Bradley's Whistle (P.ornstars of Romance #2)

by Kirsty Dallas

  CHAPTER 14

  Wiska

  All the dancing around me had me shifting with pent up energy. My need to join in was a demanding force, so in typical Wiska fashion, I found the manager and flirted shamelessly until he finally relented. Actually, the flirting hadn’t even come close to breaking him, but dropping the name Bradley Emerson had him snapping to attention. The slightly wacky looking DJ, Nile, had promised to hook me up with some music I could strut to, and one LMFAO club song later, BAZINGA, I was pole dancing. While I tried to convince myself I was dancing for me, I was totally throwing the hips around for Bradley. I didn’t dare look at his face, though. If I had seen the brooding, cranky pout he’d been sporting most the night, I might have fallen on my head in despair. I wanted to see him smile again; I wanted to draw out the youthful, spontaneous Bradley that hid under the acidic layers of moody male.

  Once the music had finished, I carefully lowered myself from the small, round stage and sat in my chair. The small crowd that had gathered at a respectable distance to watch quickly disappeared, and when I could no longer stand the silence at our table, I took a long drink from my alcohol free Shirley Temple and looked up, straight into Bradley’s stunned eyes. He wasn’t exactly brooding anymore, but he wasn’t smiling either. He was clearly shocked.

  “You so have your job cut for you,” Aedan murmured from his side.

  I’m not sure what that meant, but Bradley gave a nod, his intense green eyes set on me, trapping me. I couldn’t look away even if I wanted to. How could one man hold me captivated with just a look?

  “Well,” Casey said, shifting uncomfortably beside me, “all she needs is a penis, and I might try to whisk her off her feet.”

  Nobody laughed, and a cloud of awkward silence continued to hang over us.

  “So,” I finally said, sucking on the straw of my Shirley Temple.

  “So,” murmured Bradley, finally breaking his silence.

  “Yeah,” Aedan said with a smile, “so.”

  Casey snorted. “Well, the men have been reduced to a monosyllable word. Congratulations, poppet. Now I know how to cut down male testosterone in the span of three minutes.”

  “You’re a stripper and a porn star?” Aedan asked, surprised.

  “No, I’m not a stripper. I just like to dance.”

  “You moved on that pole like a seasoned professional,” Bradley said, sitting back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest in a challenging manner. He could look as challenging and cocky as he pleased. He didn’t intimidate me.

  “I took lessons with Andi and Leah.”

  “Andi and Leah took pole dancing lessons?” He gaped.

  “Yeah, Andi’s a good dancer. Leah . . .” I grinned at the memory of her awkward attempt to dance, “not so much.”

  “My little cousin’s taking pole dancing classes,” Bradley said with horror.

  “She can move, Bradley. You should have seen the lap dance she gave Decker. Oh my, it was scorching, and Decker kicked us all out of the apartment. All Lionel and I heard from our adjoining bedroom wall was OH, MY GOD, OH, MY GOD, OH, MY GOD all night long.” Casey sung, ‘oh, my god’ in a high pitched tone.

  Bradley looked pale. “I really didn’t need to hear that,” he confessed.

  “Trust me,” huffed Casey, “I really didn’t need to hear it, either.”

  “Would you do me the honor of dancing with me?” Aedan asked, standing with an outstretched hand.

  For some reason, my gaze sought out Bradley’s, almost as if asking his permission. He looked pissed again. To hell with it, if he was going to sulk all night, I was going to have a good time. I grabbed Aedan’s hand and let him pull me to my feet.

  “Ummmm . . .” I glanced around the decadent club in search of a dance floor.

  “Over here,” Aedan murmured, pulling me to a small section of the club that had been made private with soft, black, chiffon curtains falling from the roof in a large square around the dance space. I could see a few couples dancing through the sheer fabric as Aedan parted a panel and pulled me through. There were a few women, who I’m pretty sure were strippers, dancing with patrons, and I wondered if they were being paid to dance with them. Everyone was touching, some more so than others. Hands moved over bodies without shame or concern for the other people dancing. It was just hands, though; everyone appeared to be behaving themselves otherwise.

