Stripped (8 page)

She sank into her chair feeling more drained than she had in the
last year as Dmitri’s go-to girl. One full day had passed, and they were no closer to identifying Iskatel´, much less Yakov, than they’d been in Russia. She knew nothing more about Fantasia’s employees than what she’d discovered in the CIA records. Other than the fact that Jill made it imminently clear she considered Brandon her personal property.

Which could be legitimate possessiveness, or it could be a front to keep Yakov disguised. Hell, Natalya had played Iskatel´’s part in Russia—why shouldn’t it be a woman in America?

Because it made sense for Iskatel´ to be a guy. Women trusted men easier, for the most part. In strip clubs cattiness abounded, and she’d only succeeded in gaining the victims’ trust because she
didn’t
dance. Jill danced. Jill made it known she wanted top billing.

Besides, Brandon and his team had taken three management positions in three years. It could be no coincidence that he took over at Fantasia less than two weeks before the next job.

A light rap on Natalya’s door brought her upright and dragged her from her thoughts. “It’s open.”

Brandon’s voice rumbled through the metal barrier. “We’re done. It’s time to close up.”

“Hey!” She jumped up and jerked open the door. Sticking her head out, she found him halfway down the hall. “Boss! I want to ask you something.”

He’d have to be deaf to not hear her bellow, but he kept walking, head down, fists clenched at his sides. Unbidden, her gaze skimmed over his backside. Broad shoulders tapered into a trim waist set on strong, but narrow, hips. The slight swing in his step added to the confidence that poured off him. She looked lower and sucked in a sharp breath at the firm buttocks that his dress pants accented. Perfect for a pair of feminine hands to grip and squeeze. To curl her nails into as she urged him to push deeper…

Her blood warmed as she watched him walk away. The man was incredible. Not an ounce of softness anywhere, except on occasion in his mesmerizing eyes. And if she didn’t get her body under control,
along with her all-too-suddenly vivid imagination, she’d do more than ensure her swift demise. She’d escort Kate straight to a hotel in Dubai.

Natalya closed her office door to block out Brandon and discarded her robe in favor of her suit skirt. Brandon Moretti was strictly business.

When she had her blouse buttoned, she fished her gun from her purse and stuffed it into her waistband. To hide it, she slipped into the lightweight jacket she’d brought along in preparation for the cooler Nevada nights. Tonight she’d walk to Dmitri’s luxury condominium on the north end of the Strip. The chilly air would do her faltering sense some good.

First though, she needed to track down Aaron and discover the verdict on hiring Sergei. With luck on her side, tomorrow night they’d make some progress.

She wandered through the girls’ lounge and into the brightly lit club. Unlike the rundown bars in Russia, this place screamed wealth. She hadn’t particularly noticed it before, but now, after spending a full night behind the scenes and witnessing the sheer fortune invested in stage props, the front room’s luxury became unmistakable. What she’d thought were ordinary velour chairs revealed themselves as velvet on closer inspection. She ran a hand down the edge of the stage, noting it wasn’t just painted wood, but a Formica-like substance that had been polished to a mirrored sheen. She’d stake her life on the presumption the overhead chandeliers were lead crystal as well.

Glancing around, she searched for Brandon. When she couldn’t find him, she relaxed. The last thing she needed was one more encounter before she retired for the night. As it was, her nightly hot bath would do little to keep the wicked fantasies at bay.

A tall figure on the far side of the room identified Aaron. She quickened her step to catch him before he disappeared into the manager’s office, where she presumed Brandon waited. “Aaron.”

He turned, treating her again to his warm, welcoming smile. “Hey.”

“Any word?”

His mouth pursed, and he let out a quiet grunt.

“That bad, huh?”

“Not bad. Not good. I can’t get a straight answer.”

The door behind Aaron opened, and Brandon exited, head down, attention elsewhere. Looking up at the last minute, he came to an abrupt halt, inches from his partner’s back. His scowl was immediate and fierce, and centered straight on her.

With a lift of her shoulders, Natalya steeled herself against his silent attack. Did he think she liked this any more than he did? The way her heart stuttered each time those tawny eyes locked with hers annoyed the piss out of her. That she couldn’t control it bothered her more than the reaction itself.

