Strip Search

by Shayla Black

Nicki frowned. "Hiding something? Like what?" "I don't know. But I went to his apartment on Tuesday morning early to cuss him out for upsetting you--"

  "You didn't!"

  "Oh, trust me, I did. He got the message. But while I was there, I got a peek around. No sprucing up the place. I doubt he'd been to the grocery store yet. But he had an apartment full of electronics. Not TVs and stereos, like a normal guy, but a laptop, a Blackberry, a portable printer, a few CDs, a video camera. He had papers and file folders stacked on kitchen table, and all that equipment was humming. Mind you, it was barely five-thirty in the morning. It just made me wonder what he's up to."

  Nicki's frown deepened. Lucia had a good point. What did an exotic dancer need with all those gadgets?

  A few minutes later, the lights in Nicki's office went out. Through the smoked glass, Mark could see that she and Lucia had left the room.

  Behind him, Zack switched off the music again and shoved his hands on his hips in a pose that couldn't be interpreted any way except annoyed.

  "That's it! I'm talking to Nicki and telling her to fire your ass. I don't even see effort on your part."

  Zack was very passionate about the club and the show ... and maybe, Mark thought, he could use that to his advantage.

  "I ... I'm just distracted."

  "Distracted? My grandfather who practically raised me is slowly dying, and my last relationship just ended. Talk about distracted! You don't see me bringing it here."

  "You're right." Mark did his best to stroke the other man's ego. "You've got it together. My problem is, my distraction is always here." He glanced up to Nicki's empty office.

  "You and the boss lady?"

  Mark shrugged. Not for anything would he give away the truth about the extent of his interaction with Nicki. Even if she had deceived him, used her body to distract him. He wasn't the advertising sort of guy when it came to his sex life. Even telling Rafe for the sake of the case had gone against his grain.

  "I'd like that, but so far ... I'm not having a lot of luck. I did something the other day that apparently made her mad, which wasn't my intent. I feel really bad about it."

  Well, at the time he hadn't given a shit what Nicki thought. He'd quickly seen the error of his ways, given the fact that being on Nicki's bad side was not helping his case. Her refusal to deal with him now that she apparently didn't need to distract him from her accounting records at the moment also pointed to her guilt. If he didn't have this case to work, he would cut her loose and get her out of his mind. Or do his best, anyway.

  Though it was likely an act, he also couldn't get her hurt expression and wide, wet blue eyes out of his head. However, getting back on her nice list was about the case. It had to be.

  "And?" Zack prompted.

  "I want to make it up to her. What does she like? How can I make her see me so I can say I'm sorry?" For good effect, Mark added an extra measure of brooding.

  "You're not going to be able to wipe away bad performance on the stage by buttering her up." Zack wagged his finger at him.

  "I wouldn't try," he assured the stage manager. "The reason she's mad isn't my performance; it was something in a conversation."

  One conducted horizontally in her bed in which her amazing body closed around him in a mind-blowing welcome and clung until every dip and curve fit perfectly to him. He could still hear her cries of pleasure in his ears. He'd had the marks from her nails on his back for the last three days. And when he'd had his mouth on her, the taste of her rippling over his tongue ... so sweet. Addicting. Guilty or not, Mark wanted her again. Given what he knew about her accounting records and the manner in which she'd arranged the first time they'd had sex, partnered with her cold shoulder since and the urgency of his desire even now, Nicki was probably as guilty as sin.

  He sure knew how to pick 'em.

  "Hmm. Let me think." Zack cocked his head and stared at the cavernous metal rigging above. Suddenly a broad smile split his smallish face. "I'll make you a deal. If you can finish the first half of this routine without stumbling or glowering, and finish it well, I'll help you out."

  Mark perked up. Finally, an accomplice. With Zack's help, he could get this case back on track, and while he was finishing his investigation he'd get Nicki out of her clothes and preferably impaled on his cock.

  "Really? Great!"

  "This isn't a gimmie," Zack warned. "You have to do the routine right."

  "Absolutely." Mark nodded. "I'll do my best. I just appreciate the help."

