Guarded Passion

by Bonnie Dee

  Guarded Passion

  Copyright © 2015 by Bonnie Dee

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  License Notes

  This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. Thank you for respecting the author's work.

  Chapter One

  Rianna

  When I dance, I go to another place, pretend I’m alone “dancing with myself,” as the song says. I feel the rhythm, let it flow through me, and ride on the melody, tapping into the deepest part of me. I don’t have the luxury of feeling tired, stressed, worried, or afraid of showing too much of myself. I have to bare it all—literally—for the new exhaust system my car needs, to cover the rent check I gave Harley, and most importantly for my little boy, Travis. I dance my friggin’ heart out, ignoring all the eyes on me, and when my shift is finished, I go home to my real life.

  But that night, I made the mistake of meeting a customer’s gaze. Twining around the pole with my legs, my head nearly touching the stage, I looked into the upside-down audience, and dark, penetrating eyes stabbed me.

  He sees me. Like really sees me. My heart fluttered in panic as the carefully constructed wall between me and my watchers crumbled. I couldn’t pretend they didn’t exist any longer. At least, I couldn’t pretend he didn’t exist—the tall man with the cold, hard gaze.

  But as I pulled myself upright, grabbed the slick pole in one hand, and slithered around it, I caught another glimpse of those eyes and realized they weren’t lifeless at all. A flame flickered deep within. Heat. Desire. Yeah, I knew that look in men’s eyes all too well. So I wasn’t at all surprised when my dance was over and I left the stage that another man from that table beckoned me over.

  The Fred Flintstone-shaped guy, a regular in the club, handed me a twenty. “I’d like to buy my friend here a dance.” He nodded at the long, lean, dark-haired man beside him. I gave the customer a sideways glance but didn’t meet his gaze head-on this time.

  “I don’t usually do lap dances. Cyndi can help you out.” I waved a hand at a petite blonde chatting up customers at another table. Cyndi didn’t mind taking on the customers I rejected, and most were just as happy to have her. Her teasing smile and perky tits in their faces made them forget about me in a heartbeat.

  “Naw,” Flintstone said. “I think Mr. Wyatt only has eyes for you. Come on now, be friendly.”

  “That’s okay, Pace. I don’t want a dance.” The somber man spoke, and his voice rumbled like semi wheels on a long-haul highway. “Can we just get to our business?”

  Flintstone laughed, and I think he would’ve given his associate a slap on the shoulder if the man weren’t so intimidating. “Lighten up, Wyatt. You need to get laid, man. Life ain’t all about making money. If you don’t spend some on a good time now and then, why bother?”

  “Cyndi loves a good time,” I rushed to add. I knew it was stupid to avoid making such good money, but unless the club owner, Ernie, specifically sent me to entertain a client, I tried to make lap dancing a line in the sand I wouldn’t cross. At least not often.

  For just a moment, Wyatt looked me over. His coal-black eyes with red embers in the center raked me from top to bottom, trailing heat in their wake.

  “It’s fine.” Wyatt didn’t raise his voice, but his tone was even chillier. He was clearly annoyed by Pace’s insistence. “I don’t want a fucking lap dance.”

  The other man’s meaty hands shot up in surrender. “All right. Chill.” He patted my hip and gave a quick squeeze. “Go on, then.”

  I hurried away, skirting tables and booths as I headed to the backstage area, one arm across my bare breasts. My heart beat too fast, and my skin felt sunburned where the dark man’s gaze had touched it. The hard peaks of my nipples poked into my arm. Aroused. I couldn’t deny my body had responded to Wyatt’s assessing look. And I couldn’t deny that on some deep, dark level I didn’t even want to think about, I’d sort of wanted to give the big, sexy man a lap dance.

  Back in the dressing room, I stripped off the last remnant of my costume—a G-string—and threw on a robe. Then I kicked off the too-tall heels that hurt my feet and padded outside. It was way too cold out there to be barefoot, but I needed to breathe fresh, clean air for a few moments. Inside the club and even in the dressing room, the smoky atmosphere stifled me. Though I was shivering in my terrycloth robe, I felt better, cleaner out of doors.

  I leaned against the rear of the building, rough-painted boards cheaply erected, and dialed my sitter and next-door neighbor Carol Ann.

  “Hi. How’s he doin’ tonight? His nose still stuffy?”

  “I gave him decongestant, but it’s pretty bad. I think it may be moving into his chest,” she reported over the noise of a TV car chase.

  “Bad enough that I should take him to the doctor?” I closed my eyes, shutting out the row of pickups and cars in the parking lot, and prayed she’d tell me not to worry. I couldn’t even afford the deductible my shitty plan required.

  “I’d wait till morning, but if he’s not better…” Carol Ann trailed off, and in the background tires squealed, and something blew up.

  “Okay. Thanks for telling me.” Immediately I reassessed the order of the bills I had to pay in order to free up some cash. “Is he sleeping now?”

  “He’s passed out, the poor little guy. I put his vaporizer on.”

