Author: Jaci Burton

He followed along behind Shadoe, who seemed to have no problem getting into character as she strutted in like she owned the place, her hips 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 cock 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 cock pushing against her thigh.

She lusted after him, too. Her panties were wet and her nipples 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.”

But she also had a job to do. While she meandered along and said hello to people, she scanned the club, looking at faces to see if there were any she recognized. No one came up as familiar, but she memorized them all anyway so she could learn to spot regulars. It would be easier then to pick new ones out of the crowd.

A tall, good-looking guy in his early thirties came toward her from the back of the club. Dressed in jeans and a black polo shirt with the Wild Rose name emblazoned across the left pocket, he smiled and stopped in front of her.

“Are you Desi?”

“I am.”

“I’m Brandon Black, club owner. Great to have you headlining with us.”

She shook his hand. “I’m looking forward to it. It’s a nice club.”

“We get a lot of business here and our crowd loves headliners. Being in the Quarter doesn’t hurt, either. We’re filled to capacity every night, the action starts pretty late, and there’s usually a line out the door waiting to get in.”

“Sex sells, doesn’t it?”

“It does here, cher. There are more than a few strip clubs in the French Quarter. I think we’re one of the best. You’ve come to the right place.”

“Vixen said it was the premier hot spot in New Orleans.”

Brandon grinned. “She’s a rocking hot act. We love having her here. I’m happy she recommended us.”

“Well, I’m happy to be here for the next week.”

“We can go over your schedule tomorrow when you come in. Typically you’ll do two shows—one about eleven and then again at one in the morning. Work for you?”

“Perfect.”

“Let’s go into my office and go over your contract, talk payment terms, and the house-versus-dancer split.”

Shadoe followed him through the doorway into a spacious office, conscious of Spence right on her heels. He closed the door behind him.

“This is my bodyguard, Spence,” she said as she settled into the chair Brandon pulled out for her.

Brandon nodded and Spence took up position against the wall, nodding back to Brandon.

“You packing?” Brandon asked.

“Always,” Spence answered, folding his arms across his chest.

“You have a permit for it, I assume.”

“I do.”

“Don’t pull it unless you need to use it. I doubt it’ll be necessary.”

Spence’s lips curled in a menacing smile. “I’ll be the judge of what’s necessary. My job is to protect Desi. I usually don’t need a gun to do that.”

“No, I imagine you don’t.” Brandon looked to Desi. “Some of our headliners like to come in and cause a ruckus, mostly to call attention to themselves. I like to get things straight when a new act comes in. I run a clean club, no brawls. We serve alcohol and lots of it, but we expect our patrons to treat the ladies with respect. If things get out of hand, my bouncers take it outside immediately. We protect our dancers, and anyone who causes trouble is history.”

“Good. Spence won’t be a problem at all, will you, baby?”

Spence arched a brow, but said nothing in response. Shadoe knew she was pushing her limits with her teasing, but frankly she enjoyed having the upper hand at the moment.

She finished up her paperwork and conversation with Brandon, and went back out to mingle with the crowd. As soon as she stepped outside, the deejay stopped the music.

“Hey, everyone. Our newest headliner has paid us a visit tonight. She’ll be premiering tomorrow night with her new act that promises to be hot, hot, hot! Give a round of applause and go say hello to Desi!”

The spotlight hit her. Brandon moved away and even Spence backed up a step, though not far.

She was on, and it was time to perform. She put on a bright smile, cocked her hip to the side, and waved. The crowd applauded and whistled, then the spotlight dimmed.

Brandon came up behind her and pressed his hand to her back. “Why don’t you go make the rounds, drum up some advance excitement for your show tomorrow night?”

“Sure.” What she really wanted to do was grill everyone in there, including Brandon, find out who were regulars so she could get a feel for who to watch. But that wouldn’t work. A stripper wouldn’t ask the manager about those things. She was on her own, which meant she was going to have to work the men in the place. Get close to them, get to know them, and start remembering faces, which fortunately for her was easy.

The rogue agent wouldn’t be able to slip in unnoticed. As soon as she saw him, she’d know. Which meant she’d have to start spending a lot of time at the Wild Rose.

She sauntered over to one of the large tables filled with men, doing her best to exude confidence. They were already turned her way and watched her approach with gleaming expectation. One got up and gave her his seat. Another bought her a drink. She was sociable, but didn’t get physically close to them. She laughed, encouraged them to buy more drinks, but nursed her own. Maria had taught her how to play the game. Make money for the club, be sexy, talkative, show some skin. She could do that, even though flirting didn’t come naturally to her.

But somehow, knowing Spence loitered just behind her made it easier. Nothing was going to happen to her. He’d protect her.

Not that she needed protection. She could take care of herself without his help. And she’d better remember that, because at that moment one of the guys sitting next to her slid his hand in her hair and stroked the back of her neck. She turned to him and offered a teasing smile.

What she really wanted to do was turn over his chair and shove her boot in his throat.

Before she could move away and reclaim her personal space, Spence grabbed the guy’s wrist and slammed it down on the table. He leaned around Shadoe, his expression calm but his voice laced with venom.

“Look all you want. Don’t ever touch her again or I’ll lay you flat, whip out my switchblade, and with one cut feed you your balls. Got it?”

The guy, no lightweight himself, broke out in a sweat. He nodded. Spence let go of his wrist and moved back to his position behind Shadoe.

She had to fight back the smirk. Okay, so she could have taken care of that on her own, but she supposed laying down an elbow to the throat would have cost her the cover she’d created. And that wouldn’t do at all. So as much as it galled her to play the part of the pretty, brainless female, she’d endure it while she was Desi.

They stayed a couple hours and Shadoe tried to visit with all the guys. She was friendly, stopped at a few tables to chat, then she and Spence left. Throughout it all he’d hardly said anything. She supposed he wanted to portray the persona of the strong, silent bodyguard. Whatever. After that scene where he pulled the guy’s hand away, no one else touched her. He’d done his job; she’d done hers. But he sure seemed to be in a foul state of mind.

And they said women were moody? Ha.

Spence took them back to the hotel, but instead of pulling into the parking garage, he drove up in front of the hotel, but left the engine running.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“I need a ride so I’m letting you off here.”

“I’ll go with you.”

He hesitated. “I need to let off some steam, Shadoe.”

What did that mean? “I could use a ride, too. It sounds like fun.”

He looked over his shoulder and down at her skirt. “You’re hardly dressed for a ride.”