Waking Up to You: Overexposed

by Leslie Kelly

  But she was still here. So he could only assume one thing: she was waiting in her dressing room, either hiding in the hopes that he’d leave first, or preparing herself for his arrival.

  Because she had to know he’d figured her out. All she’d have had to do was look out at him in the audience during her second set and see the steam pouring out of his head. And the fire burning out of his eyeballs.

  Reaching her closed door, he remembering she’d said it had no lock. He gave her a one-knock warning, then entered without waiting for an invitation. It wasn’t like she had anything to hide...he’d seen her body, both as Izzie and as Rose.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” she asked, staring at him from across the room, where she’d been slipping a jacket on. She was dressed casually, in a loose, comfortable-looking pair of baggy pants and a tank top. If she hadn’t been wearing the mask, she’d have looked just like the girl next door.

  Like Izzie.

  God, what a blind idiot he was not to have seen it before. The eyes were the same—though “Rose’s” were shadowed by the mask. Those lips couldn’t be denied. The shape of her jaw, the length of her neck. Everything about the Crimson Rose was Izzie under a sexy microscope. Everything about Izzie was the Crimson Rose in nice-girl trappings.

  “What do you want, Nick?”

  “You’re here late,” he murmured, stepping inside and shutting the door behind him.

  “Um, yes, I guess so,” she replied.

  “You don’t usually stay until closing time.”

  She tilted her head back, her chin up, displaying outright bravado. She was going to try to bluff her way through this, since she couldn’t be certain she’d been busted. “One of the other dancers got sick and had to leave. I wasn’t sure if Harry would need me to cover for her.”

  He hadn’t. Nick knew that much. If he’d had to watch “Rose” in a third performance on the stage, he would have lost it. He didn’t know that he’d have been able to keep himself from going up there and confronting her right in front of the audience.

  She fell silent, just watching him. Waiting. Nick said nothing, not giving himself away yet. He wanted to see what she’d do. How far Izzie would go to maintain her secret.

  God, it killed him that she didn’t trust him. He had no illusions about why she’d put that mask on her face in the beginning. Her parents would be upset if they found out. He could even see why she’d kept quiet the first couple of times he’d worked here—before she knew she could trust him.

  But now he was her lover. She’d trusted him with her body. She should have trusted him with her secret.

  “Well,” she said, “I guess it’s time to go.”

  “So soon?” he murmured, leaning back against the closed door, blocking her escape. He crossed his arms and stared. “But this is the first time we’ve been alone in quite a while.”

  She licked her lips nervously. Nick almost felt that moist tongue on his own mouth and had to force himself to stay cool.

  “It’s late.”

  “I know. It’s also nearly deserted. You and I might be the very last ones here,” he said. Watching her closely, he saw the way she gulped as that truth dawned on her. They were practically alone in this big building. No one would hear if she decided to shout for help.

  As if Nick would ever hurt her. He’d sooner cut off his own arm. That didn’t mean, however, that he didn’t intend to torment her just as much as he possibly could.

  She was nervous, quivering, her whole body in miniscule motion. And he knew why. He could just put her out of her misery and confront her on her deception, but something made him string her along a little more. Maybe it was the way she’d been stringing him along. Maybe it was just because he liked seeing the wild flutter of her pulse in her neck. Plus hearing the choppy, audible breaths she couldn’t contain.

  He liked having her at a disadvantage for once. He also knew how to put her at more of one.

  “So, Rose,” he said, finally straightening and stepping closer, “about our very first conversation?”

  She slid back, trying to increase the space between them again, but couldn’t go far before hitting the folding screen. Nick pressed closer, relentless in his silent, stalking approach. “I’ve been giving it a lot of thought.”

  “You have?” she whispered. “I haven’t been, not at all.”

  What a liar. “Really? Because I think by the way you watch me, you’ve been thinking about it a lot.” Lifting an arm, he put it on the top of the screen, blocking her with his body. They were close enough for him to feel the brush of her pants.

