by Skye Jordan
“Dillon, Dalton.” A strong male voice called from the back door. “Let’s go.”
The boys ignored their father, enamored with Josh’s drill.
“Sounds like Dad’s here.” Josh put the drill down.
“Noooo,” Dalton whined, the twin with hair a shade lighter than the other.
“Again,” Dillon chirped, leaning into Josh, half in his lap, hanging on one broad shoulder. “Do it again.”
“Little man,” Josh said, “I am not gonna get my heinie whooped by your daddy today.”
He wrapped an arm around each boy’s waist and whipped them up and over his shoulders, one on each side. The boys squealed and giggled, and Josh’s smile could have powered the club for a week. But what Grace saw was a wide chest, six-pack abs, and jeans pulled so low by the heavy tool belt that the hollows at his hip bones pointed to what Grace’s body craved most.
Jasmine appeared at Grace’s side, laughing. “They’re going to want to come here after school every day.”
“Excuse me, ladies.” Josh carried the wiggling bundles of happiness through the doorway, his muscles flexing, then passed through the short hallway toward the rear door where Rocco waited.
Both Grace and Jasmine turned to watch him go. The muscles in his back played in the shadow of the hallway, rippling beneath his tattoo—the skeleton of a frog overlaying a waving American flag, with the word Frogman curved into the design. His ass and thighs filling out his jeans deliciously. Two little boys gigging on his shoulders.
Grace’s mind was in the clouds, the only clear thought: I want that. All that.
“If your panties haven’t melted by now,” Jasmine murmured, drawing Grace’s mind from the haze, “I might start thinking your sexual preferences have changed.”
The comment directed Grace’s attention between her legs, where she was hot, tingling, full, aching, and…wet.
“It doesn’t matter what’s melting,” she said, keeping her voice low. “There’s way too much bad history between us. And he’s way too much like my ex-husband. It’s no wonder they were best friends. Isaac always wanted to run things, the same way Josh is trying to run them now. When Isaac came home from overseas, he always expected to get back that sweet twenty-two-year-old kid he’d married. Josh doesn’t like me working here. He still treats me like I’m fragile doll.” She shook her head and crossed her arms. “No, I’m not letting my feelings for a man dictate my life ever again. I’m sure as shit not twenty-two anymore.”
“Honey, if you don’t want to be treated like a kid, act like an adult,” Jasmine said in that sassy way of hers, drawing a frown from Grace. “Adults go after what they want, and successful adults do it even when what they want scares them.”
Josh’s words from the night before pushed into her head. “Damn right you scare me. You’re the only thing that’s ever scared me, Grace.”
She shook her head against the emotional pull the words created. “He’s a runner. As soon as his conscience is soothed, he’s going to make skid marks out of town.”
One of Jasmine’s dark eyebrows shot up. “How is that a problem? Girl, you don’t have time for the love of your life. Between this job, your cheer jobs, and your mom, you exhaust me—and I parent twin four-year-old maniacs. What you have time for is one smokin’ hot guy to hit you up but good a few times and then get the hell out of your way.”
Grace had never been a hit-and-run kind of girl. But Jasmine was right about one thing—she didn’t have any room in her life for the complications of a reciprocal relationship.
Jasmine crossed her arms and leaned her shoulder against the doorjamb. “Go after what you want—on your terms. Go after him the same way you’re going after this studio. You can be diligently single-minded, girl. Just shift your focus from business to pleasure.”
Grace glanced down the hall, where Josh was talking with the twins’ father while the boys played at their feet.
A fling? With Josh? That was ridiculous. A disaster waiting to happen. “This has been one hell of a long day already.” She returned her gaze to Jasmine. “Would you mind telling the girls I’ll be right out?”
Josh turned and started back down the hall, grin happy, stride confident.
“I’ll tell the girls that you’re…indisposed…for the time being.” Jasmine passed Josh in the hall on her way back to the dressing room, and punched his shoulder. “If you spoil my boys, they’re coming to live with you.”
