by Aimee Laine
“I apologize for the late notice, but we only learned their plans to return again this morning. This could be our best, and potentially only, opportunity to gather this intelligence.”
“It sounds simple enough, James.” Charley said.
The way she held herself, how her eyes met Wyatt’s, and the way she softened when they did rang those bells again. Is she about to agree to this?
“While I’m not keen on learning to pole dance, I’m sure it can be accomplished. You’re aware of our fees?”
He’d been told to call, hire without question, pay whatever they asked, and get the job done. “I have been advised.”
“And that my team will accompany me?”
“Yes, with the exception of Mr. Aldrige.”
“What?” Charley stood. “This is my team! We do not separate for any project—including but not limited to government work—”
Nope, not going to agree. “Ms. Randall, may I explain?”
She waited with a tap of her toe, her teeth ground together.
No documentation, organizational charts, contractor clearance or other material indicated she governed their team, but her tone conveyed the message well enough.
“Mr. Aldrige is a member of a government that has no authority or rule in the nation to our north. In order to remain under the radar, our group must remain small and tight knit. Therefore, they’ve asked that I be sent in his place.”
Charley’s shoulders relaxed, her hands unclenched. He’d have sworn she softened. Why and how, he didn’t know, but a sense of déjà vu pervaded his memories.
Why isn’t she pissed anymore? “Ms. Randall?”
“Please … call me Charley.” She sat.
Surprised at the less formal request, Wyatt blinked. “Charley.” He shifted. “May I ask you a personal question?”
“Sure.” She kicked back against the couch.
“Have we met before?”
• • •
He did notice. Charley suppressed her smile and wondered how long it would take to figure her out. The mere thought of a revelation both intrigued and unnerved her.
She slumped into the couch. “We’ve done a lot of work for the government.”
Wyatt waved a dismissive hand. “That’s probably it. I’m sorry to pry.”
“It’s okay. You know …” She leaned forward again. “They say everyone has a twin … somewhere.” She kept her gaze locked on his, her purpose deliberately unclear.
How much did she want to reveal? How much could she?
While she’d acknowledged her photographic memory, knowledge of her other, more unique abilities remained in the hands of a select few.
“So.” Charley slapped her palms on her knees, prepared to stand. “Shall we get started?” She caught James’s, Lily’s and Cael’s eye, passed over Sheila and stopped on Wyatt. At his nod, she stood. Is he surprised I’ve agreed?
“What do you need from us?” Sheila rose, clipboard in hand.
“At this point, just a space to learn.” With less than thirteen hours, Charley had a lot to accomplish. “Wyatt? Do you have a more private room for Lily and me?”
He nodded. “Sheila? Will you escort them to the study? We’ve got it all set up for you.”
Confidence. Love it. “Wait. You have it ready-ready?”
Wyatt hesitated. “Ah …” He turned to Cael.
“I told him to go ahead.” Cael crossed his arms over his chest.
Bastard. Charley smiled—that polite, you-are-so-in-the-dog-house grin. “Thank you. And will you please provide James with a rundown of the plan, the layout of the club, you know—the miscellaneous details?”
“Don’t you need that information?” Confusion reigned with the incline of Wyatt’s head and how he slid his hands into his pockets.
“I’ll get it on the plane. If I’m going to dance as Candie, I need to get ready.” Charley pointed to James and Cael and followed after Sheila with Lily in tow.
Charley caught the slight turn of Wyatt’s head as Sheila’s heels clipped through the bright room. Three doors and two hallways later, they entered the study. Books lined the walls at least ten feet high. Charley counted eight shelves from floor to ceiling and at least ten sets of them. Walnut or cherry, she couldn’t tell, but their beauty befit the home. Within the room, couches and comfortable seating held court. In the center, the pole.
“Can we move furniture?” Charley asked.
Sheila pushed at the back of a chair. “Absolutely. Whatever you want or need.”
“Thank you, Sheila.” Wyatt stood at the door, holding Charley’s bags in both hands. “I thought you’d need these.”