  “I need to go.”

  “I need you to stay.” Tracing the soft line of her neck with the tip of one finger, he added, “I’ve changed my mind about your invitation.”

  Her mouth opened. “You don’t mean...”

  He tipped her mouth closed, sliding his thumb across her bottom lip. That juicy, full lip he had tasted the other night and wanted to lightly bite now. “You’re very attractive, Rose.”

  “But...”

  “I can’t take my eyes off you.”

  Though she sighed at his touch, her soft body also stiffened. Her fists curled. She obviously didn’t know whether to melt or erupt. It was all he could do not to laugh.

  “You were so dead-set against it,” she said in that hot whisper. “Why now?”

  “Men can change their minds, too. You’re all I’ve been thinking about for weeks.”

  The fists rose to her hips. The sultriness disappeared. She looked indignant, verging on angry. “Oh, yeah?”

  “Most definitely.” He dropped a hand onto her shoulder, feeling the flexing of her muscles. He kneaded it softly, easing away the angry tension, knowing he was only going to build it back up again. “I want to touch you, everywhere.”

  She shook under his hand.

  “Want to taste you.” Knowing how to make the top of her head blow off, both with lust and with fury, he leaned close. Moving his mouth to the side of her neck, he placed an openmouthed kiss at her nape, licking lightly at her skin, flavored the tiniest bit with salt from her energetic dancing. “Aww, Rose, do you know what I want to do to you?”

  She just whimpered, not saying a word.

  “I’d like to smear something luscious and sticky all over you, then lick it from every sweet crevice of your body.”

  That did it. Izzie/Rose shook off her half hungry, half worried daze and reacted with gut fury. She lifted one of those fists and whammed it toward his face. If Nick hadn’t been prepared for it, he might have been caught in the jaw. As it was, he deflected the blow by grabbing her hand in midair.

  He didn’t let go, holding her tightly as she struggled to pull away. “Damn you, Nick Santori,” she spat out, completely forgetting her sultry whisper.

  “What’s the matter, sweetheart,” he snapped back, “you afraid to get a little oral?” Sliding an arm around her shoulders, still gripping her first, he added, “Or do you just like to give it rather than get it?”

  “Put anything in my mouth and I’ll bite it off.”

  “Oooh, rough. I like it.” Tracing the opening in the velvety fabric with his finger, he added, “I couldn’t fit anything in your mouth with that thing on your face. Especially not my cock, as you well know.” He pressed hard against her, pushing her back against the wall, grinding into her. Because while her actions and her continued deceptions drove him crazy with anger, her nearness was driving him crazy with lust.

  He was rock hard for her, raging with need.

  She whimpered and stopped wriggling for a second, her hips bucking toward his in response—once, then again. She lifted one leg slightly, tilting her pelvis so his bulge hit her in the spot she most needed it to. “Oh, God,” she mumbled, “I get the point, you’ve got a lot to offer.”

  She’d whispered that, calming herself down, and Nick almost groaned at her determination.

  She still hadn’t quite let herself believe it had already gone too far, that her
masquerade was over. Izzie had lost her temper at the thought that he’d play the same sexy, wicked games with another woman that he’d played with her the other night in the van. And she’d reacted with honest—if momentary—fury.

  Now, having realized it, she was almost desperate to convince herself she could salvage the situation. She was hoping he hadn’t been talking to Izzie, who knew firsthand what he had to give her since she’d taken him into her body the other night. And that he was instead talking to Rose, who was right now feeling the size of his cock as it pressed against her.

  Bending to the side, he grasped her bent leg, gripping her thigh to tug her up for a better fit. She groaned as their bodies came together more intimately. He could feel the heat of her—her moisture—through her thin pants and his own. She was wet and aroused, flushed and ready.

  Yet still too damn stubborn to whip off the mask and take him on open, honest terms.

  “So you ready to play those kinds of games?” he muttered as he rocked against her, inhaling her little cries of pleasure.

