by Mari Carr
“I need to pop into the bathroom and then I’ll be on my way.” Hopefully Emma would be gone by the time she came out and wouldn’t spot her carrying a duffel bag she hadn’t walked in with.
“I’m afraid you’ll have to wait on the bathroom until you get home. Damn toilet is clogged. I’ve got Raoul in there working on it.”
Shea stumbled slightly.
“Wow, you really aren’t feeling well, are you? Didn’t you wear a coat?”
Shea shook her head. She didn’t own one.
“Well, if you hurry, you may make it home before that rain starts.”
Emma opened the back door to the club and Shea stepped out into the damp, chilly night. She had twenty bucks in her pocket, none of her stuff and three long nights ahead of her. What was she supposed to do now?
* * * *
Travis checked the security monitors again but still couldn’t find Shea. He’d been keeping an eye on her as he worked on the club receipts. Watching her had become his latest pastime. Every night for eight nights, he’d observed her routine, entertained by her ingenuity in hiding her belongings and eking out an existence in his club without disturbing anything that wasn’t hers.
She’d stealthily slip into the bathroom after saying goodbye to Bill, hiding until the coast was clear. The first few nights she’d remained in hiding for nearly thirty minutes, but with each progressive evening she was becoming braver, emerging earlier, always dressed in her pajamas. Using her flashlight, she’d read her romance novels until she fell asleep.
Since her arrival, Travis hadn’t spent a single night in his apartment, instead opting to watch Shea.
Shortly after one, he realized she wasn’t working her usual tables. Now it was closing time and she still wasn’t here. Travis picked up his cell phone and called Emma.
“Yes,” she said, using her standard Travis tone. They’d been friends for far too many years and their relationship had somewhere evolved into something more closely resembling siblings. They didn’t mince words.
“Where’s the new waitress?”
“She was sick. I sent her home early.”
“Home?” Travis immediately felt a shard of panic.
“Yes. I know it’s not a familiar concept for you, but typically it has four walls, a roof, pictures of smiling people and food in the refrigerator.”
“Jack’s a lucky man,” he deadpanned.
“I know. I have work to do. Nighty-night.”
He hung up. Where the hell could Shea have gone? She clearly didn’t have a home to go to. He watched the monitors carefully, ticking off the twenty minutes after Bill’s departure, hoping she would emerge from the bathroom, that she’d found a way to hide herself.
When she didn’t appear, his anxiety took over. Glancing toward the window, he saw a flash of lightning pierce the sky followed by a loud boom of thunder. The rain had started as a drizzle but now a full-fledged storm was in effect.
Shea was out in that. And she was sick.
Grabbing his raincoat and an umbrella, he cursed himself for a fool, wondering where in the hell he’d begin his search. All he knew was he needed to find her. Needed to know she was safe.
Stepping out into the driving rain, he crossed the parking lot to the street. He looked both ways, studying the signs, hoping for a clue. Glancing directly across from him, he spotted the diner. And Shea sitting in a booth by the window.
He sighed in relief. That didn’t take long.
As he walked into the diner, he immediately noticed her damp clothing clinging to her shivering body. He suspected she’d been waiting in the rain, hoping for a chance to get back into the club before it closed. Her trembling hands were wrapped tightly around a coffee cup. She coughed and Travis frowned at the deep, congested sound.
He took a seat at the table next to her booth. “Lousy night.”
She looked up at his voice. Besides the waitress, they were the only two people in the place. Once she determined he was talking to her, she smiled slightly and nodded.
He gestured to her wet clothing. “Looks like you got caught in the storm.”
“Yeah,” she said. “Forgot my umbrella.”
The waitress interrupted. He ordered coffee. While the woman went to get his drink, he looked at Shea. “You had dinner yet?”
She shook her head, though he spotted the suspicion in her gaze. He suppressed a grimace. He must look like king of the losers, trying to pick her up in a diner. Screw it. By the end of this night, she was going to know exactly who he was. “I was about to order a sandwich. You want to join me? My treat.”
“Oh no, I couldn’t. We don’t even know each other.”
He could tell she was hungry. From what he’d observed, she lived on cereal bars and peanut butter sandwiches. She was painfully thin and he ached to change that.
“I’m Travis, the only other person in L.A. crazy enough to be out on a night like this.”
“I’m Shea.”
He picked up his menu and slid into the seat across from her. “Nice to meet you.” He handed her the menu. “And despite the fact I did just say I was crazy, I can assure you I’m harmless. Mostly.”
She took the menu from him but didn’t look at it. “I’m not really hungry, but thanks for the offer.”
Now that he was closer, he could see the dark circles under her eyes, made more prominent by her pale skin. She was definitely sick.
“If you don’t mind me asking, you don’t look like you feel well. Shouldn’t you be home rather than out on a rainy night?”
She closed her eyes and sighed sadly. “I’m, um, staying with a friend. I accidentally got locked out and I don’t have a key.”
Her comment wasn’t too far from the truth. “Staying with a friend? So you’re here on vacation?”
She shook her head. “No, I just moved here. I haven’t had a chance to find my own place yet.”
