No Promises Required

by Cari Quinn

  Of course, that was assuming he got through tonight and whatever “show” she’d been referring to inside Triple Threat. It wasn’t a burlesque club, so that was a plus. When Vicky was involved—and where Jill went, Vicky wasn’t far behind—anything was possible. Circus animals weren’t out of the question.

  Besides, he had other priorities at the moment than unexpected hookups with innocents who probably couldn’t handle the kind of shit he was into sexually, even if she did talk a surprisingly good game. He’d set up a modified plan to continue his rehab from knee surgery while he was in town. Two months plus post-op and he was doing much better, but the workouts still tired him out. As an undrafted free agent recently let go from the Maryland Mariners, he couldn’t let anything dissuade him from his goal. He wanted to get healthy, and he wanted to get back on his team.

  Focusing on training and preparing for talks with his agent and prospective teams—in case the Mariners didn’t opt to take him back, a possibility he didn’t like to acknowledge—meant he’d have little free time outside of family stuff while he was home. And even that would take up more time than he had to spare, especially the stuff related to his mom. But it was necessary. At least he’d be too busy to have much time to think about anything or anyone else, especially ridiculously curvy blonds.

  Especially Jill.

  Shit. This wasn’t going to be as easy as he’d hoped.

  When he couldn’t stall any longer, he strolled out of the shadows and onto the main floor of the club. Dead center, he spotted a table full of men he recognized. In the middle of them sat Cory, with what appeared to be a cardboard crown on his head and a patently bored expression on his face.

  “Gentlemen,” Bryan said, bumping fists with his old friend Dillon. Dillon’s tattoos were on display, thanks to the ragged wife-beater he wore. Considering his jeans were also ripped to hell, that probably meant Dillon had come right from one of the Helping Hands houses he helped to build. “Interesting choice of venue.”

  “Not my idea.” Cory, decked out in a dark suit sans tie, rose and extended a hand. A heavy gold watch encircled his wrist. Classy money, that was Cory. “Nice to see you, Bryan. Victoria mentioned you might be making a surprise appearance.”

  Dillon coughed behind his hand as he dropped back into his seat. “If this is your idea of a surprise, dude, you may be the one getting surprised. Just a heads up.”

  Both Cory and Bryan shot Dillon a look. “What is that supposed to mean?” Bryan asked.

  “What he said,” Cory echoed. “You said there would be some sort of cabaret show.”

  “Cabaret. Right.” Dillon’s lips twitched.

  Okay, so perhaps the cabaret was out.

  After exchanging greetings with the other guys, he grabbed a seat next to Dillon and spoke in an undertone. “All right, school me. What am I about to see?”

  Dill toyed with his beer. “You heard the man. Cabaret.”

  “What kind of cabaret? Naked? It’s the guy’s bachelor party. I highly doubt you planned a night of show tunes and tapping feet.” And then there was the presence of Jill. He highly doubted she’d taken up the role of set designer.

  “Put it this way.” Dillon shifted closer. “You’ll be getting a whole new view of your sister before the night’s through. Uh, make that both of your sisters.”

  Yeah, just as he’d figured. “Vic isn’t allowed at Cory’s bachelor party. It’s not done.”

  “You know our ladies defy convention.” Dillon grinned as the house lights dimmed and a spotlight shone on the stage. “I suggest you start peeking through your fingers right about…now.”

  The curtain opened with a swish. Sexy sax music swelled, nearly drowned out by the hooting and hollering of everyone in attendance. Except Bryan and Cory. Cory still looked bored, his gaze drifting to the exit more than once.

  Until Vic appeared beneath the spotlight, clad in a purple corset and ruffled skirt-like thing. In one hand, she gripped what looked like a riding crop, which she slapped hard against the floor before snapping her fingers and summoning her equally scantily clad fellow dancers.

  Also known as his sister Melinda, Dillon’s girlfriend Alexa, Jake’s wife Nellie…

  And Jill.

  Freaking Jill, who wore a pink gown that descended to her ankles. Which meant she would likely strip down to her underwear in five seconds flat.

  He was wrong. It took three.

