Hearing music and laughter and glasses clinking through the far door, Harper drew a breath and headed in that direction, hoping it was the main area of the party.
Fumbling for the eye mask from her clutch, she pushed the swinging door open and stepped out into what looked like a high-end club with sparkling chandeliers; plush, high-back, velvet banquette seating; a trendy bar; and glitzy rich people dressed to the nines, all wearing masks, all drinking, dancing, and laughing to the heavy beat of some sultry dance music.
A woman and a man crossed right in front of her path as she stood there taking it all in. But instead of moving out of her line of sight, the man pulled back on the woman’s hand and stopped, blocking her view. Slowly, as Harper tugged on her eye mask, her gaze shifted from the crowd to him. Then everything came to a screeching halt.
No, not just any man. It was the man. Her man. The one she’d been hoping to run into. Only tonight he wasn’t decked out in loose jeans, a long-sleeve button-down, and work boots. Tonight, he wore fancy leather shoes, a pair of slim charcoal slacks that showed off the long length of his legs and the trim line of his hips, a deep-purple dress shirt, and a dark, fitted blazer. The collar of his dress shirt was open to show off a hint of chest hair, and the day’s worth of stubble on his jaw made her itch to know what it felt like, running along her skin. And staring at her as if he’d seen a ghost, he looked very little like the rough and rugged bad boy who’d stared at her across that conference table at her office and everything like darkness and danger.
He let go of the woman’s hand at his side and stepped toward Harper, and as he drew close, she picked up that scent—that clean, fresh, marine scent she’d smelled before and would forever associate with him.
“What the hell are you doing here?” he said in a low voice.
Okay, not exactly the reaction she’d hoped for, but she deserved that. She met his stare head-on. “The same thing you’re doing here.”
His dark gaze skipped over her features, assessing, calculating . . . disbelieving, she knew. “How did you find out about this?”
“The same way you did.”
His eyes narrowed. “I doubt that.”
“I found Melony Strauss. Alive. And she told me what you did for her.”
He lifted his head, but he didn’t step back. He didn’t look away, and she took that as a good sign. And damn but she liked the way his body heat seeped into her, warming places inside her she hadn’t realized had been cold.
She focused on the reason they were both here and not on how hot he looked. Or how good he smelled. Or how much better she was sure he probably tasted. “You need my help, and you know it.”
A wary look passed over his eyes. And then he did step back. Not far, but far enough so his body heat was no longer washing over her, leaving her cold in all the places she’d just been warm. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. And I don’t need your help.” He moved a half step closer to the woman at his side. “I already have help.”
For the first time since she’d seen him, Harper glanced toward the woman. It took a few seconds because she looked nothing like she had the last time Harper had seen her, but then recognition hit, and Harper’s eyes widened. “Wait. You’re not—”
“Not clueless, that’s for sure.” The redhead smirked and glanced from Harper to McClane, then back again. “And I’m definitely not getting in the middle of this.” She turned toward McClane. “Turns out you’re not going to need to call her after all.”
“Whoa. Hold on.” McClane’s dark eyes widened as he turned to face the redhead. “You’re not—”
“Yep. I am.” Gripping the sleeve of his jacket, she pushed up to her toes, pressed a kiss against his cheek, then lowered to her heels with a knowing grin Harper couldn’t decipher. “I’m outta here.”
“Wait,” McClane said. “You can’t just leave.”
The redhead chuckled. “I can do whatever I want, remember? Someone told me that. And thanks to that someone, I’ve got enough money for rent. Won’t have to hit the street again this month.”
Turning toward Harper, she said, “Go easy on him, honey. He’s all kinds of out of sorts already.”
With a wink, she moved behind McClane and headed for the stairs that led up to the elevator. McClane turned after her and called, “My secretary’s name is Abby. I’m going to tell her to expect your call.”
The redhead rolled her eyes and waved her clutch at him as she moved toward the open elevator door. “Yeah. Yeah. We’ll see.”
He watched her go, and only when the elevator doors were closed behind her did he face Harper again with a look that said he was as unsure about her as she was about him.
Harper had no idea what had just happened. She didn’t quite understand McClane’s relationship with that girl, or why his secretary would be waiting for a call from her, but something in her gut told her whatever was going on between them wasn’t sexual. And for that she was thankful. And relieved on an entirely personal level.
“So . . .” She gripped her clutch in front of her, feeling awkward all of a sudden.
“So.” He’d slipped his hands into the pockets of his slacks, but he didn’t look calm and casual behind that leather eye mask. For some reason he looked like a firestorm just waiting to combust. One she suddenly wanted to set aflame.
“I guess that means you and I are partners tonight,” she said.
“I guess it does.”
“What’s your plan?”
“To blend in and search the club.”
“To blend in with your date,” she clarified.
“Yes.”
Which was her now.
Every inch of her skin felt as if it had come to life. But along with that came a host of nerves she hadn’t expected.
Squaring her shoulders, she looked back at him and lifted her chin. “What are we waiting for, then?”
“Not so fast. I only need you to get me through the main doors. After that you can leave.”
