by Karen Rock
Reckless Deceptions
Dallas After Dark
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Teaser Chapter
About the Author
Reckless Deceptions
Dallas After Dark
Karen Rock
LYRICAL LIAISON
Kensington Publishing Corp.
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Copyright © 2018 by Karen Rock
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Lyrical Underground and Lyrical Underground logo Reg. US Pat. & TM Off.
First Electronic Edition: December 2018
eISBN-13: 978-1-5161-0614-1
eISBN-10: 1-5161-0614-8
First Print Edition: December 2018
ISBN-13: 978-1-5161-0617-2
ISBN-10: 1-5161-0617-2
Printed in the United States of America
Chapter 1
Sometimes a little menace went a long way.
CIA Special Agent Ryan Arnell stalked to the velvet rope restraining a horde of hyped Dallas Heat patrons. He glowered at the hulking bouncer, then curtly nodded his thanks when the man hurriedly unhooked the fastener and waved him through. No questions asked.
Usually Ryan flew under the radar. Cardinal rule for an international spy: do not draw attention to yourself. But after a sixteen-hour flight from Damascus to Dallas, smashed between a cat video enthusiast with a nervous bladder and a drunk who’d mistaken his shoulder for an armrest, his self-control and patience hung by a thread. Given the infuriating mission the CIA’s deputy chief had assigned him the moment he reached American soil, Ryan was in no mood for niceties.
He muscled his way to the bar, waved some cash, and snagged a beer, then strode a short distance away without waiting for his change. The cool hops washed down his burning throat, flavorless. Three more pulls and he slammed the empty bottle on a nearby tabletop. The bottle wobbled, tipped then tumbled.
He shoved shaking hands into his pockets and searched out the woman he’d been ordered to meet. Erica Keely, the tough, headstrong ex-CIA agent he’d tried—and failed—to forget after their secret affair’s tumultuous end two years ago.
Why was she working at a male revue and female burlesque club? Something beyond earning a quick buck must be motivating her clever mind. And how did her phoned-in claim of a supposed terrorist threat figure into this anything-goes club?
He drummed his fingers on the table. Seeing her again couldn’t have happened at a worse moment. He was off the clock for the next couple of weeks—back home after three years away on personal, family business.
Private business.
He sidestepped a group of men stampeding toward the stage and compartmentalized. Initiate contact, ascertain the validity of Erica’s intel, then beat a fast retreat to his cheap efficiency room in his economy rental car.
Ahhhh—the glitz and glam of international espionage.
He had 2.5 million frequent-flier miles for traveling the globe this past decade, a precisely packed carry-on bag containing all his worldly possessions, and a thirty-caliber bullet lodged in his left hip to show for a life dedicated to hunting down Jabhat al-Nusra, an Al-Qaeda splinter group fighting the Syrian government. It was a life away from Dallas Heat’s spray-tanned, glitter-dusted world. Another planet.
A universe even.
One in which kick-butt, take-no-prisoners Erica Keely somehow now belonged.
He eyed the club’s crimson walls and the animated groups crowding zebra-patterned booths. Dallas Heat looked harmless. The thrum of a sultry tune accompanied a sequin-covered performer twirling on stage. A shirtless bartender juggled stemware while another poured bubbling champagne down an ice-luge sculpture. As a cocktail waitress carrying a tray of something rum and citrus-smelling passed Ryan, she eyed him.
“Can I get you anything, handsome?” she offered after handing out shots to a nearby table. Razor-edged black hair framed a round face adorned with multiple piercings.
“Erica Keely? Is she around?”
Her sunny smile transformed her goth face to girl-next-door pretty…if the girl next door pierced her septum with a miniature arrow, of course. “Everybody wants to know about Blaze….”
“Blaze?”
“Blaze Star’s her dance name when she’s not tending bar.”
A wave of possessiveness rolled through his gut as he eyed the men crowding the dance floor. “Tell me about her.”
The waitress lowered her tray, revealing bare arms covered in tattoo sleeves. “Another one, huh?”
“Another what?”
“Person stuck on Blaze.” She angled her head and stared at a pair of silks dangling at the back of the stage. “I mean…who doesn’t want to get in her pants, right?”
“It’s not like that.”
Dimples appeared in a cheeky grin. “Okay. Whatever you say.”
“So,” he prompted, “Blaze—ah—Star…?” The name suited magnetic Erica. She’d been a lightning rod, attracting danger, controversy, him…before betraying him and their mission….
The server waved off a shouting patron and edged close enough for her studded bracelet to scrape his arm. “She’s the headliner for our new burlesque night. Started here a month ago. Kind of keeps to herself. Unfortunately,” she added on a sigh.
“Unfortunately?” Sure, Erica could be standoffish, but in a place like this, that could protect her from unwanted attention. The fewer strange men groping her, the better.
