Dangerous Moves

by Karen Rock

  With her gone, he loosened up slightly, shuffling to a rock song she cranked on a docked iPod in the corner. If the guys at the station saw this, he’d never hear the end of it. Could hardly believe his own eyes as he jerked his hips in a pair of loose, gray DPD sweatpants, looking like a complete ass.

  “Still think it’s so easy?” she called.

  “Consider me rhythmically challenged.”

  Reese snorted. “That’s one way to put it.” She kicked off her dance slippers and faced him. “Watch me do this routine; it’s the one you’ll perform when you’re ready, hotshot.”

  He slid her drooping tank-top strap up her arm, his fingers lingering over her silken shoulder. “Oh, I’m ready.”

  She shivered and shuffled back a step, waiting for the song to finish and start again on loop.

  “Know anyone who drives an Escalade?” he asked as the song wound down. “Partial plate number beginning with R9D?

  “No.”

  “Any word about your father’s condition today?”

  Suddenly she smiled wide, and he blinked at the transformation. It was like staring straight at the sun. “The nurses said Dad might have moved last night. The sheets on his feet slid off.”

  Interest sparked through him. “Great. I’ll swing by later this afternoon.”

  A soft hand fell on his arm. “If he is awake, don’t push him too hard. He’s been through a lot.”

  He shook his head. “I need the name of his shooter right away. Could be the guy in the Escalade.”

  After the song shuffled, Reese dashed to a chair and donned a man’s dress shirt, slacks and belt draped across its back. Guess they were playing dress up now? He preferred outfit number one…

  “Okay. Watch.” The music started over, and she grabbed a pole and pulled herself up then twirled around it before striding forward, her hands on the shirt’s buttons. When the musician sang about wanting to do real bad things, she ripped open the shirt and turned, sliding it down one shoulder, then the next before pulling it back on, grabbing another pole and twirling.

  He swallowed hard. Simulation or not, this was damn arousing. Especially when she gave him a teasing grin that lit her eyes. She swung her hips and slowly dragged off the dress shirt. When she stepped forward, she tossed it around his neck, leaning in close enough to give him a mouthwatering view of her cleavage. She rubbed against him and breathed in his ear, “You’d come down the steps for this part. Put your shirt around an audience member like this.”

  Not missing a beat, she danced backward, leaving him with the shirt and the start of a massive hard-on tenting his sweats. Blake needed to concentrate, or he’d never remember those steps. She drove him senseless.

  Once she sashayed back to the poles, she grabbed her crotch and pumped her hips. “You’ll have more—uh—flesh to grab here.” Her eyes dropped to his lap. “But you get the picture.”

  Slowly, Reese unclasped the buckle and pulled a length of the belt loose, letting it dangle between her legs. She swung it back and forth, winking and pointing with the other hand. “This’ll make the ladies scream.”

  Damn. He was ready to make her scream.

  In a blur, she pulled the rest of the belt free and whipped the floor with it.

  “Who’s been bad?” she hollered, smacking the floor again. “Someone needs to be taught a lesson.”

  He didn’t resist when she pulled him to the chair. “Improv is always good. Let the crowd’s energy drive you. You could bring up a customer and do some simulated ass-slapping here.”

  “Let me try.” He slid his fingers around her waist. “Could use some practice.”

  Reese eyed him from beneath raised brows. “Doubtful.”

  She shoved him off, brought her fingers to her mouth, then dipped them into her pants while her hips writhed. He froze, spellbound as her hand delved then reappeared through her open zipper. Her fingers waved back and forth as she thrust to the beat.

  She pivoted and shimmied her shapely butt. After lowering her pants to show him her second-skin shorts, she slid them up again while twirling across the floor. When she hit the room’s center, she pulled the sides of a thong above her waistband, the white lace driving him crazy. He mentally placed her in his bed, pictured him sliding off that scrap of silk, making love to her.

  Every drop of blood in his veins surged south.