  Aedan pulled me into his firm chest and wrapped his arms around me, his hands resting at my lower back. He wasn’t as tall as Bradley, but I could feel the hard muscle under his dress shirt. He was handsome in a mischievous and roguish kind of way. The sparkle in his eyes reminded me a little of Decker.

  “How’s Bradley’s whisking going?” he asked.

  While I liked it when people got straight to the point, his question caught me by surprise.

  “Oh, I guess the whisking’s only really just started. We’ve only been on a couple of dates. I’m not even sure you could call them dates, but he kissed me, so I guess that made it a date.” The inconsequential words fell from my lips like a sprung faucet.

  “Yeah, a kiss certainly blurs the lines of friendship.” Aedan spun me around, the thumb of one hand rubbing a little circle on my lower back that was pleasant, yet unnerving. It felt wrong. What I really wanted was Bradley’s hands on me, but he was moping like the cantankerous ass he played so well. “If he takes you behind the curtains, those lines will blur a whole lot more.”

  “What curtains?” I asked.

  Aedan spun me until my back was against his front, one arm wrapped around my waist, another pointing to a curtain that lay against what I thought was a wall. The curtain was pushed aside, and a man and woman stepped from around it, back into the club.

  “What’s through there?”

  “That’s where men can pay the dancers for services not appropriate in public,” he whispered in my ear.

  “And Bradley uses those rooms?”

  “We’ve all used those rooms, Bradley included.” I wasn’t sure how I felt about that. Aedan turned me back to face him once more. “Maybe we could slip back there.”

  I stopped dancing at his suggestion. “You want to pay me to have sex with you?” I hissed, outraged.

  Aedan was wise enough to look contrite. “No money, just two people who are attracted to each other making use of a little privacy.”

  Twenty seconds ago, I wasn’t sure how I felt about the curtained off area. Well, I found all those feels real damn quick. They consisted of anger, fury, and maybe a little wrath. I was insulted that Aedan thought he could drag me off for a shameless quickie in the prostitute’s corner of the club. Especially when he knew Bradley was trying to whisk me! And, well, I was jealous over the idea of Bradley going back there. I hated jealousy; it was an ugly emotion and often completely uncontrollable. I focused on the anger rather than the jealousy. Screw this handsome, Irish playboy who assumed I was that easy. I gave Aedan’s chest a little push and put some space between us.

  “Let me give you a crash course on adult film stars, Mr. My-Accent-Is-Too-Sexy-For-My-Own-Good. We have a job which requires us to perform sex in front of cameras. It’s a job. We go to work, do our job, and then go home. Some of us have families, husbands, even children. We are not cheap whores willing to screw any man who throws a few nice words at us.”

  Aedan looked completely surprised.

  “Everything okay here?” came Bradley’s familiar voice.

  “I apologize. I meant no offense,” Aedan offered.

  “Well, you sure as hell did offend!”

  “I hear you, loud and clear. Again, I’m very sorry.” With a meek expression, Aedan disappeared through the fabric surrounding the dance floor.

  Meanwhile, I was steaming mad. Bradley approached me cautiously, almost like a man might approach a rabid grizzly bear.

  “What did he do?”

  “Nothing, it’s what he said!” I snapped.

  A few people were watching my little outburst, and embarras
sment heated my cheeks. Bradley pulled me into his arms, holding me much like Aedan had. It was more comfortable, though; it felt right. I was still stiff and pissed off from Aedan’s presumptuous attitude, but Bradley moved me slowly, his head dipping until his lips were right by my ear.

  “What did he say?” he asked, with almost lethal calm.

  “He told me about the curtains,” I said, pulling my head back so he could see my dare-you-to-contradict-me look.

  “You have a problem with the BJ rooms?” he asked, with a touch of disbelief, almost as if someone might ask you if you had a problem with the pickles on your cheeseburger.

  “BJ rooms?”