“Hardly ever socializes with staff. And she doesn’t give lap dances, no matter how much she’s offered. Our boss, Reese, doesn’t make us do them, but shit… You’d have to be a fool or insane to turn down the big money Blaze does. Maybe she doesn’t need the money…or she’s not into men?”
“I’m fairly certain the answer’s no on both counts.”
Hope faded from the server’s face. “Then why’s she working here then, huh?”
“Good question,” Ryan muttered under his breath, relieved when he had no right to be about Erica refusing men private dances, her body grinding on them
…the way her hips used to move only for him…. “Thanks for your time.” He dropped a twenty on the waitress’s empty tray.
“I don’t charge men like you,” she drawled, then pocketed the cash just the same. “Find me later, handsome,” she called over her shoulder. “I’ll introduce you to Blaze.”
Alone again, he eyed a line of feather-covered women kicking in time to a re-mixed Frank Sinatra anthem. How much longer until Erica…Blaze Star…burst into his orbit again?
He grabbed a seat at the bar, ordered another beer, and cracked a peanut shell in one vicious snap.
“And now, ladies and gentlemen,” announced a raven-haired woman clad in a strategically placed feather boa and Hello Kitty pasties. “Please welcome to the stage the incredible, the electric, Ms. Blaze Star!”
The lights winked out and thunderous applause rolled inside the club. Whistles split the thick air. Boots stomped. At last, a spotlight flashed on, revealing a smoking hot redhead in a second-skin, ankle-length black dress. One graceful arm extended overhead; the other hand rested on her tiny waist. Her curvy body bent slightly at the knees to accentuate every angle of her magnificent figure.
A peanut lodged in Ryan’s throat, and he coughed violently. He swiped his streaming eyes and gaped at the stunner on stage.
Erica.
Holy shit.
He shook his head, trying to clear the attraction fogging his brain, but it was useless. Years of lust and anticipation brewed deep in his belly. He tore his gaze away and guzzled his drink. Anything to cool the inferno the sight of her stoked to life.
The opening notes to Feeling Good filled the club, and Erica rocked her small, round hips, swiveling seductively, teasingly. His breath hissed between his clenched teeth when she turned and peered over her shoulder, arched a brow, then lowered one shoulder of her dress to reveal flawless white flesh. His fingers tightened around his beer as he recalled the satin feel of her skin, the smooth creamy taste.
A groan rumbled from his throat.
She was a glory to look at. Toned, perfectly proportioned, and leanly muscled. Her thick waterfall of hair glowed beneath the light when she slowly twirled again. She extended one arm forward, as if reaching into the spellbound audience, then repeated the tantalizing beckon with her opposite limb. Perspiration broke across his brow. His mouth hung open, and he made an effort to close it.
Her hair was longer than he remembered, framing her heart-shaped face in burnished-red waves falling past her shoulders. Ryan preferred long hair. Nothing compared to the feeling of burying his hands in a woman’s hair and tugging it gently the moment before she came apart beneath him. His groin swelled as he recalled the thick silk slipping through his fingers when they’d made love in Cairo’s heat, sheets damp and sticking to their joined bodies, Erica’s frantic panting in his ear, the squeeze of her thighs around his hips as she’d demanded more…more…more….
A synthesized saxophone wailed, yanking him from the past.
Gyrating to the floor, Erica parted the invisible fasteners closing her dress, then flung it off as she rose, bringing her gold, string-bikini-clad body into full view. The tiny triangles barely covered her nipples, and the bottom rode high on her hips, exposing long, lean legs, a taut abdomen and a nipped-in waist.
Something ripped loose in his chest. God, she was gorgeous. When she twirled, he glimpsed her firm, round ass and sucked in a harsh breath. White-hot attraction nearly blinded him.
Now her shoulders were drawn back, her beautiful breasts on display. His palms ached at the remembered swell of them, overflowing his greedy grasp. What the hell? He’d prepared himself for a tease, but this—this was fucking torture.
Ryan shot a look around the dim room—every male eye was locked on Erica. He stifled the urge to stand between her and the ogling jackasses. Not that he was one of them… He forced himself back down on his barstool.
Oh. Who the fuck was he kidding?
His body was on fire for her. Blood pulsed through him, hot and frustrated. He hadn’t been this aroused since—a vision of a gloriously naked Erica, sprawled on his bed, swam before his eyes. She alone had made him greedy. Animalistic. Their trysts pure, unadulterated passion. Fly-me-to-the-moon-and-back sex.
Dammit.
His thoughts chased themselves in hot circles.
He needed to leave. Now. Call the deputy chief and tell him to send some flunky to take her statement—what he should have done in the first damn place.
With agile, athletic grace, Erica grabbed hold of one of the silk lines streaming down to the stage, wrapped her legs around it with pointed toes, and began effortlessly climbing it, hand over fist. Halfway up, she paused, brought her knees to her chest and spun, revealing her bouncing ass.
