“Are you saying I don’t belong in that club?” Indignant, Micki perched her hands on her hips, thrusting her breasts out. “That I can’t compete with the other women there? Is that what’s making you laugh at the thought of my going to a strip club?” she asked.
He blinked, sensing there was a wealth of information in that statement. Obviously, he’d touched a nerve. Knowing women as he did, he also realized anything he said now could get him into trouble.
In this case, trouble was a good thing if it kept her away from him. “Micki, I’m sure you can hold your own anywhere you go,” he said in a deliberately placating tone he often used to tick off his sisters.
“Even among naked women?” Micki blushed red, but to her credit she didn’t run away.
He figured he had the alcohol to thank for her lack of inhibition and muttered a curse. Meanwhile, his teammates looked on in amusement at their exchange.
“Hey, if you can handle yourself with these guys, you can handle yourself anywhere,” he said as if he didn’t believe his own words.
“Because I’m one of them? Good old Micki, one of the guys,” she spat, the disdain in her voice clear.
Now, where had that come from? He hardly viewed her as one of the team, but he wasn’t about to alter the impression she believed he had of her when it suited his purpose of creating distance.
“If you say so,” he muttered instead.
She nailed him with a vicious glare. “Come on, let’s get going,” she said to the rest of the men.
Damian shot Roper a warning look. Do not take her to a strip club.
Before Roper or Damian could react, the rest of the guys seemed to take her up on her suggestion and, with Micki in tow, headed toward the exit.
“Oh, hell.” He started after them, pulling Carter aside on his way.
He and the rookie had an obvious hate-thing going, but as the captain, Damian had done his best only to pick on the kid for real mistakes, and there’d been plenty.
Now Damian needed Carter’s help. As long as Carole was on his arm, Micki wouldn’t listen to a word Damian had to say. He needed to rid himself of Carole, and he had to do it fast because he didn’t trust anyone else to watch out for a drunken Micki except himself.
“How ’bout a peace gesture,” Damian offered the rookie.
Carter shrugged. “Sorry, man, but I don’t really give a crap whether or not we get along.” His cocky demeanor and smirk told Damian he meant what he said.
Okay, so he wasn’t going to do this the easy way. “Well, I’m going to do you a favor despite your sorry-ass attitude. Instead of the strip club, how about you take my date out?”
“You serious?” The young kid’s eyes narrowed in thought, probably at the idea of Carole’s huge, surgery-induced breasts.
“Deadly serious.”
The difference between Carole and Micki—beyond the obvious—was that Carole knew the score. Yeah, she’d be pissed at Damian for pawning her off on Carter, but she’d get over it. It wasn’t like they were exclusive; she dated other guys when Damian was out of town, which was most of the time. Not to mention that he’d had to coax her to go out with him tonight. He’d wondered if she was waiting for someone else to call.
Damian wouldn’t hear from her after this stunt, nor would he call her next time he was in town. No loss for either of them, really. Moving on was long overdue. Yeah, Damian wanted to look out for her feelings, but she could handle being passed off to Carter. Weighing who needed him more, Carole or Micki, there was no contest. Besides, Carole would probably enjoy Carter, who’d give her the kind of good time she was looking for.
Damian dug into his pocket and peeled off a couple of hundreds. “I’ll even pay for your dinner and drinks.”
From the corner of his eye, Damian saw Carole looking around for him in the bar while the guys were loading into cabs. “Well?”
Carter shrugged. “Why not? She looks like a good time, and the little publicist turned out to be a prude even after I plied her with alcohol.”
Damian clenched his jaw. He had no time now to deal with Carter and what he’d done to Micki, but he definitely would later.
An eager Carter snatched the bills and swaggered toward Carole while Damian caught the last cab with his teammates. Damian didn’t miss the irony. He was headed for Lacie’s Lounge, a strip joint he used to frequent in his younger days, so he could watch out for a woman destined to be his downfall in his declining years.
Once at the club, Damian thought things would get worse, but he was wrong. Micki sat quietly by Roper, taking in the women gyrating around the poles on stage. She hadn’t ordered a drink, which Damian took as a good sign, and he relaxed in his seat.
For the first time, he noticed the tight bond between Micki and Roper. Was there a thing between them he didn’t know about? Damian’s gut twisted in uncomfortable knots.
