by Tami Lund
“Get this cleaned up,” the announcer shouted to somebody who was standing behind Kennedy. He glared at Cullen. “Do that again and you’re paying for the glass.” He stalked away, morphing instantly into the flirtatious host, informing the crowd that the show was about to start, so get those drinks now.
“You two need to leave,” Cullen said as he stepped out of the way of the server carrying a mop in his hand.
“No way,” Vanessa said. “I want to see the show. Is Jack here or not?”
Cullen raked his hand through his hair and appealed to Kennedy. “Seriously. This isn’t a good idea.” He leaned close and whispered, “We’re undercover here. You need to get her out of here.”
“Oh crap,” she said, and she shot to her feet and tried to pull Vanessa out of her chair. The very last thing she wanted was to see Jack right now, especially when she had a very drunk and determined Vanessa in tow.
“Vanessa, we really need to—”
“Sit down or get the hell out,” a female voice shouted from behind her.
The lights went out, throwing the entire room into pitch darkness for a few moments. She sank back into her seat, her heart racing. What would Jack think of her now? Cullen cursed again and slipped away, and she had every confidence that he was seeking out his partner to inform him that sweet, innocent Kennedy was currently seated front row at an all-male revue.
If Cullen only knew.
Jack knew. But she really wasn’t the type of woman who had sex in limos and went to strip clubs. Would he believe her, after tonight?
Suddenly, a strobe light flashed to life above the stage, and the announcer’s voice resonated through the speakers. “Ladies, ladies, ladies. Are you in for a treat tonight. I’ve got some diamonds for you, and I guarantee there’s nothing rough about these gems. Every single one is of superior quality, and they are in town exclusively for your entertainment.”
As the lights shifted, turned white, and began to flash in a vertical motion, simulating rain, Vanessa leapt to her feet and began screaming at the queue of barely dressed and highly oiled men that strutted onto stage.
Kennedy stared. She’d never been to a strip club before. The closest she’d ever come to something like this was a handful of bachelorette parties, where one or two male strippers showed up in someone’s hotel or living room, danced for maybe twenty minutes, and then held out their hands for cash payment, before bidding them goodbye, and heading out the door.
This was entirely different. This was choreographed and fascinating and … good. Really good. These guys were sexy, each and every one, and they were damned good dancers, too.
Vanessa nudged her hand and she tore her eyes away from the stage to see that two fresh drinks on their small table. She picked one up and turned back to the show, trying to determine, as the announcer suggested, which dancer was her favorite.
That was when she saw him. She didn’t actually believe it at first. The dancer looked like Jack, he moved like Jack, but that wasn’t Jack … was it?
“Oh my God,” she breathed as she leaned back in her chair and stared. And stared. And stared.
It was Jack. He wore some sort of Tarzan loincloth, and his body was slick and shiny. It was embarrassing to admit that she’d had sex with the man and yet was sitting there admiring more of his body than she’d seen when they were naked together.
She liked what she saw. Besides the fantastic body, his moves were amazing, and his come-and-get-me grin said he was really enjoying himself up there.
Kennedy turned her head every which way, evaluating the crowd. She spotted the announcer standing behind a group of women she guessed were part of a bachelorette party. The bride stabbed her finger in Jack’s direction as he stepped into the middle of the stage and did a fifteen second tease of his upcoming solo set. The bride pretended to swoon, and the announcer moved on to another group of women.
What the hell was going on?
“Did you see that guy in the Tarzan loincloth?” Vanessa shouted as the music faded and every man except for one strutted off stage. The one wearing chaps and a black hat remained behind and stood stock still in the middle of the stage.
“He looked like Jack,” Vanessa added.
“Yeah,” Kennedy said weakly. “I noticed.”
She had to get Vanessa out of there. If she figured out that dancer really was Jack, she might blow his cover. Whatever he and Cullen were doing, it involved the federal government. Surely there was some sort of fine—or worse—if she and Vanessa ruined this assignment.
