Lovers Unmasked

by Katee Robert

  Apparently she could sting him back, because his eyes narrowed. Then he ground his hips against hers until she bit her lip and moaned.

  “You’re sending mixed signals, Stace. You don’t know what you want.”

  Sadly, she did—she wanted far too much, more than he’d offered—but her stupid, traitorous hips lifted, seeking more from him.

  “Careful. The condom…” He reached down between them and pinched the base of his erection, holding the latex in place. But when he started to pull out, she panicked.

  “Don’t.” Her hands flew down to his hips, and her fingers dug in to hold him still. Don’t leave me empty. Not yet.

  “Stacy…” He swore under his breath when she sank her fingernails into his skin and squirmed beneath him. “It’s going to leak. Or break.”

  “I don’t care.” She didn’t. Not one bit. All she cared about was keeping him inside her for a few last, precious seconds.

  Ian laughed, low and humorless. “You can’t handle a relationship with me, but you’re ready to have my baby?”

  Yes. I love you. I’d love to have your baby. Instead, she said lamely, “It’s the wrong time of the month.”

  “I could play that game when we were together, but not now.”

  Knowing he wouldn’t change his mind, she forced herself to let go of him. She closed her eyes and turned her head to the side so he wouldn’t see the tears threatening to spill down her cheek. “Aren’t you the responsible one?”

  “Yeah, and you’re the dangerous one.” Despite the temper in his voice, he moved slowly and gently, but she couldn’t hold back shivers of reaction as he pulled out. Normally he’d press his big, warm hand between her legs and massage her as he vacated, to make it nice for her, maybe get her off one more time. But tonight he eased out and left her there, knees bent, legs spread, body aching like a wound.

  She sat up and glared a hole through the back of his head while he turned and disposed of the condom. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Christ, I should paddle your ass for real. Dancing around tonight in that outfit, teasing every cock in the place.” He faced forward again and raked her with his gaze, and the heat of it sent a wave of longing to her overstimulated clit.

  To cover the reaction, she tossed her hair back and laughed. “Are you jealous, Ian?” Hopefully nothing in her expression gave away how deeply she wanted him to say Hell yes.

  She must have fooled him because he grabbed her jaw and brought her face close to his. “I’m wondering if you’ve lost your mind, coming out tonight without any security, dancing with total strangers. Letting them put their hands on you. Especially now, with some freak sending you threats and ultimatums, possibly stalking you. What the hell is wrong with you?”

  Feeling miserable and mean, and more than a little humiliated by her own actions, she said the first thing that sprang to mind. “The only stalker I see tonight is a jealous ex who can’t stand to let me have some fun.”

  He released her face as if she’d burned him. “Why do you always do this? Why do you have to take genuine emotion—genuine concern—and twist it into something ugly?”

  “It’s my special gift. Thank God you’re rid of me—”

  He slammed his mouth down on hers. Whatever else she might have uttered flew right out of her head. Good. She didn’t want to think anyway, and she definitely didn’t want to talk. She speared her fingers into his hair and kissed him back, reveling in his rough, barely controlled response. Time spun away, and she let it go without a backward glance, until the sweet, hot tension between them turned urgent. Something had to give.

  Unshed tears burned behind her eyelids because she knew that something couldn’t be her. She tore her mouth free. “Admit it. The letter is the only reason you’re here.”

  On a strangled oath, he abruptly rolled off her and rubbed his hand over his face. She recognized the bone-deep fatigue and pent-up frustration in the gesture and tamped down on the impulse to gather him into her arms and tell him it was okay. He was the best thing that had ever happened to her, even though he’d ripped her heart to shreds without even trying. Instead, she stood and concentrated on putting her costume back in order.

  When the silence stretched to the point she thought her nerves would snap, she broke down like the masochist she was, and pressed for a confirmation she really couldn’t bear to hear. “Nailed it on the first guess, right? You’re here because Kylie told you about the letter. Well, you can take yourself off bodyguard duty. I’ve got my shit handled.”

  Ian sat with his head tipped back against the seat of the chair, staring at the ceiling. “I’m here because I’m in love with you. I couldn’t stay away.”

