by H M Thomas
He couldn’t be her first, or likely any other number either. He had no business wanting a girl like Gretchen. She was too young, too innocent, and too purely good for someone as tainted as him.
“You’ll thank me,” he tried to assure her.
Glaring at him, she swiped at the tears in her sparkling green eyes. “Fuck you.” The quiet tone of her voice did more to punish him than any yelling could have accomplished. She hurried from the room, slamming the door behind her.
Finn fought the urge to go after her. As much as the thought of Gretchen being embarrassed and hurting crushed him, he couldn’t let her think there was any chance of something happening between them. The best thing he could do for her was to stay away until she forgot about him.
He ran his hand through his hair, the scent of her still lingering on his skin. “Fuck me’s right,” he muttered.
Because, while she might forget him, forgetting Gretchen Christensen was going to be damn near impossible.
Chapter 1
Present Day
Sometimes Finn really loved his job. Sometimes he got to travel the world and visit new places. Sometimes he was surrounded by dozens of barely dressed women begging him to show them a good time. And sometimes he got stuck on a roof after chasing a dumbass up a flight of stairs and having to hogtie him. Tonight was one of those times. If his boss would let him get his point across to his ‘business partners’ without bringing them in for a meeting, he could get back to those things he enjoyed about his job.
His phone vibrated in his pocket, and he sighed, eyeing the man in front of him. “Don’t move.”
He straightened to retrieve the phone from the pocket of his dark jeans. In his hand, the screen glowed, displaying the name and number of his oldest friend. A smile curved his lips as he stepped away, careful to keep his eyes on his prey.
“Hello.”
“Finn, man, what’s up?”
Finn watched the man in front of him, squirming on the roof. “Not much. Just tying up some loose ends before I head out tomorrow.”
Brock sighed. “Good. I’ve been afraid you’d miss the wedding.”
Finn shook his head. Of course, Brock would think that. Finn had skipped every family gathering he’d been invited to in the last decade. “Really, man. You know I love a good funeral. I mean wedding.”
Finn laughed even as his friend feigned anger on the other end of the line.
“Yeah, yeah.” Brock chuckled before going serious. “I wanted to make sure you were good. I mean, you haven’t been around much since your mom.”
Finn didn’t react to his friend’s words. His mom’s death didn’t bother him, it wasn’t why he’d avoided his hometown and Brock’s family for the past ten years, but he’d let Brock think that if it meant keeping what had happened with Gretchen a secret. “I’m fine.”
His quarry pulled against his manacles, almost managing to slip free. Finn reached out a black boot and kicked his shoulder. The man grunted against his gag before he stopped fighting.
“If you say so,” Brock replied, his voice wavering.
Finn didn’t have time for a heart to heart, but he was the best man and his friend was getting married in two days. He took a deep breath and pushed forward. “What’s bothering you? That lame ass bachelor party you had last weekend? Need me to bring some girls from my club?”
Brock barked out a laugh that had Finn grinning.
“Gretchen,” Brock said.
Finn’s grin disintegrated. “Brock,” he warned.
“Look, I know you don’t want to hear about her or whatever. I haven’t heard from her and the wedding is two days away and—”
“Are you the bride or the groom?” he interrupted.
“Screw you,” Brock snapped.
“That doesn’t narrow it down.”
Finn waited for Brock’s laugh to echo through the line. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to hear about Gretchen, he didn’t trust himself with information about her. He was afraid if Brock told him she was with some bastard who treated her bad, he’d go and kick the guy’s ass. Or if he saw a picture of her with her big green eyes, unruly blond hair and lush handfuls of curves, he’d fantasize about her more than he already did. And God forbid, if he ever heard she did the unthinkable and fell in love and belonged to someone else, he might have to kill someone.
So, no, it wasn’t that he didn’t want to hear about Gretchen, it was better for his sanity and everyone else’s safety if he didn’t.
“What’s the little hell raiser done now?” Despite his feelings, he could help his friend out.
Brock smirked. “Being difficult. She won’t commit to an actual arrival time, insists on staying at the hotel instead of the house, and won’t answer anyone’s calls.”
Finn’s lips quirked. Go Gretch. She was finally doing what the hell she wanted instead of listening to her parents. She’d always had it in her. “I wouldn’t sweat it. Gretchen loves you. She won’t miss your funeral, I mean—”
“Yeah, you’re right.” Brock sighed.
“She’s a big girl,” he reminded his friend, though it seemed like only yesterday he’d been calling her a kid. “She’ll show up when she’s ready. She doesn’t need to be directed. Relax.”
On the other end of the line Brock said something about his mom and stress and wanting this all to be over, but Finn wasn’t listening. He could only think about seeing Gretchen again as a grown woman, suddenly unsure if he felt worse for himself or the poor bastard in front of him.
~ ~ ~
Gretchen stood breathing in and out, steadying her heartbeat, listening to the pounding rhythm of the music and letting it sink into her veins. Though she’d never done drugs, she imagined they gave the same kind of high as performing.