  The women turned their backs to the crowd. All except for Jill, who lost her pink dress and revealed a pink-and-black concoction that pressed her breasts up high and showed off her legs. Her spiked heels made them seem ten feet long.

  Then she bent and stuck her butt in the air, circling it provocatively while the other girls began to do the same. They were all showing way too much skin, much to the crowd’s enthusiastic approval.

  He supposed he deserved this torture. Leaving her high and dry after that incredible kiss hadn’t been considerate, but he’d been trying to be honorable by backing away while he still could.

  Staring at the stage, he shook his head. So much for trying to do the right thing. Instead, he’d revved her up and unleashed her on this crowd of hormonally-challenged horn-dogs.

  At least Jake seemed ready to knock a couple of skulls together, too. He had the arm of his chair in what looked like an iron hold. And Cory…if his jaw got any tighter, he’d crack a filling.

  Their women were putting them through the paces tonight. And for as long as it took him to protect her from the bunch of creeps who were ogling her, Jill was his.

  The dancers scattered across the stage, taking their positions as the music shifted from some seductive jazz number to hip hop. Still moving sensuously, they sang along with “Shoop” by Salt ’n Pepa, a classic jam about women on the prowl for men.

  Better and better.

  As the music reached the climax—ha—Jill leaned forward and shook everything her mama gave her into the face of a guy in front. Not that he seemed to mind. When he made a grab, she laughed, darting away with an ass wiggle that made Bryan’s balls throb.

  “Holy shit,” he muttered.

  Dillon’s gaze never strayed from Alexa, clad in a green corset and tiny boy shorts. Her dark hair rippled down her back every time she kicked her long legs. “You can say that again, brother.”

  He’d rather not say anything. He wanted to stick Jill and his sisters in burlap sacks and kidnap them before anyone else could mentally manhandle them.

  Caveman, enter stage right.

  Bryan glanced at Cory, who appeared frozen in place as he studied his wife-to-be, who’d jumped down to stalk across the room in their direction. Meanwhile, the other women continued their alluring routine, hips rotating, chests thrust high, various implements of erotic torture gripped in their hands.

  Jill marched across the stage, hips working, glossy blond hair tumbling over her shoulders and flirting with her abundant cleavage. A couple of guys whistled, and Bryan swallowed the growl that rumbled in his throat. His fingers tightened on the chair arm until he wondered how it didn’t break from the force of his hold.

  He’d kill any fucker that touched her.

  In another second, Jill would be doing a Miley and riding her bullwhip. As it was, her whip kept striking the silky pale skin of her inner thighs just above her black stockings. He’d touched her there a short while ago, and goddamn, the heat pumping between her legs had nearly scorched his fingers. The strikes reddened all that toned flesh the way he would with his hands, holding her wide open while he plunged deep.

  Fuck.

  Vic arrived at their table, lips curved in a teasing smile, a sultry gaze directed at her fiancé. “Hello there.” She crawled onto Cory’s lap and adjusted his crown. “I always knew you had power delusions.” She wound his hair around her fingers, apparently oblivious to the mock groans surrounding her as she dry humped him. “Do you have a big present for me? Oh yes, you do. Such a naughty boy,” she whispered in his ear, making Cory blatantly grip her as
s. So blatantly that he could’ve gotten a lewdness charge in a different sort of establishment.

  Christ.

  Dillon leaned over to Bryan. “I told you to peek through your fingers.”

  “You didn’t mention I’d need earplugs, too.”

  “Sorry. This is my inaugural dirty-dancing show.”

  “Not frigging likely.”

  Dill laughed. “You know Jill, don’t you?”

  Another growl threatened to tear from Bryan’s throat. Halfway to their table, Jill rubbed the handle of her whip across her glossy lips, and his cock jerked like a freak on a leash.

  “Yeah. I know her.”

  They were going to have a serious talk once she finished her show. He couldn’t decide if he wanted to yell at her or kiss the smirk off her pouty mouth.

  Or just fuck her blind.