  She fumbled the wings. They slipped from her shaking hands and fell to the floor. This was starting to sound like a grand gesture. But for all the wrong reasons, an unsentimental inner voice insisted. Look at the timing. He did a fast, easy fade until the stalker cropped up. Now he’s worried about you, and you just fucked his brains out. His protective instincts are driving this, not his head or his heart.

  “Ian—”

  “And you love me.” He raised his head, his eyes full of challenge. “Don’t deny it. God forbid you ever say the words out loud, to me or anybody else, but don’t look me in the face and deny it.”

  Panic started in her stomach and rolled into her chest, creating a sudden tightness. “I-I don’t—”

  He simply shook his head. “You’re a good actress, Stace, but not that good. Why are you doing this to us?”

  Tears streamed down her cheeks, but there was nothing she could do about them. “It’s not you. It’s me.” God, did she really just say that?

  “Did you take off because I asked you to move in with me? Because that’s negotiable, in terms of timing, and location, and—”

  “No.” So much for grand gestures. “Ian, it’s nothing you did, or said.”

  “Was it—” He stopped, drew in an unsteady breath, and she knew, she just knew, whatever he said next was going to break her heart into a thousand pieces. “Was it…meeting my parents?”

  Confessions, apologies, insecurities…the whole ugly mess…lodged in her throat like a cold, hard ball. She had to get out of there now, before she dropped to her knees, spilled her guts, and made a fool of herself.

  “Your parents are wonderful,” she whispered. “They’re perfect. And I’m…I’m sorry.”

  With that she ran out the door.

  …

  Ian took a step toward the door before he remembered he didn’t have any pants on. Shit… He had to get out there, in case her letter writer had any plans for tonight. Thankfully, there were a couple hundred eyewitnesses just outside the door. Only a magician would be able to make a move without a few dozen people in the vicinity noticing a gorgeous blond angel pitching a fit and screaming her lungs out. Plus Trevor was out there. And Kylie. Stacy wouldn’t get far.

  He flopped down in the chair, took a deep breath, and coughed up a sound somewhere between a laugh and a groan. His chest ached like he’d taken a bullet at close range. He sat there for a moment, rubbing his sternum with the heel of his hand and sucking in air. Move, for Christ’s sake. Look at him, sitting half-naked on some fugly chair where God knows what had taken place, while his heart slowly bled out of his chest.

  Shoving the pain aside, he got up and pulled on his clothes. It was his parents. He’d wondered, but dismissed the notion because the day of the barbecue had gone so well. His mom and dad knew all about Stacy. They’d been listening to him ramble on about her for months, and they’d been both excited and nervous to meet her. They’d loved her, of course, just as he did. But not in an obligatory, “If you love her, we love her” kind of way. No, he thought as he secured the Velcro strap of his ankle holster and tucked his gun in. They’d genuinely appreciated her humor, her sense of fun, and, according to his mom, “The way she smiles at you with her heart in her eyes when she thinks nobody’s looking.”

  She did love
him. True, she’d never said so, but even tonight, she hadn’t denied it. She thought his parents were “wonderful,” and they were…so what about them had her running for the door?

  He honestly didn’t know.

  But he couldn’t waste any more time sitting there, trying to figure it out. They would talk things out later, he vowed, but for now, Stacy needed protection, even if she thought she had it handled—whatever that meant. Thinking about how she might have “handled it” scared him enough to hurry. He shoved his shoes on and headed to the door. Calm, he counseled himself as he grabbed the knob. Uptight cops made piss-poor decisions.

  As soon as he opened the door, however, his stomach knotted. The crowd inside the club had grown since they’d taken their little time-out. People clogged the hallway outside the VIP rooms. Beyond that, more people…crammed together at the bar, packed onto the dance floor, flowing into every nook and cranny of the club. This many people created cover, and confusion, not safety. His chances of finding anyone, particularly someone hoping to avoid him, looked to be somewhere between shit and outta luck.

  He pulled his phone out of his back pocket and sent Trevor a text. What’s your 20?