The waitress delivered his coffee and topped up Shea’s. “You two want anything to eat?”
Travis shook his head, revising his previous plan. She wasn’t well enough to eat. He intended to get her back to the club as soon as possible. First he needed to gain her trust. If he told her who he was too soon, she was likely to run off.
“Where are you from?” he asked.
“Vegas.”
He lifted his coffee cup and Shea raised her hand in warning.
“That coffee’s terrible,” she confided quietly.
He took a cautious sip. It was strong as shit and thick as paste. Just the way he liked it. Putting the cup back down, he grinned. “It’s okay. At least it’s hot.”
She crinkled her nose. Clearly she didn’t think that fact redeemed it.
“What brings you from Vegas to L.A.?”
“I needed a fresh start.”
It was an innocuous answer and fired a whole list of new questions in his mind. “Sounds dire. What happened in Vegas?”
She laughed softly. “Given the city’s motto, I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to say.”
“Has to stay there, right?” he joked.
She stifled a yawn. She was worn out. He watched her rub her eyes, battling to remain awake. He was overcome by the urge to bundle her up and drag her back to the club.
“Were you born in Vegas?”
She nodded. “Yep. I’m the embodiment of a bad Vegas cliché. Daughter of a stripper.”
“And your father?”
She raised her eyebrow. “Really? I need to answer that? I have no idea who my father is. Not sure my mother knows either.”
There was no anger in her response. In fact, he thought he saw a glimmer of humor there. “Wow, cliché in every sense of the word.”
“In so many ways, it’s not even funny.”
“I take it you didn’t follow in Mom’s footsteps?”
She grimaced. “Hell no. I’m never taking my clothes off for money.”
Travis cleared his throat uncomfortably, considering all the times he’d offered women cash to mastur
bate in front of him for his pleasure. Hell, he made his living from a club that enticed the audience with bare skin and fake sex.
“I waited tables in Vegas for a few years after high school. Started living with this guy I was dating. Life was okay for a while, I guess. One night I came home from work. My boyfriend had lost yet another job and was drunk off his ass. I lost my temper. He lost his and he hit me. After he passed out, I realized I was about a million miles from where I wanted to be.”
Travis clenched his fists, wishing her asshole boyfriend was around right now. “What did you do?”
“I cleaned out my bank account, threw a few things in a bag and bought the cheapest bus ticket out of town.”
“Los Angeles?”
She nodded. “There are worse places to end up.”
“When you say fresh start, you mean fresh start.”
She smiled, wincing slightly, but the effort seemed to cause her pain. She rubbed her temples wearily and he assumed she was suffering from a headache. “Yeah. It was probably impulsive and dumb, but I don’t regret it.”
“Even now? When you’re sitting in wet clothes in a diner in the middle of the night because you’re locked out of the club?”
She looked at him, her gaze suddenly suspicious. “What?”
He stood slowly. “Come on, Shea. I’m taking you home.”
Her face completed the transformation from shock to sheer panic in less than a second. “I told you. I’m locked out.”
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a key ring. “And I have the key that will get you back into Scoundrels. Let’s go before you shake yourself out of that booth. Your chills are getting worse.”
“Who are you?”
“Travis Knight.”
He didn’t think it possible, but Shea managed to go three shades paler. “You are?”
He pulled out his wallet and showed her his driver’s license. “Yep.”
“You know,” she whispered.
He reached down and helped her rise. Taking off his raincoat, he placed it around her shoulders. “I know.”
He threw a few dollars on the table then took her hand and walked to the club. The rain had abated but left bitterly cold air in its wake. Travis led her through the back door. Turning on the lights, he stopped at the door to the women’s bathroom.
Shea had been absolutely silent throughout their walk. He suspected if she’d felt better, she would have run away, given him a chase.
“Is your stuff in here?”
She nodded, taking the lead as they entered the restroom. He watched her retrieve her bag. Walking to the sink, she placed the duffel down, rummaging around. He wasn’t sure what she was looking for but was surprised when she pulled out her wallet, drawing out a thick stack of bills.
She tried to hand him the money. “Here. This is all the money I earned in tips. I’m very sorry for abusing your trust. Staying here was wrong. I knew that, but I still did it. I swear I won’t bother you again. I hope you’ll tell Emma how sorry I am.”
He scowled. “Put that damn money away. It’s yours. You earned it.”
“I couldn’t—”
“Goddamn it, Shea.” He took the money she continued to thrust at him and shoved it in her wallet. Picking up the bag, he grasped her hand once more. “Come on.”
She started toward the back door when they exited the restroom, but he shook his head and dragged her to the stage. Her hand began to shake and he felt her resisting him.
“Oh God. Please don’t call the police. I didn’t steal anything. Honest. I—”
He stopped and looked at her. “I’m not calling the cops.”
“I don’t understand.”
He pushed her toward the bed. “You’re sick, Shea, so I’ll say what you don’t seem to be figuring out. I’m not firing you and I’m not calling the cops.”
He tossed her duffel on the floor by the bed and pulled the raincoat off her shoulders. He turned his back to her, staring at the back wall of the stage.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“I thought you might want to take off those wet clothes and put on your pajamas. I’m being a gentleman and not watching.”