“Did you need something, Natalya?”

If Aaron couldn’t pin him down for an answer, maybe she could. “I wanted to ask if—”

“No.”

Before she could stutter out anything further, he sidestepped around them and strode toward the main doors. Natalya exchanged a dumbfounded look with Aaron, then started after him, determined. She caught him at the entrance, keys in hand, locking up. “Wait just a damn second. I want to have a conversation with you. Boss. Employee. You know, that sort of thing?”

He glanced sideways, the already tight line to his jaw hardening. “I already told you, no. You’re not dancing.” With one more twist of his wrist, he latched the last door and stalked off in the direction of the main bar.

Oh, for God’s sake, that again. She nearly rolled her eyes, but checked the gut reaction. No sense furthering his anger with blatant disrespect. Not that he could see it. But she wouldn’t put it past him to sense she had.

She did an about face and fell into pursuit, dogging his heels as he weaved around the chairs and the remaining waitresses. “It’s about a job, Moretti. If you’d just stand still and hear me out—”

“Go home, Natalya.”

Three quick strides distanced him completely. She scowled at his broad, retreating shoulders. For a fleeting moment, she considered how satisfying it would be to fire a shot into the back of his calf and stop his retreat. Or maybe through the back of his head.

Expelling a frustrated mutter, she fisted her hands on her hips. She couldn’t shoot him, but she’d be damned if she let him dismiss her so easily. There was one surefire way to make him listen.

Inhaling deeply, she bellowed across the room, “The back rooms aren’t safe, Moretti!”

B

Christ. He had a murderer running around, and here she stood, hollering at the top of her lungs about the lack of security in his dressing rooms. She might as well stand at the door and invite the bastard inside.

He stalked toward her, bent on wringing her delicate neck. To his surprise, the closer he came, the straighter she stood. Her eyes warred with his. The set of her jaw mirrored the tightness in his face. When he invaded her space, she tipped her chin up. Stubborn defiance glinted in her jade green eyes.

A little voice of warning screamed he couldn’t strangle her in the middle of the club’s main room. Nor could he spew the multitude of ways he wanted to tell her to go to hell—right after he told her in no uncertain terms all the things he wanted to do to her. Lay her on the bar. Push her up against the wall. Peel off that blouse, hoist up that skirt and… damn!

He grabbed her by the upper arm, wheeled her around, and propelled her inside his office. With one swift kick of his heel, he sent the door crashing shut. “What do you think you’re doing?”

Her voice didn’t so much as quiver as she answered, “Having a necessary conversation.”

“No. I’ll tell you what you’re doing.” He grabbed her other arm and squeezed as he gave her a little shake. “You don’t throw out accusations about the safety of my girls. Unless you want to be out of a job. Immediately.”

Anger flashed behind her eyes. Quick. Brief. Deadly. “Take your hands off me.”

“Not until you get it through your head, Natalya, I’m your boss. You don’t get to call the shots here.” He took another step into her space, forcing her to back up. “And you don’t,
don’t
, give the dancers any more reason to worry about coming into work. Or leaving when the night’s through.”

“Maybe you should act like my boss then.”

He blinked, certain he’d heard her incorrectly. When her expression didn’t change, and the defiance lingered in her unblinking stare, he knew he hadn’t misinterpreted. He stepped forward once more, infuriated by her inability to grasp the full meaning of what her bellow could have produced. If the killer was on his staff, he now knew the back rooms were weak. Something Brandon had intended to rectify by the end of his first week on the job. But to have it thrown out so publically—he couldn’t stomach the thought someone else might suffer Rachel’s fate.

“This isn’t a game, Natalya.” Her back came into contact with the wall, forbidding her further retreat. He closed the insignificant distance between them. “There are lives at stake. You’ve read the headlines, I’m sure. And you just invited a murderer to take advantage.”

“Three minutes of your time—that’s all I wanted.” She paused long enough to lick her lips and swallow. The flash of rosy pink ripped
through Brandon’s awareness like she’d pressed hot coals into his skin. He ground his teeth together.

