Tiny Dancer [Divine Creek Ranch 13] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting) (2 page)

HEATHER RAINIER

Copyright © 2013

Mid-October…

Camilla O’Neal waved at Tom Barton as he rose from The Dancing Pony’s long wooden bar after finishing the drink she’d mixed for him.

“Thanks for the great service, shortcake,” he said with a wink. He slid a twenty-dollar bill across the bar to her after paying his tab, tipping Camilla easily triple what she’d normally received in the past. Her dreams of running her own nightclub were coming closer to reality every day. Each dollar she saved was a dollar for which she wouldn’t have to go into debt. Since she’d started wearing the sexy costumes three weeks before, the tips she earned had increased for the same amount of work.

She’d worn the sailor costume that night, which consisted of white shorts, a skimpy white button-up shirt tied under her bustline, white sailor cap, and her white cowgirl boots. In her book, boots went with everything. Plus, they were comfortable.

She watched surreptitiously as her boss, Ben Lawrence, and coworker, Quinten Parks, strode from the storage cooler located behind the bar. A needy-sounding sigh escaped her lips, which she hoped no one had heard over the country music playing on the sound system. Ben had on a black T-shirt that hugged his biceps and muscular pecs as he hefted the case onto the stainless-steel counter by the sinks. Quinten’s bulging biceps strained at the sleeves of his denim shirt as he placed his box next to Ben’s.

She wanted to reach out to Quinten and run her fingers through his dark-blond curls. He’d adopted a slightly longer haircut in the last year, and she’d been pleasantly surprised to learn that his hair was curly. He wore it in a messy style that fit his easygoing personality perfectly.

Well, usually easygoing. Not so much these days.

She felt like she was walking on eggshells with those two. Her heart fluttered as she thought of them both and she castigated herself, hoping she wasn’t as obvious as she felt. She needed to take her own “work is work and pleasure is pleasure” talk to heart. She’d always made it her personal policy to not have relationships with coworkers. They just made doing the job harder. The problem was that she wasn’t sure how strongly she felt about that policy anymore. She wanted to know them better but was afraid to.

Face it, Cami. You want them both, and you’re afraid to take that step. Afraid to risk that they’d be willing to share. It’s asking a lot. Add being coworkers on top of that. It’s a recipe for disaster.
She mentally shook herself and squashed the feelings that welled in her heart as she glanced at them from beneath her lashes.

She was too close to her big goals to risk watching it all topple. She needed a good work relationship, free of personal hassles. Her eyes strayed to both men again.

Quinten was a nice contrast to Ben, whose hair was dark brown and crew cut, which complemented his darkly tan coloring and deep, deep brown eyes.

Both men seemed oblivious to her presence at the cash register as she placed money in the till.

Jake Owen’s “Alone With You” played over the sound system as the men returned to the storage cooler to bring the rest of the cases of beer. She began transferring the bottles from the boxes into the coolers behind the bar.

Of all the jobs she’d ever had, this one was by far her favorite and the one she’d miss the most when she moved on. That mostly had to do with the men she worked for. Ben Lawrence and Ethan Grant, co-owners of The Dancing Pony, were hardworking, thoughtful, and understanding bosses.

Ben, whom she worked with most often of the two, was incredibly attractive and it had taken a concerted effort over the last couple of years to not give in to the temptation to reach out and touch him. Her first management job in her chosen field was very important, so she’d learned to live with the attraction she’d always felt toward him. The work relationship had to be on the up-and-up.

Then there was Quinten, with his naughty golden-boy good looks and easy demeanor. If she could have a best friend in a work environment, it was him. They’d connected on the first night she’d worked at The Pony, but there again, the professional relationship had to come first. Quinten had tried to put his attraction into words but she’d stopped him before he could finish. That had been hard as hell, because she would’ve loved to have pulled him into the cooler that first night and muss up his golden locks for him.

