Riding on Instinct
Page 9

He turned away and looked down over Bourbon Street instead, making a mental note to buy beer to toss into the mini fridge in the room. He could use a cold brew right now to lubricate his dry throat.
Or maybe a cold shower. Yeah, probably a better idea.
He waited for her to finish up in there, then grabbed clean clothes, slipped into the bathroom, and turned on the shower, trying not to think about the fact that Shadoe had just been in here. He cleaned up and got out of there in a hurry, then dried off and put on his jeans. The bathroom was stifling, so he opened the door and walked out.
Shadoe was at the small vanity putting on makeup. Her hair hung in damp, curling tendrils behind her back. He wanted to pick up one of the trailing curls and play with it, but instead walked past her to grab his shirt. She turned halfway to watch him.
He felt her gaze on his back and smiled.
“You have a tattoo,” she said.
“Yeah.” He lifted his arms to pull the shirt over his head.
“No, wait. I want to see it.”
In seconds, he felt warm hands skimming over the spot where the eagle had been tattooed. Her fingers arced over the outstretched wings.
He remembered the day he got the tattoo. He’d been told by Grange that he was going on his first assignment.
He’d made it. All that hard work, all his attitude finally shed—most of his attitude, anyway. He’d felt like he was free of his past.
“Why an eagle, and why flying like this?” she asked.
“Freedom.”
His life could have gone in so many different directions, none of them good. That day, he’d felt free. He had his entire life ahead of him, he was soaring, and it all looked like blue sky to him. The eagle had seemed perfect.
“It’s beautiful.” She still had her hands on him.
He wasn’t going to complain about that.
“Thanks.”
“Do you have any more tattoos?”
He finally turned around to face her. “No. Not yet. Do you?”
She grinned. “None. Yet.”
He cocked a brow. “Dying to get one, are you?”
“Actually, I’d love to. But I never know what kind of assignment I’ll have, and a tattoo might not be the best thing to show on an undercover case.”
“Put one where no one can see it.” He pulled his shirt on.
“Hmmm, now there’s an idea.”
“And what would you get?”
“I haven’t thought about it.” She went back to the vanity and picked up a makeup brush.
He studied her, cocking his head to the side to look over her body.
She finally turned her gaze to his. “What?”
“Just trying to figure out what tattoo would fit you.”
She laughed. “You don’t know me well enough to answer that.”
“You need a rose, but not a red one. It wouldn’t look right on your skin. Peach, maybe. Or even some sort of white flower. But you’re tough, too, so you’d need something hard to go along with that. Barbed wire, or a gun, maybe even a sword. Or a skull. A tattoo that says you’re a woman all right—soft and sweet-smelling—but tread light, or you could get your head blown off.”
She raised both brows. “Wow. Is that how you see me?”
He sat on the bed to slide on his boots. “That’s how I see you.”
“Huh.”
That was all she said. Her gaze lingered for a few minutes, before she turned back to the mirror to finish her makeup, then took clothes in the bathroom and got dressed.
Which was good, because he needed to shut the hell up before he inserted his entire booted foot into his mouth.
Designing tattoos for her now? Next he’d be writing poetry. Or singing love songs.
Christ.
Pretty pathetic for someone who planned on keeping his distance from his partner.
She wasn’t helping when she came out of the bathroom in a tight black leather miniskirt, black halter top, and thigh-high black boots with a stiletto heel. A thin silver chain wound around her neck, the end dangling between her br**sts and disappearing into the low vee of the halter. She wore her hair loose, the curls falling around her shoulders and back. She wore more makeup than she usually did, her lips glossed up in pink, highlighting the mouth he’d kissed last night.
Making him remember. Making him want.
His c**k woke up in a hurry. He knew he stared, but he couldn’t help it. Especially remembering the way she looked when he first met her. The difference was incredible. From buttoned up, plain and severe, to full-on sexy bombshell.
But that’s the persona she was supposed to portray—the sultry stripper—the kind of woman who could walk into a club and capture every man’s attention.
