Strip Search (6 page)

"You know exactly who I mean." Lucia slanted her a skeptical stare. "He's gorgeous. You said he could move. He wants to work, you need a dancer. What's the issue?"

Other than her personal hang-ups and her fear that she'd molest him in ... oh, the first ten minutes he worked for her? None at all. Nicki sighed. Maybe she needed to invest in a new sex toy. This morning, her B.O.B. just hadn't gotten the job done. Fantasies about Mark and down-and-dirty sex against the wall had worked wonders, unfortunately.

On the other hand, he'd likely make her a fortune. She needed every dime of it. Once she'd paid off Uncle Pietro, then she could give her glorified babysitter, Blade Bocelli, the old heave-ho.

"It's complicated," Nicki hedged. The truth was too embarrassing. "For starters, based on some things he told me, I don't think he'd stay long."

Lucia frowned and tilted her head so her auburn curls slid down one shoulder. "Last time I checked, you weren't offering retirement benefits. Even if he stays a couple of months, isn't that better than nothing?"

Damn it, yes. And she'd hired several of her current dancers knowing they hadn't intended to stay long. That some had, in fact, remained for a while was merely good fortune on her part, not an expectation.

She was running out of excuses ... beyond not being able to control herself around one beautiful, testosterone-packed man. Time to dig through her mental bag of tricks for a little self-control. Who knew, maybe her attraction was a momentary blip, a hallucination produced by her utterly neglected sex drive.

Nicki leaned over her desk and fished around for her stack of applicants' paperwork. All she had on Mark was a name, a Social Security number, his date of birth, and his cell phone number. Well, and the grainy picture of him she'd had her security company pull from their footage of the parking lot on Monday afternoon. Even that rough still of him from a distance screamed that he was major hunk material.

What was a girl to do?

"Nicki?" Lucia prompted.

She sighed. "Where is the damned phone?"

Half-hoping he'd skipped town or decided to apply for a job at any of the local banks, Nicki called Mark. Clammy palms weren't the usual for her. Nor this odd tightening in her belly.
Quit it already, she told herself. You're extending a job offer, not inviting the guy over for an evening of screaming sex and sweat-damp sheets.

The pep talk failed utterly when, on the second ring, Mark answered.

"Hello?"

Dark and deep, his voice vibrated its way up her spine, resonating inside her body--all from that one little word.

"Mr. Gabriel, this is Nicki DiStefano from Girls' Night Out."

He paused ... just for a moment. Nicki found herself holding her breath for his response.

"Hi."

Again, one word was like a blow to her gut. Full of invitation and a hint of suggestion. And this was a business conversation. How potent would his tones be when he was aroused, his voice raw, redolent of sex? A telltale flush of warmth crept through her at the thought.

"I was hoping you'd call," he offered.

Nicki tried not to think about all the way she could interpret that statement.

"Good. Um, can you come down to the club for a few minutes? I'd like to see you." Realizing how that could be construed, she hastily added. "A-about the job, of course."

The amused surprise on Lucia's face suggested she'd been less than successful in her effort to be strictly businesslike.

Shocker.

"I'd love that. I can be there in an hour."

"Perfect. I'll see you then."

"I'm looking forward to it."

His voice was like warm honey, sliding down her skin, seeping inside her. Addictive, powerful--like she suspected the rest of him could be. She really, really hoped hiring him wouldn't be a huge mistake.

Before she could say something utterly inappropriate and embarrass herself, Nicki slammed the phone down. She sighed as the sudden tension drained from her.

Behind her, Lucia burst into laughter. "You've got it bad for this guy."

"Bite me."

"I think it's Mark Gabriel you'd rather have biting you."

Nicki rolled her eyes. "How do you know these things?"

"I watch movies. I read. A lot." She shrugged. "Someday, some man will realize I'm a woman, besides being a professor with a scary IQ. When I find him, I'll be ready."

