She lifted her leg and moved her foot in circles. “Almost good as new. I'm going to test it tomorrow. One dance.”
“Only one?”
“Pushing me to do more?”
“I've learned not to push you.”
“Well… I… appreciate that.” Now, if he'd only stop staring at her. “Now that that's settled.”
“What's settled?”
“Us.” She waggled a finger between them. “You. Me. Not…” She chewed on her lip. “You not kissing me again.” She stared at his mouth, caught herself, and turned away.
“I didn't say anything about kissing.”
No, she guessed he hadn't. A prickly heat bloomed across her cheeks.
“But you liked it.”
Her body did what it always did in these moments—it seized like someone cranked on a series of vises. “I didn't say I didn't. That's not the same as a 'yes.'”
“Of course. I was rather shocked you didn't slap me when I did.”
That smugness irritated her. “I have a strict policy not to slap my boss.”
“So, I can burn that napkin?”
“No.”
“Want me to kiss you again then?”
Her heart began to pound—such a silly reaction in the face of something so simple as a kiss. But with Declan, nothing was simple. In all these years she'd not known much about this man. Oh, but she'd done that on purpose, hadn't she? It was easier to keep him labeled as their boss.
One of the constants in her life was Declan. But he made things unfurl inside her that had no business being let out. It was like knots that were tied so tight—on purpose—were coming loose. She could go adrift at any minute.
“I'm not suggesting a trip to the gallows.” He smiled, and her gaze landed on his lips again.
Damnit, the taste of his lips and what his hand felt like wrapped around the back of her neck was right there in her memory. Swear to God, if he had some magical power that made her crave them, she’d… do what? Suddenly not want him to lean in, take her mouth ever again?
He drew closer. God, he smells good.
He swept some hair off her face. “I like it that you wear your hair down so much.”
Warmth spread throughout her body at his statement. This is what women talked about, how they got all squishy on the inside when the man they loved noticed things about them. How had the tables turned so suddenly? And over a few lip-locks?
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“Waiting for you to kiss me again.”
She scoffed. “Oh, really?”
He nodded once. So, she pecked him, harshly. “There.”
“Was that enough for you?”
Damn him. So, she went for it. Deep, hard, and then somehow, she ended up melting because his cane fell to the floor and she was flattened against his body. Only this time, her crotch pressed into the granite-hard length of him. It did insane things to her body, like make her crave to spread her legs wide and get taken. But no one took her.
Only in that second, he could have.
She broke the kiss and pressed her fingers to her lips. Her chest was heaving like she’d been starved of oxygen.
He was smiling at her. “And you may do that anytime you wish.”
She nodded once, her mind unable to form words.
“The club is closing soon. Let me get you home.”'
“I have a car.” Okay, she had at least those words.
“Which only means I'll be following you home.”
“And then what?”
“Whatever you want.”
34
Phoenix’s shoe scraped on the dirty stage floor as she tried the swivel turn again. Her ankle was holding up but her balance was all off. She sucked in a long breath, found a spot on the side wall, and tried again. It was better. And it felt so damned good. A few more hours of practice and she might regain her sure footing that she’d lost during her forced sabbatical.
She’d wanted to see how her ankle held up. If it was good, she’d go on and do something simple—easy, like rejoining the Hey Big Spender act, a sure crowd pleaser and an act she could do in her sleep. Sally Mae could take a rest now that Phee was back.
This morning, she’d woken up feeling great despite the fact Declan had proven his mouth talent again last night. He didn’t force himself on her or try to get inside. But once more, after pressing his whole body into hers against her door for long minutes in a drawn-out assault on her mouth, she found herself inside her apartment with her ear pressed to the door to hear him stride away.
She’d let him kiss her now—how many times? She shook her head, raised her arms, and tried the three-point turns necessary for tonight. Not too bad.
