by Lucy Farago
“I quite like it, thank you very much. Can I get you something? You haven’t eaten much in the last few days.” He flipped a switch and the boat seemed to slow.
“Is it your turn to take care of me?”
“And why not?” He came to sit beside her.
“Sure, don’t let something as trivial as a bullet wound get in the way of your chivalry.”
“Bah.” He waved her off. “I feel fine.”
“Right.” She didn’t believe him. Since she’d gotten seasick, he’d been going out of his way to prove he was fine. “We should change your bandage.”
“I took it off. The hole is healing.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m perfectly capable of making that decision.”
“Sure you are. How about you prove it to me?” She turned, tucking one leg beneath her. “T-shirt off, please.” The last thing either of them needed was his getting an infection this late in the game.
“Ohhh,” he said, mimicking her.
“Ohhh?” He was such a smartass.
“You want to see me naked.” He wiggled his eyebrows.
“You got me.” She flung her hands up. “Can’t put anything past you.”
He sat beside her and slung an arm around her shoulders. “You first.”
“You are so funny.”
“I wasn’t trying to be funny.”
“And yet you achieved it beautifully. Come on, up the T-shirt.”
“Such a nag,” he muttered, but did as asked.
It was healing nicely and wouldn’t require a bandage.
“Satisfied?”
She nodded. “You were right.”
“Now, I showed you mine. Show me yours.”
“So, you don’t care to be king?”
“Nice deflection,” he said, sounding impressed.
“Thanks, it’s a talent of mine.” She wasn’t showing him anything.
“One of many.” He snuggled so close she could smell the clean scent of his shampoo.
“Stay on topic, your lordship.” For both their sakes. So far they’d managed to keep their hands off each other. And while the idea of getting down and dirty with Blake appealed to her more than she’d ever admit, in all honesty, she didn’t trust her stomach to not embarrass her.
Blake sighed, turned forward in his seat, but kept his arm exactly where it was. “Now, you’re a nag, evil and no fun.” He kissed her cheek. “I don’t talk about this with anyone. My life as a duke’s grandson was a little scandalous.”
“But you’re going to tell me,” she said, more curious now than before.
“Why? Why you, when I haven’t told Christian?”
“You want me to answer that?” Not that she could. She had no idea why he trusted her. Sure, they were running for their lives, but she’d bet he and Christian had had their own share of life-threatening situations. It couldn’t be that they’d slept together. He’d slept with who knew how many women. And since when did sex equate to trust?
“One of us should know why. It sure as hell isn’t me. Embarrassing oneself in front of a beautiful woman is never a good move.”
She laughed. She’d become a stripper to pay the bills. It didn’t get much more embarrassing than that. “Let he who has not sinned …”
He snuggled even closer, looked up at the bright blue sky, before returning his attention to her. “You’re not going to throw stones?”
“I might,” she teased.
“Ah, Rhonda,” he squeezed her shoulder, “ ’tis why I like you so much.”
“How do you do that? I mean sometimes your accent is barely noticeable and other times it’s like you’re right out of the highlands.”
“Practice. I learned to speak like a Yank my first year in New York,” he said with a perfect New York accent. “Of course, it took me a while to realize I had to take the New York out of the Yank, if I wanted to sound average. It served my purpose to drop a brogue that only drew attention to myself. When you’re undercover it’s not a good thing. Of course with Ryan, that’s a whole different story.”
“Yeah.” Why did she have the urge to punch Ryan Sheppard? “What’s with that guy? Does he pimp out the beautiful women who work for him, too?”
She’d caught Blake off-guard, and he regarded her with a stunned expression. Then he clued in. “Dozier.” He nodded his head. “What exactly did he tell you?”
“Only that Ryan has a habit of using your hotness against you.”
“Yes, he does at that.” He chuckled.
“Why are you laughing? If you were a woman, people would be totally disgusted. But because you’re a man, your buddies think it’s funny.”
“I’m smiling because you think I’m hot.”
“Every woman on the planet thinks you’re hot. Does it bother you to be treated like meat?” It annoyed the hell out of her.
“It bothers me. At first, I took it in stride. He had, after all, found Christian and me on a case that required …” He stopped talking.
“You gonna leave me hanging?”
“It … well … Christian …”
“Holy shit.” How in the hell had she not seen it before? His hair was different and the man she’d known had had several large tattoos, but still—the face, the eyes. Even while wearing a heavy black liner, Blake’s particular shade of blue was uncommon. “You were the Goblin King, the David Bowie knock-off that hung around with Christian when he worked at The Den. Mother of everything holy, you were a stripper! The girls were right.”
“Not one of my prouder moments,” he said, grumbling. “But how do you know that?”
“I was there. Damn, I knew I’d seen Christian before. The day I met him in Maggie’s office,” she explained. “It took me a while to place him. Wow, I got costume ideas from you. Christian was, well, Christian. But you were unique. You scared those women and still they crowded the stage.”
“I watched Labyrinth religiously until I had Bowie’s every movement and facial expression down pat. If I was going under cover as a stripper, I wasn’t going to be myself.”