"Honey, you will find someone." Nicki hugged her sister, feeling more than a bit guilty for being so wrapped up in business and Mark Gabriel that she never stopped long enough to think that Lucia might be lonely and want a little romance in her life. "I know you will. And I'll help you if I can. Just make sure it's the right guy. Not anyone who works around here. Broken hearts are no fun."

"I imagine not." Lucia shot her a mischievous glance. "If Mr. Yummy is on his way over, you might want to put on something else."

Nicki stared down her denim Capri pants and red, oversized Mickey Mouse T-shirt. The perfect thing to wear for taking inventory and doing paperwork. Not so perfect for this occasion.

"Good point. I should look more professional."

"I was going to suggest sexy."

"I'm giving the man a job!"

"Maybe, but you'd like to give him more."

The smile Lucia flashed at Nicki was anything but virginal. "Okay, who's been giving you these books you're reading?"

"I'm a smart girl who knows her way around the library."

Then she walked out the door, leaving Nicki all alone with her impure thoughts.

Trudging her way up to her apartment on the third floor, she reconsidered. Did she really want to hire Mark Gabriel? Wave temptation under her nose every night? It wasn't too late to back out ... Besides, the attraction might be totally unreciprocated. Not only could he flirt, but he could also seem so genuine, like the woman he looked at was the only woman who truly mattered. Nicki snorted. No doubt, that got him laid a lot.

Even if the attraction wasn't one-sided, Nicki didn't see a lot of options. She needed money, and Mark would definitely make it for her.

Nicki arrived on the club's top floor, which had been divided into four apartments by the building's original owners. She hadn't seen any reason to change that. In fact, living above the club was incredibly convenient.

On her way to her own unit, she passed the other three. Thanks to her uncle's insistence, Pain-in-her-ass Bocelli lived in the first unit on the left. Lucia was crashing this summer in the apartment down the hall from him. Nicki enjoyed having the place farthest back, since it was the biggest and offered the most privacy.

The unit on the right, just before hers, sat empty. Too bad she couldn't rent the silly thing out, not even to another employee. Not for lack of trying. But who wanted to live above a male strip club, other than people who worked there? All of the guys at the club either had wives or partners or live-ins or, like Zack, took care of his ailing grandfather. Despite multiple ads in local papers, the apartment remained vacant Which sucked. The extra money might have freed up some of her cash to hire an accountant.

Nicki let herself into her place, sailed past the bits of clutter in her old world European living room and headed straight for her bedroom. The sight awaiting her in the full-length mirror nearly made her scream. What had happened to the well-ordered French braid she'd yanked her hair into this morning? And the outfit ... She looked like a kindergarten teacher on the edge.

Not a sight that would inspire authority and project professionalism.

After a quick ten minutes with her cosmetics bag and another five with a hairbrush, Nicki stepped into her closet. Professional. Yes, that's what she needed.

Biting her lip, she looked through her wardrobe. Being a nightclub owner meant she didn't have much that passed for the Brooks Brothers look. Too bad she and Lucia weren't the same size, or she'd borrow one of those cute tailored shirts ... But Nicki and her healthy B cups had no hope of filling out a shirt her sister's D cups normally occupied.

She sifted through her clothes with a critical eye.
Too short. Too low cut. Too last season. Ugh!

Nicki sighed. She had to stop agonizing about what to wear. Mark Gabriel was just a guy she planned to offer a job, not Brad Pitt. Not the Pope.

Finally, she pulled out a khaki skirt that reached mid-thigh, a simple black silk shirt, along with some medium-heeled black sandals from her fifty-two pairs of shoes and donned them. Then immediately resisted the urge to change.

A spangled bracelet and a flirty anklet later, Nicki was out the door.

By the time she made it downstairs, Mark was waiting for her in the darkened foyer of the club.

Naturally, he looked completely edible in a body-hugging blue T-shirt, jeans faded in some really intriguing places, and casual loafers. Knowing what he looked like under most of those clothes wasn't helping her pulse rate.

"Glad you could make it," she greeted.