  After a moment’s hesitation, she kept right on coming, her gaze drifting from one guy to the next at the table. She focused on everyone but him. Sexy smile in place, she stopped between Dillon and Jake’s chairs and rotated her hips, thrusting upward in a way that had to be illegal in several states. Hell, if he kept watching her do that, he’d probably get deported.

  Since he enjoyed speaking the kind of French that involved extra tongue, he’d go willingly.

  “Hi there,” she purred at Dillon, patting him on the head like he was an adorable sheepdog. She straddled his thigh for about ten seconds, just long enough to jiggle her breasts in Bryan’s general direction without making eye contact. Then she hopped up and sashayed away, caressing that bullwhip like she had special plans for it later.

  He understood, since he was beginning to make his own special plans. His palm tingled with the urge to grip her ass and give it a couple of quick, hard slaps to see if she’d moan or squirm away. Right then, he didn’t care if she was all talk or not. He was ready to put her on her knees to see what she should take, his sister or propriety be damned.

  When Jill did a shimmy to the floor, wiggling that sexy ass of hers and tossing a flirty smile over her shoulder that seemed to be directed straight at him, he made up his mind.

  They were both adults. Her mama, as sweet as she was, was gone. Vicky was getting married and probably had better things to do than to monitor Jill’s sex life. Even if she didn’t, she didn’t need to know all of Jill’s business. She could be discreet, couldn’t she? It wasn’t as if he’d be in town long. One night to sate this…whatever the hell it was that had been simmering between them for the better part of a decade, and then they could both move on.

  To hell with tiptoeing along on the straight and narrow. If Jill wanted to see if she could handle him, he was all in.

  And hopefully, within the next hour, he’d be in her, too.

  Chapter Three

  She’d done it.

  All right, so maybe she hadn’t done it perfectly, but hell, she’d worked her thang until her ankles were sore. That had to count for something.

  “You were a goddess up there.” Vicky slapped her on the back.

  “Thanks. You weren’t bad yourself.”

  They were back in the dressing room. Jill pulled her simple black dress back on over the corset and stockings while Vic went through a more elaborate primping session.

  Since Vic had her handsome hubby-to-be waiting for her—really waiting if that I’m going to ravage you now look in his eyes meant anything—Jill planned to finish getting dressed and then go back out and find Bryan. Hopefully, the dress she’d put on would be coming back off in short order.

  “Time to jet,” Vic said. “I’m about to go be a goddess behind closed doors.” She grabbed her tote bag and jogged to the door. “Thanks for helping out tonight. I’ll see you Monday. We have Ms. Travers coming in at nine sharp to redo her dining room, so don’t be late.”

  If Jill had her way, she’d be coming into work after a weekend spent ravaging Bryan. Now she just had to go back out there and find him.

  “Will do, boss lady. Try not to end up in traction. Your fiancé is looking mighty eager.”

  “He is, isn’t he?” Vic’s grin could’ve powered an entire planet. She was so in love with her almost-husband that it would’ve been sickening if it hadn’t been so sweet. “No promises on the traction. I can always telecommute. Later, Jilly Bean.”

  Jill sighed. More Jilly Bean. She had to admit the endearing way Vic said it was better than Bryan’s patronizing version. Well, soon that nickname would be a thing of the past.

  She shuffled over to the mirror in Triple Threat’s miniscule dressing room and leaned in to slather gloss on her lips to replace the lipstick that had worn off. Which brought back a vivid memory of Bryan fisting her hair as he drove his tongue deep inside her mouth. If she pressed her thighs together, she could still feel the imprint of his thumbs. His chest crushing hers, driving the hard points of her breasts into firm muscle.

  On cue, her nipples stiffened. Hold on, breasts. We have to find him first.

  No sign of him on the floor of the club, though. Had he gone back outside? Oh crap. Had he left?

  She hitched her bag on her shoulder and slipped into the dark hallway that led to the side door. She shoved it open and sucked in a deep breath of the still, warm air, her inhalation turning to a choked scream as a hulking figure materialized out of the darkness.

  A dark figure with Bryan’s sandalwood citrus aftershave and sinful mouth.

  “Where do you think you’re going?”

