Stripped (6 page)
“Oh, and by the way…,” Jill called after her.
Halfway into the hall, Natalya looked over her shoulder, eyebrows lifted.
“Chablis called in and quit. She follows me after ten o’clock.”
Quit
. Natalya latched on to the solitary word, tuning out all else. If a dancer had quit, that meant an opening. A slot she could fill. Moretti couldn’t keep her off the stage after all.
Feeling much better about how the night would play out, Natalya proceeded to her office, dropped her purse inside, and made for the costume room. As she wandered down the hall, three burly men wheeled a dolly of equipment boxes past her. Confused, she twisted to watch where they were going.
They stopped at the stage wing, popped open a box, and withdrew several armloads of gauze-covered metal tresses. While she looked on, they fitted the pieces together, indifferent to the scantily-clad bodies that strolled through the corridors. Bit by bit, a ten-foot-tall archway took shape.
What in the hell?
A hand fell on her shoulder, startling her. She jumped, turning to find Kate at her side. Siren red lips struggled to hold back a grin. “You better hurry,” she urged in a near whisper. “Candy’s about to panic.”
“Who are they?” Natalya pointed at the three men, now busily fitting
together a bundle of dark brown odds and ends. “And what are they doing?”
The amusement Kate had worked so hard to stifle broke free with a smirk. Leaning close to Natalya’s ear she whispered, “Do better research next time. Fantasia makes dreams come true. We don’t just dance here. We perform.”
Perform?
Kate was gone before Natalya could inquire.
T
They performed. Not just danced. True, they all ended up center stage dressed down to thongs and pasties, but each girl who took the floor had a story to tell. Each act re-created a broad range of fantasy. The props turned each song into Broadway shorts with a darkly sexual flair.
Natalya tapped her toe in time with the thrumming drums as Becca sashayed around a chrome-embellished Harley. Thirty minutes from now, she’d be out there. Gyrating around the pole with an expertise even Kate couldn’t match. While Natalya worked, she’d scan the crowd for a face she recognized as one of Dmitri’s men.
Iskatel´ was out there assessing the six blondes Fantasia employed for the next target. She could feel it. Though several months would pass as he cycled through the other clubs, he’d come back for someone else. He always did.
Only this time, Iskatel´ was playing chess with an opponent who had mastered the game. She knew the tricks. Understood the silent signals.
She
would
find him, and three years of Russian undercover operations would see fruition with the total exposure of Dmitri’s underground. Alexei would blow the top off the Dubai involvements. Sergei would uncover the arms filtering into terrorist nations. And she would spend the rest of her life looking over her shoulder for personally betraying Dmitri and collapsing his deviant ring of sexual indulgence.
If she spent the rest of her life on the run, she’d make sure every woman that had been hauled into that pit of sin came home. Somehow, she’d make it happen. Or die trying.
Stepping away from the curtain, Natalya retreated down the corridor into her closet-sized office. The girls were settled. Time to get dressed.
She refused to think about the lies she’d have to concoct if Dmitri got word of her stage escapade. Furious wouldn’t describe his reaction. He’d be more like a raging volcano. But, if she said the right things, used the soft voice that crumpled him, he’d forgive. By the time he arrived here, she’d be long gone, and his anger wouldn’t matter.
Bending over, she picked up a pair of sequined, black, four-inch heels. As she straightened, she pulled the pins from her hair and studied the full-length bodysuit hanging on the wall behind her door. Tonight she would be a shadow.
B
appropriate
, black suit skirt, and her equally appropriate white button-down blouse, and he’d been thrown right back to that moment in his office when all he could think about was
her on his desk, her skirt around her waist, and his dick rooted firmly inside her.
He’d been struck speechless to see the same glow of arousal in her eyes, despite the dim light and the distance that separated them. Even from across the room he couldn’t miss the tightening of her breasts the longer he held her gaze. And those aroused peaks had wreaked havoc on his system. It had required sheer willpower to remind himself that not only did she have a boyfriend, but he didn’t mix business with pleasure.