  “I don’t like to be manhandled,” she muttered through hoarse breaths. The excited pulse in her throat and the desperate tone in her voice made a lie of that statement. She liked it. A lot.

  He bit lightly on her bottom lip. “Yes, you do.”

  She started to shake her head, but he kissed her, thrusting his tongue against hers, loving the silky feel of her mouth almost as much as he hated the scrape of the mask against his cheek. That mask was what finally brought him back to his senses. He didn’t want the masked woman, he wanted the real one. The one who trusted him and exhibited honesty. And guts.

  He’d had enough. Enough of the lying, enough of the deception. Even enough of tormenting her.

  So he dropped her leg. “I think we’re done.”

  She sagged back against the wall. Even with the mask he could see the way her eyes widened with shock. And hurt. “What?”

  It wasn’t easy to stay back, keep his hands off her, ignore the heat in the small room and the overwhelming smell of sexual want filling his head. But he did it. “I changed my mind.”

  Turning his back to her, he took one step toward the door. Then he heard her whisper, “You son of a bitch, you do know.”

  He put his hand on the knob. Glancing over his shoulder to meet her stare, he frowned and sighed. “Yeah, Izzie. I do.”

  Then he walked out.

  * * *

  FOR THE FIRST TIME in the nearly three months that she’d worked at Leather and Lace, Izzie called in sick Sunday night. She told herself she was a coward ten times over. But that didn’t change the way she felt.

  She couldn’t face him. Not after what had happened in her dressing room Saturday night.

  His anger had been undeniable. His revenge understandable.

  But it was his hurt—that glimpse of sadness on his face as he’d looked at her over his shoulder before walking out the door—that had been the real punch in the gut.

  He’d been pursuing her relentlessly for weeks and had finally caught her that night in the van. He’d been nothing but honest about what he was going through—with his family, his life, his attraction to her.

  And she’d been lying to him from the first moment. Lying about her secret job, lying about her feelings for him. Lying about what she really wanted.

  Hell, she’d even been lying to herself about those last two. She’d been denying her feelings for him though they had existed for as long as she could remember. And she’d pretended she wasn’t dying for him physically when the thought consumed her every waking moment.

  Even her parents had zoned right in on her mood when she’d gone to visit them Sunday. She’d tried so hard to paste on a smile, especially around her father, who was just now starting to seem like his old self. But her mother had immediately noticed something was wrong and had questioned her about it.

  She’d covered...promising everything was fine.

  One more lie to add to her list. She was becoming quite adept at it. And frankly, she hated herself for that.

  “You deserve to feel this way,” she told herself as she sat in the closed bakery a few evenings later. It was her quiet time again, when the café staff had left for the day but the evening kitchen and delivery help hadn’t arrived. She was sipping a big, fattening cappuccino laden not only with whipped cream but a swirl of caramel. Feeling like absolute scum.

  “Iz?” a voice called. A female one.

  Turning on her stool, she saw her cousin, Bridget, enter through the employees’ entrance in the back.

  “Hey,” Izzie mumbled.

  “I’ve been calling.”

  “I don’t usually answer the phone after hours.”

  Bridget frowned. “I mean your cell phone.”

  “Turned off.” Izzie blew on the steaming coffee drink. “There’s more if you want to make yourself one.”

  Bridget looked longingly at the mug and fresh whipped cream and got to work. She remained quiet as she did it, but Izzie saw the worried sidelong glances her cousin cast her way.

  When Bridget had finished—topping her hot drink with a sprinkle of cinnamon—she took a seat on the opposite side of the counter. “You look like hell. You haven’t been sleeping.”

  “Thanks. And you’re right. I haven’t been.”

  Bridget sighed. “Me, neither.”

  Finally looking seriously at her cousin, she saw the dark circles under her pretty eyes and the droop of her normally smiling mouth. It was an unusual combination. Bridget was not the cheerful, constantly giddy sort, but she was always quietly happy. And her face reflected that.

  Not today, though. “What’s wrong?”