Suddenly the music shifted. The beat picked up. The women on stage altered their movements to the more sensual and seductive rhythm. Micki rose from her seat, mesmerized.
Damian started to stand, too, but Roper put a hand on his arm. “Let her go.”
Damian glanced at the other man.
“She needs this,” his teammate explained.
The words were cryptic, yet sincere. Damian lowered himself back into his seat, wary and uncomfortable.
As if aware he was staring, Micki turned and met his gaze. Their eyes held. The music pulsed around them in an erotic beat, increasing the awareness simmering between them that he still didn’t understand. She was the opposite of everything he normally desired and yet…
She broke the connection as she slowly gravitated toward the stage, seemingly fascinated by the women and their moves. Or maybe it was their skimpy clothing she wanted a better look at. Either way, she made her way forward, staggering a little as she walked.
Damian clenched his fists but forced himself to trust Roper’s judgment. Since Micki had been subdued since they’d entered Lacie’s, Damian didn’t see any harm in letting her watch from up close.
* * *
One minute Micki had been watching the women spinning onstage and the next she was up and striding closer. She knew she was drunk. She also knew that something about these uninhibited women fascinated her. What made them so bold? So daring? What caused the other women to strut and flaunt their assets while Micki withdrew into herself?
The rhythmic sounds of the music drew her and, wanting a closer view, she stepped toward the stage, looking for…what? Answers to her own insecurity, perhaps?
The tempo changed and Micki swayed her hips in time to the music, which she realized had picked up. The girls on stage were shimmying their breasts at the men in the front row.
Things in front of Micki blurred as she wondered what it would feel like to dance as if she were a woman every man wanted to look at and touch. To call his own. God, she thought, she really must be drunk.
One of the dancers held out a hand. Micki knew she wasn’t beckoning to her and yet she reacted as if she’d been lured onto the stage. This was her chance to find out what it would be like to be anyone other than every guy’s pal.
* * *
Damian bolted for Micki, but she’d already joined a dancer on the stage. Her hips swayed and she shimmied to the beat of the music in an exact imitation of the other woman’s expert moves. Damian’s mouth grew parched.
“We have to get her out of there,” Roper said from behind him.
“No shit.”
Damian placed a hand on the stage, intending to haul himself up, but Micki’s next movement stopped him. Eyes closed, she pulled down the top of her sundress, revealing a sexy, lace, strapless bra, one transparent enough that her full breasts were exposed for the world to see.
“Oh, shit.” Damian jumped up to pull her off the stage but another patron was already there.
The big bull of a guy obviously knew it was hands off when it came to the women who were performing, but had decided the house rules didn’t a
pply to a regular customer like Micki. The guy didn’t bother tucking cash into Micki’s strapless lace bra, he just groped her breast instead.
Without warning, possessive anger and fury surged through Damian, along with one thought: No one touches her but me.
Micki’s expression reflected delayed horror as she suddenly realized what was going on. She screamed and slapped the guy groping her, but he didn’t seem bothered at all. Damian intervened, grabbing the drunk by his collar and hauling him away from Micki. While his teammates held the man down, Damian lifted Micki into his arms, doing his best to protect his wrist, and headed for the door.
Straight into the glaring lights of the paparazzi.
* * *
Safe and secure in the cab, Damian finally caught his breath. Looking back, he realized Micki hadn’t fought his rescue attempt. On the contrary, she’d wrapped her arms around his neck and let him whisk her away. She’d even appeared oblivious to the flashbulbs that followed them to the taxi door.
Damian didn’t know how the press had been privy to where the team would be. He’d done his best to get Micki out of there quickly and anonymously. He could only hope the photographers hadn’t caught anything more than a shot of the back of a woman’s head, but Micki had been squirming, so who knew?
Now, inside the taxi, instead of sitting on her own side of the cab, Micki draped herself across Damian. Hard as he tried to ignore her, he couldn’t avoid noticing how nicely her soft body and lush curves curled against him. Her full breasts pressed enticingly against his chest, making him painfully aware that she was every inch a woman he desired.
“What do you say you move over?” he suggested.
Her warm breath fanned his neck and tickled his ear and she curled her fingertips into his shirt collar. “I’m comfortable here.”
“But it’s safer over there.” He tipped his head to the side.
