by Leslie Kelly
“Damn right.”
He didn’t say anything for a moment, still watching her as he leaned against the counter. The pose tugged his gray T-shirt tight against his shoulders and chest, emphasizing the man’s size. Lord, he was broad. But still so trim at the waist and lean at the hips. It was the hips that caught her attention—the way his faded, unbelted jeans hung low on them, the soft fabric hugging the angles and planes of his body.
It really wasn’t fair for a man to be so perfect.
“So...about our conversation last night.”
When staring at him—overwhelmed by his heat—she could barely remember her own name. Much less any conversation. “Huh?”
“What do you say? Will you give me your number?”
Oh, what she wouldn’t have given to hear those words from him ten years ago. Or hell, even two months ago—if she’d happened to run into him in Times Square and he’d proposed a sexy one-night stand for old times’ sake. One nobody in Chicago would ever have to know about. She would have leaped on the offer like a gambler on a free lottery ticket.
“I don’t think so.”
“Come on, you know you can trust me. I’m not some stranger stalking you. We’ve known each other since we were kids.”
Well, he’d known her since she was a kid. From the time she’d met him, Izzie had only ever seen the glorious, hot, sexy man. Even if he had been no more than fourteen.
“Just a night out for old times’ sake?”
He was so tempting. Because the only old times she recalled were the heated ones of her fantasies. And the incident at the wedding. He’d ended up between her legs during both. “Well...”
He moved again, coming closer, as if realizing she was wavering. Dropping his hand onto the counter near hers, he murmured, “No pressure. We could just go grab a pizza.”
She stiffened, any potential wavering done with. The last thing she would consider doing is having a public meal with Nick Santori at his own family’s restaurant. Not when her sister would hear about it and tell their parents, who’d then get their hopes up about Izzie remaining safely in the nest, as they’d so desperately wanted her to do when she was eighteen.
Leaving home after high school had been a struggle. She’d been an adult, legally free, but she’d still had to practically run away in order to pursue her dream of dancing professionally. Especially because she was the only one of the Natale daughters who’d inherited their father’s gift in the kitchen.
Probably because she loved food so much. As evidenced by every one of her porky-faced school pictures from kindergarten through tenth grade.
Her father had been crushed that she didn’t want to work with him. But she had known she had to escape—had to take her shot while she could or risk regretting it the rest of her life.
So she’d gone. She’d hopped a train, determined to stay away until she’d given her dream of being a professional dancer everything she had to give.
Making it at Radio City hadn’t eased her parents fears of her being “out there all alone.” It had actually increased them once they’d realized she was unlikely now to ever come back.
If they knew just how wild her life had been for the first few years she’d been on her own, they’d have felt justified in their fears. Like any good girl kept on a tight leash, she’d taken great pleasure in breaking every rule in the book once she was free and able to make her own decisions. Especially once she had men surrounding her and money to do whatever she wanted.
It had been wild. It had also been reckless—so in the past couple of years, she’d settled down. Stopped partying, stopped hooking up, stopped blowing every dime. She now had a nice nest egg...which she hoped to use to re-establish her life in New York. She’d been approached about going back to work at Radio City, as a choreographer this time. And she knew she’d probably get the same offer from her other modern-dance company.
Or she could teach. She could open her own school.... She had the money to at least give it a shot. That was among the things she’d been considering doing when she got back to reality.
Her parents, however, would give anything for her to stay here and never go back to that other life, the one that didn’t include them beyond the weekly phone call and twice-yearly visit. Openly dating a local guy—a friend of the family—would raise their hopes unfairly and hurtfully. So she couldn’t do it.
Before she could say so, however, he stepped closer. Close enough to stop her heart. “You’re a mess,” he murmured. He lifted a hand, touching a strand of hair that had fallen across her cheek. Closing his fingers over it, he slowly pulled, wiping away flour or cream or whatever had happened to be there.
The brush of his fingertips against her cheekbone almost made her cry. Almost made her whimper. Almost made her lean forward to press her mouth onto his.
“A sweet, delectable mess,” he added, his fingers still tangled in her hair. He touched her face, rubbing her skin as if he’d never felt anything so smooth, so soft.
Every muscle in her body went warm and pliant, until Izzie wondered how she could still be standing upright. As if sensing her weakness, he moved closer, sliding one foot between her legs, slipping one hand into her tangled hair to cup her head.
“I have to see how sweet you taste,” he muttered, sounding as helpless as she felt. “If only once...I have to taste you.”
Drawing her forward, he bent closer. Even knowing it was crazy and could go nowhere, Izzie prepared for a kiss she’d wanted for more than a decade. She’d cried over that mouth, had fantasized over those lips for more nights than she could count.
And she wanted it, God how she wanted it. Even if it was all she was ever going to get to have of him.
But rather than a simple kiss—the soft brush of his mouth on hers—he shocked her by immediately sampling her lips with his tongue, tasting her, as he’d said he must.
She whimpered, low and helpless.
“Oh, very sweet,” he whispered, licking at the seam of her lips again, boldly demanding entrance rather than asking for it with a more typical, closemouthed first kiss.