Loud clapping startled her. She walked to the end of the stage and peered out into the dark. Her eyes could only make out one shape from the bright lights she’d turned on to help her stay warm.
Naomi stepped into the light. “That was cool.” She plunked her bag down on a table. “I was hoping I’d find you here.”
Fresh bruises colored the girl’s face. “What happened to your eye?”
“Oh, it’s nothing.”
Phee came down the side steps and drew closer to her. “Oh, yes, it is.” She angled the girl’s face, and Naomi wrenched her neck to get free.
“Don’t worry about it, Mom. I came to get your help. I need an act. I started to practice but…” She shrugged.
“Not coming together?”
“Something like that.” Naomi’s eyes roamed the stage from one end to the other. “You dance alone up here? During the day?”
“Sometimes.”
“A lot of space to cover.”
“Tell you what, it’s just us here. Why don’t you come up on stage? See what it’s like.”
Instead of taking the side stairs, the girl hopped up onto the stage in an ungraceful leap. She turned and faced where the audience would sit. “Wow, it’s different. Bright.”
Phee pointed to the rafters where the theatrical lights hung. “Depends. Okay. What song are you choreographing to?”
She shrugged again. “Does it matter?”
“It’s everything. What do you like? Your favorite?”
“I like country.”
Not exactly burlesque material, but Phee could figure something out. “Okay. How about this?” She strode over to where her phone lay on the edge of the stage and scrolled through her songs. She had a hunch and pulled up Old Town Road.
“Oh, my God, I love this song!” Naomi started bouncing around.
“Good,” Phee called. “Keep going. Do what you feel like.”
“It’d be better if I had a pole.”
“Use your imagination. That’s half of what we do here.” Phee crossed her arms.
“I wish I could bring a horse on. I’ve always wanted one.”
“Then pretend you’re riding one. The crowd loves that kind of stuff. We could get you one of those child stick ponies to use.”
“Oh, yeah,” Naomi snorted. “And have them try to impale me with it.”
Wow, this girl really did expect the worst. “Not at Shakedown.”
They spent some time dancing and moving on the stage, playing around. It was fun, actually. She hadn’t danced with anyone but herself and her sisters in years. The girl had rhythm at least, though her “moves” were limited to hip undulations. After twenty minutes and a few pointers, Phee turned off the fifth time the song played.
“Okay, work with that.”
Naomi rolled her eyes. “Oh, yeah, it’s so easy for you.”
“Nothing is easy. But you have good rhythm, and just be sure to not duplicate movements too often. Mix it up.”
“So, I can audition now?”
“Come back in two days. With the song finished.”
The girl beamed at her, then rushed up to her and threw her arms around her. Oh, a hug. Awkward. She tried not to flinch. She’d been touched by more people in the last few weeks than she had in years.
<
br /> She removed the girl’s arms from around her neck. “Okay, get out your calendar. We’re booking a time. And get the stick pony and a cowboy hat. Trust me. Costume is half of it.”
“Oh, and a little cowgirl outfit. What do I wear underneath?”
“Anything you want because you’re not taking it off.”
Naomi raised her eyebrows. “Seriously? How do you get tips?”
“You don’t. You get paid a salary here. Benefits, too.”
“Get. Out.” Her eyes widened. She jumped off the stage and pivoted back to her. “How much?”
“You have to get the gig first. See you in a few days, Naomi.”
The girl grabbed her bag and jogged to the entrance. “Thank you!” she called before disappearing through the curtain.
“Wasn’t sure you could say that,” she said to the empty space and moved to the very center of the stage.
She tuned into the quiet whoosh of the ventilation system and the warmth of the lights overhead. Her limbs felt loose, light. Declan’s club did more than give second chances. It was more like a home, wasn’t it?
“Thank you, Shakedown.” She meant it, too.
35
Amos widened his stance at the doorway. “You’re not going to like this.” He dropped a white, brick-sized block wrapped in cellophane and a few rubber bands. “Found under your Jag.”