They had that in common. “I have to say, you succeeded. You packed the joint.” She grew warm just remembering his act. She didn’t really care to watch male strippers. On ladies’ night, she’d be there to bartend, grateful for the money, and grateful she could keep her clothes on. But the Goblin King exuded sex. He made every woman in the club want him, and of course, eager to open their wallets.
“I guess I should thank you.”
“Why?”
For giving me the thrill of my life. “For shutting that dump down. Some of the girls were mad they lost their jobs. I wasn’t one of them. If I’d known that creep had been storing girls in the basement, I’d have helped you and the feds. You guys did a great thing.”
“Thank you. It’s nice to know someone appreciated the work we did.”
“Must have been hard, though. You know, taking your clothes off.” Had he been embarrassed? Humiliated? Or had he believed the end result would free innocent women from slavery? What was a little skin compared to that?
“Even with the G-string we got to wear, having my ass fondled by horny women twice a week wasn’t my favorite assignment. Still, we got the job done. And in the end that’s what counted.”
That had been her philosophy, too. In the end, her father’s last days had been good ones, even if he couldn’t remember who she was. It was better that way, because he couldn’t remember his dead wife either. “Does your family know what you do?”
“You mean my job? Or that particular assignment with the feds?”
“Yeah, I’m guessing you didn’t tell them about that one. I mean your job with Ryan.”
“No, better and safer they don’t.”
“What do they think you do?”
“They know I work for Ryan. They’re just not clear on what it is I do for him. I haven’t been home in a while,” he said, so melancholy it was obvious he missed Scotland.
“Why did you l
eave?”
“It’s a long story.” He got up to adjust something on the control panel.
“Uh, excuse me,” she said, nodding toward the big sea, “but what else have you got to do?”
“I could think of a few things I’d rather do than explain my family troubles.”
“You know, some people use sex to make money. You use it to deflect the conversation.”
He returned and before she knew what was happening, he’d straddled her, pinning his knees on either side of her hips. “Are you implying that I don’t want to bed you? Because Rhonda, love, that couldn’t be further from the truth.”
She was about to tell him he was full of shit, but he took her face in his hands and kissed her so hard it knocked the wind out of her. It was a kiss that backed up his statement. A kiss that made her lightheaded, consumed her in a way that made her eager for more. He pushed her down across the cushioned seat, continuing to straddle her, continuing to feed on her mouth.
His hand found its way under her baggy T-shirt. It was warm and insistent, his fingers skimming her rib cage, then fondling her breast. She recalled in vivid detail all the naughty things his hands had done back in Vegas. Then she remembered the reason they were here. And wanting to stop wasn’t what made her pull away. The man had been shot and bullet wounds didn’t heal overnight.
“You’re going to hurt yourself.” She forced her head to turn away from all those luscious kisses. Not easy, when she wanted to repeat their Vegas night. She needed her head examined, but she wasn’t sure if it was because she pulled away, or because she wanted a repeat.
“Let me worry about that,” he said, tugging on her chin with his hand.
She opened her mouth to object. Instead, he plunged his tongue inside, tasting of sex and everything an ungodly beautiful man would make her feel. She allowed herself another quick trip to nirvana and again pulled back.
“Blake, as much as I’d like to continue this, you’re going to hurt yourself if we keep this up.”
“I am not. I feel fine. Well enough to do this.” He slid his hand under her clothes again and palmed her left breast. “Mmmm. Don’t be mean,” he said practically pouting. On another man it would look feminine. On him, it made him even more sinfully beautiful.
She had a hard time resisting that face, but resist she did. She crawled out from under him and scooted down the seat. “If you hurt yourself, whose going to sail this thing?”
“Is that the only reason you stopped me?”
She considered the question and its validity. Did she want to sleep with him again? Was his injury stopping them? Or was it good old-fashioned common sense? Men like Blake didn’t want her. Not only was he painfully beautiful, but he was an aristocrat. Aristocrats didn’t get involved with strippers. Pride overcame her lust. “I don’t sleep around. Just because I take my clothes off on stage doesn’t make me easy. What happened in Vegas … ugh,” she shook her head, “should stay in Vegas. Sorry, I know that’s a cliché, but in our case, it’s the truth.” And didn’t that just suck.
Chapter Thirteen
Three weeks ago, Blake would’ve agreed with her. He told Christian he’d keep his hands to himself. So he shouldn’t be trying to convince Rhonda to sleep with him. He was no good for her and she deserved … love. Lots and lots of love. Something he couldn’t give. Still, he wanted her. Wanted her so bad, he didn’t give a shit about consequences. “You can’t deny the chemistry between us.”
“No, but like I said, I don’t sleep around.”
“You wouldn’t be sleeping around. If anything, we’re friends. Right? We are at least that?”
“So what would this be? Friends with benefits?”
“I’m not sure. I’m just saying, you make it sound … sleazy. I don’t look at it that way.”
“Most men want to sleep with me because it would be sleazy.”
“That’s not why I slept with you.” It wasn’t and she should know that.
“Why did you? I’m not exactly your type.”
“Really? What’s my type?” This was going to be interesting.
“Model-looking … perfect … classy … rich.”