“Thanks, Wyatt.” Lily walked over, hefted the bags in one move and placed them in the opposite corner.
“Wow,” Wyatt said. “Those were heavy.”
“We girls aren’t as wimpy as we appear.” Charley added a wink in his direction.
Wyatt blinked, held his palms up and backed out the door.
“You told him.” Lily giggled. “He knows something.”
“I didn’t say a word.” Handsome, rugged, muscular and observant. What else could a girl want?
Charley strolled around the room. Bronte, Roberts and Dickens—an eclectic mix of authors and writers graced the shelves. Whoever the owner, they had great taste. With one finger, she snuck one off the shelf, let it rest in her palm, the cover soft against her skin. She stroked the bound leather like one would a lover—of books.
“Charley?” Lily asked.
Charley slipped the book back in its place. “Yeah? Are we ready?”
“Yup.”
She noted the items Lily laid out along tables, over the backs of chairs and hooked carefully onto shelves.
“Props, girl. Props.” Lily smirked.
Charley rolled her eyes. “All of it?”
She hadn’t expected ten potential outfits, let alone the lack of material that went with them. She’d imagined skimpy, but not invisible.
“Oh my god, Lily!” Charley hissed. “What is that?”
“A costume.” Lily held it up, though she needed no more than a finger to show off the entire ensemble.
“That is not an outfit.” Charley shook her head. “No. No. No. No. No.”
“You’re a dancer, Charley, not an opera singer.” Lily went back to her pile of nothingness attire.
“How in the hell do I get myself in these situations?” Oh yeah. Wyatt. Charley paced and roamed. The room no longer held the same appeal—the books no longer invited.
“Because you are the best.” Lily stopped Charley with two hands on her upper arms. “The best. No one tops anything you’ve ever done.”
“You think I can pull this off?” You think I can keep Wyatt this time?
“Seriously?” Lily ran a hand through her hair. “What can’t you do, Charley? Answer me that. What can’t you do?”
Charley shrugged. Cael couldn’t imprint upon his memory and neither could James—they had to experience the action or reaction first hand. Lily’s talent lay in the details, and though she could change form to suit, she couldn’t hold it as long as the rest of them.
“I can’t be a man?” Charley flicked her wrist.
“Neither can I. That doesn’t count.”
“But Cael can be a woman.” Charley stopped at Lily’s glare.
Charley had drawn the long straw so long ago, with both the physical as well as mental talent. James came closest to her in a male’s form.
“You going to teach me, Lil?”
Lily laughed. “Ha! These three DVDs—one of which is Candie—and that pole.” Lily pointed. “You only have to practice enough to know the moves. Once you see her—” She added a hip thrust and a hand flick, her pinky held up. “—the rest will fall into place.”
“Please tell me it’s not porn.” Charley eyed Lily.
Efficient, effective and fun, Lily had been known to throw in a practical joke or two when she could.
“Not this time.
” Lily waved it away. “Technique. I have four memoirs by former dancers, former prostitutes, or current ones—”
Charley interrupted before Lily could continue. “What exactly do you think I’ll be doing?”
Lily laughed. “One never knows. One must be prepared. Be the one, Charley. Be her.”
“Let’s get this party started.”
“First things first.” Lily held up two outfits with less material than a string bikini. “Red or blue?”
• • •
Wyatt shuffled as he walked toward the study. He thought back to how quickly the team took in the information he’d given them. A few questions, a few statements, complete acknowledgement. It troubled him that they didn’t seem worried.
He shook off his unease, reminded himself that professionals became professional for a reason.
He slowed at the volume of the rock music pumping from within the room. The ping of cymbals and bass grew louder as he approached. Wyatt stopped, took a step backward, gave up and leaned a shoulder into the frame of the door. He shifted his back against the wall, drew up the papers in his hand and pretended to read on the off chance anyone caught him loitering outside the door.
“Turn! Quickly!” Lily directed.
“This is hell, Lily, shut up!” Charley said.