So, the MacKennas were now planting drugs on him. “You sweep all the cars in the parking lot? Of my employees?”
“First thing I did. No bombs found. Nothing suspicious except that.” He inclined his chin toward the cocaine. “What do you want me to do with it?”
“Leave it to me.”
The man shifted on his feet. “I’m headed back south.”
“Understood.”
“I mean, I’m sorry I can’t stay.”
“Amos. It’s okay. You can’t afford to get mixed up in all this.” Before the man could turn away, Declan felt compelled to add a point. “You do know this isn’t mine?”
“Of course, Declan. But this is just the beginning, right?”
“Oh, they began some time ago.” He dropped himself into his chair, stared at the big brick on his desk. “Tell your wife I said thank you.”
The man inclined his head and strode out.
So, another shot over the bow. But did this latest nuisance come from Tomas or Carragh? He was convinced more than ever that the two of them were no longer working together. The problem was the mystery around who was more dangerous—and who had the gall to plant drugs on him.
He fingered his phone.
He should call Henry to warn him. After that? He had a visit to pay to show a certain long-lost relative he wasn’t afraid. He wasn’t. He was pissed.
After advising Henry to double up on security measures, he called up the address of the MacKenna complex in Roland Park. It was an old, upper-class streetcar suburb of beautiful historic homes framed by miles of concrete sidewalks, majestic oak and poplar trees, and hundred-year-old boxwoods edged to perfection. Such a beautiful street that Tomas MacKenna raised his family on. Too bad it produced such ugly outcomes.
An elderly gentleman opened the front door that looked so new Declan could make out his own silhouette on the black high-gloss paint. He stated his business and was left standing on the stoop as his arrival was “announced.” His being left outside was a message, but one Declan couldn’t care less about. He wasn’t about to enter any place his mother escaped from to save him.
Five minutes later, Tomas MacKenna appeared, shirt sleeves rolled up, a white cloth napkin in his hand. Carragh stood behind him, a good foot taller than his father. Both wore grave faces as if Declan was the grim reaper finally coming to get them. If only Declan was that lucky.
He dropped the brick at Tomas’ feet. “You or your men ever pull a stunt like this again with me, I will drop a dime on you so fast…”
Tomas eyed him from the doorway. He glanced down at the coke and back up at him. “With what? Suspicions? That isn’t mine. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I was in the middle of dinner.” Tomas’ frame was replaced by two men who folded their hands in front of them and blocked the doorway.
Declan stared between the guys and got an eyeful of Tomas’ back. He squeezed Carragh’s shoulder as if the two men were having a jovial dinner and weren’t plotting to raise the stakes on him.
“You think I’m stupid?”
Both men turned. Tomas arched one eyebrow. “I didn’t until you made these ridiculous accusations.”
Carragh hadn’t said a word, just stood behind his father like the good little soldier he was.
Declan narrowed his eyes at Tomas’ eldest son. “Never again, Carragh. You’ll never set foot in my club again.”
Tomas’ mouth thinned. He glanced over at his son. “Still taking in the entertainment?”
So, Tomas was unaware of his son’s late-night visits to Shakedown. Score one for Declan—and he’d amassed so few points lately.
Carragh gave a delicate shrug. “I frequent all the waterside establishments. I like the atmosphere.”
“Like grit, do you, Son?” Tomas chuckled.
“I like the absence of bullshit.”
Tomas shook his head and strutted back to ostensibly where the dining room sat. Carragh stared at Declan for a few minutes but then finally broke the eye contact. He strode over to him, the two men parting for his frame to fill the doorway. He gripped the frame, peered down at the cocaine brick. “You need to start thinking, Declan. Who would have access—real access—to…” He cocked his chin as if studying the thing. “A million at least? For what? A warning?”
“Sounds exactly like your father.”
