Stripped

by Tori St. Claire

  “You better come inside.” Aaron slipped an arm around her shoulders and steered her to the door. “He’s already pissed off. Let’s not give him reason to make all our lives hell by standing outside where it’s not safe.”

  Natalya quizzed him with a narrowed gaze. What was that supposed to mean? The fire escape’s ladder couldn’t be manipulated by anyone below. “Not safe?”

  He gave her an indifferent shrug. “You’ve seen the papers. Girls have been disappearing. Better not tempt the fates.”

  It took an amazing amount of self-control to stop the laugh that brimmed and not tell him she could take care of herself. Instead, she flashed him a demure smile. “Probably right.”

  Inside the dressing room corridor, she slowed to a stop. “I’d like to ask you a favor.”

  “Anything you want, babe.” Aaron’s wink gave her another glimpse of his good-natured temperament.

  “I have a friend who needs a job. Sergei Khitrovo.”

  As if she’d suddenly struck territory that interested him, Aaron’s expression morphed into stoic quiet. He cocked his head and gave her an encouraging nod.

  “His background’s in security. He’s been on private hire to some celebrities in Hollywood recently, but his stint’s over and now he’s in between jobs.”

  “And you’re thinking he’d be good here?”

  In perfect timing to her request, another group of men from the props department exited the elevator ten feet away and hustled down the corridor. She gestured at their retreating backs. “They come and go whenever. I haven’t seen anyone looking over them. With all the disappearances, wouldn’t it be a good idea to have someone backstage with the girls? Sergei’s discreet.”

  He answered with the objection she had expected any good undercover cop would use. “I can’t take someone off the street and put them in the back.”

  Aaron rubbed his chin again. His eyes lost focus, his thoughts turned inward, considering her request. After several moments of tense silence, where Natalya began to question how she’d ever thought she might be able to sway a man who’d spent almost ten years undercover, he finally nodded his head.

  “I’ll see what Brandon thinks. I’ll let you know before we head out tonight.”

  Natalya groaned inwardly. She hadn’t seen that coming. Her research indicated the two operated on equal footing with Aaron managing his own scope of control and Brandon operating as a senior, but equal, partner. Fat chance Brandon would honor anything she requested.

  Unless he happened to recognize Sergei’s name, make the connection between her and Dmitri, and recognize they were players in the Dubai Project.

  She bobbed her head, acknowledging Aaron’s efforts, and hurried past him to the dressing room where Becca had already donned her jeans in expectation of an early night off. “Becca.”

  “Oh, hi! I was wondering where you’d gone. I wanted to thank you again for helping me earlier.”

  Natalya dismissed the thanks with a wave of her hand. “That’s what I’m here for. But I’ve got a directive from the boss.”

  “Oh?”

  “He wants you on in Chablis’ place.”

  Elation turned Becca’s otherwise pretty features into a mask of startling beauty. “Oh, my God! He’s giving me her slot?”

  Convinced she would somehow land the opening onstage, Natalya schooled her expression into serene compassion and gently delivered the news that would crush a dancer hungry for promotion. “It’s only temporary. But it’s yours for tonight.”

  A short nod confirmed Becca’s dismay. With far less enthusiasm, she bent over to pick up her sweatshirt. “Could you ask Harvey to bring up the jungle props?”

  “Sure thing.”

  Mark down another girl who’d treat her to Jill’s same icy demeanor. When Becca discovered Natalya had manipulated her out of the slot, she’d be six kinds of hateful. Natalya sighed and shook her head. What these girls thought of her shouldn’t matter. She wasn’t here to make friends. She was here to protect Kate, and in the process, protect the rest of them. When she accomplished that, she wouldn’t be here to care what the girls thought of her.

  Maybe then, Becca could claim her coveted slot.

  As Natalya returned to her office, she glimpsed Brandon and Aaron standing in the stage wings. Arms folded across his chest, Brandon didn’t look at all pleased. His gaze flicked over Aaron’s shoulder and landed on her, halting her forward progress for a tremulous heartbeat. A chill skittered over her flesh. Goose bumps followed in its wake.