  "You help me by learning, and I'll help you with information. Besides, Nicki needs a little diversion. She works too hard, fixates on this place. Getting her mind on something else would do everyone good."

  Sporting a big smile, Mark asked, "So where in the routine do you want me to start?"

  Zack reached over to the boom box and fiddled with the CD. "From the top. Remember, it better be good."

  With a nod, Mark got into position upstage. Gritting his teeth, he waited for the music so he could start counting the beats, like Mario, his instructor in New York, had taught him.

  He hated this. Really. Was their anything worse than embarrassing oneself in public like this? He just loathed practicing all this strutting on the stage, knowing that, unless he finished this case fast, he would be doing it in front of total strangers wearing less than the average pair of underwear real soon. He was going to look like a football player in butt floss. Rafe would surely laugh his ass off if he could see. Not a comforting thought.

  On the other hand, he needed Zack's help pronto. Which meant he had to show that he was, in fact, capable of performing the routine.

  Damn!

  The pulsing music began, filling the air with a deep, sexy beat that seemed somehow ancient and modem at once, in keeping with his Viking theme. Mark began counting the beats until his cue arrived. At the appropriate throb in the music, he strutted downstage, doing his best impression of a cross between a gigolo and a runway model, the one that always made him sure he was going to lose his lunch. Cursing under his breath, he stopped, shook his ass in a manner that would surely do a pro cheerleader proud, then glanced over his shoulder with a wink. Not directed at Zack, thank you. He wasn't going to flirt with a gay man who was already clapping and whistling.

  With another pivot, Mark threw off his homed helmet. Too bad he couldn't seem to dent the damn thing. He'd already tried breaking the horns off. No luck.

  Next, the shirt came off with a quick tear of Velcro. He got appropriately down and dirty with the makeshift costume, his original still missing, thank God. If all went according to plan, it would stay that way. Finally, he finished up the sequence after a few more turns, facial expressions that made him want to plow Zack's face with his fist for dreaming up this crap, then the ripping off of his pants. A few hip thrusts later, which truly made him wonder if he could perform this in public, and he was done.

  Zack jumped up and down, clapping like a little kid who'd received his favorite present for Christmas.

  "You did it! And that was stunning. Positively yummy! I had no idea you really knew the routine and could move like ..." Suddenly, he frowned. "Hey, wait. You could do it all along!"

  Busted. Getting back into Nicki's good graces was worth it--barely, but it was.

  Mark merely answered Zack's accusations with a smile.

  "Lucy, you got some 'splainin' to do!" He wagged his finger in Mark's face.

  He shrugged. "I didn't have the right incentive before."

  Zack glared at him, but Mark could tell that, deep down he was amused. Finally, a conspiratorial smile crossed his face. "Oh, you are a devil. Nicki won't know what hit her. Sweep her off her feet!"

  Too bad sweeping her off her feet just might mean carrying her off to prison. That is, if she was as guilty as she appeared to be. Instead, he just nodded. "That's the plan. Now, tell me everything I want to know . . ."

  Chapter 8

  It was a damn long day. After reams of tedious paperwork, a visit to her masochi
stic aerobics instructor's class, a flat tire, errands all over town, and an unwelcome message from Uncle Pietro, saying he'd be in town over the upcoming Memorial Day weekend, the last thing Nicki expected as she walked toward her apartment door was to be abducted.

  Carrying a fast-food salad with low-fat dressing and a wedge of chocolate cake for comfort, she dragged her way up the stairs, judiciously avoiding looking at Mark's door--wondering what he was doing and why he'd gotten so angry with her and if she should try to talk to him about his abrupt departure from her bedroom--and walked across the landing toward her apartment.

  Out of nowhere, an arm curled around her waist and dragged her back against a big body, holding her so tightly she couldn't turn and fight. Panic flamed in her blood. It flared higher the instant she struggled and realized she was trapped. The man grabbed the fast-food bag from her hand and dropped it to the floor. Then he raised his palm to cover her eyes, plunging the corridor that was drenched in early evening sunlight into darkness. Her heart crashed against her chest.