Now that he was prepared for Miss Prim and Proper, he intended to apologize for not only failing to introduce her, but also failing to give her a heads-up that she’d have to jostle around the dance schedule and accommodate Chablis’ absence. The least he could have done was give her a little forewarning about which girls were crowd favorites.
He avoided the handful of girls lounging on the couches. Though in truth, they gave him a wide berth as well. Most of them had heard through the grapevine he didn’t mix business with pleasure. Especially in-house business. They worked for him, and in turn, he was their boss. Exclusively.
From the corner of his eye, he caught Jill rounding the bathroom hallway and quickened his pace.
Except for her.
One slip, under the belief a girl from another club wouldn’t cause trouble, and damned if he could escape it.
Natalya’s office door stood half open, and he stiffened. A thrill of anticipation bubbled through his blood as the fleeting notion crossed his mind that it would be too damn easy to shut that door, trap the both of them inside, and live out that brief fantasy of desks and skirts and mind-numbing sex—business aside.
Kate’s voice, drifting out from beyond the partially open door, had the effect of a bucket of cold water on his head. Thank God. He wouldn’t have to face Natalya and her never-ending legs alone. If that
door happened to shut, there’d be no chance in hell he’d find that desk tempting. Unlike his best friend, Mayer, Brandon didn’t do threesomes. He preferred to devote his attentions to one woman at a time. Prove that while she was in his arms, she was the
only
thing on his mind. Even if it was just for a night, it was
her
night alone.
He raised his hand to knock, but the soundless brush of his knuckles swung the door inward. The scene beyond froze him in place. Kate perched on the edge of a leather armchair, straightening out a string bikini top with beaded fringe. In front of her, her back to the doorway, Natalya stood with one foot propped on the seat of her office chair. Slender fingers pulled a black garter up a shapely calf, all the way to one smooth, muscular thigh.
His cock jumped to attention as his heart ground to a stop.
Christ Almighty, she could kill a man with those legs.
To hell with business. He couldn’t explain what idiocy had descended on him, or why this woman lit him up like a firecracker, but he was done with denying he wanted anything else but her. Naked. Legs wrapped around his waist. His cock buried so far inside her she’d never forget he was there.
Fuck!
What the hell was the matter with him? Countless girls, wearing far less than what Natalya Trubachev wore now, had paraded in front of him over the last several years. It hadn’t been
that
long since he’d had a woman—and it wasn’t like he had to look far to find one. So why was he reacting to this redhead like one of the raunchy bastards who frequented the strip?
Brandon ground his teeth together and focused his scowl on the exposed skin at the back of Natalya’s neck. “What do you think you’re doing?”
Both women’s heads snapped his way. Kate let out a squeak. Natalya stumbled as she attempted to put her lifted foot on the floor. She caught herself on the back of the chair. Jade green eyes widened. “What do you mean?”
“I think I’ll… er… I need…” Kate stood, her gaze alternating between Brandon and Natalya. She readjusted her glasses. “I’ve got to go.”
No!
The protest exploded from the depths of his mind. He needed Kate to stay. Needed a viable, tangible, reason not to drag Natalya across the handful of feet that separated them and discover if her mouth held the same flavor of wine that the deep burgundy of her lips professed.
Kate edged past him before he could develop a rational objection.
“This,” Brandon gritted out through clenched teeth. He gestured at Natalya’s short robe.
“This what?” Affronted, Natalya straightened her shoulders. The act made the deep V down the front of her kimono gap. Creamy skin peeked out, along with a glimpse of black lace. His gaze pulled to the cleft between her breasts. Under the weight of his stare, the silk that covered those full breasts puckered as her nipples stiffened. A flush spread across her skin.
Brandon choked down a groan. He dragged his gaze back to her eyes. “You damn well know what.”
Her eyes flashed before she presented him with her back and picked up the black bodysuit slung across the rise of her chair. “We’re a dancer down, Moretti. I’m taking the slot.”