“And I could take you up on that,” he said, grinning. “They’re great kids. Kudos, Mom.”
When he continued toward Grace, Jasmine turned with a hand over her heart and mouthed oh my God to Grace before leaving them alone.
All Grace’s anger had mellowed into confusion, complicated by all the lust zinging around her body.
“Josh,” she said. “This isn’t my club. You can’t just come in here and start renovating. And this kind of work can’t be good for your shoulder.”
He put one hand on the wall, one on his hip, and crossed one ankle over the other, all his perfection beautifully on display for Grace. And she was having a hell of a time keeping her gaze on his handsome face.
“I’ve made all the arrangements necessary with Dean,” he said. “And this type of work is exactly what my shoulder needs. Weights give it strength, but this increases mobility, helps develop fine motor movements—something I don’t get enough of in my current job.”
She crossed her arms, caught between anger and…what? Shock that he’d taken the initiative? Suspicion that he was working on a project that would only make her work here better, when he’d been clear about not wanting her working here at all? “Isaac told me you’re doing consulting work in LA.”
“I am,” was all he said, adding to Grace’s frustration.
She wanted to know about his life, his work. Wanted to know if he was happy. If he ever regretted the move. If he ever missed San Diego. If he ever missed her. Yet, she didn’t. “You are…maddening.”
“I’m good like that.” His grin deepened with a sheepish edge. “But hey”—he gestured to the blueprints Grace had paid to have created— “I got the plans from the contractors, and I’m following them to the letter, just the way you wanted.”
She shook her head, a hole growing in the pit of her stomach. “Look, I know you want to help, I know you love Mom, and I know—in your own way—you care about me. But I also know what’s going to happen here.
“You’re going to start this project with a golden heart and great intentions, then leave for Christmas with your family. Then something’s going to come up at work, and you’re going to leave this half-finished, forcing me to pick up the pieces.” She threw her hands out to the sides and let them drop. “I’m sorry, Josh, but I’m done letting men interfere with my life, take over, and in the end, screw up everything.”
Josh’s smile evaporated. He exhaled and started toward the doors.
Guilt cut at her heart, but this was self-preservation. She couldn’t go back to the way things had always been. “I’m sorry, Josh. I really am.”
Instead of walking out, he closed the doors. Then turned and pressed his back there. “You’re right. Beck has spent seven years interfering in your life. I’ve spent at least three. But when I said everything had changed earlier, I meant it.”
Why wasn’t she getting through to him? She crossed her arms, failing from keeping her gaze off his torso. It was impossible. He was like a damn sculpture, and she couldn’t stop staring. Or wanting. Or aching.
“And I know you’ve heard that before,” he continued. “But this time, I’m going to show you. I’m not going home for Christmas. I’ve already called my family and told them I won’t make it because I have something very important here to take care of.”
“You canceled Christmas with your family?” Shock sizzled through her chest. “Josh, no. No.”
She lowered her head, closed her eyes, and rubbed her temple. Now she felt guilty. And angry. And grateful. And touched. And so fucking
confused.
“I’m spending Christmas here with you and Carolyn and your crew,” he said, his voice coming closer. His hands wrapped her biceps gently. He smelled so completely male, with a touch of sweet sweat and light spice. The hunger inside her gnawed. “And before you accuse me of doing this because I feel guilty, you need to realize there’s a difference between caring and obligation. And I care about you, Grace. I know my ways of showing it might feel heavy-handed to you, but that’s just me trying to get past your stubbornness.
“I was thinking about what you said earlier, about me picking up the cost for your mom’s care not being realistic, and you were right. That’s not the answer. You need a steady income for as long as your mom needs to live at the house. Which got me to thinking about what Dean told me—that you want to build this studio and teach from here. And that, I realized, is a perfect idea. I’m just helping it along.”
She felt her heart opening. Felt herself falling.
Oh my God, no.
Don’t do it.
“Josh, honestly… I appreciate the thought, but it’s not healthy for me to have you around.”