Her eyes narrowed. “I don’t think so.”
“I do. I don’t work with partners.”
Her first instinct was to be defensive, but then she realized what he was doing. Not being a misogynistic pig like some of the guys she’d worked with in the past. He was trying to protect her. The same way he’d tried to protect that girl the other night. The same way he had protected Melony Strauss.
“I’m not leaving you back there alone,” she said, tipping her head and gazing up at him. “I don’t leave partners behind.”
“I already told you, I don’t work wi—”
“I heard what you said. If you want to get behind those doors, though, you’ll work with me.” She turned to look out at the crowd again, searching for anyone she might recognize. The masks definitely did their job. She knew there had to be faces here from the city she’d know, but she couldn’t decipher a single one from this distance. The only reason she’d recognized McClane was because he’d walked right in front of her . . . and because she’d been thinking about him way too much recently.
“You sure about this?” McClane asked quietly at her side. “It won’t be like that strip club.”
Memories of walking through that corridor, hearing those moans, thinking about him filled her mind. And with them came a rush of heat.
No, this wouldn’t be like that at all. It’d be a thousand times more titillating because she’d be there with him.
With a man who was not a serial killer, not a predator, not even a pervert. He was innocent. And he was the hottest thing she’d seen in years.
Which meant her hunch had definitely led her straight into trouble. The worst kind of trouble there was. The temptation kind of trouble that hadn’t just gotten her fired once before, it had nearly ruined her life.
CHAPTER NINE
When Blake didn’t answer his question, Rusty knew they were in trouble.
“Wait here.” He moved to the end of the bar and ordered two shots, figuring they both needed something strong
and fast-working for what they were about to walk into. At least he did, now that his night had taken a dramatic turn.
While he waited for the bartender to make the drinks, he glanced back at Blake, who was eyeing the dance floor and the people swaying to the sultry music with a wary expression.
Damn, but that dress was a problem. Not only did it mold to all her curves, but the thin spaghetti straps crisscrossed over her shoulder blades and dropped to a low, scooped back that showed off the tiny pearls of her spine. And although the heart-shaped neckline had definitely drawn his attention, it was the slit up one leg that was going to do him in. The one that bared plenty of naked thigh and made him itch to slide his hand underneath the fabric and right between her legs.
The bartender set the drinks on the bar with a click, drawing Rusty’s attention. Thankful for the distraction—for a moment, at least—he paid the bill, then grasped both glasses and headed back toward Blake.
She was still watching the couples out on the dance floor as if she wasn’t sure what they might do. And though they weren’t doing anything deviant—as far as Rusty had discovered during his research for this event, the rules stated this area was to remain tame—there were plenty of couples grinding against each other, way more explicitly than they would be in a normal club.
He stopped near Blake and handed her the glass. “Here. Drink.”
She glanced down with a wary expression. “What’s this?”
“Something we both need.”
He downed his drink, savoring the burn as it spread down his chest and into his belly. Beside him, Blake tossed her drink back like a pro—not a prissy girl—then coughed and quickly pressed the back of her hand holding the glass to her lips. “Holy hell. What was that?”
“Three Wise Men.” He took her empty glass and handed her a cocktail napkin.
The mixture of three whiskeys was already warming his blood and spreading through his limbs. Another shot would totally take the edge off, but he needed to keep his wits. Setting the empty glasses on the bar, he slipped one hand into the front pocket of his slacks, still unable to believe she was here, a whole lot distracted by that killer dress, and more than a little confused as to why she wanted to help him.
That little fact was still tripping him up as he moved back to stand next to Blake. She glanced his way with narrowed eyes—eyes that looked even more green than hazel, all because of that fucking hot dress. “Trying to get me drunk, McClane?”
“No.” He might have laughed, but the situation wasn’t the least bit funny. Not when he knew what they were about to walk into. “Just trying to help you relax. You were looking a little tense for the part.”
“You mean the part of the randy date?”
This time he couldn’t stop himself from smirking. “Yeah. That.”
She glanced back out at the dance floor. “People are staring at us.”
“Probably because neither of us looks like we’re enjoying ourselves.” Especially since anyone who took a close look could tell they were both extremely uncomfortable.
“Hmm.” Blake pursed her lips. “Better fix that.” She reached for his hand and tugged him with her out toward the dance floor. “Come on.”
Rusty didn’t fight her pull. He couldn’t, because her silky-soft fingers felt way too good wrapped around his. And when she stopped in the middle of the dance floor and turned into him, pressing in close like all the other couples, his ability to think went up in flames.
She hooked her arm over his shoulder, grasped his hand, and tugged it in close to his chest. As he slid one arm around her, his fingers grazed the smooth skin of her lower back and the delicate line of her spine. But it was the plump curve of her breasts pressing against his chest and the wicked curve of her hips locked tight against his that were going to be his undoing. That and the mind-blowing, citrusy scent he couldn’t decipher, not when his brain was already mush.
They turned in a slow circle, neither talking, then quietly, in his ear, she said, “So they’re auctioning off one girl tonight?”