Wyatt let out a small chuckle. He couldn’t imagine how the dark-haired beauty who sat across from him an hour before could both transform and learn the moves of a seasoned professional. He’d watched Candie, had an eye for all the details. Intelligence his forte, he’d positioned himself in such a way that she’d seen him, too. Her babble and his earful had been mere coincidence but one that would promote his career if he succeeded.
A few grunts, curses and screeches later, the music disappeared. He shivered at the tap on his shoulder.
“Hear anything interesting in there?” Cael leaned against the wall in much the same way Wyatt had.
“Ah … just waiting for the appropriate time to knock.” He shrugged. “You’re going to join us in Montreal, aren’t you?”
“Not that you know,” Cael said.
“You really think she can pull this off?” Wyatt met Cael’s gaze head on.
“I know she can,” Cael said as James walked up.
“Can what?”
“Become the stripper.”
“Exotic dancer.” Wyatt waved the papers as if the corrected title remained concealed within them.
“Ah, gotcha. Hot girl dancing with a pole, half naked. Doesn’t matter to me what’cha call her.” James grinned. He moved to the door, one hand on the handle. “Shall we?”
James nodded at Cael, who nodded at Wyatt, and each in turn sauntered in.
Charley slid down the shaft of silver until she met the solid surface of the floor beneath her. Fitted with a red, sequined skivvy, Wyatt noted she’d kept her body in alignment on the way down—a move much like he’d seen Candie complete.
Lily loaded a classic rock song, and Charley stood, one hand draped against the pole like one would hold a long-time lover.
A surge of desire coursed through his body. A punch to his shoulder pulled his attention away.
“Let’s watch the show.” James moved to one of the couches, pushed to the side before their arrival.
Charley gave them each a one-fingered come-hither, complete with lips and tongue, her body bent halfway, breasts hung in the skimpiest of straps.
Like James, Wyatt sat, but unlike him, he kept the whistles and catcalls to himself. He shifted with less comfort than the two at his sides.
Charley slid down the pole. She climbed again, creating patterns of movement that flowed with the deep base that rocked the house. At the top, she slid one leg up, hung perpendicular to the floor. Her toes rose higher to the point the caress they would have provided, if Wyatt took its place, sent tingles along his body.
As the music grew to a crescendo, Charley spun, a lock of her hair whipped around; she caught it between her teeth. Cael jumped up, pulled out his wallet and tucked a five under her strap. She blew an upside down kiss with her free hand that went straight to Wyatt’s lips. As Cael sat again, James pounded on the table.
Charley, with a grace Wyatt would swear he’d seen before, returned to the top, twisted her ankles around the pole and draped herself upside down, held by what looked like six inch heels.
Wyatt forced himself still.
James and Cael had earned the right to laugh and make jokes if they chose.
As the music stopped, Charley lay prone against the floor, her back arched and her legs up against the pole.
She turned to Wyatt. “You didn’t like it?”
Wyatt stared, lost in her eyes. Another punch to the shoulder proved his inability to get her out of his head would cost him. “What? No.” He shook his head in quick measure. “I mean yes. Yes, I liked it.”
“Then why didn’t you clap? Whistle or holler?” Still on the ground, her chest heaved. With each intake of breath, her breasts pressed further into the material.
Wyatt could barely control his facade. He tugged at his slacks to loosen them from his crotch. “I’m sorry, I was just trying to be professional.”
Charley shrugged. “Okay. You know? I have a new respect for women who do this for a living.” She sat up and rubbed her calf. “This is more of a workout than I would have expected.” She leaned her head back and chugged the cool water Lily passed her. Cael’s tip waved from the string at her hips.
She kneaded muscles Wyatt assumed had grown sore from the movement before she wound herself around the pole again. With one long, slender leg, her painted toes reached for the ceiling. Her body fell back so it lay as if suspended by air. Her movements reminded him of a trapeze artist: lithe, rhythmic, sensual and completely erotic, even as she stood.
“Damn, Charley,” James said.