  She spread her legs and went down in a backward-facing split, jiggling her ass all the way. After a few more gyrations, she hoisted herself upside-down on the pole, spread eagle, then brought her legs together and jumped off, a naughty grin making him die inside. With a sudden flick of her wrist, she yanked off the dress pants, leaving behind the booty shorts, and turned to shake her butt again.

  Blake groaned at the absolute perfection of her.

  “This is the money move,” she called over her shoulder. “The ladies will be dying for this.” Another whirl and she drew close to him again, beckoning him to follow her. Not that he needed the encouragement. Sweet Lord. What she did to him.

  She shoved him down in the chair again and straddled his lap, thrusting her crotch in his face, grabbing the back of his head and bringing it closer. He wanted to bury himself between those satin thighs, and bit his cheek to stay in control. At last the music ended and she shoved away, leaving him winded.

  “Still say it’s just a bunch of jiggling?”

  He shook his head, speechless. He’d been to strip clubs before, but a private, one-on-one with the hottest girl he could imagine—it short-circuited him.

  “You’re a contemporary dancer,” he wondered out loud. How the hell had she done such a scorching striptease? “How—?”

  Reese gathered up the clothes scattered around the room. “Pole dancing is a great core and upper body workout. I do it all the time. Even so, I’m no pro. I would’ve had one of the guys teach you, but you’re too green. They’d question why I hired you.”

  Green? He was red hot and raring to go. He needed out of here. Fast. His mind returned to the night before and the feel of her heart beating against his, the fire when she’d defended herself, her playful sarcasm giving him a run for his money. He’d seen her softer side underneath the red-hot sizzle, and it rattled him as much as the crotch-grabbing…more even. The straight line he’d chalked between them would blur if he didn’t keep his guard up.

  She drained a cup of water and grabbed a towel. “Your turn.”

  Blake backed up, his baseball hat in front of his straining crotch.

  “I’m good.”

  She stopped mopping her brow. “I won’t put you on stage if I can’t guarantee the quality.”

  Quality? The hell with that.

  He strode to her iPod, found the song and hit Play, rolling through her routine with a precision born from his professionally honed memory. He twirled, he thrust, he grinded, making up for his lack of coordination with his power, his swagger and confidence.

  Fake it ’til you make it…the mantra of his undercover, chameleon-like existence.

  All the while, Reese simply watched, her face impassive.

  Was she messing with him? Acting unimpressed to keep him off stage and out of her club?

  Screw that. Not happening.

  She’d mentioned improvisation, and she was getting it. Whatever it took to walk out the door and not think about her so much.

  He reached Reese in two steps and lifted her overhead before bringing her, squealing, to his shoulders. He turned in a circle, her thighs clenched around his head, breathing in her mouthwatering feminine smell. At last, he slid her along the length of his body, hard and tight for wanting her.

  Back in the chair, her head lolled back, face scarlet. He straddled her, thrusting his crotch until she threw up her hands. “Enough.”

  He backed away, panting. Enough. He wanted to touch her so badly his muscles twitched with the
effort to restrain himself.

  “If you’re sure.”

  Her tongue darted out and licked her lips. “I—uh—think you’re good to go.”

  Blake blew out a long breath and made for the door before she changed her mind…before he did, too, and hauled her back into his arms.

  “See you tonight,” Reese called as he twisted the knob.

  “You’ll being seeing a lot,” he quipped, then ducked outside, not a moment too soon.

  * * * *

  “I have to leave, Dad,” Reese whispered once the nurse left them alone again. She squeezed his limp hand, trying to focus on his face instead of the fluids draining into him, the air shoved inside his lungs, the machines monitoring everything—including his brain activity. Thank God, that appeared to be working.

  But he hadn’t moved all day. Last night’s shifting sheets were probably just an anomaly, the staff had informed her.

  “Whoever did this to you is going to pay.” Her thumb rubbed across the back of his hand. “Don’t know what characters you got involved with this time, but they won’t trouble you again. And once you’re better, we’ll move back to New York and open a dance studio together. Legitimate, this time.”