Mark extended his hand. Damn it, the electrical outburst she'd experienced the last time they'd engaged in this ritual was dangerous, not smart to repeat before she'd had a chance to find something about the man she loathed and fortify herself with it. But she didn't want to appear rude, either.

Steeling herself, Nicki slipped her hand in his. Oh, hell yes--just like before. A jolt, the tingles, fire spreading up her arm. If a mere handshake thrilled her this much, what would he feel like deep inside her, pounding hard with long, sure strokes?

Do
not
go there,
she told herself. Deep breath. She could do this.

A quick shake later, she hastily released his hand.

"I'm glad to be here," he murmured.

Those killer hazel eyes of his latched on to her. They shimmered with heat and mischief--and blatant interest.

For the sake of her business, her future, and her sanity, she pretended not to notice.

"Let's sit at one of the tables and talk."

He followed her inside the club, down the shallow bank of stairs. Nicki made sure she chose a well-lit table dead in the middle. No cozy comers that would give either one of them more ideas.

As she sat, he folded his long, hard body in the chair directly across from hers. She'd imagined that having a cocktail table between them would give her some level of comfort. It didn't. Mark was closer than ever, his woodsy, musky male scent teasing her.

She cleared her throat. "If you still want the work, I'm offering you the job. You'll be on four nights a week. Zack, the lead dancer and stage manager, will help you with your schedule. You'll be here by six. You're usually out by two-thirty. Rehearsal is every Monday, the day we're closed, from two to four. Naturally, you keep tips. Trips to the V.I.P. room with a guest for a private dance earns you thirty dollars each time. If you elect to serve drinks when you're not on stage, you'll get a cut from the bar, besides your hourly wage. Any questions so far?"

"It seems straightforward. Anything else I can figure out as I go."

"So you accept?"

"Sure. I'll do my best to make you feel good about the choice."

Nicki didn't even ask what he meant by that. Her imagination didn't need the stimulation. "This is the part of the spiel where I warn you to keep some of your money back to pay taxes. If you don't, I won't have to cut off your balls. The IRS will do it for you."

A faint smile curled his mouth as he flashed those landmark dimples. "I certainly wouldn't want to incite you to anything that extreme. Besides, I already spent time in jail and know how unpleasant it is, so I'm the last person you have to worry about breaking the law."

Nicki nodded, conceding the point. "Zack and the other guys will fill you in on specifics. Be here an hour early for rehearsals next Monday so Zack can work with you one-on-one. You'll have a routine or two of your own to work out. Group numbers with all the dancers are at the beginning and end of the evening. You'll need to learn those before we turn you loose on stage. Zack will know when you're ready."

Mark nodded. "Zack sounds like he knows what he's doing."

"He's been with me since I opened the doors."

"So he has a lot of experience."

"Dancing, yes. He's only been my stage manager for a few months. But he understands my vision, and I've learned to trust him to make it happen."

"Then I'll be sure to stay on his good side."

"Not too good." Nicki paused as a terrible thought occurred to her. Had she completely misjudged him? "Well, unless ... I'm not against employees dating each other, so if you're same sex-oriented--"

"No." He didn't even let her finish the sentence. "Definitely not."

Why did that come as a relief? It shouldn't. It didn't. Hell, he could be into barnyard animals for all it should concern her. Mark Gabriel's sex life was absolutely none of her business.

Her libido protested vociferously.

"Um, I think we're about done here. I'll need a glossy head shot and a full body pose of you in the next week or so. If you don't have one, I'll refer you to a photographer."

Mark leaned in, those warm greenish eyes drilling her, making her next breath difficult to take. Nicki tried to ease back in her chair, but short of standing she had nowhere to go. And putting space between them would only tell him how much he affected her.

"I'm not much for cameras. Maybe you could take the pictures."

Oh, sure. Her, a camera and a mostly naked Mark Gabriel. There was a recipe for her immediate downfall.

"I'm terrible with cameras. If you're uncomfortable with a photographer, Zack can probably take the stills."

The grin lifting the comers of his firm, wide mouth seemed to confess that he'd been outsmarted. "I'll figure it out and get you the pictures soon."