  Travis wasn’t crying for me. I didn’t need to make an excuse and cut my shift short. Part of me wished I could, but I really needed the money. Besides, Ernie didn’t take it well when a girl skipped out on her shift. If I lost my evening spot onstage, I might be stuck doing afternoon hours and earning terrible tips. This job was all that kept me and Travis from getting bounced from our apartment. I couldn’t afford to exist on a minimum-wage job.

  “Thanks again, Carol Ann. I’ll be home as soon as I can tonight.”

  “Don’t worry about it. I can sack out on your couch same as mine. I’ll be here as long as you need me.” She cleared her throat and added, “Hate to remind you, though, you’re about a week behind.”

  “You’re the first person on my list to pay.” After covering the rent check. “I promise.”

  I ended the call and rushed back inside on icy feet. Time to get into costume for my next number. I tried to think of my performance as a stage play, a little nudity for art’s sake. Since I was going to do it anyway, why not put the best face on it?

  “I lost my hair ribbons,” I called out to Abbie, who was applying makeup at the other dressing table mirror. “Got any?”

  “They don’t match your outfit, but here you go.” She tossed me a pair of pink ribbons for my pigtails. She was right. They clashed with the schoolgirl outfit I had on, white blouse and red plaid skirt. But honestly, who was I kidding? The men in the audience were hardly fashion critics.

  I tied the bows and hurried backstage, where I waited for my music
to cue, Alice Cooper’s “School’s Out,” classic rock with a good beat. I skipped onstage and went through the choreography I’d invented. As usual, I tried to focus on the dance, and when I had to strut close to the edge of the stage in order to gather tips, I avoided eye contact. Except…there was that man again, and I couldn’t keep from checking him out.

  He still sat with that other guy, Pace, and at first glance it seemed they were deep in discussion. But when I shot another look, Wyatt was staring back at me. Yeah, he gave some serious attention to my body—the school tie and white blouse were long gone by then—but after one brief scan, his gaze moved to my face and stayed there. For the few seconds I looked back at him, our eyes locked. The blaring music and noisy chatter faded, and it was as if we were alone in the room, me and this stranger. It was a weird, almost chilling feeling, but after I broke the connection and resumed my bump and grind, I wanted it back.

  A few minutes later, my song was finished. I gathered the fallen pieces of my costume, like little soldiers left behind on a battlefield, and left the stage. I quickly dressed in my own clothes, slipped on my boots and my jacket with the fur-trimmed hood, and said good-bye to my friends.

  In the parking lot, I got behind the wheel of my old Ford Escort and said a prayer before turning the key. The battery grumbled but turned over. I carefully fed the little beast some gas and then, just as I put her in gear, she died. I cursed her out but knew what to do. After popping the hood, I leaned over the engine.

  “Car trouble?” The deep voice coming from behind me nearly made me jump out of my boots.

  I spun around and there he was, far taller than he’d seemed sitting down. He towered over me in his long black coat, a figure like Lucifer himself with jet-black hair and piercing eyes. His face was all planes and angles, harsh as if it were hewn from stone.

  “N-no. I got it. There’s a little trick a guy taught me.” I swallowed. “But, actually, I could use an extra pair of hands. Could you start her up while I jiggle the thingie?”

  Something nearly like a smile flashed across his wide mouth, even though his lips never curved. “The thingie?”

  “I forget what it’s called. I just know how to do it.”

  Wyatt dipped his head. “All right.” He could hardly wedge his large body into my car, the seat was pulled so far up. But he managed to get a foot on the gas pedal and turn the starter.

  I held the wing-nut thingie, and the wagon fired up.

  “A little more gas,” I called out, and Wyatt revved the engine until she…well, my car never purred, but she did sound less like she was gargling phlegm.

  “Thanks.” I slammed the hood shut, faced my helper through the windshield, and recalled that he knew exactly what my tits looked like. For that matter, he’d seen pretty much all of my body except my crotch. My flesh sizzled in every cell as I realized his intimate knowledge of most of my anatomy. I wished I could erase those images from his mind—or else show him more. Bad, bad girl for having that kind of craving, but I couldn’t deny the truth about what I wanted.

  Wyatt unfolded himself from the cramped front seat. Then he held the door for me. His heat and the sheer energy of his body radiated into me as I passed him. I’d shut down the part of myself that got turned on by guys long ago. I had no time or space in my life for desire. The only time my libido emerged was onstage when I danced alone. Though many men saw me nude on a regular basis, I hadn’t been physical with one in years. Not since before Travis was born, and my boy was nearly four years old. Now my banked physical needs roared to life, reminding me I was a young, healthy woman of twenty-one.

  “Thanks again.” I offered a smile as I tipped my head to look way up into his face.

  The stone mask hardly cracked, but the embers in his eyes flared. “Your name is Selena?”

  “My stage name.” I never offered my real one at the strip club, though many of the local guys knew me. Using a stage name felt as if it protected my true self.

  Wyatt nodded, and a single lock of black hair fell across his forehead. Beautiful dark hair that looked so soft and thick, I wanted to plunge my fingers through it.

  “Selena, do you ever…” He paused and bit his lips. Was it possible this commanding, reserved man was nervous? “Do you ever hire your services outside the club?”