  Her eyes roamed over his slack face, searching for an eyelash flicker. But all remained still. She ducked her head, her voice hoarse. “Maybe I should’ve stayed and looked out for you. But I couldn’t.” Her throat closed around the words she struggled to push out. “You put the club ahead of me, and I—I just didn’t feel safe anymore.” She scrubbed a hand across her eyes. “I needed you. Still do. But I’m stronger now. I can protect both of us.”

  She paused, listening. But the only sound in the room was whirring machines. Despite everything, she’d kept hoping they’d reconcile. With her father in a coma and completely unresponsive, it was easy to say what she wanted without fear he’d respond, or worse—reject her again. Yet it stung that their reconciliation was, literally, one-sided.

  An IV specialist bustled in.

  “Mind if I check his locks?”

  Reese shook her head and stood. “No. I’ve got to go, anyway.” She leaned down and kissed her father’s cool cheek.

  Out of the room and down the hall, she spotted a familiar figure in a tailored dark suit, and ran.

  “Uncle Tom!”

  Her godfather, a tall man with pale blue eyes and slicked-back gray hair, swept her up in a tight bear hug. She breathed in the familiar scent of his expensive cologne and fully relaxed for the first time since he’d called with the news of her father’s shooting.

  “How’s my favorite niece?”

  She snorted at the old joke, studying him. He’d hardly aged, his shoulders and back as straight as ever, his waistline trim. “I’m your only niece.”

  “Right…” He lifted an eyebrow and grinned. “How are you, darlin’?”

  Reese opened her mouth to say, “good,” but couldn’t force the lie. Not around family.

  “You look worn right out.” He put an arm around her and steered her to the waiting room. It reeked of antiseptic, rancid cigarette smoke off someone’s coat and a half-eaten apple left to rot overnight. “I’ll get you a coffee.”

  She put a hand out. “No. Stay. It’s so good to see you.”

  “Good seeing you too. Let me get you some water, at least.” He crossed to the cooler. “How’s your dad? Any changes?”

  “No.”

  Large bubbles chugged to the surface inside the container as he pulled the blue lever forward and filled a plastic cup. “But not worse?”

  Her stomach jumped. “No. But how long can the coma last?”

  Uncle Tom turned and his face, permanently tan from year-round golf at the country club, creased. “Hard to know. The doctors aren’t saying much.”

  “Thanks for being here.” A small bit of cold water sloshed onto Reese’s hand when he handed her the cup, then sat.

  The overhead light blinked out and a side lamp cast a harsh shadow, leaving him one-eyed and unreadable. “Where else would I be? Got to look out for my kid brother. Marisol was here, too.”

  Just picturing her family faded her loneliness, her fears, at the edges. “How is she? And Zoe and Claire?” she asked, naming her uncle’s children from his first marriage.

  “Marisol’s still whupping my behind at tennis,” he grumbled good-naturedly.

  The overhead light fizzed back on. “You’re never going to beat a former pro. Let alone one fifteen years your junior.”

  Her uncle’s eyes twinkled. “But I’ll never stop trying. Oh. And Zoe had her graduation party last summer, as you know.”

  “I’m sorry I didn’t come. It’s just that—”

  He held up a hand. “I understand why.”

  Reese thought of the money he’d sent when she’d left Dallas. He’d made her fresh start possible, as well as the dance studio he’d recently promised to fund.

  “Do you know if the club’s in trouble?”

  His eyebrows rose. “Your father hasn’t mentioned anything. Why?”

  “It’s just… I noticed something strange in the books. Have you loaned him money? Or were you doing one of your real-estate schemes together?”

  Her uncle ducked his head. “I sure wish your dad hadn’t told you about our—ah—activities back then. Warned him you were too young to understand.”

  She was thirty now and still didn’t understand, but she didn’t bother to interrupt. Instead, she rose and tossed her empty cup in the bin.

