running his hands up her sides, he pressed himself against her, grinding into her as the bass throbbed through the club.

She turned her head and whisper-shouted in his exposed ear. “I thought you punched guys for groping me?”

“I do. I’m the only one who can grope you in this club.” He dug his fingers into her hips, forcing her body back into his. “I’m the only one who can grind against your tight little ass and make you moan.”

J
essica could barely breathe
. She wanted to turn around, drop to her knees, and give him a blow job right there. His dick hardened against her and she moaned.

“I want more, Tate. I want you to—”

Tate cut her off with a finger in the air and she bit her lip to keep from pouting. The next DJ stood at the edge of the booth, watching them as he waited to take their place.

“Give me a sec, okay?”

Jessica nodded and stepped back as Tate handed the booth over. Her skin tingled and an ache deep in her core hinted at more than just dirty lust. Tate stood up for her. Punched a man unconscious for her, risking his job and an assault charge.

And to top it all off, he was a damn fine DJ. The way he tapped into the crowd, sensing their vibe, amping up the energy. Pure skill. Watching him standing in the booth, controlling a throng of people with a beat.
So fucking sexy.

Walking back to her, he took her hand and escorted her down the steps and into the back of the club. After a few turns and nods from employees, Tate shoved a door open and humid Miami air hit Jessica in a stifling burst.

Tate pulled her into the back parking lot and turned to face her.

“You shouldn’t have come tonight, Jess.”

“I said I’m sorry, Tate. I never meant to put you in that position.”

“It’s not that. If you ever needed me—if some asshole ever hurt you…” He stepped toward her and she stepped back, her back brushing against the brick wall of the club. Tate came right up to her, standing so close she could smell the sweat on his skin.