  “That’s what goes on behind the curtains, oral sex, one way only; the women don’t receive—they’re not allowed to. Other arrangements can be made for more outside the club, but Sanjay, the owner, has a very strict no sex rule for his club.”

  “Well, Aedan suggested more went on back there. He offered to take me back there. Apparently, it’s normal for men like you and him to use club get-your-cock-out.”

  Bradley stilled, his eyes suddenly filled with anger.

  “He asked you to go back there with him?” he asked through gritted teeth.

  “Uh-huh. Personally, I think it’s completely unfair that the act can’t be reciprocated, though. I mean, what’s good for the goose is definitely good for the gander. It sounds to me like Sanjay has a touch of cunnilingus phobia. And maybe we need to check with you first, maybe you’ve got the room booked already.” It was a childish thing to say, but jealousy was a crazy emotion, turning my brains to mush in a heartbeat.

  Bradley began dancing again. I could feel the deep rise and fall of his chest before his lips were by my ear once more.

  “Pussycat, I’m not going to deny it. I have been back there, but it’s in my past, just like you fucking on camera is in the past. I’m willing to leave it there, if you’re willing to leave the get-your-cock-out corner, as you call it, there.” He kissed a spot under my ear that had a one way buzzer to my lady bits. I stifled a shameless groan—after all, I was mad at him right now. “If Andi can let go of Decker’s past, and I assure you, it’s one sordid past, surely we can do the same.”

  And there he went, making all that sense, dammit! I sighed, and my body sagged as the pent up anger disappeared. “I need your secrets, Bradley. They’re like a big damn brick wall between us, and I’m not climbing that sucker. You need to tear it down. You need to tell me what you do for a living.”

  “Yeah,” he said with a long exhale. “I’ll tell you.”

  When he didn’t go on, I gave his arm a shove. “Okay, I’m ready. Lay it to me.”

  “Later,” he chuckled.

  “What kind of later? Like two hours later, twenty-four hours later, months later, or years later?”

  “When we get home,” he managed to say through bouts of laughter.

  “Okay, I can wait that long.”

  Instead of relief at the prospect of finally finding out what he did for a living, I was filled with apprehension. How bad could it be? Would it be deal-breaker material? God, could my heart take it? I was already half-way falling for this damn man. Maybe Bradley was overreacting about the employment thing. Maybe he was just embarrassed about whatever it was he did. Good lord, after all this build up, if he tells me he’s an insurance salesman, I might knock him out.

  “Let’s get out of here, then.” I tugged on his hand. The schmuck was still laughing, and he pulled me back into his arms.

  “I’m not finished. We angry danced, and we need to make up dance.”

  “Angry danced?”

  “As I recall, you were all bark and snarl when I first came in here.”

  “Being propositioned like nothing more than a whore will do that to a girl.”

  “But I wasn’t the one propositioning. All I’m guilty of is being a typical, sexually charged man, who spent some time with other women, which, since it was prior to meeting you, means I did nothing wrong.”

  I wanted to argue, but he had a point. I hated it when people were so logical. At that moment, Bradley grabbed my ass and dragged me against his body. There was no mistaking the demanding prod from his groin.

  “Ever since I met you, I found myself wanting blonde . . . blue eyes . . . sexy red lips . . . and spectacular breasts.” He said it with a mischievous grin, and I melted. If that grin could be bottled and sold with vibrators, someone would become extraordinarily rich!

  “Did my snapping and barking get you hard?” I whispered breathlessly.

  “Pussycat, I’ve been a walking fucking hard-on for you since the moment you stepped off that damn plane. I almost went to the doctor to see if he could give me a pill to make it go away.”

  I laughed. “A pill to make Vlad go down?”

  “I was worried it might do permanent damage. You know, too much blood flowing through the head in my pants and not enough flowing through the head on my shoulders.”

  I moved my body against his in an effort to deliver a little of the torture Casey suggested I inflict on the man.

  “There are things you can do to relieve that kind of tension, you know? Haven’t you ever heard of playing the flute solo?”

  Bradley burst out laughing, the deep rumble in his chest a sound I could easily become addicted to.