  “I hate men.”

  “I hear ya,” Izzie mumbled, though her heart wasn’t in it. She didn’t hate Nick, not at all. She just hated that look of disappointment on his face. Hated how it made her feel.

  Low. Rotten.

  Yes, she’d had a reason to keep her identity hidden from most of the world. But once she’d let Nick lay her down in the back of that van and do things to her that would cause a real good little Catholic girl to faint of shock, all masks should have been torn away.

  “I don’t understand them.”

  Sensing her cousin was talking about one man in particular, Izzie set aside her own emotional misery. “What’s going on?”

  “It’s that guy at work I mentioned a few weeks ago. Dean.”

  “The new salesman?”

  Bridget nodded. “I finally met him for coffee one day, kind of figuring it was our first date. But obviously I totally misread him. He made it clear he was just interested in getting to know a coworker. And he hasn’t asked me out again.”

  Izzie frowned, disliking the look of unhappiness on Bridget’s face. “Have you made it clear you’re interested?”

  “I went out with him, didn’t I?”

  “Yes, but did you make it clear that you were looking at him as more than just a coworker?”

  “How was I supposed to do that?”

  “I don’t know—flirting, smiling, brushing up against him. All the typical weapons of the female romantic arsenal.”

  “I...don’t suppose I did. We talked mostly about business...at least when I wasn’t griping about my landlord.”

  “So, he might not even know you’re interested in him that way. Which means, you need to let him know, then figure out if he gave you the brush or retreated out of self-preservation.”

  Bridget blinked. “Self-preservation?”

  “Some men won’t make a move on a woman unless they’re sure she’s interested. It takes a lot of self-confidence.”

  Self-confidence like Nick’s. It had taken a boatload of it for him to keep pursuing her when she’d kept turning him down.

  “Is that what you would do? Make it more obvious?”

  “Yeah. I would.”

  Her cousin mumbled something, then cleared her throat. “You know, I’d think you’re right. But there’s something about Dean tha
t makes me think he’s not quite as nice and shy as he seems.”

  Izzie instantly stiffened. “Has he done anything to you?”

  “Done? Oh, goodness, no. He’s barely looked at me since the day we went out. But there have been one or two times when I’ve caught him staring at me—with this, oh, God, it sounds so stupid, but I’d swear he looks almost hungrily at me when he thinks I’m not looking.”

  “Hungry’s good. If it’s coming from someone you want to want you.” Not just a roomful of horny men turned on by a naked dancer. Her audience sometimes annoyed the hell out of her. Sometimes it seemed like dancing naked alone would be better than dancing naked in front of a crowd. Of course, she wouldn’t get paid for that. A definite drawback.

  “Not if he constantly hides it. And there’s more, he sometimes just comes across so much harder—tougher—than this nice, quiet, soft-spoken salesman. It’s almost like he’s trying really hard to be on his best behavior.”

  Izzie didn’t like the sound of that. Guys who tried that hard to be on their best behavior had to be pretty bad during their not-quite-best behavior. She said as much to her cousin, but Bridget waved away her concerns.

  Though they talked a little while longer, Izzie couldn’t keep her mind on anything. Her cousin noticed her distraction and tried to get her to talk about it, but she wasn’t ready to.

  It wasn’t that she didn’t trust Bridget to keep her secret. Or that she feared her cousin would be shocked by it. But the truth was, it didn’t seem right for Bridget to be the one she talked to about this. Not when Nick was the first one who’d realized what she was doing on Saturday and Sunday nights.

  She wanted to talk to him.

  She wanted him. Period.

  She just didn’t know if it was too late to get him. Judging by the way he’d slammed out of her dressing room Saturday night, she greatly feared it was.

  * * *

  IT TOOK EVERY OUNCE of willpower Nick possessed to avoid going into Natale’s Bakery that week. Something inside him insisted that he go up there and confront Izzie now that he felt at least moderately calm. Unlike the way he’d felt Saturday night at the club.