Dressed like that, looking like she did, she was definitely going to command attention. He grabbed his gun and slid it into the back waistband of his pants, then pulled on his jacket to cover it.
Shadoe noticed his actions and nodded, bending down to lift her skirt up.
He arched a brow, glad for the show. Her legs were bare, her thighs the most mouthwatering things he’d ever seen. She lifted the skirt a couple inches. Strapped to her hip was a sheath with a slender blade. She smoothed her skirt down and shot him a smile. “I’m packing, too.”
Was she ever.
“That’s fine for tonight, but when you’re up on the stage getting na**d it’s going to be kind of hard to conceal a weapon.”
She rolled her eyes. “Well, duh. I know that. Just tell me if you can see it.”
He looked at her with a critical eye. The skirt was tight, but it was leather so it didn’t cling to her body like another fabric might. “Unless you let someone dance with you and feel you up, I think you’ll be fine.”
“No one will get close to me. I have a bodyguard.” She waggled her eyebrows. “Besides, as my lover, you wouldn’t let another guy touch me, now would you?”
“Not a chance in hell that’s gonna happen.”
Her lips lifted in a satisfied smile.
“Let’s go. The club is a few blocks from here, so we’ll ride. Think you can hike that skirt up enough to straddle the bike?”
“I can manage just fine.”
He’d try not to think about all the skin she would show along the way.
They went downstairs and he brought the bike around, craning his head to watch as she held on to his shoulders, stepped on the peg, and swung her leg around the back, then settled on.
Sweet. Sexy. She wrapped her arms around him and nestled her br**sts against his back. “All for show, of course.”
“Of course.” He gave the throttle a goose, letting the noise of the pipes vibrate through them both. She grinned, and he took off.
The ride was short, and Spence ached for a chance to really cut loose and take a ride out on the country. He wanted to see the bayou. He’d bet Shadoe would enjoy that, too.
But they weren’t there to have fun and see the sights. They had a job to do.
He parked the bike in front of the Wild Rose and Shadoe climbed off. There were a couple dozen guys hanging around out front, and all of them zeroed in on her as soon as she stepped up on the curb. Hungry gazes followed her into the club, especially when Spence made sure to state loud enough that “Desi,” their new headliner, had just arrived.
Since not just any stripper could walk into a club and be a headliner, Maria and Grange had provided the background for Desi as the upcoming newest thing on the circuit. With Maria’s connections and Grange providing ID and fake background, Desi the headliner was born.
Several of the loiterers outside followed behind Spence. He’d just bet they were thinking that Desi would be dancing tonight.
Sorry, guys. You’ll just have to come back tomorrow.
Though that thought didn’t make him happy, either.
Why he should care if she stripped in front of these guys, he didn’t know.
He didn’t care whom she took her clothes off for. Hopefully it would be a packed club. The more people who jammed in here, the easier it would be to blend in and do their jobs. Shadoe was there to focus attention on her. She needed to embed herself as a feature stripper, so that every man there would want to spend time with her, to talk with her, to pay to have a moment, a half hour, an hour or more with her.
And maybe, if they were lucky, their rogue agent would show up and want some of “Desi’s” time, too.
In a perfect world, anyway.
After a brief stop at the cage where Spence announced who they were, they were waved through with a smile and the bouncer said he’d notify the manager that Desi had arrived. Shadoe smiled and walked through.
The club was smoky dark, except on the square stage where the pole was lit up and a mostly na**d dancer snaked her way around the cool metal before making her way to the edge of the stage to shake her stuff in front of eager, dollar-waving men. To the left of the stage and built up several steps was a deejay choosing and playing the tunes. Rockin’-hard hip-hop music blasted through the speakers set up all over the place. The thumping bass entered through his feet and vibrated every part of his body.
Seats and built-in tables lined all three corners of the long stage; various tables were set up beyond that. There were four privacy areas in the back of the club where lap dances were conducted, mini stages for private parties complete with poles, and at the back of the club a long bar that was filled to capacity with men and women.