  Her pulse spiked to cardiac-event levels at the sound of his sexy rasp. Be cool. He’d come after her strong when she gave him something to chase earlier. If coy was what he wanted, coy was what he’d get.

  “Home,” she said. “Mind?”

  “Yes, I mind. Thought you were going to sashay around that stage then just disappear, huh?” He braced a hand on the doorjamb above her head. “Not to mention, you shouldn’t be out here alone after that.”

  Hmm, he sounded kind of pissed. She’d hoped for some reaction from him—pain below the waist fit the bill nicely—but she hadn’t expected anything beyond mild annoyance.

  “That?” She let the door thunk shut as she took a defiant step forward. “You mean my perfectly acceptable dance routine?”

  “Right. Add in what you’re wearing right now and you’ll see why I’d rather you not walk around unaccompanied.”

  She glanced down at her little black dress. The hem of the dress covered the lacy tops of her fishnet stockings. Mostly. “I’m decently dressed.”

  “I know what you have on under there.” He yanked her close and spoke against her hair, his cinnamon-scented breath flaring hot over her cheek. “That tiny corset that barely contains your tits and ass. I can feel one of those cock-teasing bows underneath my hand.” Proving it, he flattened his palm on her hip.

  “The bows are ornamentation. Not to tease easily engorged members.” She ducked under his arm and kept walking. She’d just pretend she wasn’t the least bit fazed by him talking about her tits when she couldn’t stop thinking about him sucking on her lips.

  Yes, lips. She wasn’t imagining anything involving the above-mentioned tits. Nope. All above-the-neck action.

  He stalked behind her, quiet but deadly. Even his silence was intimidating.

  “I performed in a show with several other ladies. It was good clean fun,” she said, behooved to defend her actions, though they required no defending. “No one revealed asses or breasts.”

  “Tell that to the guy in the front row who left a drool stain on your top.”

  She walked a little faster. His footsteps thudded on the pavement behind her. She didn’t know what to make of this side of him. He was always so steady. Heck, most of the time he seemed downright indifferent toward her when he came home to visit nowadays. He barely spared her a look or more than a few words. It had been so damn long since they’d had a real, in-depth conversation.

  Not that she missed it or anything.

  “If I was wearing a top, that proves I wasn’t naked.”
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  “Thanks for that tidbit. I’m well aware of that fact, because if you’d been naked, I would’ve done what I’ve been wanting to since you grabbed my cock. Want me to tell you what that is? Or hey, since you know so much about me and my motivations, why don’t you guess?”

  She walked a little faster. The aggravation in his tone was making her twitchy and breathless. Damn, what kind of woman got turned on by making a man angry? “I’d rather not.”

  “You were full of information earlier. What happened?” He gripped her elbow and spun her around, backing her into the chain-link fence that bordered the parking lot. “Pussy got your tongue?”

  God, now he was talking about pussies. And the foster tabby she’d taken care of until yesterday wasn’t the pussy that was getting wet at his brusque behavior.

  “You were fuckin’ teasing every man in there, and I know why.” Lowering his face to hers, he spoke against her mouth. “You wanted to get back at me.”

  His nearness was enough to make her nipples pucker. Again. So much for wanting to shatter his control. She wasn’t sure she could handle him at full throttle. “For what?”

  “I held back on you. You weren’t about to let me off scot-free.” He pressed closer, tilting his pelvis just enough for her to acknowledge he’d hidden a steel pike in his pants. Either that or he’d really enjoyed her show.

  She’d almost go with the pike first.

  If she was capable of arousing such excitement from a man like him two times in one night, how had she had three such sucktastic sexplorations in the recent past?

  She knew why. Bryan Townsend didn’t do cute, wholesome, or homespun. The kind of girl she’d decided she no longer wanted to be. He did naughty, wild, and wicked. And if the hard-on pressing against the front of his jeans was any indication, her transformation was well on its way.

  “Do you think I’m wicked?” she whispered, giving him her sultriest look and hoping he wouldn’t notice how nervous she felt. “Or wild? I’ll even settle for mildly naughty with the possibility of an upgrade to full status.”