by Jo Leigh
In their place was a frowning-scowling almost-man, dressed all in black, looking not only menacing but dangerous. And absolutely delicious.
“I asked you all in here to discuss your security.”
“Let’s discuss your ass,” one of the dancers cracked.
“I’d rather talk about his shoulders.”
“I vote for his co…”
“Ladies,” another voice said as Harry entered the room. Rolling his eyes, he gave Nick an apologetic look. “Please go ahead, Nick.”
Nick got right back on track, hitting them all over the head with the need for tighter security around the place. Though he was talking to everyone, he looked at Izzie so often, she knew she was the one on his mind.
There wasn’t any reason to single her out. Well, not much reason. Yes, she’d had a few persistent customers. One guy had lunged at her on the stage a few weeks back. Another had burst into her dressing room. And there’d been a few parking-lot lurkers who’d been chased away by one of the bouncers, Bernie, who’d been watching out for her since her first night. Long before Nick had come on the scene.
In this job, she’d expect nothing else. But Nick was relentless in his lecturing. He kept on about how they all needed to look out for one another, report anything suspicious. Yadda yadda. Izzie zoned out somewhere between “drive a different route home from work every night” and “have a buddy when you go to the restroom.”
That one did spark an “I’ll be your bathroom buddy, Nick,” from one of the girls, a glare from Delilah and another long-suffering sigh from Harry.
Finally, though, the meeting broke up and the other dancers raced to finish getting ready. Izzie quickly ducked out of the room, hoping Nick wouldn’t see her. She’d gotten about ten steps from her dressing room when she realized he’d followed.
“Rose, wait a minute.”
She froze, but didn’t turn around.
“I’m particularly concerned about you. The ‘who’s behind the mask’ element puts you at higher risk. Some whackjob might decide to try to find out for himself.”
She glanced over her shoulder. “Thanks for the warning.” Now go away.
Before she could look away again, she saw a dark frown pull at Nick’s handsome face. “What in the hell?” he muttered, staring at her face.
Fearing he’d recognized her, she quickly lifted her hands to ensure her mask was still in place. It felt okay-but Nick was still staring at her, blinking in confusion.
“What?” she snapped. Remembering at the last minute that she needed to lower her voice to the sultry whisper he’d grown familiar with, she rephrased. “Is something wrong?”
He reached for her. Izzie immediately lurched back, almost tripping over her own feet. If she hadn’t backed herself up against the wall, she would have.
“Careful,” he muttered, still frowning. “It wouldn’t look good on my résumé if somebody I’m supposed to be guarding trips and breaks her neck.”
Right. He needed to guard her.
Not look at her. Not watch her. Not batter at her defenses with every flex of that body, every whiff of his spicy scent that filled her head whenever he was near.
God, this was hard. So much harder than it had been last weekend, when she hadn’t had him. When she didn’t know what he was capable of.
“You have something on your…it’s…”
Shrugging uncomfortably, he reached for her again. This time, she stayed still. At least until he yanked at her eyelashes hard enough to jerk her eyelid off her face. “Ouch!” she yelped, slapping his hand away.
His hand was still stuck to the lashes so when she smacked him, she only ended up hurting herself more. As his hand flew away, he took the lashes with him, ripping them off her lid.
“I thought it was a bug,” he said with an uncomfortable grimace.
She yanked her false eyelashes out of his fingers. “A bug? You thought I had a bug on my face?”
“It’s not like you’d be able to tell if you did with that stupid mask on. Why do you wear it when you’re not on stage, anyway?”
Oh, boy. A question she definitely couldn’t answer.
“You don’t have to keep up this mysterious woman act for the staff, do you? So why not take it off and take a deep breath?” Swiping a frustrated hand through his short, spiky hair, he added, “Or at least put your damn false eyelashes on more securely?”
She almost growled in annoyance. He was the reason she’d had to put the lashes on through the eyehole in the mask. “I want a lock on my dressing room door,” she whispered harshly.
He glanced at the knob. “You don’t have one?”
“No.” Thinking quickly, she added, “And that’s one reason I keep the mask on all the time. I have no place to go for complete privacy. A reporter who did an article on the club a few weeks ago came creeping around down here one day, trying to get a picture of the real me.”
Nick moved in close, towering over her, burning her with his heat. Putting his hands on the wall on either side of her, he trapped her in. “Who is he?”