“I should leave.”
He twisted to face her once more. “You’re shivering. You’ve caught a nasty chill and it’ll be a miracle if you don’t wind up with pneumonia. I’m giving you five minutes to put your pajamas on and get in that bed or I’ll do it for you.”
She narrowed her eyes. “You wouldn’t dare.”
“Angel, I work in a sex club. Believe me, you don’t have anything I haven’t seen a million times before. What’s it going to be?”
“Turn around.”
He resumed his previous position, facing away from her. He listened to her progress for several minutes before she softly said, “Okay.”
He faced her and his breath caught. His assurances had been a lie. He’d seen countless women in various states of undress, but none of them held a candle to Shea Landon in her far-too-practical, not-the-least-bit revealing pajamas. She was a petite thing, the top of her head barely coming to his shoulders. Her pencil-thin shape told him she hadn’t had a proper meal in far too long. He’d take care of that issue in the morning.
For now, he needed to get her warm. There was a blue tinge around her lips and her trembling grew worse by the minute. Drawing down the sheets and comforter on the bed, he instructed her to get in.
The moment her body hit the mattress, it seemed to give out. It was then he realized how weak her illness had made her and how strong her will was. She’d remained on her feet this long by sheer, unshakable determination.
“Wait here.”
He quickly ran up to his office for some medicine. He kept Nyquil on hand, less for the cold relief and more for the sleep aid.
When he returned, he found her trying to set the alarm on her little travel clock. “What are you doing?”
“I need to g-get up b-before eleven. That’s when the cleaning lady c-comes in.”
He’d watched her cleverly dodge the cleaning lady last Sunday, amused by her secret-agent-style maneuvering. She’d spent nearly three hours hiding in the costume closet while the other woman worked. He’d been amused when she’d reemerged looking as if she’d just awoken from a nap—then touched up a few places around the club she clearly didn’t consider clean enough. “You aren’t getting out of this bed until you’re well. Cleaning lady be damned.”
“Why are you being so nice to me?”
Her words took him aback. Hadn’t anyone ever been kind to her? He suspected there was more to her clichéd upbringing than she’d told him, but that story would have to wait for another day. He poured some medicine into the tiny cup and held her head as she drank it. Then he retrieved two more blankets from the linen hutch.
She closed her eyes. She’d be asleep within moments. Her trembling continued and he was concerned by her pale face.
Fuck it. He’d never be able to sleep in his office, worrying about her. He grabbed her flashlight, returning to the hallway to turn off the lights. Using the tiny beam, he made his way back to the stage, dragging a chair with him. He sat down next to the bed and placed his hand on Shea’s forehead, checking for fever.
She startled but didn’t speak.
“Go to sleep, Shea. I just want to stay close in case you need anything.”
She sighed and, just like that, she was asleep.
Travis sat awake for hours as he considered what he’d done. When he couldn’t keep his eyes open any longer, he moved from the chair to the bed, careful to remain above the covers in case Shea woke up. He didn’t want to scare her, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to fall asleep upstairs alone.
Shea rolled over and placed her head on his shoulder. He froze. Her hand rested on his chest and, for the briefest moment, he wondered how he could move away without waking her.
He closed his eyes as a surprising realization dawned. He didn’t want to leave the bed. She was touch
ing him and, rather than feeling the usual revulsion, Travis felt warm, relaxed.
He looked down at Shea’s peaceful face. He wasn’t sure what it was about her, but she’d caught his attention and held it. For years he’d existed in a solitary world, careful to keep everyone around him at arm’s length. He didn’t feel the need to maintain that same distance with Shea—which was ridiculous considering the fact she was a stranger.
He suspected in the morning she’d try to leave again. Offer her silly apologies with the intention of walking away. He put his arm around her shoulders and held her tighter to him.
She was staying here until he figured out what the hell was going on—with her and with him.
She wasn’t going anywhere.
Not yet.
* * * *
Shea had considered her proposition carefully before coming to see Travis. She’d heard the rumors surrounding his so-called war madness all the way back in London. She’d struggled not to let him see her shock at his appearance. The slim, boisterous, cocky boy she’d grown up with had definitely changed. In his place was a quieter, sadder, less trusting Travis. He’d lost too much weight and she didn’t like the dark circles under his eyes. He was hurting—anyone could see that—and she was quite resolved to help him.
Despite the new scar and weariness on his face, he still managed to take her breath away. Not that she’d ever let him know of her attraction to him. Travis had never lacked in female companionship, widows and housemaids all lining up for his affections. That was why she’d come up with her proposition. He needed a distraction. She wanted his experience.
“Sex?” Travis rose from his desk, leaning forward slightly. “Have you gone mad? Get married. Your husband will teach you about that.”
She narrowed her eyes. “I told you. I don’t intend to marry.”
“Then I suppose you’ll simply have to forget about—”
“I won’t forget about it.” She raised her voice, pretending to be angry. Travis never failed to rise to the occasion of a good fight and she was anxious to produce some sort of emotion in him. She didn’t like the distant man standing before her. “I can see you won’t even consider the thought and that I’ve wasted your time.”