He released one arm and tilted her chin up so she had to look into his eyes. “I’m going to change that.”
Before she could even roll her eyes, his lips touched hers in a gentle, lingering kiss. The action instantly drained all her tension. The release made her lightheaded. Then he kissed her again, and again, a little deeper each time. Her stomach floated. Every reason she had for pushing him away evaporated. And she opened to him.
Josh cupped her face and stroked his tongue into her mouth on a long groan of pure satisfaction that vibrated through her body. The man was an amazing kisser, using his tongue in teasing, tantalizing ways that made Grace think of erotic things, made her body heat and yearn. When she finally pulled away to breathe, she found herself backed against a wall, Josh’s muscular body fitted to hers in exquisite perfection.
He tipped his head and kissed her jaw, her throat, her neck, murmuring, “You amaze me, Grace.”
His attitude had taken an about-face. She didn’t know which way was up anymore.
“I don’t have time for this.” She breathed the words heavily, needing space to think. “I have to work.”
She stepped out from between his body and the wall and tugged at the edge of her top, realizing she still had to change. But she stood there a minute, unable to straighten out her mind enough to get her feet moving.
“What?” Josh finally asked, drawing her gaze.
She shook her head. “I don’t know what to do with you.”
He smiled, the expression a little smug, a lot sweet, and wrapped his arm around her shoulders as he walked her to the door. Before opening it, he kissed her temple and whispered, “Well, now we’ve got time to figure that out.”
Thirty minutes later Josh pulled his shirt back on and wandered down the hallway toward the club. The sugary female voice echoing through the club sang “Santa Baby”—not exactly what Josh would consider a stripper song. But what the hell did he know?
Grace called out cues above the music. “Remember the eight count, Hillary. Slow down, Jaime. You’ve got a beautiful body, let them watch it move. Better. Kaitlin , think sensual. Rock those hips. Good. Spread your legs, close, spread, close. Pump, pump, pump, sloooow roll… Nice, ladies.”
A smile quirked his lips as he passed through the velvet drape toward the club. She was definitely not the woman she’d been a year ago, and, sweet Jesus, she turned him on in wicked ways.
The place was empty except for one girl behind the bar. The younger one…Kati, Kathy… Kelly, that was it. He took a quick glance toward the stage as he hugged the wall, staying in the shadows, but once he caught sight of the stage, his feet stopped. He couldn’t tell exactly what the women were wearing, but it was definitely Santa themed, and minimal. Short red velvet capes rimmed in white feathers covered their bodies, shoulders to hips. Traditional Santa hats adorned their heads. And thigh-high black patent leather spike boots clung to their long legs.
The music stopped, and he continued to the bar, where Kelly unpacked boxes of liquor.
She gave him a flirty, bright grin. “Well, look who’s back. What are you up to?”
“Helping Gr—” Dammit. “Nikki in the back. Think I could get a beer?”
“Absolutely. What kind?”
“Anything’s fine.”
On stage, Grace trotted up the stairs, while the girls created a line. She took center stage in front of the other three, wearing the same outfit. The velvet cape hid most of her body, but the long, toned thighs showing between the boot tops and the cape hem gave him plenty to admire.
A bottle clunked against the wooden bar, and Josh pulled out his wallet without ever taking his gaze off Grace.
“On the house.” Kelly’s voice drew Josh’s gaze for a moment. “And this is in case things with you and Nikki don’t work out.”
She slid a cocktail napkin across the bar—complete with her name, phone number, and x’s and o’s beneath printed in red ink.
He smiled, nodded, and pocketed the napkin with the intention of throwing it away when she was out of sight. “Thanks.”
“Okay, from the top,” Grace said as the beginning ba-bum, ba-bum, ba-bum of “Santa Baby” spilled through the sound system again.
All four of the women moved forward on the stage in unison, stepping toward the audience, one slow, exaggerated crisscross step per beat. Eartha Kitt’s sugary voice filled Josh’s ears as he fixed his gaze on Grace. The other three women were undeniably fifteens on a scale of one to ten, but Grace was that and more. She was a powerful, magnetic presence on stage. Absolutely irresistible.