“You’re doing what you accuse guys of doing. You’re stereotyping me and only saying that because I told you I come from an aristocratic family.”
“No … maybe … the rich part anyway. The rest, well, look at you. Guys with your good looks don’t involve themselves with Goth strippers.”
He shook his head, disappointed that she would think so little of him. “You’ve spent so much time creating and hiding behind that persona, that you forget it’s not you. But you want people to think it is. You count on people judging you on your looks. But some of us aren’t like that. And I don’t appreciate you doing it to me.”
“How am I doing that?”
“I have never in my life slept with a woman I didn’t consider beautiful. Never. Shoot me. But everyone, male and female, has their flaws. Yes, I prefer women who use utensils. It makes for a messy date otherwise. And I left my rich circle of friends and became a US citizen to join the FBI. I wanted more out of my life than endless parties and trying to figure out how to piss off my grandmother. So for you to think me so shallow, because you think I’m too pretty, which, by the way, really bugs my ass, is insulting.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to insult you,” she shouted.
“Well, you did,” he shouted back. “And more importantly, you insult yourself. I’m not stupid, Rhonda. My relationships haven’t worked out, but that was my fault, not the woman I chose to spend time with. I know a good woman when I see her. Yes, I want to sleep with you again. Christian will kill me. Fuck him. But maybe if I’m honest with you, I won’t hurt you like the others. I can’t give you forever, Rhonda. I wish I could, but I can’t. All I know is I love being with you, and not because I haven’t a choice. You’re funny. You make me laugh. You have a heart unlike anyone I’ve ever met, even though I know you wish you didn’t. You’re courageous and loyal. And I get hard every time I look at you.” He smiled, hoping his last comment wasn’t out of line.
“Every time?” she said, sounding flattered.
He slid closer, wanting to touch her. “Every time.” He wrapped both arms around her. “I can’t give you forever, but I can make sure that what I do give you is the best you’ve ever had. I don’t know how much time we have together, but let’s enjoy it while we have it.”
“I don’t want to be that Goth sex kitten around you. I want to be me. But I’m not sure who me is. Maybe you won’t like her.”
“It may be hard to separate everything you were on stage from the real you. And why would you want to? You’re smart and sassy. You’re tough and you don’t take anyone’s crap. On and off stage. The rest, you’ll figure out. I’ll help, if you want.”
She looked horrified at his words. What had he said wrong? “Rhonda?”
“I don’t want to be anything like Black Opal.”
“Why not?”
“Because.”
“Love, that’s not an answer. But it doesn’t matter. Just know I like all of you.”
She took him by surprise, kissing him with such ferocity, he forgot his question. Hell, he forgot his own name.
“Boat?” she asked between kisses.
“Anchor.” He nibbled her earlobe.
“Here or below?” She licked his neck.
It took a few seconds to formulate a coherent answer. “Below.” He didn’t want the hard wood deck to distract her. No, he wanted every ounce of her attention on him.
She led the way, walking backward and kissing him with a mouth he truly appreciated. Inside, they didn’t strip off their clothes in the same frenzy that had overtaken them in Vegas. He suspected his injury was making Rhonda cautious, so he was careful not to show any signs of distress. No way did he want her to stop. He let her take control. He allowed her to undress him, which was no hardship. He liked her hands on his body and was eager to reciprocate. When she had him n
aked, she made him lie down. He’d been about to argue, then realized he’d get to watch her take off her own clothes. It may not have been a striptease, but when her shorts and top hit the floor, the result was just as good. Especially knowing all that beautiful skin was about to touch his.
She lay beside him and ran her fingers over his chest, her feet along his shins, molding herself to him. He pulled her to him. He went to roll to his side, wanting her pressed against him, but she pushed him back. She smiled saucily before kissing her way down his body. Ah hell, she was going to kill him. Her tongue teased his stomach … then the sensitive spot between his hip and thigh. He considered stopping her. He wanted to be inside her. But he didn’t. If he took control, she might pull away.
It took everything he had not to arch off the bed when that tongue licked him. Instead, he pressed his body into the bed. Thankfully, she was between his legs and looking down and didn’t notice his grimacing. Oh, he wasn’t in pain, but he’d take no chances in case she saw it that way. So he bit his tongue, kept from crying out when her mouth closed over him. He gave up trying to control his breathing as she sucked his cock. She had to know what she was doing to him, how good it felt, how much more he craved.
Her mouth was the conductor to his symphony of lust and pleasure, and if she didn’t stop playing him, this concert was going to be over far too soon for his liking. He reached down and hooked his hands under her arms then pulled her up his body, over his painful erection.
“Hey,” she protested.
“I’m not hurting myself. Quite the opposite,” he growled and flipped her onto her back, desperate to taste her nipples. Pretty and pink, he’d never get enough. No matter how she’d cover them up, he’d remember what lay beneath, and how good it felt to pull those hard tips into his mouth.
He didn’t play favorites. And as she writhed under him, letting him know she appreciated his attention to her breasts, he grew harder. Parting her thighs with his leg, he knelt over her knees, eager to see her wet and wanting. He wasn’t disappointed.
“Shit,” he said. “Condoms.”
Her eyes widened. “Tell me you have some.”