  Oh, God!

  Refusing to panic, Nicki tried to remember her self-defense training, reinforced by an occasional watching of Miss Congeniality. He anticipated an elbow to the stomach, and she encountered only air when she thrust hers back. Next, she went for his instep, lifting her leg to stomp down as hard as she could on his foot. But he predicted that move, too, and managed to move out of her way. With her back against his hard chest, she had no way of reaching his nose or groin. Frantic now, she tried a head butt, but only managed to bang the back of her head against a muscled pectoral.

  Now what? She wasn't willing to be some psycho's entertainment for the evening.

  Then his scent hit her. Musky. A pine forest, earth, and man thrown together with a hint of spice. Definitely male. Definitely familiar.

  Mark. Oh, no! "You scared me to death! Why didn't you tell me it was you?"

  "Because I knew you would figure it out and you wouldn't struggle any less if I told you."

  Bastard! As she continued to wriggle against him, straining for freedom, Nicki felt his erection at the small of her back, the one that had haunted her lonely nights lately with remembrances drenched in devastating pleasure. She thrashed and squirmed ... until she realized he was only getting harder, bigger.

  "You're exciting the hell out of me, baby. Is that what you intended by wiggling all over my cock?" He growled in her ear.

  No. Well, maybe. It would serve him right. The man was confusion on legs. "Let go, damn it! You work for me--"

  "Not until seven o'clock, I don't."

  With that, he lifted her from the floor, turning her so he could sling her over one of his linebacker shoulders. He palmed her bare thigh beneath her miniskirt, which suddenly felt way too small for this occasion. His hand crept up, dangerously close to her ass. That, combined with her gripping the stunning muscles of his back as she looked for a way down, only made her blood begin to heat and her panties a bit more damp than they should be.

  "Don't be a Neanderthal!"

  That remark merely earned her another grunt as he walked three steps, slammed a door, and set her on her feet in front of him.

  Nicki nearly fainted. Mark looked enormous in the small, low-ceilinged foyer of his apartment. In a body-hugging black T-shirt that emphasized the green of his eyes, which drew her gaze like a beacon, he hovered over her with shuttered eyes and an expression she couldn't quite read. Something about it, about him, made her retreat a step.

  Her back hit the wall.

  "I'll stop being a Neanderthal, if you stop being a preschooler," he murmured, his low voice vibrating inside her.

  She loved the sound of that voice, rich and smooth, like chocolate over good sex. In fact, she loved it so much, it took her a minute to process his actual words.

  "A preschooler? What the hell does that mean? You're the one who stormed out--"

  "I did. I know it. And I've spent four days trying to apologize. The preschooler part came when you refused to listen, ignored my messages and peace offerings, ducked out of any room I entered, and watched my practice from the safety of your little second-floor perch."

  He'd known she was there? Oops ... "I wasn't interested in hearing your apology."

  "You were afraid to talk to me. Either way, it's childish."

  Tired of looking up at him, Nicki put her hands on her hips and rose to her tiptoes. Even so, she couldn't compete with Mark's towering height.

  "I resent that."

  "I resent being ignored when I'm trying to tell you that I know I fucked up. I really am sorry. Can't you just hear what I have to say?"

  She hesitated, her mind turning his request over. Sighing, she glanced up into his hazel eyes, fringed by thick, dark lashes. Just gorgeous. But she wasn't a sucker. She didn't cave in just because someone had their feelings hurt. She did, however, try to be reasonable.

  Besides, she was curious.

  "Fine. You've got three minutes. I'll listen. I don't think it matters, but whatever."

  "Back to being Commando Bitch, huh?"

  "Why are you making this about me, when it's your lousy behavior we're supposed to be discussing?"

  Mark shrugged, then leaned in, anchoring one massive palm on the wall next to her head. "Because we can't get there until your attitude improves, and your cinnamony scent is driving me out of my mind."

  Seriously? Another glance into those mysterious eyes of his revealed banked lust, a hint of teasing, of promise.