Dance? All that long, lithe body exposed for the entire club to enjoy before he could get his hands on it? Over his dead body.
One swift stride brought him up behind her. “Like hell.” He grabbed her elbow and twisted her around. She caught her heel on the chair and stumbled into the desk, the back of her thighs supporting her against the wood surface. Their close proximity forced her to arch her back in order to look him in the eyes. Her breasts thrust forward to rub against his chest, and Brandon’s blood warmed to the scent of flowers. Heat spread deliciously through his veins to pool in his cock. He thickened in a heartbeat. Holy God, under no circumstances had he prepared for Natalya on this level.
Annoyance dissipated at the catch in her breathing, the way her beautiful eyes glazed over with the same arousal that flooded through his body. He shoved the voice of reason aside and stepped closer, in between her parted knees. Her thighs framed his, her robe draped open revealing more of that taunting black lace—but not everything. No, even her robe wouldn’t defy the elegance that was Natalya by gaping open and revealing all her hidden treasures.
Her eyes flickered with something he couldn’t describe, and the tip of her tongue swept out to moisten her lips. His stare riveted on parted lips, the call of her mouth overriding all common sense. He set his hands on her knees, slowly, hesitantly skimmed his fingers up her thighs to the band of her stockings. Smooth skin. Toned muscle.
Hell, what was he doing? Why wasn’t she fighting him off?
She shivered, and he no longer cared. She was feeling this too. And whatever it was felt
damn
good. Every nerve ending in his body had awakened, and he couldn’t tear his eyes off her dewy lips, off the way her throat worked as she swallowed.
He traced the lacy edge of her stocking, skated his fingertips higher, barely touching her as he worked his way to her hips so he could hold her still while he claimed that taunting mouth.
“What are you doing, Moretti?” Her voice rasped over his cheek. The tremor in her words sent another shock of desire surging through his body.
He was going to fuck her, that’s what he was doing. Right here. Right now. Right after he got drunk on the tangle of her tongue—if he wasn’t already drunk. Damn, he couldn’t remember a time that it had been so impossible to put words together, let alone
think.
“I think you know,” he managed through his tightening throat.
Natalya’s long eyelashes fluttered shut. Powerless against the unspoken invitation, Brandon dipped his head. Their breaths mingled, and the sweet aroma of cherry beckoned him to sample the sultry heat. He ran the tip of his tongue over her upper lip. The satiny feel of her
mouth sent a shock of raw lust ripping down his spine.
Oh, yeah… this was going to be good.
When she pressed her palm against his chest and her nails curled into his pecs, he fought off the sudden need to drag her hips flush with his and bury his aching cock in her softness. Not yet. They’d get there, but first he wanted to enjoy the silken stroke of her tongue. Wanted to draw her into the same sexual frenzy that threatened to overtake his body.
“Let me on the stage, boss,” she whispered against his mouth.
It took a moment for her words to sink through the haze of desire and infiltrate Brandon’s mind. When they did, the full meaning of what was happening slammed into him. Her stumble might have been accidental, but the rest—they were back to Natalya’s games. Son of a bitch—she’d almost hooked him too.
He thrust her hand away and stepped out of the mesmerizing field of her nearly naked body. Grinding his teeth, he took a moment to let anger balm the ache of desire. He met her wide-eyed gaze with a snort. “I hired you as a housemom, not a dancer. That floor’s about money. I’m not wasting it on someone who hasn’t danced in fifteen years.”
He took another step backward, grateful for the distance that separated them. Anger flashed behind those shards of jade, but the pinkening of her cheeks told him her elevated breathing had little to do with temper.
Jesus, she was just as aroused as he was. Maybe this wasn’t all pure games. Yet, even if she was as turned on as he, that could only spell trouble. Her boyfriend aside, Brandon needed to stay focused on the case. Committed to protecting Kate. For all he knew, Natalya could have something to do with the string of murders on the strip.