He followed along behind Shadoe, who seemed to have no problem getting into character as she strutted in like she owned the place, her h*ps swaying in an exaggerated manner. She stopped at the end of the long bar and leaned over to say something to the bartender, who tilted his head back and laughed, then nodded.
While she talked, Spence admired her legs and the hint of her ass cheeks peeking out from under her very short skirt. A minute later Shadoe had a short glass in her hands.
“Jack Daniels on the rocks,” she said, tilting the glass back and taking a sip.
He took the glass from her hand and shot the rest of the contents down in one swallow, sliding the empty glass across the bar and holding up two fingers to the bartender, who nodded. He turned back to Shadoe, who arched a brow.
“Like your whiskey hard?” he asked.
She laid her palms on his chest and gleamed a wicked smile. “Just like my men, baby.”
She was in character, all right. Dangerous character. He would have to remember the woman teasing him with her soft, warm hands was Desi, not Shadoe. Which meant he’d have to pull her in close and tease her back, not push her away.
This was a game, not reality. And when they walked out of the club, the game ended.
He’d also have to tell that to his dick, and keep reminding his dick, until it started paying attention, because right now Shadoe had a hip notched against his crotch, one breast pressed up against his chest, and her hands all over him, taking possession, making sure everyone looking in their direction knew that he belonged to her.
So he’d damn well make it clear from the start that she belonged to him.
He thrust his hand in her hair, jerked her back, enough to surprise her.
Her mouth fell open—exactly his intent. He took her mouth in a primal kiss. Fast, with intent, his tongue sliced in and licked along hers. He heard her moan, knew it wasn’t an act, and his c**k roared to life in a furious frenzy of heat, passion, and hunger.
He knew it was too much, that all he’d needed to do was wrap an arm around her and glare at every man in the place, and that would have been enough to set their relationship.
So maybe he’d wanted to stamp his mark on her for her benefit, too. She’d started this game.
He was going to finish it, and finish it his way.
SEVEN
WHOA. SPence’s KISS WAS HOT. HIS TONGUE PROBED, RAVAGED, with every velvet stroke making it clear to Shadoe that he was the one in control.
She would have thought she’d balk at this public display of his possession of her. Instead, she melted into him, wanted more. A lot more. She was wet, hot, and her legs trembled.
She was going to have a hard time separating the act from reality. Then again, had she really been putting on a show for all the guys in the club, or had she been fishing for a reaction from Spence? She’d wanted him to pay attention.
He was paying attention now, wasn’t he? But in a sexual way. Sure, he lusted after her—that much was obvious, from his hands on her ass to the hard c**k pushing against her thigh.
She lusted after him, too. Her panties were wet and her ni**les stood out like hard, painful points.
But that wasn’t why she was here, and it wasn’t why he was here, either.
She supposed they’d both better figure out a way to work through this thick sexual tension that seemed to linger between them, or neither of them was going to be clearheaded enough to get the job done.
She gently pressed against his chest and he pulled back, his eyes dark as a storm, and just as angry.
He brushed her hair off her face and leaned in, his tongue sliding along her earlobe as he whispered against it. “Be careful how you play this game, Desi,” he said, emphasizing her stage name. “Be sure you know what you want before you start tussling with the big boys.”
The big boys. Didn’t he just sound like all the men at the academy, and like her father? Like she couldn’t handle a little heat?
He didn’t know her at all, didn’t know what she’d had to endure her entire life. She loved nothing more than a challenge, and he’d just laid down the gauntlet.
She pushed at him, tilted her head back and laughed, then spun on her heel, grabbing one of the drinks the bartender had slid to the end of the bar. She downed that in one swallow, then picked up Spence’s whiskey and shot his, too, sliding it back across the bar at the bartender. She turned her head toward Spence. “I’ll have another.” Then she walked away, focusing her attention on men who were definitely interested in “Desi.”