Izzie couldn’t deny him or herself. With a hungry groan, she opened to him, welcoming his tongue in a deep, sensual exchange that she felt from her head to the tips of her toes.
He’d thought she tasted sweet. She thought he tasted like irresistible sin. He was warm and spicy, his mouth just moist enough to whet her appetite. Just hot enough to send her temperature rocketing higher.
He sunk his other hand in her hair and held her close. Sagging against him, Izzie gave herself over to pleasure, wondering how it was possible for something to be as good as a dozen years of dreaming had promised it would be. It was a kiss more intimate than any she’d had even when making love. Because it was like making love. It was hot and sexy and powerful.
Their tongues found a common rhythm and tangled to it as their bodies melted together. Her nipples ached with need as they pressed against his broad chest. She arched harder against him, easing her legs apart to cup him intimately, whimpering again when she felt his huge erection.
He wanted her. Badly. As much as she wanted him.
The realization was almost enough to shock her into doing something stupid like ending the kiss. This was Nick—the guy she’d always wanted—hot and hard and hungry for her.
“Don’t say no to me, sweetheart,” he whispered as he finally—regretfully—drew his mouth from hers. He moved it to press kisses along her jaw, then down to the throbbing pulse point below her ear. “Say yes.”
Yes, say yes! a voice screamed.
Oh, he was so tempting. And she wanted him desperately—wanted him to pull off her clothes, back her up against the counter and make love to her right on top of it. It would be incredible, the culmination of all her dreams and secret fantasies. She could finally put an end to all the years of restless, hopeless wanting.
But it wouldn’t be the end. It would be the start of something, rather than the end of it. He’d make incredible
love to her, make her come with a few more touches of his hands and a few more of those incredible kisses and she’d be alive and happy and completely fulfilled for the first time in her life.
But then he’d want to take her out for a pizza. Or get together with friends. And she’d be caught so deep in a quagmire of family and home that she’d never be able to get free of it.
“Say yes, Izzie,” he ordered, sucking her earlobe into his mouth and nibbling it—a tiny bite that she felt clear to the floor. “Give me your number and let’s finally get this started.”
Get this started. Get everything started.
She just couldn’t do it. Izzie had always been strong and determined and had taken what she wanted. But she couldn’t take him. Not now. It was much too late.
Yanking away, she winced as her tangled hair got caught in his fingertips. Her breathing ragged, her body crying out at the injustice, she shook her head, hard. Then she backed away, wrapping her arms around her waist in self protection. “No.”
He started to follow, his dark eyes glittering...predatory. “You don’t mean it.”
She held a hand up. “Yes. I do,” she said with a firm shake of her head. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, we’re closed and I have work to do in the kitchen.” Taking a deep breath and striving to keep her voice steady, she added, “I want you to leave.”
3
ON HIS FIRST NIGHT working at Leather and Lace, Nick showed up in a bad mood. He’d been in a bad mood for two days—since Izzie Natale had shot down his efforts to get closer to her.
The woman was unbelievable. Ten years ago, she might as well have taken out an ad in the Trib declaring her devotion to him. Now she wouldn’t throw dog drool on him if he was on fire.
Damn, she was feisty. Had she always been that way? He figured with Gloria for a sister she had been. But considering he’d never seen her as a woman—just as a cute, lovesick kid—he’d never noticed. Until now.
Oh, yeah, now he’d noticed. He’d noticed everything about her. And he was not going to give up on her yet. Not when she’d become the first thing he thought of every morning and the star of his dreams every night.
Especially since that incredible kiss they’d shared.
Who would ever have guessed that the cute, pesky girl with the obvious crush on him would prove to be the most sensual, kissable woman he’d ever known? He’d suspected he could kiss her for hours. Now he knew better. He could kiss her for ever.
After she’d ordered him out of the bakery the other evening, he’d decided to play dirty, going right to Gloria to ask her for her sister’s phone number. His sister-in-law had been glad to oblige. She’d also been more than candid about how Izzie had felt about him in the old days.
Not that Nick had needed her to tell him about it. He’d been well aware—as had everyone else.
“Not anymore,” he muttered as he parked his truck—which he’d purchased right after getting home a couple of weeks ago—behind the club. He frowned, wondering how much of a jerk it made him now to be disappointed that a girl who’d had a wild crush on him as a kid didn’t give a damn about him anymore. Probably a pretty big one. But he couldn’t help it.
Knowing little Izzie had been crazy about him had been a constant during his teenage years. A given. Just another part of his reality. Certainly nothing he’d ever taken advantage of or embarrassed her about. It had just been...kinda cute, thinking there was a girl out there doodling his name in her school notebook. Innocent. Simple.
Man, he hated that that girl wouldn’t even look at him now. Especially because he didn’t think he’d done anything to deserve her coldness. No, he hadn’t recognized her. But he also hadn’t recognized the kid who had delivered the newspaper and now ran a newsstand on the corner. Or a couple of guys he’d played basketball with at St. Raphael’s.
Mark thought he did deserve it. Not because he hadn’t recognized her, but because he’d counted on her childhood feelings to give him an edge with Izzie the adult.