Her warm breath sent tingles all along his neck, but he fought from shivering. Fought from pulling her in closer as well. Think, goddammit. “Yeah. This party is a cover for it. Only a handful of the richest men here will be escorted down to the auction.”
“It’s somewhere in the back?”
“Supposedly.”
“Sick fuckers.”
They were. Rusty glanced around the dimly lit room, checking masked faces for any he recognized. He didn’t see any.
“Do you think she’s being held back there?”
“That’d be my guess. Probably in a lower level.”
“I came in through a lower level. There was a corridor with several locked doors, but I didn’t get a chance to check any.”
For the first time, he realized she’d come in through a side door, not the elevator he and Brooklyn had used. “How did you get in here anyway?”
“The tunnels.”
He drew back just enough to look down at her. “You’re kidding, right?”
She shook her head. “A friend at the city got me a blueprint. From there I just had to jimmy a lock into the boiler room.”
“Jimmy a lock,” he muttered, looking over her head. “I don’t know many girls who can do that. And I know even fewer who’d go into those tunnels alone.”
“Well, I’m not a normal girl.”
“No shit.”
A smug little smile curled the edges of her lips. One he liked too damn much.
They swayed to the music for several more minutes, neither speaking, and neither making any move to pull apart. And damn but she felt good. It’d been so long since he was this close to a woman he was attracted to, he’d nearly forgotten how great it could feel.
“So our plan is to blend in with the crowd back there, sneak off and find the girl, then what? How were you planning to get her out of here?”
“I haven’t figured that out yet.”
She drew back and looked up at him with surprise. “Seriously? That’s how people get caught.”
“I was planning to wing it.”
She laughed and slid in close again. “I don’t know many guys who could wing that. And I know even fewer who would risk their life for someone they don’t even know.”
“Yeah, well. I’m not like most guys.”
She drew back and looked up at him again, only this time there was no surprise in her eyes. Only warmth. A warmth that lit off a host of butterflies in his stomach. “I know. You’re Robin Hood. I’m still not sure how or why, but I am sure if you’d told me that from the start, I wouldn’t have screwed up your plans the other night. I also wouldn’t have been such a bitch.”
Shock hit him. That she knew who he was. That she was basically apologizing. But it was overridden by a heat that spread all through his body, making him hot, making him crave things he shouldn’t be craving. “You weren’t a bitch.”
“Oh please.” She rolled her eyes and pursed her lips in such an adorable way he itched to kiss the sarcastic expression from her face. “You thought I was a crazed man-hater when we met.”
“Well . . . maybe not crazed.”
She laughed and smacked her clutch against his shoulder. “Careful, buddy.”
His lips twisted into a smile—the first full smile he could remember feeling in months—no, years. “Hey, watch it. That kind of stuff’s restricted to the back rooms.”
Her eyes widened just a touch. “Please tell me that is not what’s back there. A little raunchiness I can handle, but the whole BDSM thing is not my scene.”
A laugh tumbled from his lips—something else he hadn’t done in years. “I think you’re safe. BDSM night is on Thursdays.”
She sent him another of those adorable little frowns. “You’d better be joking.”
He was. And damn, but it felt good to have something to joke about.
She sighed and relaxed against him as they swayed a little more, each growing more comfortable aga
inst each other. After several bars of the music, she said, “So we find the girl and make for the tunnels.”
“Yeah.” It was as good a plan as any. But he suddenly wasn’t ready to put it into motion. He wanted to stay here, doing just this a little while longer.
“I guess we should probably get on with it, then.”
He swallowed the lump in his throat. “Yeah, I guess so.”
Neither made any move to pull away.
“McClane?”
“Rusty.”
“Rusty,” she repeated with a warmth in her voice that told him she liked saying his name. “I was wrong about you. I’m not usually wrong about people, but I’m not above admitting my faults. Whatever happens back there, I just want you to know that I’ve got your back.”
Pressure condensed beneath his ribs. A pressure that was completely foreign and nearly knocked him off-balance. No one had his back—no one but his brothers, and he was pretty sure if they knew the shit he was up to, even they wouldn’t back him in this. But she knew. She knew and was standing here telling him she was on his side . . . and that she wasn’t leaving.
He cleared his throat, unable to stop the rush of emotions that tumbled through him. “Thanks. That . . . that means a lot.”
She leaned in close to his ear and, in a breathless voice, whispered, “I’m also carrying, so if any of those tartlets try anything with you, just let me know and I’ll take care of them.”
At what should have been one of the tensest moments of his life, Rusty laughed. And for the first time, he was glad he wasn’t alone.
Harper wasn’t sure what she’d expected to find behind the large double doors that led from the dance floor to the back rooms, but this wasn’t it.
Still tingling from that dance that shouldn’t have been so damn exciting but had been, she followed McClane—correction, Rusty—through the doors and into a dark corridor.
A woman dressed in a skimpy, black-silk dress that barely covered her ass and a black-leather bunny mask that covered the top part of her face and had ears sticking straight up, greeted them with a smile. “Welcome to Club Euphoria.” She held out her hand toward an archway illuminated by a red light. “This way to the introduction, please.”
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