Izzie nibbled her lip, trying with every ounce of her strength not to throw her arms around his shoulders and her legs around his waist. Or to shove him away so he’d stop looking searchingly at her, seeing her eyes…how could he not recognize her eyes? How could he be this close and not know the smell of her body?
It was good that he didn’t, she knew that. But it was also starting to tick her off.
“Just some reporter,” she murmured.
“Have you had any problems with him since?”
“No, he hasn’t been around since the story came out. Would you relax?”
“You tell me if you see him.” Then, staring hard at her, he slowly pulled back, releasing her from the prison of his arms. An odd look appeared on his face, as if he’d suddenly realized just how close they’d been and wasn’t happy at himself for it. Clearing his throat, he added, “I’m sorry I hurt your eye.”
“It’s all right.” Slipping away from him, she headed again to her door, relieved to have escaped his scrutiny. Good thing he’d let her go, because the longer he stayed so close to her, the more angry she was going to get that he didn’t know her.
Especially because a mask would never prevent her from knowing him.
Huh. Men. So painfully unobservant.
“I hope you’re taking me seriously,” he said, that gruff, no-nonsense tone returning to his voice, his apology obviously done.
“I am, I am.” She practically bit the words out from between her clenched teeth, ready to smack him if he didn’t shut up and let her go get herself back under control. And fix her eyelashes.
“No more running out to your car alone to get something you forgot.”
“Yes, your majesty.”
“No more coming back upstairs and mingling close to closing time.”
She seldom did that, anyway. Whirling around, she offered him a sharp salute, and snapped, “Got it, chief.” Then, determined not to listen to another word, spun on her heel and strode into her dressing room, slamming the door shut behind her.
It was only after she’d shut him out that Izzie realized how stupid she’d just been. Nick had annoyed her so much-both because of his overbearing protective bodyguard schtick and his inability to see what was right in front of his face-that she’d completely forgotten her role in this. The role she played as the Crimson Rose.
Because during those last three words, when anger had overtaken common sense, she’d forgotten to speak in her sexy, husky voice.
She’d been pure, 100 percent Izzie.
7
Leather and Lace employed a few burly bouncers to watch the doors and to stand in the back of the crowd during the show. Their presence was mainly to inspire intimidation to keep the audience on its best behavior. And they did their job well, especially the tallest one, Bernie, whose beefy build concealed a g
uy with a deep belly laugh and a good sense of humor.
Nick, however, wasn’t technically one of them. His job involved more than rousting out rowdy drinkers or breaking up any fights. He was there to make sure nobody touched the dancers. Especially Rose. And the bouncers were his backup.
He typically moved around during the performances-sometimes in the audience, sometimes backstage, sometimes downstairs. He kept a low profile, his eyes always scanning the crowd, looking for the first sign of trouble.
Tonight, he was standing close to the dance floor, in a shadowy corner just left of the stage. He couldn’t say why. It wasn’t as if he expected anyone in the front row to leap up and try to grab Rose or one of the others. Yes, it’d happened. But usually not until at least the second set, late in the night, when the patrons had consumed more than a few fifteen dollar shots of top-shelf whiskey. And when they’d forgotten how big the bouncers were or how stupid they were going to feel having to call their wives to get bailed out of jail.
Tonight, Nick was close to the stage because he wanted to watch her.
Something had happened earlier, something that was still driving him crazy. Oh, she drove him crazy in any number of ways, already-mainly because of that blatant sexuality oozing off the woman. But this didn’t have anything to do with her attractiveness, or Nick’s reaction to it.
It was something else. Something he couldn’t define. Ever since he and Rose had exchanged words outside her dressing room, a voice had been whispering in his head that there was something he wasn’t seeing. Some truth he had overlooked.
He had replayed their entire conversation, thinking about every word, wondering what had seemed so off with it. Aside from her being such a smart-ass about the self-protection tips he’d asked her to follow, they hadn’t been confrontational. Hadn’t been unpleasant in any way, other than when he’d accidentally almost ripped her eyelid off.
So why are you so tense?
Good question. He was wound as tight as a ball of rubber bands, his jaw flexing, his hands clenching. His heart wasn’t maintaining its usual pace, it was rushed, as if adrenaline had flooded his body.
When they introduced her, something did flood his body. Heated awareness. Maybe adrenaline, too.
She didn’t spot him when she started, and from here Nick had a perfect view of every move she made. She was using the pole tonight, taking advantage of it to showcase her strength and flexibility. Not to mention inviting every man in the audience to imagine being the one she was writhing against, the one cupped between her incredibly long legs.