Her goals had been and still were completely solidified and she couldn’t let anything get in her way. A work affair with either of the men she was attracted to could be disastrous for her plans to have her own club. Her reputation as a professional businesswoman mattered more than anything and too often affairs with coworkers damaged a woman’s credibility.

It had unsettled her lately that, despite her best efforts, her relationship with them seemed to be on shaky ground. Both men had always been protective, maybe even
over
protective. But lately they’d been alpha-like, staying within easy reach of her when The Pony was crowded or when she was conversing with a male patron who was new to the club. She’d assumed their vigilance was because of the fistfight that had broken out and spread to the dance floor earlier in the fall but they hadn’t let up since then. She’d find them watching her—both of them—but then they’d look away if she caught them. Knowing that they watched over her like that made her feel warm all over but that didn’t change the fact that she couldn’t act on those feelings.

She knew they didn’t like the themed costumes she’d been wearing, despite the fact that it clearly translated into greater profits for the club. They bristled anytime she chose to spend her occasional breaks during the evenings with her friends on the dance floor.

When she joined Grace, Rachel, and the others for a dance, it helped her to relax and she loved the physical activity. Since she’d stopped dancing at the Dollhouse, her curves had rounded out, so she took physical activity however she could but enjoyed dancing most of all.

On several occasions, she’d noticed Ben and Quinten watching her dance from their positions behind the bar. She’d wondered at the way their gazes had made her cheeks warm, considering that she’d danced without a blush while clad in considerably less clothing at her previous job at the Dollhouse gentleman’s club. Being honest with herself, she found that her gaze followed their handsome physiques around the club far more often than was probably prudent.

Ben and Quinten had mostly kept to themselves since her arrival that evening. She had the sense that they were up to something that she wasn’t “in on,” and it hurt her feelings a little. No point in wondering what was up with the two of them because they seemed to keep her guessing most days.

Ben and Quinten returned a moment later carrying more cases, so she sucked in her pouty lip and finished the work that needed to be done.

Bending over to place bottles deep in the cooler, Camilla heard what sounded like a painful groan from Quinten. She caught the sight of his back as he quickly retreated into the storage cooler. Ben stood in front of the sink, his hands braced on the edge, and looked as though he was thinking…hard.

Once more, her gaze was riveted to the strong lines of his masculine physique, the way his bulky biceps were delineated, and the carved granite of his jawline. Her heart palpitated, along with other girlie parts, as she noted the virile bulge at his groin, visible as he stood in profile.
What a man
.

Something about the intensity of his posture drew her to him. “Is everything okay, Ben?” Camilla asked as she scooted close so none of the patrons could hear her. His masculine scent, a mix of woodsy bodywash and his own unique musk, made her pulse throb as he met her gaze with those dark, unfathomable eyes of his. Some deep, primal part of her wanted to rub up against him, but she held herself in check.

Don’t flip that switch, girl.
He’s so off-limits

Ben let out a long sigh, gave her a halfhearted smile, and shook his head. She went back to putting the bottles in the cooler and he helped by removing them from the box and handing them over two at a time. The work took less time with his help but her heart rate sped up as her hands occasionally brushed against the warmth of his as she took them from him.

Once the case of cold beer bottles was empty, he scooted around her in the slightly cluttered space behind the bar and gathered up all the boxes. He lifted them over his head and made a move to go back around her. Unfortunately, he “zigged” when she “zagged.” She lost her balance and wound up with her backside to his front. His hot, heavily muscled body was in contact with hers from her shoulders to her ass. Heat sizzled up her spine and awareness of him shot through her like a bolt of lightning.

“Sorry, Camilla, I didn’t mean to knock you off balance,” he murmured in a low drawl as he paused, bracing himself against her until she was steady on her feet again.

“Th–that’s okay.” She was glad the bar wasn’t full because she had a feeling her expression would probably give her away. The desire to rub against him was almost overpowering.