  The incoming text came right back. Bar.

  Down the hall, to the right. Simple, except for the wall of humanity in his way. He started the slow, sweaty slog and texted back, Stacy?

  Not with you?

  He stifled a curse, and the urge to text back a pissy “Would I have asked if she was with me?” Instead, he typed, No. See her?

  It took a few moments, but Trevor came back with No.

  The breath he didn’t realize he held drained out of him like a slow leak. Dammit. He had a bad feeling.

  His partner texted again, in his annoying thirteen-year-old-girl style. U let her shake u? Not smart.

  No kidding. Don’t move, he typed. I’m coming to you.

  Impatience built as he shouldered his way to the bar. Just walking from A to B constituted a full-contact sport. He endured more than a few elbows to his ribs, high heels trampling his toes, a half-dozen ass grabs, and one anonymous hand of undetermined gender groping his crotch.

  Finally, he shoved through to where Trevor stood scanning the crowd.

  “Spotted her?” Stupid question, Ian knew, because he couldn’t see her, and Trevor was only a couple inches taller. His view wouldn’t be materially different.

  “No. But don’t worry yet. Kylie went to the ladies’ room with Lee Ann and Ginger. They probably ran into her there.”

  His nerves jittered. “Text her and find out.”

  Now Trevor turned and looked at him. “She doesn’t have her phone.”

  “What?” True, Stacy hadn’t been carrying hers either, but Kylie was the responsible twin.

  “You saw what she’s wearing. You think she’s got a BlackBerry built into her shoe?”

  “I was hoping.”

  “Sorry to burst your bubble. I don’t suppose Stacy told you what she did on her way in to the party?”

  The bad feeling came back. Stronger. “She said something about handling her pen pal.”

  “She scooped him. He threatened to reveal that she used to strip for a living. Stacy decided to break the news herself, so she rolled out of the limo this evening and held herself a press conference, during which she mentioned she’d spent two years dancing at Deuces.”

  He actually felt the color drain out of his face. “Holy shit. Exactly why am I not supposed to be worried yet?”

  Trevor shrugged, but returned to inspecting the crowd. “She could be right. Now that he’s got no hammer to hold over her, he’ll lose interest.”

  “Maybe. Or could be he’ll choose a more direct method of forcing her out of the picture?” He took a deep breath and realized her smell lingered on him like a ghost. The thought sent sharp claws skittering up his spine. “He could move in for the kill tonight—literally—and nobody would realize anything had happened until…” The rest of the words hung there, unspoken…until it was too late. Adrenaline surged through his bloodstream, making it impossible to stand still. “You stay here. I’m going to circle over to the restrooms, see if I can catch them and find out if Stacy’s with them—”

  “Hold up, Detective,” Trevor slapped a restraining hand to Ian’s chest. “They could be headed back here as we speak.”

  “If they’re on their way back to the bar, I’ll intercept them.”

  “Doubtful. Intercepting anyone in this crowd would be like finding a needle in a haystack. You’ll just end up passing them, and then having to make your way right back here. Stay put until they come back. If Stacy’s with them, great. If she’s not, then we’ll break the club down into three zones, fan out, and conduct a logical, methodical search.”

  He knew Trevor’s approach made sense, and going off half-cocked on a solo search amounted to a giant waste of time and energy, but standing there, waiting, taxed his patience.

  After an eternity he saw the pointy top of Ginger’s witch hat cut through the crowd and come their way. Kylie followed, then Lee Ann, and then…nobody. He wanted to put his fist through the bar. Trevor aimed a warning glance at him and turned to Kylie. “Have you seen Stacy?”

  Kylie’s big blue eyes shifted to Ian and widened. “I saw her with you. I watched you two leave the stage together.”

  He pretty much had to read her lips. Trevor’s low voice carried decently well over the noise of the club, but Kylie’s lighter, higher tone got lost in the din.

  “They got separated,” Trevor offered, diplomatically succinct.

  “She’s got to be here. She wouldn’t leave without telling me.”