  “Like dance at bachelor parties? Sure. I don’t have a card, but I can give you my cell number.” Actually, I hadn’t done much of that sort of work, but with the Escort acting up more frequently, it was only a matter of time before I’d need a better winter beater on these winding mountain roads.

  “No. I mean…” He stared at the ground as he made his request. “Private engagements with customers?”

  Oh. That. He wouldn’t be the first or the last man to ask me for a “date,” but his request disappointed me. I opened my mouth to refuse. Screwing for money was definitely way beyond my line in the sand.

  “I’ll pay you two hundred dollars.” He threw out the number as casually as tossing a pair of socks on the floor. It meant nothing to him. He might pay as much for a good meal and a bottle of wine. He wore the arrogant air of a man who had too much money for his own good.

  My only power was my ability to refuse the offer. And yet, the word no stuck in my throat. Two hundred dollars would be so useful right now. Ernie paid us girls pretty well for dancing, far better than I could earn at a minimum-wage job, but it was never quite enough. I always struggled to keep up with the bills. Little surprises like illness or car trouble threw my careful budgeting into chaos.

  “Maybe.” The word slipped out before I could stop it. What the hell? I was in a dream, listening to myself practically agree to something I would never seriously consider.

  I glanced around the parking lot. No one else was there to witness this transaction, no one to judge me but me. “You’re not a cop, are you?” I remembered that was what prostitutes did in cop shows to protect themselves from arrest. Undercover cops supposedly had to tell the truth.

  That faint almost smile flickered across his mouth again. “No. I’m definitely not a cop.”

  “What would you be expecting exactly?” I crossed my arms over my chest, the sleeves of my coat making a slick polyester swoosh. Underneath the layers of coat and sweater, my breasts felt tendder, the nipples tightening with desire. I should be disgusted by this man’s offer, disgusted by him, disgusted with myself for considering it. Instead, a strange eagerness fluttered inside me. “A handjob? Blowjob? More?”

  “For two hundred? What do you think?” His mouth was a grim line once more.

  I imagined his long-armed, long-legged big body naked and wrapped around mine, the weight of him, his scent, the taste of his tongue in my mouth. But no, whores didn’t kiss, right? So there wouldn’t be any of that going on. Merely a business transaction. Sex for cash. One time only. And no one else ever needed to know. Not ever. I’d never considered anything like this before, and I couldn’t believe the questions coming out of my mouth.

  “Where are you thinking this would take place?” asked the woman who had taken over my body like some parasite from space in a sci-fi movie.

  “There’s a motel nearby. The Green Light Motor Lodge. You know it?”

  Suitably seedy and cheap. Perfect for a tawdry hookup. But I knew the owner and his wife personally. I couldn’t park my car there. And if either of them spotted me going into a room this man had rented, everyone for miles around would soon learn about it. I considered every aspect of the thing as if I were actually considering going through with it—which I wasn’t. At all.

  I shook my head. “Not private enough.”

  He put his hands in the pockets of his long black coat and looked past me at the lights of Cock Teasers, my charming place of employment. He seemed to be considering, maybe second-guessing the entire idea. “I don’t bring women to my house.”

  “I wouldn’t go anyway. You might be a serial killer, for all I know.”

  Good Lord, I was a mother. I couldn’t risk my
safety and health, possibly my life, and definitely my moral compass for a mere two hundred bucks.

  “I’m sorry. I have to say no.” I would get into my car, warmed up now and ready to roar away from this insane encounter.

  “Four hundred.” Wyatt doubled the amount without batting an eye. His awkwardness evaporated. “There’s a Holiday Inn Express right off the highway only eight miles away. Safe, clean, and discreet.”

  If he’d give me four hundred, then he’d pay more. An inner voice oozing with sin whispered like Satan tempting Eve with an apple.

  “Five,” I countered. I could do so much with five hundred: completely catch up on my bills and finally put a down payment on a reliable vehicle.

  “Five, then.” He stuck out his hand to complete the business deal.

  I stared at it as if his hand were that Garden of Eden snake. I’d be an idiot to take it. Smart women didn’t handle snakes. And then our hands slid together, my fuzzy glove against his warm hand, which completely enveloped mine.

  “You have protection?” I asked. “Because I don’t have anything with me. I wasn’t expecting to do something like this.”

  “Yes, I do.” He frowned. “How old are you, by the way?”

  “Old enough to work here legally.” I jerked my head at Cock Teasers.

  “How old?” he repeated.

  “Twenty-one.”

  “Jesus.” He shook his head. “All right, then. We have a deal.”

  As I got into my car, I repeated over and over, This is no big deal. It’s only a business transaction. You don’t have to feel anything. It’s a one-time thing, and nobody else ever needs to know. You won’t let him get under your guard.

  Only my sweet Travis could do that. My son was the only thing in the world that mattered to me, the only person I truly cared about. I would earn this money for him, and then I’d never think of this night again.

  Chapter Two

  Jonah

  When I locked gazes with the slender brunette onstage, it was like a wrecking ball crashed into my chest. I couldn’t breathe for a moment, and I choked on the whiskey I’d been sipping. Those clear gray eyes were mesmerizing.