Once she was steady, he pulled away but not before she noticed the hard ridge that brushed against her ass as he moved. His voice sounded a little strained as he muttered, “Gonna go put these boxes away.” Without further comment he rounded the end of the long wooden bar and strode toward the storeroom.

She tilted her head in appreciation as she watched his Wrangler-clad butt.

She turned to face the customers and found Vance sitting on his tall chair, elbow braced on the bar, resting his chin in his hand. He grinned at her. “You have no idea how gorgeous you are, do you, Cami?”

Camilla cleared her throat as she stepped up on the ledge Ethan Grant and Jack Warner had installed to make it easier for her to reach the bar. In addition to being married to her friend Grace
Warner, Jack was also a building contractor. Ethan had asked him to build the narrow footrail for her since, at five feet one inch she was a bit “height-challenged.” At eye level with Vance, she wiped the bar down with a towel as she smiled at him. Vance was a nice guy, if a bit of a horndog.

“You know I go by Camilla now, Vance.”

He pouted, and Camilla mentally tallied his beers. “I know, but I have such fond memories of
Cami
.”

Camilla snorted as she cleared his empty bottle and nodded at his signal for another one. “You make it sound like we had something going, Vance. Heck, you never laid a hand on me.”

Vance sighed melodramatically as he took a sip of his fresh beer. “I know. But in my fantasies we did. You always turn me down, but I’m gonna keep asking—”

Here we go again.

Camilla had to laugh as she cut him off. “No, Vance. You can
not
‘motorboat’ my breasts for fifty bucks. But thank you for the offer.” He asked to nuzzle her every time he came in, with his naughty cowboy grin and his twinkly eyes. Mostly, his requests just amused her. He opened his mouth, probably about to teasingly haggle with her when Quinten reappeared from the storage cooler. Camilla caught the way Vance immediately clammed up and tried unsuccessfully to look innocent.

Turning to Quinten, words stuck in her throat when she saw the glare he cast at Vance. She wondered if he’d overheard their conversation, and also wondered why it would bother him. It was certainly par for the course with Vance and all the women in the club. She placed Vance’s beer in front of him and then moved down the bar closer to Quinten. “Hey, I thought I was going to have to rescue you from there before you froze to death. You okay?” He’d sounded like he was in pain when he’d retreated a few minutes before.

He nodded at her, and her heart lightened a little as good humor returned to his bright-blue eyes. If he’d been sullen before, he must’ve gotten over it. “I’m keeping plenty warm.” His gaze flicked over her outfit, but he made no comment about it as he added, “You got it under control out here?” It was time for him to go home since the stocking was all done for a Wednesday night at The Dancing Pony.

“Yup,” Camilla replied with a nod. She reached out and stroked a curling lock of his dark-blond hair and then glanced at Ben as he returned behind the bar. “You both have paint in your hair. What’ve you been up to?” As far as she knew, there was no work going on in the club.

“We’re doing some renovations.”

Something about Ben’s brief reply made her curious. She was about to ask when, from down at the end of the bar, a gritty voice called out, “Can we get some service please?”

“Yeah, we’re thirsty,” another voice said, in silky contrast to the first one.

“And lonely!” came another deeper demand, laced with humor.

Camilla’s jaw dropped as she turned and squealed. “Well look who the cat dragged in!”

The three biggest, baddest bouncers she’d ever known stood clustered at the end of the bar. Cody, Heath, and Spencer, her coworkers from her days at the Dollhouse in Morehead. She hadn’t seen them since leaving Jake’s employ a few years before.

Turning back to Ben, she said, “I’ll be right back. I need to greet some old friends.” She made a beeline for the end of the bar and skirted it, opening her arms for hugs from her three giantlike friends.

Possessiveness swept through Quinten like a wildfire as Camilla hugged each of the hulking, leather-clad giants standing at the end of the bar. To his recollection, only Eli Wolf and possibly Adam Davis and Richard Warner would dwarf any of those men in height. In sheer bulk, those three strangers would clearly come out the winners. They grinned with obvious pleasure as she hugged each of them in turn.