But damn, he’d had some moves. Kennedy took a moment to indulge in a fantasy, one in which Jack was her own personal stripper, and they never left the bedroom, and …
“We have to go, Vanessa. Now.” She pushed to her feet to both shake off the ridiculous daydream and attempt to get Vanessa out of there.
Music started again and the cowboy on stage began to move. The woman behind her hissed out a threat of what would happen if she didn’t sit down. Kennedy sat. Vanessa whipped money out of her purse and began waving it at the cowboy.
“This cannot be happening to me,” she muttered as she watched her cousin stuff bills into some stranger’s barely-there bikini.
CHAPTER FOUR
“I’m moving you up in the rotation,” Danny announced during Ranger’s cowboy act. “The ladies love you. Four bachelorette parties. All four chose you. Sure you don’t want a permanent gig?”
Jack chuckled and rubbed a towel through his hair. “Pretty sure,” he said. Although he had to admit, this was fun. And it was pretty damn easy to dance—and get excited—when a horde of women stood at your feet screaming and making it obvious they wanted you. Damned heady experience. No wonder these guys were willing to continue doing this night after night despite the very obvious threat to their lives.
Cullen suddenly appeared at his elbow. “I need to talk to you,” he said, completely ignoring Danny.
Danny smacked Cullen’s arm. “You don’t know him, remember?” he hissed.
“I need to fucking talk to him,” Cullen said through gritted teeth. “It’s important.”
Danny gave him a furious look. “You have two and a half minutes. He’s up next.” He strode away.
Cullen grabbed Jack’s arm and dragged him into a dark corner where they were fairly obscured from the rest of the dancers. He didn’t mince words. “Kennedy’s out there.”
“Kennedy?” Jack yelped, feeling as though he’d been zapped by an electric current. “Here?”
“She’s with Vanessa.”
“Sabrina’s sister? What’s she doing in town?” he asked dumbly, his brain trying to process this news. Kennedy … at a strip club?
For some reason, that image didn’t work. She hadn’t struck him as the type to attend these types of shows. Of course, grannies didn’t strike him as the type to attend strip shows, and there was a whole group of them here tonight, so what did he know?
“She’s pissed off at her husband,” Cullen said dismissively. “But the point is, Kennedy is going to blow your cover if you go out there.”
“She wouldn’t do that.” Would she? He honestly had no idea.
“Maybe not, but Vanessa is drunk, so she will. You can’t go out there.”
“I have to,” he protested. “We’ll blow everything if I don’t go out there.”
Danny was at the mic again, talking him up, raving about the newest addition to the show—the Animal. Women screamed. Cullen swore and stormed through the door, heading out to resume his bouncer duties.
Music pulsed. The cheering and screaming continued. Jack stepped out onto stage, forcing himself to get into his role. He had a job to do. He was supposed to be trying to find a killer. He shouldn’t be so damn excited about seeing a woman who was meant to be one of any number of one-night stands.
But no matter what he tried to tell himself, he couldn’t stop scanning the crowd, couldn’t stop looking for her.
In the meantime, he moved, rolling his hips, shaki
ng his ass, obligingly focusing his attention on the first of the four bachelorettes Danny had earlier pointed out. She was young and pretty, with Carolina eyes, blond hair and pouting red lips, and she wasn’t afraid to cop a feel. Jack let her slip the twenty into his loincloth, and then stepped out of reach.
He did his routine, letting the throbbing beat seep into his limbs, dancing close enough to let a grabby lady slip another tip into his loincloth, and then stepping out of reach again. The ladies loved it. They shouted and panted and waved more money at him. He suspected that if he really did do this for a living, he could make more money than he made as an FBI agent.
He spotted her because Vanessa spotted him. Cullen’s sister-in-law suddenly started jumping up down, screaming, “Jack! Jack!” waving her arms in the air. Kennedy grabbed her and tried to get her to stop, but Vanessa shook her off. Making an instant decision, he danced his way to the two ladies. He leapt off the stage and landed right between them.