Ryan cut off a man’s whistle by elbowing the horny guy’s soft gut.
“Hey,” the man huffed. “Watch it—” He fell mute at Ryan’s black scowl and backed away. “No offense, man.” With that, he pivoted and fled into the crowd.
Yeah. A little menace went a long way.
Returning his attention to Erica, Ryan spied her near the top of the silk. His heart triple-timed as she separated the material with her foot, pushing it away and arching backward so her generous breasts tipped skyward in a long, sinuous stretch.
He smothered a groan. Oh God. Erotic. Sensual. Her body, her beauty, her confidence spiraled around her, taunting, teasing, practically stroking him. He shuddered with the carnal promise she bestowed.
As the music blared, she executed one death-defying move after another in a synergy of grace, athleticism, and mouthwatering sensuality. Where the hell had she learned to perform aerial silks? The dangerous moves made sense. She’d always been an adrenaline junkie who acted first, considered risks later…if at all. Her undaunted impulsiveness had once drawn him, despite their different temperaments, until those qualities bit them both in the ass.
Hard.
Ryan liked confident women. A rose to look at and a lioness in the bedroom. His mouth quirked. He wasn’t a caveman. He respected women, but he also knew what he wanted. And unfortunately, the temptation in bold, audacious Erica had been too much to ignore while he’d led the terrorist task force she’d ultimately betrayed.
Tiny dots of light now crisscrossed the stage, sparkling. They set Erica aglow as she twisted in midair, then swung into an impressive handstand. After she lowered herself, her legs parted into an aerial split to raucous cheers. With a sly wink, she unhooked herself and glided down the material.
A growl built in the back of Ryan’s throat at the group of jostling men thronging the stage. They practically salivated, reaching across the polished wooden surface toward Erica the moment she touched ground.
His back teeth clamped together.
Not fucking happening.
He grabbed two catcalling guys by the collar and shoved them backward. When a third grabbed for her foot, Ryan smacked it away. On the job, Erica had swathed herself in conservative garb or fatigues, but this…this blatant sexual side that’d once been a feast for his eyes only…played serious games with his already fucked-up mind.
He still wanted Erica.
An undisputable truth.
Leave.
He hustled to the stage exit instead, pushed aside another admirer, and leapt after her.
“No patrons backstage,” announced a burly bouncer. Ahead, Erica flicked her long hair over her shoulder and accepted a stagehand’s offered water.
“I’m not a customer.” Ryan glowered down at the meathead. He didn’t need this asshole’s permission. “Erica!”
She paused and peered backward. Her eyes popped when they landed on him, and her body stiffened. “You!”
“Okay, dude.” The bouncer grabbed Ryan’s arm. “Outta here.”
“No.” Ryan flung off the man’s grip without tearing his gaze from Erica. Her eyes were bright and
angry now, and a hectic red flooded her cheeks. It didn’t take Jason Bourne to figure out he wasn’t the agent she’d expected. “I’m a—a—”
“An asshole?” All the air left his body at her familiar, taunting-feisty voice. It was the kind of voice in which every other sentence seemed to end with a silent “in your face.” Every fourth sentence with a “fuck off.”
The bouncer’s square head swiveled between him and Erica as they locked eyes. “You know this guy?”
“Unfortunately.” She grabbed a robe from the gaping stagehand, shoved it on, and belted it tight before striding close. His heart thumped, and his palms slicked as he peered into her familiar, refined features. Erica Keely was more beautiful than any woman had a right to be.
“What is he—a stalker?”
“Worse,” she spat. “He’s my ex.”
“Now you’re really outta here!” The bouncer lunged, stumbling when Ryan easily sidestepped the oaf.
“Wait!” Erica grabbed the bouncer’s raised arm when he whirled. “I don’t want you to get hurt.”
“I won’t hurt him,” Ryan observed, dry. “Much.”
“You think I’m afraid of him?” The huffing bouncer struggled to free himself. Since Erica strategically placed her fingers on his pressure points, though, it was a losing battle.
“You should be.” Erica eyed Ryan, then sighed. “Much as I’d like to see you beat the crap out of him, you’d never land the first punch. He’s killed some serious motherfuckers.”
“Seriously?” The bouncer eased back, his tiny eyes darting.
Ryan’s lips curved as he drank in Erica’s fierce expression: full lips pursed, strong eyebrows meeting over her short nose, her eyes shooting sparks. It had always made him want to shake her and kiss her at the same time. He forced his fingers to unfurl. “Some of them were just assholes.”
She rolled her eyes. “And they all had it coming. Everything by the books, right?”
He shrugged, used to the accusation. Proud of it, in fact. The world worked better when people followed the rules and didn’t get emotionally involved. Something Erica never understood.