  When Aaron turned to investigate what had drawn Brandon’s attention, a knowing grin broke across his face. Natalya hustled into her office. Small wonder Aaron had smirked. The whole damn hallway could have felt the tension that crackled between her and Brandon.

  Maybe stripping for Brandon wouldn’t be the best idea she’d ever had.

  Then again, she couldn’t deny a small part of her reveled in the possibility of what might happen when she did exactly as Aaron suggested and dropped her clothes in front of Brandon Moretti. She liked the way he made her feel.

  Moreover, she had elicited more than one secret between the sheets, and Brandon put a whole new meaning on the term undercover operative.

  She shook herself. What was she thinking? If Moretti worked for Dmitri and she yielded to his smoldering stare, she’d sign her death wish. He’d tell Dmitri everything.

  No, under no circumstance could she entertain the idea of what it might feel like to have Brandon’s hands on her breasts, his lips following the stroke of his fingers. But dear God, the very thought lit her up brighter than the neon lights outside.

  For the third time in easily as many weeks, she found herself wondering what had ever compelled her to join the Black Opals. She could have worked in foreign policy. Translated for government leaders. But no, all that had been too… normal.

  Now, she barely remembered what normal was like.

  Six

  G

  o on. Get out of here.” Natalya released Kate from her impromptu hug and unlocked her office door. “Sergei will follow you home.” Kate’s face paled to the color of fine porcelain, and her eyes widened to twice their normal size. She adjusted her glasses, glanced nervously over her shoulder. “What about you?”

  “Me?” Natalya blinked. How long had it been since someone had legitimately worried about her safety? Five years? Ten? She’d spent so long with a gun tucked into her waistband that she’d forgotten other people didn’t share the same confidence.

  She shook her head to ward off the sudden discomfort and used her toe to point to her purse. “Don’t worry about me. I’ve got all the protection I need in there.”

  That coupled with an upcoming wedding to the world’s most powerful mafia boss—a girl couldn’t ask for safer passage through dark alleys. Sure as her gun was loaded, there’d be eyes following her home tonight. Keeping her safe. Never questioning her unfaltering loyalty.

  As long as she kept it that way, she didn’t need to worry about anything.

  “Go,” she urged. “We’ll sneak out for lunch tomorrow and talk then.”

  Kate stopped in the doorway. “I hate this.”

  “I know.” Unceremoniously, Natalya shut the door, pushing Kate out of the way.

  She sank into her chair feeling more drained than she had in the last year as Dmitri’s go-to girl. One full day had passed, and they were no closer to identifying Iskatel´, much less Yakov, than they’d been in Russia. She knew nothing more about Fantasia’s employees than what she’d discovered in the CIA records. Other than the fact that Jill made it imminently clear she considered Brandon her personal property.

  Which could be legitimate possessiveness, or it could be a front to keep Yakov disguised. Hell, Natalya had played Iskatel´’s part in Russia—why shouldn’t it be a woman in America?

  Because it made sense for Iskatel´ to be a guy. Women trusted men easier, for the most part. In strip clubs cattiness abounded, and she’d only succeeded in gaining
the victims’ trust because she didn’t dance. Jill danced. Jill made it known she wanted top billing.

  Besides, Brandon and his team had taken three management positions in three years. It could be no coincidence that he took over at Fantasia less than two weeks before the next job.

  A light rap on Natalya’s door brought her upright and dragged her from her thoughts. “It’s open.”

  Brandon’s voice rumbled through the metal barrier. “We’re done. It’s time to close up.”

  “Hey!” She jumped up and jerked open the door. Sticking her head out, she found him halfway down the hall. “Boss! I want to ask you something.”

  He’d have to be deaf to not hear her bellow, but he kept walking, head down, fists clenched at his sides. Unbidden, her gaze skimmed over his backside. Broad shoulders tapered into a trim waist set on strong, but narrow, hips. The slight swing in his step added to the confidence that poured off him. She looked lower and sucked in a sharp breath at the firm buttocks that his dress pants accented. Perfect for a pair of feminine hands to grip and squeeze. To curl her nails into as she urged him to push deeper…

  Her blood warmed as she watched him walk away. The man was incredible. Not an ounce of softness anywhere, except on occasion in his mesmerizing eyes. And if she didn’t get her body under control, along with her all-too-suddenly vivid imagination, she’d do more than ensure her swift demise. She’d escort Kate straight to a hotel in Dubai.