Vanessa screamed again and grabbed for him. He let her catch him, let her pull him close, and then he bent and whispered into her ear, “Tonight, I’m not Jack. I’m the Animal. Don’t call me Jack or I won’t pay attention to you.” Vanessa nodded eagerly and kissed his oil and sweat slicked chest.
But it wasn’t Vanessa he wanted to see. To touch. To feel.
He turned to Kennedy. He wasn’t sure what he initially intended to do, since all those things he wanted to do weren’t exactly appropriate in the middle of a public venue, even if it was during a strip show. She stood there looking at him, wearing a sexy little halter top and short skirt and a slightly jealous look on her face, and he had a crazy urge to pull her into his arms—just a hug—and whisper reassurances that she had nothing at all to be jealous of.
What the hell was wrong with him? He couldn’t recall ever acting this way about any of his past lays. Why now? Why her?
The look on her face changed, her brows furrowed, and she looked concerned, jolting Jack back into reality and making him realize he was standing there staring at her like a dumb lovestruck teen.
The music, the screaming, the job all came into focus in a rush, and he gritted his teeth against the unwelcome intrusion. It pissed him off because all he wanted to do was grab her wrist and drag her from the club, take her home with him, and freaking do something about this ache in his balls.
But he couldn’t. Whatever the hell was going on in his head, in his personal life, it didn’t matter—couldn’t matter—right now. He had a job to do. He had to dance, he had to protect the other dancers, and he had to find a killer.
He tried to force himself to turn away, to get back on that stage and dance over to the waiting bachelorette parties, but instinct took over at that point. He grabbed Kennedy’s waist and twisted her around so that she faced the stage. She automatically reached out her hands to catch herself on the edge, and Jack pressed his rock hard erection into her backside as he leaned into her and caught her earlobe between his teeth.
He whispered in her ear, singing the song’s erotic chorus, and then he released her and leapt back onto the stage.
More screaming. Vanessa waved a fistful of bills. Kennedy sank into her seat with a bemused look on her face. Ignoring his body’s pleas, Jack turned away from the sight.
He had a job to do.
• • •
He was an FBI agent, so he had easy access to all sorts of information. He wasn’t supposed to use his job connections for personal use, of course, but this time he made an exception. He had to see Kennedy, and therefore, he needed to know where she lived, so he used his government-issue laptop, punched in a series of passwords and fail safes, and without an ounce of guilt, pulled up Kennedy’s address and phone number.
His blood was running hot, and he was still so damn hard, it was difficult to drive. Luckily, Jack knew New Orleans like he knew the back of his hand, and Kennedy lived in an eclectic neighborhood that wasn’t too far from the downtown entertainment district.
The dancers were inclined to hang out at the club after closing, drinking and flirting with the handful of girls handpicked for such a privilege, but since Kennedy wasn’t one of them, he wouldn’t have any of it. He talked Cullen into playing the bad guy who bullied everyone into leaving so that he could finally be off the clock. Still, it was three in the morning before Jack was in his truck and heading down the street to Kennedy’s house.
The house was dark and still when he pulled into the driveway. He double-checked to make sure he had the right address, because he did not want to wake up the wrong people in the middle of the night. Then he dialed her cell phone number. Her voice was sleepy and muffled when she answered.
“Get out of bed and open the door for me, Kennedy.”
“Who is this?” she asked, her voice suddenly becoming more alert.
“Jack. I’m standing on your front porch right now.”
“You’re—what?” He heard rustling noises, indicative of her climbing out of bed and pulling on a robe or some other garment, and he wondered what she normally wore to bed. Nothing? He shifted uncomfortably.
“Open the door. Hurry up.”
He spent half a second fearing that she wasn’t alone, but she’d told him at the wedding that she didn’t normally do one-night stands. Considering Cullen and Sabrina had gotten married only a month ago, he felt reasonably confident she hadn’t met a new guy in the interim. Or if she had, she wasn’t already sleeping with him.
He hoped.
“Is something wrong? Is Sabrina okay?” She sounded faintly breathless, and he knew she was moving, heading his way.