He tensed, then thrust away the flash of jealousy. It was none of his business what Rose did-in her professional life or in her personal one.
She’d begun removing her petals now, they fluttered onto the stage, one even wafting so close it was only about a foot away from Nick’s corner position. Something made him step closer, to reach for it. Whether to give it back to her, or to save it as a souvenir, he couldn’t say. Fingering it lightly, he stuck it in his pocket and kept watching.
When this close, he had a very good view of the Crimson Rose…a view of a trim waist made for his hands. Of supple legs he could almost feel wrapped around his hips. Of slender fingers that had tangled easily in his hair. A delicate throat for nibbling. Lush round breasts for cupping. And when she removed the petals covering those breasts, his mouth flooded at the image of sucking on those dark, pebbled nipples.
Every bit of her was familiar…to his eyes, and to the rest of his body. He knew what it would be like to taste her, to touch her, to hear her soft little moans of pleasure.
To hear her…
Her voice. That voice. That body.
“Oh, my God,” he whispered, certain he’d lost his mind but unable to chase the thought away. Because as he watched the performer disappear behind the curtain after her dance, he saw a face behind that mask. A face he saw in his dreams every night.
Izzie’s face.
“It can’t be,” he mumbled, staggering back into the shadow. He hit the wall in the corner and slid down it, bending over so his hands landed on his knees. Sucking in a few deep breaths, he kept his head down, thinking over everything he knew about Izzie Natale. And about the Crimson Rose.
She’d taken dance lessons throughout her childhood, he remembered that. She’d gone to New York to become a performer. On the stage. She hadn’t exactly said she’d been an actress.
My God, had she been a stripper at some high end Manhattan club? And when she’d been forced to return to Chicago after her father’s stroke, had she taken up the same profession here-wearing a mask so she wouldn’t possibly be recognized?
Their bodies were so alike-how could he not have seen it before? Then again, he had never seen Izzie naked before, until two nights ago, so he couldn’t possibly have known that her legs were as long and supple as a dancer’s. That her hips were full enough to make a man hard just at the thought of getting his hands on them. That her breasts were big, high and inviting.
She’d hidden a lot behind the apron. So much that he hadn’t registered that Izzie and Rose were the same height, had the same builds. Or that their hair was close in color-the length of Rose’s obviously caused by some kind of hairpiece or wig.
Now it registered. But it still seemed impossible. Absolutely unbelievable that cute little Izzie, Gloria’s baby sister…the girl who’d crushed the cookies for God’s sake…was the woman driving men all over Chicago insane with lust.
Including him. Especially him.
At that moment, he knew it was true. He’d been reacting to Rose and to Izzie the very same way from the moment he’d seen each of them. With pure, undiluted want based on absolutely nothing but instinct and chemistry.
They were the same. His body had known that immediately. His brain had finally caught up.
Somehow, he managed to stay on the sidelines and finish doing his job throughout the long night until the club closed at 2:00 a.m. He stayed upstairs, sending one of the other guys down every so often to do a sweep outside the dressing rooms. He didn’t trust himself to go down there and confront her yet.
If he did, it might get loud. And neither one of them might be ready to go back to work after they had the blowout fight Nick suspected they were going to have.
It was definitely going to be a blowout, and probably not for the reasons Izzie would suspect. Yeah, it bothered him that his sister-in-law’s kid sister was working as a stripper. But he was no prude, nor was he judgmental. He’d seen her act…she was not only good, she was damn good.
As someone who was-and might again be-Izzie’s lover, he was not happy. Couldn’t deny that. But again, not so much because of other men looking at her, but more because she was working in a very risky field. Putting herself in danger.
The real reason he was fuming was because she’d lied to him. She’d been deceitful, letting him chase after Izzie by day while Rose pursued him by night. The woman had nearly sent him out of his mind-for what? Some twisted game? A power trip?
He didn’t know. He just knew he wanted answers. And when the club finally shut down and everyone began to drift away, he walked downstairs, determined to get them.
Nick knew she hadn’t left yet, he’d been watching her car in the parking lot, which was emptying as everyone departed for the night. She usually left much earlier-since her last number took place around midnight. And it didn’t take her long to get ready since she didn’t bother taking her mask off before getting into her car and roaring away. Obviously for his benefit.
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.