She’d make a mint stripping… Buuuuut, Josh would keep that idea to himself.
The lyrics, “So hurry down the chimney tonight,” coincided with the women’s twirl and deep bend at the waist, teasing the eye with flaring capes and split-second glimpses of more skin.
Heat stirred in his belly. He definitely needed a better view, one that made it very clear to Grace that he wasn’t judging her by where she worked or what she did. He loved what she’d become. It had just taken him a little tap upside the head to realize that.
He picked up his beer and strolled down the center aisle, taking a seat in the front row. Leaning back, he settled into the lushly padded chair, threw his arm over the back of another, and propped his ankle over the opposite knee.
The gazes of all three dancers veered toward him. But not Grace’s. She remained perfectly focused, moving to the music and directing the women.
“I’ll wait up for you, dear, Santa Baby…”
“Three, four, five and six, seven, shimmy…” she called over Kitt’s sugar-soft voice, which sounded far more erotic now than when he’d first heard it.
All four women rocked their shoulders, and the capes fell in unison to their elbows, exposing bare, smooth chests, and jiggling breasts barely contained in red corsets edged in white fur.
Holy mother of God…
Heat flooded Josh’s veins and pooled between his legs. Pressure built in his chest until he wanted to moan with it.
The women leaning back in a provocative stance, rolling their upper bodies like an ocean wave. But Josh had frozen, hand locked around the beer bottle, throat tight.
Grace strutted across the stage in those fuck-me boots with a swish, swish, swish of hips, swinging the cape.
“Five and six, seven and drop,” she instructed the women on another turn, another kick, and the capes fell to the floor, exposing the outfit hidden beneath.
And Lord help him, he couldn’t form one thought. Not one fucking coherent thought.
All he could see was Grace. Her red corset laced up the front, cleavage showing through the V. The fur trim barely covered her nipples. Her breasts spilled over the top, bouncing with every move. Her skirt rode a good five inches beneath her flat belly button, the fabric accented with a wide black patent leather belt to match the bo
ots, and exposed every inch of trim, toned, shapely torso from hip bones to rib cage.
“And roll…roll…roll…” Grace was saying, but Josh had lost track of the choreography.
This was beyond his hottest sexual fantasy. She was gorgeous, sensual, erotic, naughty, and sweet all at the same time. Everything a man could ever want all packaged inside a generous, compassionate, resilient woman.
Every turn, flip, or twist flashed the hint of a red lace thong beneath the skirt’s white fur trim. Every slow, sultry bend exposed her tight ass cheeks—completely bare but for a tiny strip of red lace disappearing between the golden curves.
A sharp spin turned all four women away from Josh as they strutted to the rear of the stage. Their black boots crisscrossed, their hips swayed. Then they all stopped abruptly, and on the next burst of orchestra music, all four women ripped their bodices open with both hands.
“Whoa,” he murmured, riveted to the power of such tight choreography between dance and music. But that thought skipped from his mind when they turned back toward the audience, exposing tiny, tiny, tiny red bikini tops. And as they strutted forward, all Josh saw were Grace’s perfect breasts, plump and high and deliciously mobile in a triangle of red. He wanted them in his hands again, beneath his tongue again.
He swallowed hard, his throat so dry the movement hurt. On their way to the front of the stage, they dropped the corsets to the floor. The fingers of his free hand dug into his thigh. His cock rubbed uncomfortably against his jeans, and his chest felt as tight as if he were wearing a corset of his own.
Josh dragged his gaze up Grace’s body—and found her gaze directly, purposefully on his. The sight speared his body with heat, the reaction so visceral she could have been reaching between his legs and cupping his balls.
Then she grabbed one of the gold stripper poles, hiked herself up with one hand in an effortless, smooth move that reminded Josh of the way she’d lifted her body up his the night before, and twirled slowly to the floor, still calling out direction.