  Yeah. Not willingly. Kylie’s expression assured him there was at least one person in the club as anxious about Stacy being MIA as he was, but he didn’t take any comfort in the realization.

  “Kylie told us about the creepy letter,” Ginger said. “Do you think a guy who gets his rocks off putting a bunch of threats on paper would actually show up tonight and make trouble?”

  “It’s possible,” Trevor replied. “This person might feel the need to witness firsthand what kind of reaction his letter caused, or he might want some kind of acknowledgement.”

  “We’ll help look for her,” Lee Ann offered. She gestured to Ginger. “We’ll go back and check the restroom.”

  “You have a phone?” Ian asked.

  Lee Ann nodded and pulled hers out of her white cowboy boot. “Always, sugar.”

  He nodded, waited while Trevor took her number, and sent them both a text. He replied and looked at Lee Ann. “Got it?”

  “Got it,” she confirmed.

  “Okay.” Turning to Trevor and Kylie, he said, “I’ll go this way. You two take the middle. We’ll all meet back here. Text if you find her.”

  Ginger squeezed his arm, and then she and Lee Ann were gone. Trevor took Kylie’s hand and pulled her away. She trailed behind, craning her neck to give him an anxious look before the crowd swallowed her up. He took a deep breath and plunged into the fray.

  Chapter Seven

  Stacy pushed her way through a jungle of humanity. Her head wasn’t liking the whole vertical thing too much anymore, and her stomach wanted her to rethink the three drinks, but she kept moving.

  The bone-jarring beat of the music made her head pound. The flashing lights assaulted her eyes. She swallowed hard and put her chin to her chest.

  God, she felt awful. Her mind tossed out a fantasy of Ian coming up behind her, scooping her into his arms, and carrying her out into the blissfully cool, head-clearing air. He’d put her down and take her hand. Then he’d tell her he didn’t give a rat’s ass about her past, he only cared about her future…and he’d ask her to marry him and share it with him. She’d wrap her arms around his neck, bury her face against his chest, and tell him she loved him. She’d always loved him, and, for her, there would never be anyone else. He’d drive her home, tuck her into his bed, and hold her close for the rest of the night, and the next night…and the
rest of their lives.

  Let go of the grand-gesture fantasy. It’s not gonna happen. Fate didn’t arrange happy-ever-after endings for girls like her, and she couldn’t let herself believe differently just because he’d shown up tonight. She had her Worst Nightmare to thank for that. Were it not for the threat, he’d clearly been prepared to do precisely what she’d asked him to do—leave her alone. Once he realized she’d eliminated the threat with her preemptive strike, Ian could go back to leaving her alone.

  The already impossible-to-navigate interior of the club blurred behind a stinging sheen of tears. She squeezed her eyes shut and gave up fighting her way through the crowd like a salmon swimming upstream. Instead, she let the momentum of the people around her carry her in whatever direction prevailed. Go with the flow for a minute, get yourself together.

  A sharp pain slashed across her left side. “Ow!” She sucked in a breath and turned, ready to tell the gladiator standing beside her to watch it with the sword, but before she could open her mouth, something cold and hard pressed into her spine. At the same time, a low, harsh voice whispered, “Keep walking.”

  “What?” She tried to turn the other way now, but the unyielding rod dug into her back and the voice said, “That’s a gun, and I’m your worst nightmare. Unless you want me to blow a hole through you right now, don’t turn around. Don’t make a sound. Keep your mouth shut and walk.”

  My worst nightmare? Her heart froze, her lungs stopped working, and she completely forgot about the pain in her side. A gun? All three drinks in her stomach immediately reversed course. She bent forward and threw up, while little gray dots swam at the edges of her vision. She would have gone down completely, but her assailant grabbed her hair and pulled her head up. Hard.

  “I said walk!” The gun stabbed into the center of her back and sent another spear of agony along her side. She bit her lip to keep from crying out, but managed to stay on her feet.

  Her side was killing her, but if she refused to take another step, the maniac behind her could shoot her down in the middle of Deuces and disappear in the ensuing chaos. The chances of surviving a bullet fired point-blank into her spine didn’t sound good.