  Natalya closed her office door to block out Brandon and discarded her robe in favor of her suit skirt. Brandon Moretti was strictly business.

  When she had her blouse buttoned, she fished her gun from her purse and stuffed it into her waistband. To hide it, she slipped into the lightweight jacket she’d brought along in preparation for the cooler Nevada nights. Tonight she’d walk to Dmitri’s luxury condominium on the north end of the Strip. The chilly air would do her faltering sense some good.

  First though, she needed to track down Aaron and discover the verdict on hiring Sergei. With luck on her side, tomorrow night they’d make some progress.

  She wandered through the girls’ lounge and into the brightly lit club. Unlike the rundown bars in Russia, this place screamed wealth. She hadn’t particularly noticed it before, but now, after spending a full night behind the scenes and witnessing the sheer fortune invested in stage props, the front room’s luxury became unmistakable. What she’d thought were ordinary velour chairs revealed themselves as velvet on closer inspection. She ran a hand down the edge of the stage, noting it wasn’t just painted wood, but a Formica-like substance that had been polished to a mirrored sheen. She’d stake her life on the presumption the overhead chandeliers were lead crystal as well.

  Glancing around, she searched for Brandon. When she couldn’t find him, she relaxed. The last thing she needed was one more encounter before she retired for the night. As it was, her nightly hot bath would do little to keep the wicked fantasies at bay.

  A tall figure on the far side of the room identified Aaron. She quickened her step to catch him before he disappeared into the manager’s office, where she presumed Brandon waited. “Aaron.”

  He turned, treating her again to his warm, welcoming smile. “Hey.”

  “Any word?”

  His mouth pursed, and he let out a quiet grunt.

  “That bad, huh?”

  “Not bad. Not good. I can’t get a straight answer.”

  The door behind Aaron opened, and Brandon exited, head down, attention elsewhere. Looking up at the last minute, he came to an abrupt halt, inches from his partner’s back. His scowl was immediate and fierce, and centered straight on her.

  With a lift of her shoulders, Natalya steeled herself against his silent attack. Did he think she liked this any more than he did? The way her heart stuttered each time those tawny eyes locked with hers annoyed the piss out of her. That she couldn’t control it bothered her more than the reaction itself.

  “Did you need something, Natalya?”

  If Aaron couldn’t pin him down for an answer, maybe she could. “I wanted to ask if—”

  “No.”

  Before she could stutter out anything further, he sidestepped around them and strode toward the main doors. Natalya exchanged a dumbfounded look with Aaron, then started after him, determined. She caught him at the entrance, keys in hand, locking up. “Wait just a damn second. I want to have a conversation with you. Boss. Employee. You know, that sort of thing?”

  He glanced sideways, the already tight line to his jaw hardening. “I already told you, no. You’re not dancing.” With one more twist of his wrist, he latched the last door and stalked off in the direction of the main bar.

  Oh, for God’s sake, that again. She nearly rolled her eyes, but checked the gut reaction. No sense furthering his anger with blatant disrespect. Not that he could see it. But she wouldn’t put it past him to sense she had.

  She did an about face and fell into pursuit, dogging his heels as he weaved around the chairs and the remaining waitresses. “It’s about a job, Moretti. If you’d just stand still and hear me out—”

  “Go home, Natalya.”

  Three quick strides distanced him completely. She scowled at his broad, retreating shoulders. For a fleeting moment, she considered how satisfying it would be to fire a shot into the back of his calf and stop his retreat. Or maybe through the back of his head.

  Expelling a frustrated mutter, she fisted her hands on her hips. She couldn’t shoot him, but she’d be damned if she let him dismiss her so easily. There was one surefire way to make him listen.

  Inhaling deeply, she bellowed across the room, “The back rooms aren’t safe, Moretti!”