  “Baby, I’ve been playing that damn flute so damn much I’m surprised it still blows a fucking tune.” Bradley lowered his face until his lips were just inches from mine. “So, what are we at now? Third date, do I get to kiss you?”

  “You already kissed me,” I whispered, and the memory of that kiss had my tongue dart out to moisten my lips in preparation to do it all over again.

  “But I’m playing by the rules now.”

  “Second date kisses are acceptable, but I’ve rarely given them. It takes someone special to be bumped up to second date kisses.”

  “Oh yeah, what does one have to do to be considered special enough for a bump?”

  “Bradley, if you don’t kiss me, I’m gonna get all snappy and bark again.”

  So, he kissed me. Damn, his hot warm lips working mine turned my knees to limp, wet, noodles. Thankfully he wedged a firm thigh between my legs, and I groaned as his tongue gently caressed mine. It was a good kiss, a great kiss, a kiss of much practice, and rather than feeling a surge of jealousy, I was thankful to all those poor women who had less than this perfection. When we finally pulled apart, I half expected the club to be in darkness, having kissed the entire night away. That kiss was like a bend in time; what was most likely a minute felt like hours. The corner of Bradley’s mouth lifted into an arrogant smile.

  “If you look that satisfied now, wait until I get you beneath me.”

  “Not on a third date you don’t.” I murmured with a husky, breathy voice that was foreign to even my own ears.

  “It will be worth the wait, pussycat.”

  CHAPTER 15

  Bradley

  By the time I got home, I was far too sober, my heart raced like a wild beast, and my palms were sweaty. All this because I was going to tell Wiska what I did for a living? It seriously wasn’t that hard. I WORK FOR WILLIE BIANCO. I make one of New York Mafia’s wealthiest men wealthier! See, simple. I wondered if she would realize what a serious confession it was, though. In effect, I worked for the mob. I tried to distance myself from it by moving to another country. I told myself I worked in finance, stocks and bonds, that the money I gambled with in an effort to double, sometimes quadruple, was completely legal. While what I did was legal, the money was sure as hell acquired through less than savory methods. I was as delusional about my career as I had been about my want for Wiska. I was great at burying my head in the sand; if denial was a college degree, I’d graduate with fucking honors!

  Wiska and Casey walked arm in arm down the short corridor to my apartment door. I pushed it open and watched them waltz in, completely oblivious to my imminent break down. I tossed my keys into the ceramic dish just inside the doo
rway and cringed at the loud clanking noise it made. Wiska and Casey paid it no attention, though, completely absorbed in their story about the intricacies of waxing. I wanted to drift into an explicit fantasy of Wiska’s waxed body, but instead, I was sitting in Sweaty-palm-ville, worrying about the conversation to come.

  “I’m so glad I had the happy baby pose nailed; that makes the experience so much more comfortable,” Wiska sighed.

  “OMG! Totally!” Casey exclaimed.

  “What’s a happy baby pose?” I asked, hoping the distraction would help delay the inevitable.

  Casey turned, lay down on the rug in the living area, then proceeded to raise his legs and clutch his feet, his bent knees parted wide. It was disturbing to say the least.

  “Happy baby pose. You know, like babies like to grab their little stumpy toes?” Wiska said helpfully.

  “And you need this pose for waxing?” I gaped.

  Casey rolled to his feet. “For a Brazilian you do. How else would they clear away the shrubbery at the backdoor?”

  I just stared, my mind conjuring up images of Casey that I wanted to burn from my memory.

  “And you really don’t want to go after a night of curry. There is nothing more embarrassing then a little back draft while you’re spread-eagle and someone is ripping hair from your anal strip.”

  Wiska burst out laughing. I didn’t. I was horrified. When they both turned and wandered off down the hallway, I dared to let my shoulders sag with relief. She’d forgotten. She wasn’t hanging around to hear my big secret. She was completely distracted. While the waxing conversation had bordered on one of the most terrifying conversations I had ever been a third party witness to, it had done the job of distracting Wiska.