“Enough to point that out to you privately and ask you to consider hiring Sergei.”

He should turn her loose. Step back before he forgot what they were doing against the wall. Forgot that moments ago he’d wanted to throttle her for exposing Fantasia’s weakest link. But damned if he could get his fingers to do anything more than relax enough to give her room to twist free.

She stayed motionless, her gaze traveling over his face, dipping to his mouth. It jerked back to his eyes, and her cheeks colored a pretty pink. “His references are excellent.”

As she shifted position, lifting her back away from the wall to relieve some unseen pinch, he caught a whiff of her lilac perfume. He reeled under the heady fragrance. Sweet. Innocent. Goddamn enticing. His cock seconded the observation.

Fuck. He was in trouble and he knew it. She stood too close. He caught the catch of her breath, the sudden darkening of her eyes. The heat of their bodies ebbed between them, and his pulse skyrocketed. He no longer cared if the spark in her gaze came from anger or desire. Didn’t care if she was playing him. Nor did he give a damn about the conversation she’d been so intent on having. The only thought that drummed in his head was of seeing that same flash of dark color in her gaze as he slid home between her legs and pushed her over the edge into orgasm.

He released his grip intending to step away. Instead, his hands slid down the flimsy material of her blouse to her wrists, then against his better judgment, worked their way back up to the firm muscle of her biceps. “Let me get this straight,” he murmured, all too aware of the hoarseness of his voice. “You want me to hire someone on your word alone. A new girl. Who I hired because someone I trust referred her. When I haven’t even had the chance to check out
your
references?”

“Yeah.” She exhaled. Her next deep breath brought her breasts against his chest. Hardened nipples stabbed into his overwarm skin. Her gaze flickered again. Long lashes lowered to veil the brilliant hue of her eyes. “Something like that.”

“Why? Is he your boyfriend? Put him on the floor, and you on the stage?” He leaned in close, knowing he tread a thin line between sanity and madness. His hips flattened against hers, and the throbbing of his cock became unbearable. Her stomach quivered against his abdomen. “Would that heat things up between you two?”

If she said yes, he’d die. Why, he didn’t know. But the idea that Natalya Trubachev would dance before her lover, and then go home and fuck until the sun rose, was enough to torment him the rest of the night. Enough for him to realize he would never, in a hundred years, hire this Sergei.

Right now, though, he didn’t intend to break the bubble of bliss that the press of her soft full breasts wrapped around him by informing her he’d already come to a decision.

“Things don’t need…” Her breathless whisper hitched. She swallowed visibly, then licked her lips once more. “Any more heating up.”

His awareness honed in on the strong beat of her pulse against the side of her neck, and he had the sudden feeling they’d switched gears. This conversation was no longer about hiring anyone. “No, they don’t, do they?” he murmured.

Reaching between them, he caught a shank of her long auburn hair and wrapped it loosely around his hand. It slid through his palm like silk. She turned her face aside, exposing the full length of her delicate throat. He lowered his head, the need to feel that fierce pulse against his tongue eradicating all other thoughts.

Her sweet perfume filled his nose as his lips hovered over her jugular. He dusted his mouth across her fragile skin, a featherlight touch he couldn’t know for certain whether she felt, or he imagined. But her surrendering sigh filled his ears. She sagged into the wall.

Ah, hell, this wasn’t a game. That little sound was as real as the heat pressing against his stiff cock. She wanted him.

Brandon braced one hand on the wall above her shoulder. Using the other, he pushed her jacket aside and drew the back of his hand along the deep collar of her blouse. Where his knuckles brushed, her skin pebbled with goose bumps. The dark lace showing through the translucent fabric beckoned, and he slowly twisted free the first button on her blouse. His gaze remained locked on her face. Her eyes closed, her lips parted.

He popped another button. Let his knuckles kiss her skin as he moved to the next. One by one the little pearls gave free all the way to her waist and exposed that black lace he’d only glimpsed earlier. The contrast of ebony against her creamy skin made him suck in a sharp breath. Rosy nipples strained against the delicate lace, beckoning to his fingers. He gave in and cupped one weighty breast.