  She lowered her voice and leaned close when a chattering family strode past. “That’s a part of your lives I never wanted to be involved in.”

  Uncle Tom rubbed the back of his neck. “Never was much for it either. If I hadn’t had all those losses in the stock market, I wouldn’t have done it in the first place. I was glad to get out when I did,” he added. “Tried to convince your father to do the same.”

  She peered at him. “You don’t know if he owes money or might be working with anyone?”

  “We haven’t talked in over a month.”

  She rolled her eyes toward the ceiling and shook her head. “How am I going to solve this?”

  He studied her. “You’re not working with the police?”

  Reese started to mention Blake then stopped herself, remembering his warning not to tell anyone about the undercover operation.

  “I don’t want them digging up stuff about Dad, so I’m not cooperating.” She’d given Blake a job and maintained his cover, but she’d kept the accounting discrepancies from him as well as her father’s past.

  Uncle Tom crossed a foot over his opposite knee and leaned back, his voice hushed. “Good girl. And that helps me out too. I’ve taken on a bigger role with TMU’s football program—recruiting and PR mostly. Wouldn’t be seemly for me to be dragged into anything.”

  “I’ll let you know when I find out anything. Oh. And someone tried to break into Dad’s house the other night, but I—uh—they got scared away by the gun.” There. Not a flat-out lie. More word parsing than anything.

  Her uncle’s face paled beneath his tan. “Glad you weren’t hurt, honey. Why don’t you come stay with Marisol and me? We’ve got plenty of room and—”

  He cut off at her headshake. “I don’t want to leave the house empty.”

  Her uncle drummed his fingertips on his thighs. “Promise you’ll keep that security system activated and the windows and doors locked?”

  “Promise. Plus, I’ve got Dad’s gun.”

  “You were always a dead shot.”

  She returned his smile, remembering the weekends they’d spent sniping tin cans on his ranchette’s shooting range. “And I’ve only gotten better.”

  Her uncle whistled. “Alright then. Check in on your dad, manage the club, and Marisol would appreciate a visit while you’re here. I’ll see if the girls c
an come over too. But leave the investigating to me. I’m making inquiries and will keep you posted.”

  Her mind raced. Uncle Tom, a city councilman for fifteen years, was an influential man. If she could rely on anyone to help her uncover her dad’s shooter, it was him.

  Surely, he was the better man for the job than untrustworthy law enforcement. They could be behind her father’s shooting, for all she knew… Yet Blake struck her as a straight arrow. Could she trust Officer Knight? Speaking of whom—

  “I’d better go. Got a new dancer starting tonight.” She stood and glanced at her cell phone. Forty minutes of traffic driving, but she’d make it in time to see Blake perform. She doubted Nash would put him in the lineup early. Would probably let him watch the more experienced dancers first.

  Uncle Tom rose and paced alongside her out to the parking lot. They stopped by his silver Lexus A blue and red TMU decal glowed on the corner of his windshield. “Can I give you a lift?”

  “No. I’ve got Dad’s Jeep. Hey, Uncle Tom?”

  Her godfather jangled his keys. “Yes?”

  “What was Dad doing on Route 77 when he got shot? Two a.m.… he should have been closing down the club.”

  He chucked her gently under the chin. “Don’t know, but I’m going to find out. I’ll call you with updates. And ring Marisol. Let us know when you can come by for supper.”

  She hugged him tight. “I will.”

  “Take care, darlin’. Your father’s going to pull through this just fine. Promise.” He waved and got in his car, the purr of his engine smooth as he drove away.

  Minutes later, Reese sped toward the club, her mind in a tangle. Why had her father been out on the rural route? It only led to ranchettes like her uncle’s, country retreats owned by Dallas elites. Nothing her dad would be interested in seeing so late at night. And if not Uncle Tom, who had her father associated with lately? A loan shark? One who’d turned violent when he hadn’t been paid on time?

  All that she didn’t know scared the crap out of her, especially since the culprits might be targeting her now.