Hell, maybe he was right. Maybe he shouldn’t have teased her, been so sure of her. He’d known enough women to know how they felt about being taken for granted. He should have taken her out to dinner before kissing her like he needed the air in her lungs to keep on living.
So he needed to start over with Izzie. Start slow, like he would with any other woman he’d just met.
It might not be easy. Because she already affected him more than any woman he’d ever met. He’d dreamed about her this week, thought about her, gone out of his way to walk past the bakery in the hope of bumping into her.
“Tables have definitely turned,” he muttered aloud when he walked through the private employees’ entrance into the back of the club. “Which is probably just the way she wants it.”
Yeah, she could be stringing him along out of revenge. But somehow, Nick didn’t think that was the case.
She hadn’t been able to hide her feelings behind those incredibly expressive brown eyes. Though she’d sent him away after their kiss, she still wanted him. But something was preventing her from doing anything about it.
He just had to find out what.
“Nick, you’re right on time!” The club owner, a beefy, good-natured guy with a Santa Claus–like belly laugh, emerged from his office and extended his hand.
Nick shook it. “Mr. Black.”
“Call me Harry.”
“Harry, then. Thanks again for the opportunity.”
The other man waved a hand in unconcern. “Your big brother, he’s one of the few honest contractors I’ve met in this city. Did beautiful work at a fair price. And if he says you’re up to the job, I trust him completely.”
Nick had already bought his brother, Joe, a beer in thanks for setting up his interview. He wished he’d made it a pitcher.
“All the paperwork’s done, you check out exactly like Joe said you would,” Harry said as he gestured Nick toward a seat in his office. “Now, you’re clear on what I need from you?”
Nick nodded. “Have there been problems recently?”
Harry tapped his fingers on the desk and nodded. “The Rose has made a stir. Men want to see her and there have been a few incidents.”
Nick stiffened reflexively, even though he hadn’t met the woman yet. “Incidents?”
“Nothing too serious, thank God. But a couple of grabs, dressing-room prowlers. A few disturbing notes.” Harry shook his head, looking disgusted. “Can’t imagine any man saying stuff that crude to any woman. But she was a sport about it, laughed it off.” Staring pointedly, he added, “That’s one reason I hired you—she tends to not take it seriously. And I want someone else to.”
“I will,” Nick replied, confident of his own words.
Harry nodded, obviously convinced. “Other than that, there’s not too much trouble on a nightly basis. A guy’d have to be drunk as a skunk or just plain stupid to think he could go after one of the girls at the risk of taking one of the bouncers on. But we don’t let anybody get drunk as a skunk in my joint.” He chuckled. “And stupid people can’t afford it.”
That wasn’t a surprise. When Nick had come in last weekend, he’d noticed the upscale feel of the club. Far from being seedy or shadowy, like most strip joints, this place was elegantly comfortable, from the earth-toned leather furniture to the framed pieces of classy-looking art on the walls. The prices reflected the ambiance; this was no after-work beer joint.
“I wanted to introduce you to the Rose, but she called and said she’s running a little late tonight. I don’t imagine there’ll be time before her first number.”
Nick stiffened, realizing he’d soon be seeing the woman behind the mask. Somehow, during the past few days when he’d been so focused on Izzie, he hadn’t let the thought of the sultry stripper drift into his mind. Now, however, knowing he was about to see her again, he couldn’t help but remember the way she’d made him feel last weekend.
Hot. Hungry. Needy.
So would any sexy, naked woman after such a long
dry spell.
“She’s something else.”
“I noticed last weekend.”
Harry Black shrugged. “Yeah, she’s a looker, but there’s something special about her even when she’s not onstage. Got her head on right—a smart one. But that doesn’t mean I’m not worried about her. She could get herself in trouble.”
Nick could certainly understand that. Considering how attracted he’d been to her, he could see how a much more desperate man might react to her sultry performance.
“She’s not going to like me hiring someone to mainly look out for her,” Harry cautioned. “So we’ll leave that part between us, okay? As far as she knows, you’re just another bouncer.”
“Fine.” In fact, it was more than fine. He wanted as little interaction with the woman he was supposed to be protecting as possible. Not that he was truly worried about her effect on him—it had been a one-time thing, that was all.
He’d been telling himself that for days. He’d also been ignoring the fact that none of the other strippers he’d seen that night had so much as caused his heart rate to increase its regular, lazy rhythm. Only her.
Meeting her would take care of that, he was sure of it. She wore a mask, meaning her looks were all from the neck down. She’d have muddy eyes or crooked teeth or a hooked nose. Or a voice like a truck driver. Or she’d snort when she laughed. Something would be wrong. Something would break the spell.
That would be the end of his interest. No doubt about it.
* * *
THE CRIMSON ROSE spotted the dark-haired man in black the moment she peeked through the curtains on the stage. And the moment she saw him—immediately recognizing him by his height and the power of his shadowed body—her heart began to beat harder.
He’d come back. For her.
This was the first night she’d been back to the club since last Sunday night, when she’d first seen him during her last performance on this stage. Inexplicably, she suspected this was his first night back, too. When she’d asked the other dancers about him, all had denied seeing such a man in the club during the past five nights.