  B

  randon skidded to a halt at the edge of the bar. He felt, rather than saw, his employees’ heads swing his way and stare at the back of his skull. Fury filtered into his blood, overriding the sexual awareness brought on by one glimpse of Miss Prim and Proper. Heat rushed up his neck, burned in his cheeks. He slowly clenched a fist and turned around to glower at Natalya. Christ. He had a murderer running around, and here she stood, hollering at the top of her lungs about the lack of security in his dressing rooms. She might as well stand at the door and invite the bastard inside.

  He stalked toward her, bent on wringing her delicate neck. To his surprise, the closer he came, the straighter she stood. Her eyes warred with his. The set of her jaw mirrored the tightness in his face. When he invaded her space, she tipped her chin up. Stubborn defiance glinted in her jade green eyes.

  A little voice of warning screamed he couldn’t strangle her in the middle of the club’s main room. Nor could he spew the multitude of ways he wanted to tell her to go to hell—right after he told her in no uncertain terms all the things he wanted to do to her. Lay her on the bar. Push her up against the wall. Peel off that blouse, hoist up that skirt and… damn!

  He grabbed her by the upper arm, wheeled her around, and propelled her inside his office. With one swift kick of his heel, he sent the door crashing shut. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  Her voice didn’t so much as quiver as she answered, “Having a necessary conversation.”

  “No. I’ll tell you what you’re doing.” He grabbed her other arm and squeezed as he gave her a little shake. “You don’t throw out accusations about the safety of my girls. Unless you want to be out of a job. Immediately.”

  Anger flashed behind her eyes. Quick. Brief. Deadly. “Take your hands off me.”

  “Not until you get it through your head, Natalya, I’m your boss. You don’t get to call the shots here.” He took another step into her space, forcing her to back up. “And you don’t, don’t, give the dancers any more reason to worry about coming into work. Or leaving when the night’s through.”

  “Maybe you should act like my boss then.”

  He blinked, certain he’d heard her incorrectly. When her expression didn’t change, and the defiance lingered in her unblinking stare, he knew he hadn’t misinterpreted. He stepped fo
rward once more, infuriated by her inability to grasp the full meaning of what her bellow could have produced. If the killer was on his staff, he now knew the back rooms were weak. Something Brandon had intended to rectify by the end of his first week on the job. But to have it thrown out so publically—he couldn’t stomach the thought someone else might suffer Rachel’s fate.

  “This isn’t a game, Natalya.” Her back came into contact with the wall, forbidding her further retreat. He closed the insignificant distance between them. “There are lives at stake. You’ve read the headlines, I’m sure. And you just invited a murderer to take advantage.”

  “Three minutes of your time—that’s all I wanted.” She paused long enough to lick her lips and swallow. The flash of rosy pink ripped through Brandon’s awareness like she’d pressed hot coals into his skin. He ground his teeth together.

  “Enough to point that out to you privately and ask you to consider hiring Sergei.”

  He should turn her loose. Step back before he forgot what they were doing against the wall. Forgot that moments ago he’d wanted to throttle her for exposing Fantasia’s weakest link. But damned if he could get his fingers to do anything more than relax enough to give her room to twist free.

  She stayed motionless, her gaze traveling over his face, dipping to his mouth. It jerked back to his eyes, and her cheeks colored a pretty pink. “His references are excellent.”

  As she shifted position, lifting her back away from the wall to relieve some unseen pinch, he caught a whiff of her lilac perfume. He reeled under the heady fragrance. Sweet. Innocent. Goddamn enticing. His cock seconded the observation.

  Fuck. He was in trouble and he knew it. She stood too close. He caught the catch of her breath, the sudden darkening of her eyes. The heat of their bodies ebbed between them, and his pulse skyrocketed. He no longer cared if the spark in her gaze came from anger or desire. Didn’t care if she was playing him. Nor did he give a damn about the conversation she’d been so intent on having. The only thought that drummed in his head was of seeing that same flash of dark color in her gaze as he slid home between her legs and pushed her over the edge into orgasm.