Wyatt shifted himself again with a quick leg cross, noting James’s eyes tracking up and down as he walked to her.
She slithered closer.
“You are seriously hot.” James danced hip to hip with her.
“You like?” She ran her hands up and down her long body, enticed, aroused and invited the wrong person.
Wyatt wondered if she could feel the heat radiating from his own body. His temperature had to have skyrocketed.
James reached his hands out to capture hers and follow along as she lowered them.
“Crap!”
Charley’s abrupt pause brought Wyatt’s visual feast to a halt.
“What language does Candie speak at the club, Wyatt?”
Wyatt coughed, covered his mouth which he found hung open. He closed his eyes in thought, two fingers to the bridge of his nose. “Ah—” He’d already forgotten the question.
Charley’s body filled the black space that pervaded his mind. Another punch in the arm brought him from his lost thoughts.
“French and English. They try to hire bilinguals. Wait staff speak both, fluently. The dancers are mixed.” Wyatt focused on a book on the far side of the room, but his gaze returned to Charley’s each time he tore it away. “Is that a problem?”
The five fell like a feather to the floor from Charley’s attire. “No.” She bent over and caught it right before it landed—though Wyatt’s eyes found themselves riveted not to the money.
His failure to control his body’s reactions shamed him more than the heat that raced to his cheeks.
“I’ll be okay.” The softness in her eyes surprised him.
“You speak French, right?” He hadn’t thought to ask.
“I do. A little rusty, but I’ll get by.” Charley added a wink to which Cael and James both chuckled.
“You’re a moron, Charley. You speak them both fluently,” Lily said. “Time’s a wastin’. Do it again.”
“She’s right. We can chat about details and logistics on the plane.” James turned his watch toward him. “We’re wheels up in sixty or the jet takes off without us.”
“Slave drivers.” With a swish of he
r hands, Charley motioned them all toward the door.
Wyatt stood to follow her instructions like a good boy scout.
“Wyatt?”
He turned. “Yeah?” Cael and James stopped, too.
“Cars are waiting, guys—shoo!” Charley waved them out.
Wyatt’s heart began a dangerous thump in his chest.
Charley sidled up to him. “Do I make you nervous?”
I would be better against a sniper I can’t see. “No.” He held his voice as flat and even as he could, his eyes direct on hers.
“Losin’ time, Charley!” James’s voice bellowed from the hallway.
She rolled her eyes, but her smile lit her face. Their bodies separated by only the fabric of his suit and the tiny triangles of her costume, Wyatt’s instincts insisted he reach, touch and taste.
“Get over here, Charley.” Lily pressed the button on the stereo and Queen blared through the room.
Wyatt pointed toward the door. “I’ll just—uh—I’ll just catch up to James.”
A small giggle escaped from Lily as she stuffed supplies into a bag, and he whisked himself away.
10
The Cessna Citation swept through the clouds and cruised somewhere around thirty-thousand feet. The sun sparkled off its wings, adding warmth to Charley’s spot by the window. After the hour of practice with the silver beast, her mind buzzed, pushing toward overload from the gross amount of information she’d digested. She relaxed into her seat, her body disengaging, and hoped her mind would follow.
Next to her, Lily read, and across from them both, James and Wyatt sat. Heads together, they scoured a mound of paper-based intelligence. The six-seater could have held Cael too, but thanks to the government’s stupid rule, he’d get his own transportation. Charley refused to be without a vital member of her team.
“Charley?” Wyatt said.
Eyes closed, head against the soft leather, she didn’t move. “Yeah?”
“I have Candie booked for seven tonight—a private arrangement. Is that enough time?”
“Yes.” She breathed in and out, the movement of her chest as smooth as the tilt of the plane’s wings.
“Is there anything you’d like to know?”
He worries like he used to. Charley opted not to let him know she understood. A bump of turbulence shook the plane before it leveled off again. “You can tell me about the club if you want.” She didn’t need more detail to be believed as Candie, but if it assuaged his own apprehension, he could run through it all again.
