Wild (2 page)

Attracted to a numbers geek who practically accused her of stealing? Never.

Although, when she said
geek,
it should be noted the guy was anything but. Forget a scrawny, pale-faced wimp lacking confidence and good posture. This self-referred geek was extremely attractive with his golden brown hair, teasing amber eyes, and a panty-dropping grin.

Oh yes, she'd noticed the power of his dimples at work, but she'd learned how to hide her inner self a long time ago and thus betrayed nothing in her expression. Add in the attractive package a body that moved with smooth grace, and it had her wondering what kind of physique hid beneath his suit.

Not that she'd ever find out. She wasn't interested in a relationship with anyone. However, now that he'd left and she was all alone, she could perhaps admit a certain attraction to the white-collared guy with his engaging manner and tempting smile.

Admit, yet never act upon. He couldn't know about her secrets. Especially not given who he was.

The best thing to do? Avoid him. But how? If he had been mandated to examine the books, then she'd have no choice but to see him again.

Next time, I'll make sure it's in public.
This would prevent her from shooting him if he annoyed her too much—and from doing something even more foolish, like succumbing to his charm.

Exiting her office, Lulu took a brief moment to scan her bar. Not really hers—she simply managed it—but since she currently set the rules, and kept a strict eye on the place, a certain sense of ownership came naturally.

Her career at the Tail Waggers gentlemen's club had begun a few months back as a waitress. A hard worker, Lulu didn't hide her ability to handle patrons, money, or responsibility. It wasn't in her to do a half-assed job, nor did she ever let anyone pull a fast one on her. Given her work ethics, and the fact that she always showed up on time, she quickly jumped from waitress to bartender, courtesy of Ricky, the currently missing manager.

Then when Ricky went missing, Frank, whom she'd gotten to kind of know on his several-times-a-week pickups, temporarily assigned her to take over.

The patrons soon learned to respect her. A woman in charge didn't mean a pushover. It only took her ordering the bouncers to toss a few of the troublemakers out, literally on their ears, to ensure they didn't try anything with the girls who danced at the club.

See, Tail Waggers was more than just a bar serving drinks and pretzels. It also provided entertainment. The type that came with a stage, a pole, and the least amount of clothing allowed by law. Which, in this state, meant the panties stayed on, but some of those scraps held together by string barely squeaked by that mark.

Right now, on the red-carpeted stage, Bindi was doing her thing. Wearing a saucy nurse's uniform, she strutted her stuff to the tune of “Witch Doctor” sung by David Seville but juiced up to give it a modern appeal. The silver pole, washed in between sets because Lulu had a thing about keeping things clean, didn't wobble as Bindi grabbed it and swung her legs around, flashing white panties where the crotch area had a red cross stitched on the front. It matched the pasties on her nipples.

Lulu had long ago become indifferent to the sight of boobs and naked buttocks flashing, but that didn't mean Lulu underdressed. On the contrary, she showed as little flesh as possible on the job, usually wearing form-fitting jeans, which hugged her curvy hips, and T-shirts with cartoons printed on them like the one of the moose with the giant set of antlers she currently sported that said
STOP STARING AT MY RACK OR
I'LL POKE YOU IN THE EYE.

Lights flashed, and the music blared as Bindi bent over to grab the bills tossed onto the stage. Her movements delighted the crowd sitting behind her, who got to see where the G-string on her ass went.

“I love you, Bindi!” a particularly excited fan shouted.

Nothing new, not around here.

Satisfied that things were running as they should, Lulu took her spot behind the bar. The after-dinner crowd was arriving, thirsty for more than just the entertainment.

For the next several hours, Lulu managed to forget her odd visitor, but when she locked up for the night at one
A.M.
, early since it was Tuesday, mid workweek, she couldn't help but wonder what would have happened if she'd accepted the auditor's invitation to dinner.

Would he have seriously returned to meet her this late at night?

A white-collar guy like him was probably in bed by ten and in the office by nine
A.M.
The complete opposite of her, who usually didn't roll out of bed until noon, or later, hitting the bar around three or four to open it.