“He doesn’t waste money.” He glanced up at him. “By the way, Ruark’s parole has been moved up. It’s next week.” He pushed off. “See you around, Declan. Don’t be a stranger.”
“But you be.” Declan turned and eased himself down the walkway. His leg was killing him, more from doubling up his physical therapy. He didn’t have time for a single faculty to be compromised.
36
Phee took a swig of wine. At least baby showers served alcohol. A strange confusion had crept up on her, and her roller-coaster of emotions was only getting worse.
It didn’t help that every night Declan followed her home. Kissed her for long minutes and then… left. Now that was all she could think of when she’d had years—frickin’ years—of resisting that man.
Plus, he’d told her, just announced, they’d be seeing a car sitting outside her apartment every night. Security! Which didn’t make her feel secure at all.
To boot, Naomi hadn’t shown up for her audition that morning. Literally stood her up. She was sorry she’d wasted her time with the girl who wasn’t serious about getting out of Maxim’s.
Luna squealed and held up a tiny jeans jacket. What would a baby require such a thing for? “Oh, promise me, Rachel, you won’t ever let this one go. We can pass it around to each of us.”
“Luna,” Starr laughed. “I’m sure Rachel can do whatever she wants with her own baby clothes.”
“Oh, don’t you worry.” Rachel patted her huge belly. “I’m saving everything for when you three have children.”
Starr flushed. “Here’s one from the three of us.”
Rachel made grabby hands. “Oh, wow, I can’t wait to have a girl next because the three of you—” she waggled her index finger at them “—are in charge of her wardrobe. For now, let’s see what the burlesque queens want for my little boy.”
As soon as the overalls came out with trains on them, Rachel and half a dozen other women whooped. Phoenix was so over the squealing, and the oohing and aahing over a stack of diapers arranged to resemble a wedding cake, and a thing called a “diaper genie” that took dirty diapers and made sausages out of them. Babies were exactly like she thought. Everything centered around poop.
Luna clapped her hands. “I promise to find the tiniest tiara for your little girl. In the meantime
, your son will also be on the best-dressed list.” Luna handed over the second package, which Phee knew held the tiny cowboy boots.
Phee gulped down the last swallow of her wine.
Starr cocked her head at her. “I’ve not seen you drink so much in a while, Phee. You okay?”
“Fine.” Damn, her wine glass was empty again. “We should be more worried about L. She might get pregnant just for the wardrobe.” She rose to go see what she could munch on at the table.
Trick’s mother, a tidy older woman with bottle-dyed hair, sidled up to her. “We haven’t had the pleasure of meeting. I’m Catherine Master, Trick’s mother.”
“Nice to meet you. I used to work with Rachel.”
“Oh, at the college?”
“No, Shakedown.”
The woman’s smile tightened ever so slightly. “Oh, that’s nice. At first, I wasn’t sure. Rachel and Trick had a… rocky beginning.”
Phee smiled and lifted her chin in an acknowledgement. Gossip wasn’t her style, but it must have been Catherine’s. She leaned her head closer conspiratorially. “You’ve known Rachel long? I confess we don’t.”
“Not long.” Phee looked over at the smiling pregnant woman. “But she and Trick seem very happy together.”
“Oh, they are. I expect those two to have many children together. You have children?”
“Oh, no. Not married. No kids.”
“Well, a pretty little thing like you I am sure won’t be single for long. But don’t let your boyfriend linger too long.” She waggled her eyebrows.
“Don’t have one of those either. And it’s fine.”
“Well, don’t wait forever.” The way the woman kept twisting her pearls between her fingers, Phee chalked up her advice as supportive talk from a different era. “Remember, dear, God’s delays are not God’s denials.”
What was up with everyone telling her not to wait too long? She was 28, not 78. And what was up with women’s worth still being tied to their relationship status? Hadn’t they gotten past that? “God and I haven’t always been on the best terms.”
“Oh.” The woman flushed.
Tough Break (The Shakedown Series Book 2) Page 15