The lights came up, erasing everything beyond the stage and leaving her in a world consisting of only her, the music and a pole. A smile tipped her lips. Holding the pole with one hand, she made a slow circle before coming to a stop with her back to the audience and giving them a full view of her lace covered derriere. She swayed side-to-side, before hooking a leg around the pole and flipping around, twisting and spinning to the ground.
She pulled herself up, before dropping to a squat, the pole between her spread thighs. She rolled her hips, the pole inching closer to her core with each undulation, until she could feel the cool steel reacting to her own heat. She ran her hand up her naked torso and over her barely concealed breasts. Her nipples pebbled, and her core dampened, reacting as if the hand belonged to a lover.
If only.
She spun once more before sliding to the floor, and then the music stopped, and the lights died. She stood, still breathing hard. When her boss had first come to her about going undercover as a pole dancer, she’d told him he was crazy. Now, she wondered why she hadn’t started dancing sooner.
As she stood, scanning the crowd, her gaze snagged on a man stalking through the club. Her body tensed with a mixture of interest, suspicion, and familiarity. She couldn’t make out his face from the stage with the lights shining so close to her, but there was something about his tall frame, topped off with wide shoulders that reminded her of someone. His muscular body was tense as he headed straight for her mark, Raymond Carlisle.
Instinctively, she reached for the gun at her back. Only she wasn’t carrying a gun, she was undercover and half naked. Her skin flashed cold, blooming with goosebumps. Shivering, she watched as the man reached Raymond who greeted him with a wide smile, before she made her way backstage. She’d get dressed and then figure out who the mystery guy was.
She slid her clothes on, oddly feeling more uncomfortable in the short, tight dress than she had in the bra and boy-shorts while dancing. On stage, she couldn’t see the men looking at her, but as she walked through the crowd toward the bar, t
he leering eyes of the patrons were difficult to ignore. Although she’d had a couple of guys grab her ass or say lewd things, so far it hadn’t been anything threatening. Tonight felt different. Tonight the hairs on the back of her neck stood up in ominous warning.
She stumbled to a stop to avoid running into Raymond as he hurried across her path, ushered by the unknown man. With his head turned away from her, he bumped her as he passed, his arm brushing her chest. Her entire body lit up, sending her pulse throbbing at the apex of her thighs. She turned and watched his wide back encased in black leather as they disappeared into Raymond’s office without looking back.
She made her way to the bar, still watching Carlisle’s door.
“You’re starting to be a real thorn in my side, Lilah.”
Gretchen turned at the use of her undercover stage name and looked up into the gruff yet handsome face of Grant, her favorite security guard. She smiled sweetly at him as he took a cigarette out of his pocket before flicking open the gold monogrammed lighter he always carried.
She batted her eyes. “Why in the world would you say something like that?”
Grant glared at her and took a drag from his cigarette, his fingers still flicking rhythmically at the lighter.
She liked Grant. He was a mystery, and as a federal agent she liked nothing more than trying to figure out a mystery. He was surly and reticent, but he’d never failed to ask her how she was doing or offer a kind word. And during those rare occurrences when she made him laugh, he was damn near gorgeous. He watched her out of the corner of his eyes, and she grinned. Making him smile had become her daily mission.
“Your dancing gets the guys’ testosterone pumping too much,” he explained. “Then they have to fight or fuck, and there are only so many willing girls out there.”
Her grin turned wicked. She winked, sipping her whiskey. “That’s what Carlisle’s paying me for.”
Grant rolled his eyes and they both sat for a moment, him smoking and her sipping. Her gaze kept drifting back to Carlisle’s closed door.
“What’s Carlisle up to anyway?” She tried for nonchalance. “I saw him with some new guy.”
Grant shrugged, evading.
“Yeah, okay. Who was that guy?”
Amber, the bartender, gave a dramatic sigh. “That was Jay.”
“Jay, huh?” Gretchen raised an eyebrow. “What’s his story? I haven’t seen him around.”
“He’s been out of town for a while,” Grant conceded. “He’s Carlisle’s head of security.”
Gretchen turned back to the man beside her. “I thought you were the head of security.”
In the month or so she’d been undercover, Grant had broken up fights, fired bouncers, and come to her aid when patrons started to get out of hand. She’d assumed he was in charge.
“I’m only over security guards,” he corrected. “Jay’s over everything.”
Gretchen nodded, remembering the way her body had reacted to that brief brush with the other man. Finding out more about Jay was going to be a pleasure.
Chapter 2
Gretchen always dreaded going home, trying to navigate the relationships her family had established before her birth was hard enough, without the added complications of her own secret life as a federal agent.
Originally, her partner, Neil, had agreed to be her date, instead, their captain had kept him in town, claiming he was making enough of a sacrifice by letting Gretchen disappear for the weekend. Without Neil, she’d considered skipping the wedding altogether.
Brock and his fiancé, Maria, had invited hundreds of guests.
Would they notice if she were absent?
In a word, yes.