As Lulu stepped into the practically empty parking lot, well lit by her insistence in order to provide safety for the girls, she scanned the darkness at its edges.

Force of habit. In truth, Lulu did not fear the dangers that might lurk in the dark, but it always helped to see them coming—so she could shoot it.

Before anyone got the impression she was a trigger-happy, violent freak, it should be noted that she'd never shot anyone who didn't deserve it. And it wasn't that many times. Only seven, five of whom lived. Not because she'd missed—because, see, her daddy had taught her well. A self-defense excuse worked best if a girl didn't aim for the heart. In most cases, when a threat was needed, just a simple wave of her Browning 9mm Luger was enough to deter most criminals. In the cases where it wasn't, a well-aimed shot that whistled by their cheek made them see the light.

But sometimes there were cases when a lesson had to be taught and a gunshot would cause too many questions. When she didn't want the law involved, she resorted to hand-to-hand combat. There were ways of hurting people without leaving a bruise.

Try going to the cops with the claim that sweet little me beat the hell out of you with no proof.

It was her jujitsu training mixed in with dirty street fighting that she employed when she heard the steps rushing from behind. Before the unknown person could reach her, she whirled and took in a glimpse of the situation—guy in a navy blue hoodie brandishing a knife.

Piece of cake—the chocolate kind, drizzled with rum, whipped cream, and a dab of cherry sauce.

Mmm. How long since she'd eaten? She'd figure that out after she took care of the ill-advised mugger.

“Give me your purse, bitch!”

“How about I give you a lesson in attacking women instead?” she snapped back. The idiot rushed in with no finesse, relying on his puny knife. A knife he couldn't hold on to when she kicked his hand, sending it spinning to clatter somewhere behind him. But she wasn't done. Lunging forward, she snared his wrist, yanked him toward her, and head-butted him in the nose. His high-pitched scream made her smile in grim satisfaction, but he hadn't yet learned his lesson.

Down came her foot, stomping the top of his with as much force as she could muster. Then she wrapped an arm around his neck to yank him down and kneed him a few times in the midsection.

The screaming went to hiccupping sobs and gasps for, “Mercy. Sorry. I won't do it again.”

“Damned right you won't,” she snarled, giving him one more vicious slug to the jaw before sending him staggering. She planted her hands on her hips and glared at the would-be assailant. “Don't let me catching you loitering around here again, or next time, I will get rough.”

His eyes widened as he wiped at the blood trickling from his broken nose and split lip. He nodded vigorously and winced before he took off, limping as fast as he could.

The sound of someone clapping startled her. One would-be criminal thwarted, and already another waited to take his place?

She pivoted on her heel and pulled her Luger. She had it aimed and cocked before she noted whom she faced. “Not you again.”

But it was. Broderick had returned, more casually attired in slim-fitting blue jeans and a T-shirt that said
GEEKS DO IT BY THE BOOK AND NEVER SKIP ANY CHAPTERS
while clutching a bouquet of flowers and sporting a brilliant smirk.

“I say, bravo. That was freaking awesome. The way you took that fellow down and made him cry, beautiful. Absolutely beautiful. I only wish I'd thought to tape it.”

For the second time that day, she stared at the surprising Broderick and wondered what the hell was wrong with him.

What sane man thought her beating up another man was awesome? What sane man showed up bearing flowers at one in the morning and seemed undaunted by a pointed gun?

Apparently the same kind of guy who simply had to show up for her heart to go pitter-patter and her nipples to tighten.
He came back.
But why?

“What are you doing here?” she asked bluntly.

“Courting you.”

Of all the expected answers, that one had never made the list. “I think you've got your definitions skewed, office boy. Stalking is not courting.”

“Stalking? I beg to differ. Stalking is defined as harassing someone in a way that makes them uncomfortable or afraid. I, on the other hand, am admiring you and expressing my ardent interest in taking things to a more personal level.”

“Take your expression elsewhere. I am not interested.”