  The look told her without a word that if she didn't get some space between them fast, Mark would do everything in his power to get her naked and on her back. And she'd likely comply, given the fact that her determination that their one-night stand had reached its expiration date was getting shaky. His expression was slow-cooking her, and without distance, she'd soon agree with his ideas and sort out everything else later. Much later.

  Nicki ducked under his arm and shimmied away from the wall, heading for the relatively open space of the living room.

  A glance back at the breakfast nook proved that the computer equipment Lucia mentioned Mark having was nowhere in sight. But it did point her nose in the direction of the kitchen and make her aware of the heavenly smell of Italian food, ripe with oregano and hot sausage.

  She also saw that Mark was bearing down on her fast.

  "Damn it, Nicki."

  "You've got two minutes left, and you're wasting your time."

  Cursing, he shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans. "Fine, you get the Cliff's Notes version. I freaked. Okay?"

  "Freaked?"

  Mark sighed. "Being with you was ... mind-blowing. It was beyond sex. I realized it would be too easy for me to fall for you." He looked down, then away. "I knew you liked the sex, but that doesn't translate to you liking me."

  "You knew I liked the sex?" Gee, most guys usually asked if it was good.

  A little smile tipped up the comer of his mouth. "I guessed so, anyway, since I still have the imprints of your fingernails on my shoulders."

  Good point ... A flush crept up her face, which he was polite enough to ignore.

  "Why would you think I wouldn't like you?" she countered. "Contrary to whatever is running through your head, I don't go to bed with guys I don't give a damn about."

  Mark nodded, his eyes unreadable ... "When I stopped and thought about how sex had been between us, about you in general, I figured you weren't the kind of woman to just nail anyone. I knew I'd screwed up royally and started trying to apologize the next morning. In fact, I didn't sleep that night at all, I felt so damn stupid."

  Well, that made her feel better, but still didn't answer her question. What had set him off in the first place?

  "But I was angry, too. You didn't have any place to be at ten the next morning, did you?" Nicki didn't know what to say, and her silent pause shouted her guilt. "So why tell me you did, unless you wanted me gone? I wasn't in a hurry to go."

  Nicki bit her lip. Had she been the culprit? Gosh,
in trying to keep things simple between them, maybe she'd done more harm than good. "When you said you wanted to stay, I wasn't sure what you meant."

  "So you thought you'd get rid of me first thing in the morning, just to make sure I didn't overstay my welcome?"

  "Sort of." Guilt filled her, thick as the smoke in an old casino. "It's just a bad time for me to be distracted. And you're a huge distraction!"

  Mark flashed her a dimpled, heart-melting smile. Damn, did the man have to be so yummy all the time?

  "My business consumes so much time and energy," Nicki pressed on. "I haven't had a real date with a guy who doesn't work in this building in over two years. I-I enjoyed our night together. It definitely meant something to me." More than it should. "I just don't think it's smart to continue this ... fling."

  "Ah. But a one-night stand is okay?"

  Nicki winced at the sarcasm that edged his voice. "Is that a problem? I don't remember any exchange of commitments before we hit the sheets."

  Why was he angry? Most guys would love a woman who just wanted a night of great sex and then just walked away. Except he'd confessed that he felt like he could fall for her. That made a bevy of tingles take up residence in her belly.

  She didn't want to want him, but she still did. And it wasn't just about sex.

  His insecurity made no sense. Seriously, why would a guy as gorgeous and great in bed as Mark worry that she wouldn't fall for him? Nicki was uncomfortably aware that Mark could easily--probably too easily--persuade her to allow their one night to melt into many. It seemed surreal that Adonis in a G-string would worry about her not reciprocating. He had to have women coming out his ears. Instead, his being "freaked" seemed like the act of someone who ...

  Wait a minute! She remembered a comment he'd made before she'd hired him that had her rethinking the whole situation.

  "Some stupid bitch hurt you."

  Mark's gaze zipped to hers. Sharpened. He blinked and stared, clearly surprised that she had figured it out.

  Face taut, eyes wary, he nodded.

  Apparently, Mark had been the dumpee, rather than the dumper, and he'd "freaked" the other night in her apartment because he'd been hurt before.