Brock had always loved her best. Although he was six years older, she’d always been closer with him than her sisters who were nine and twelve-years older. The thought brought a smile to her lips as she sat in the church balcony watching the bridesmaids whisper to one another and the groomsmen shuffle from foot to foot, ready to get the rehearsal over with. Another reason she loved her brother, he hadn’t made her be in the wedding, so now she could sit back and watch and maybe not disappoint her mother too much by simply existing.
A collective sigh escaped the bridesmaids below, causing the tiny hairs on the back of her neck to rise in awareness as the room around her seemed to sizzle. She lifted her head.
“He’s here,” a female voice murmured in appreciation.
Another giggled in fascination. “I’m surprised the church isn’t in flames.”
Gretchen turned slowly toward the door, there could only be one man they were talking about.
In the doorway stood Finnegan James, all six-foot-four inches of hard male, looking much too dangerous to be standing in a sanctuary. He wore a black suit obviously made to fit his perfectly sculpted body. Underneath, he’d left the white shirt opened at the neck and foregone a tie, proof rebel blood still ran through his veins.
Gretchen didn’t move as she admired him, sauntering down the aisle like a fallen angel returning to his former glory. He scanned the lower level with cool gray eyes, before lifting his head and spotting her. The moment his eyes landed on her, assessing her, every nerve ending in her body flared to life with sudden awareness. Good God, she’d had sex and not felt as stripped down as she had with that one look.
His eyes narrowed, and he pulled his lower lip between his teeth. Heat flared up her bare neck and into her cheeks, and her nipples hardened into tight pebbles. In the ten years since he’d last touched her, she hadn’t found anyone who made her crave his touch the way she still craved Finn’s.
She averted her eyes, forcing away the sudden image of him bending her over the church pew in front of her. With the life she led, she didn’t need any reason for God to be upset with her, and Finn certainly danced with the devil.
~ ~ ~
Finn hated churches. He hadn’t been in one since his mother’s funeral ten years before. Too much blood stained his hands for churches, too much sin surrounded him to believe God could ever find anything redeeming inside him. As if he needed proof of his hopelessness, his gaze drifted back to the curvy blond in the balcony, and behind his zipper, he thickened, imagining bending her over a pew.
Brock clapped him on the shoulder as he approached, bringing him out of his dirty daydream. “You made it.” Brock’s shoulders loosened with the statement, tension visibly falling away.
“Of course, I did. I told you I would.” Like he was some type of gentleman and his word meant something, when in truth he told people lies every day, him saying he would do something usually meant nothing.
“Still think I’m making a mistake?”
Finn glanced across the church to where Maria stood with her mother and the wedding planner. How did he tell Brock he didn’t think getting married was a mistake so much as he didn’t believe in the sustainability of love?
He took a deep breath and slid his hands into the pockets of his slacks. He could lie to Brock and tell him getting married was the best thing he’d ever done, and he’d love to be in his shoes, but he didn’t lie to Brock. Well, not about anything except his younger sister.
“I couldn’t tell you,” Finn answered honestly. “For me, marriage would be a huge mistake, but you’re not me.”
Brock grinned and gave him a playful punch on the shoulder. “One of my few regrets in life.”
“Yeah I bet.” Growing up Brock had everything Finn had wanted, but now—a wife, one day a family—those weren’t things Finn strove for.
Footsteps sounded behind them and Finn glanced at the balcony, but the blonde still sat alone, watching.
Bennett Christensen appeared beside them and smiled. “Finnegan. It’s been too long, son.” He wrapped Finn in a hug with a stiff pat on the back. Only Brock’s father had ever called Finn son, as if him be
ing so would have been a gift instead of a burden.
Mr. Christensen pulled back, holding Finn at arm’s length, his eyes narrowing as he studied him. “How have you been? You don’t come around enough anymore.”
Finn coughed to cover his sudden nerves. His unease wasn’t caused by the reminder that he’d avoided the Christensens, instead the image of Gretchen fleeing his motel room was suddenly a living, breathing thing between them. Avoiding the Christensens kept him from doing something stupid like apologizing and asking Gretchen to give him a chance. He should have turned Brock down when he asked him to be in this damn wedding.
“I’ve been good, Mr. Chris. Work keeps me busy.” Not exactly a lie.
“Work.” Mr. Christensen huffed. “You sound like someone else I don’t see enough of.”
Finn glanced at his friend. Brock had always taken life too seriously, never believing the mantra that all work and no play would make him dull.
“Gretchen still isn’t here?” Brock asked his father.
Finn’s stomach tightened at the mention of her.
Brock’s father shook his head. “And she’s not answering her cell.”
“She’s probably driving,” Brock offered. “There’s still fifteen minutes, she’ll be here.”
The older man nodded and ran a hand through his thinning hair.
Finn’s gaze again drifted to the now empty balcony. “Is she actually in the wedding?” He knew the answer, otherwise he wouldn’t have agreed to be in it himself. The thought of walking down an aisle with Gretchen Christensen did funny things to his mind and libido.
Brock shook his head. “She and Maria don’t really know each other.”
“So, she just has to show up, cry at the wedding, then get drunk at the reception?”