“You think that, but you'll see,” he said, striding toward her, ignoring the still-pointed weapon. “We are meant to be together. I can feel it in my whiskers.”

“You're clean shaven.”

“I'm talking about my hidden ones.” He winked.

She frowned. “That better not be some sly reference to your pubes because that's just gross.”

The graceful Broderick stumbled, and she almost laughed, especially given the expression on his face. He didn't say anything to her remark, so she couldn't help but tease, “Cat got your tongue?”

“No, but if you're not careful, this cat will take yours.”

“I'd like to see you try.” She'd put him flat on his ass
—then straddle him and kiss those tempting lips while—

Stop. Nope. Not happening. Broderick might appeal to her womanly side with his assertions that she was his soul mate, but she wasn't falling for his lame pickup lines. He should work his wiles on someone more gullible, someone she could easily intimidate.
Because he's mine. Don't touch.

The sudden spurt of jealousy took her by surprise. She barely knew the guy. Why would the thought of him chasing after another girl bother her?

“I brought you flowers.” He thrust out his hand, and she noted with surprise the arrangement of yellow roses. And not the wilted kind bought on a street corner for five dollars a bunch. He'd actually procured fresh roses, the yellow buds just starting to open and emitting a lovely perfumed aroma.

No one's ever brought me flowers before.
Tickets to a sporting event, yes. Takeout so they could eat in and tumble into bed happened more often than she liked. Oh, and the suave idiots who thought a box of extra-large condoms would impress her. That guy never even made it to second base. But flowers? How old school and cute.

While Lulu didn't take them, she did lower her gun. After all, there was no point in keeping it aimed when she knew she wouldn't shoot it. The guy was weird, maybe a little too ardent, but so far, harmless.

And if he wasn't, she'd do to him what she'd done to the mugger.

“You can keep your flowers. I don't want them.” She didn't even own a vase to put them in. Not to mention, accepting them might encourage him. Men always seemed to think they were owed something if a girl said yes to anything.

“What about the chocolate?” His free hand yanked a small box, tied with a ribbon, from his pocket. The Godiva name caught her eye.

Chocolate.

Quality chocolate.

No. Must resist.
She stuffed her hands in the pockets of her jacket lest she snatch the temptation from his hand. Her traitorous stomach gurgled, but surely he didn't hear it.

Judging by the amused tilt of his lips, he did. “They've got creamy centers.”

Evil man.
Up came the gun. “Move away with your deadly chocolate.”

Still smiling, he lifted both hands laden with gifts, high enough that the fabric of his T-shirt dragged up and over the waist of his low-hanging jeans.

Her gaze was drawn to the narrow band of flesh exposed, the glimpse of taut abdominals and a thatch of hair, arrowing down to …

“Are you seriously getting a boner right now?” She couldn't help her incredulous inquiry. “You do realize I am pointing a gun at you.”

“And it's awfully sexy. I don't suppose once we become a couple that you'd mind if I rented you a sexy cop-girl uniform? You could arrest me. Maybe frisk me. Then strip search me for evidence.”

She almost went cross-eyed at his blatant proposition, less because of the audacity but more because she could picture it. With the addition of cuffs.

“We are not going to be a couple.” Tired of spinning in circles when it came to talking to Broderick, and even more tired of trying to resist his damned charm, she spun and headed to her car, a late model Mazda 3, a perfect little commuter car for a girl in the city.

She didn't know he'd followed her—which bugged her because she prided herself on her acuity—until he braced an arm on her car as she opened the driver's side door.

“So, when can I see you again?”

Did this guy never give up? “Never.”

“Never say never, especially since we have to meet again. You know we still need to talk about the bar's books.”

“If you have business to conduct with me, then you will do so during business hours. In public.” With witnesses to keep her from doing something rash, like kissing him when he leaned in close and whispered to her.

“Until tomorrow then, sweetheart. And just so you know, being in public won't stop me.” He dropped the flowers and chocolate in her lap before stepping away from her car. His wink just before he departed seemed to imply so many things—most of them naughty.