“She’s fine. Everyone’s fine. Just open the goddamned door.” He pulled a condom out of his pocket and palmed it as he shifted from foot to foot.
Finally, he saw an image behind the etched glass. He winced as the porch light flared to life. The lock snicked, and the door began to open. Jack didn’t give her time to think. He pushed it open, stepped inside, and shoved it closed, locking it and disconnecting his phone at the same time. He grabbed her face with both hands and pressed her against the wall as his lips crashed down on hers, desperate to feel her, to taste her.
He felt like he was drowning but in heaven all at the same time. It was arousing as hell.
Kennedy broke the kiss and twisted her head before she reached up and pulled one of his hands away from her cheek. “What is that?” she asked, and she plucked the wrapped condom out of his hand.
“Oh,” she said as she stared at the small square with the round imprint in the middle.
“I need this, Kennedy,” he said, cupping her face again. “I need you. That place. That song. Seeing you there. I’m so fucking horny right now, I feel like I’m about to explode. Please don’t say no.” He was pleading, and he didn’t even care. He would do whatever it took, just so long as he could feel her again tonight.
“I … oh … okay.”
“Thank fucking God,” Jack breathed, and he bent over, grabbed her thighs, and lifted her off her feet. She wrapped her legs around his waist and her arms around his neck.
“Where’s your bedroom?”
She pointed down the hall to the right, so he carried her that way. Her bedroom was at the end of the hall, in the back corner of the ranch home. He dropped her onto the bed, which was a simple queen with a basic wooden headboard that had plenty of nicks and scratches. He leaned over her and untied the sash of her robe, pushing the material aside to reveal a lace-trimmed camisole and a pair of boxer shorts. He climbed onto the bed and buried his face in her cleavage.
“You took a shower,” she said. “But you still smell like baby oil.”
“Sorry,” he said, not really sorry at all. “You’re okay with this? You aren’t going to regret this in the morning?”
“It’s already morning. And I don’t regret it.”
He sat up and tugged off his shirt, then pulled off his jeans. He reached down and pulled her camisole over her head, slid her boxers down to her ankles.
“
You are so beautiful,” he whispered reverently. “I want to take my time and kiss every damn inch, but …”
“It’s okay,” she assured him.
He kicked off his boxers and snagged the condom she still held in her hand. “I have more,” he promised, and then he sheathed himself, nudged her thighs apart with his knee, grabbed her hips, and thrust. He gurgled out a guttural, groaning noise as the sensations slammed into him, sending him almost instantly spiraling out of control. He dropped his forehead onto the pillow next to her head and began pushing into her, hard and fast, completely lost in the moment, almost entirely lost in his own need. He was vaguely aware of Kennedy crying out, and he hoped to hell she found her release because he couldn’t hold back, couldn’t have stopped if the fucking world collapsed at that very moment.
He thrust one last time, arched his back, and shouted out his release as pleasure tore through him. He only just managed to roll onto his side so that he didn’t crush her before he was asleep.
• • •
He was still in her bed when she woke up later that morning. She wasn’t sure why she was surprised by that. Maybe because of the way he’d shown up, in the middle of the night, acting as if he’d needed to couple with her in order to go on living. It had been so damn arousing, she’d had an orgasm almost the instant he’d entered her, yet she’d still half expected he would wake up and slip out during the pre-dawn hours.
But he hadn’t. And now she wondered what that meant. Would he expect her to cook breakfast? Would he be interested in morning sex? She certainly was. Having that handsome, sexy body lying next to her, taking up far too much space on her ancient, queen-sized bed, giving off enough body heat that she didn’t even need the thin sheet and blanket—how could a woman possibly resist?
She didn’t know, though, what he was thinking, or how he would react, or even when he might wake up, so she did nothing, except continued to lay there and marvel at what happened the night before.
Seeing him at that club, dancing up there on the stage, had been shocking enough. Watching him leap off the stage and let Vanessa pull him into her arms had had her seeing green with envy. Until he’d rubbed that fabulous erection against her own backside. Whispering about how he wanted to fuck her. He’d certainly put action to words earlier this morning.