“Since when do you play it safe?” she asked in a husky purr.
He told himself it was the alcohol talking, but she’d kissed him that last time and she’d been perfectly sober. He shook his head to clear those thoughts. He wasn’t going to take advantage of her now.
“What’s the matter? Cat got your tongue?” Micki tipped her head back and looked at him.
In her eyes he saw a mixture of innocence and seductiveness in one tempting package.
“Mmm-hmm,” he murmured, unable to think or focus on anything except the woman in his arms.
She shook her head and her curls fell around her face. “Wouldn’t you rather I have your tongue?” she said, and then, without giving him a chance to answer, she leaned close and sealed her lips over his.
He wanted to do the right thing, the chivalrous thing, and stop her before things got out of control. But the minute her mouth touched his, he was lost, unable to do anything except succumb to her will, and she had plenty. Her mouth pressed hard on his and her tongue slipped between his parted lips. She teased with her eager tongue and nipped with her teeth, proving exactly how much she desired him.
As she worked magic with her mouth, her body reacted, too. Her nipples tightened and pressed against his chest, the flimsy bra he’d seen earlier doing nothing to protect him against the hot sensations she’d aroused.
Yet somehow he kept his hands on her small waist. Somehow he resisted the urge to cup her breasts in his palms. And somehow he refused to allow his hands to explore the rest of her soft flesh and supple curves.
But over time his body tightened, overloaded by sensations that had him teetering on the brink of losing control. Unable to restrain himself anymore, he threaded his hands into her hair, slanted her head and kissed her back, hard and hot, holding nothing back. His mouth fit perfectly with hers and her warm heat settled over his cock, showing him a prelude of what could be, if only he gave in to desire.
Without warning, the taxi hit a bump in the road, jarring Damian back to unwelcome reality. The woman in his lap needed rescuing, not ravishing.
He wasn’t happy but he broke the kiss, letting them both come up for air. Though it was dark in the cab, he could see her tangled hair and moist lips and the sight made him want to start kissing her all over again. Resisting was the most difficult thing he’d ever done. Because he’d just learned that Micki was the one thing he feared: the hot number he just couldn’t resist.
She sighed and leaned her cheek against his, a soft, sweet gesture that hit him like a punch in the gut. Damn, he wished they’d get to the hotel soon. He smoothed the back of her hair and she slowly slipped downward until her head lay in his lap and her eyelids drifted shut.
“Fuck.” No doubt about it, she was put on this earth to test him, Damian thought.
He leaned his head against the old seats and gritted his teeth, trying not to imagine her head in his lap for other reasons – her mouth around his cock, making him come. A futile effort since the images still came—her curly hair brushing his stomach and bare thighs, and her warm, moist, lush mouth closing over his aching dick. He exhaled a slow, loud groan, not caring if the cabdriver heard.
From her place in his lap, Micki muttered something he couldn’t make out, nor did he care. He couldn’t focus on anything except the vibration of the car beneath him and Micki’s lips an inch away from his cock. With the next pothole and bump in the road, Damian decided chivalry was way overrated. He wasn’t a guy used to denying himself basic needs. Hell, he’d never had a reason.
But he did now, he reminded himself. Because no way did he plan on doing anything more. He’d bring Micki safely upstairs and watch over her until the stupor passed.
They finally reached the hotel. He carried her from the cab up to her room, not an easy feat with both late-night guests and bellmen staring at the sight.
Once in the room, he focused on the necessities. With jaw clenched, he changed her clothes, managing to do no more than skim her curves with his hands, and look through half-shut eyes as he pulled off the dress and replaced it with a shirt he found in her drawer. Micki was so exhausted, she didn’t attempt another seduction, and he was grateful. He was even more pleased when he finally laid her beneath the covers for the night.
By the time Damian poured himself a glass of whiskey from the minibar and eased into a club chair next to the bed, he was exhausted. The chair wouldn’t be comfortable, but he settled in for a long night.
He knew better than to crawl into that bed. Lying beside Micki on the small mattress would provide too much temptation for a saint. And despite his restraint tonight, Damian had never claimed to be one of those.
CHAPTER FOUR
Micki awoke, painfully aware she wanted to die, but not until after she killed Ricky Carter. The last thing she remembered about her night was Carter telling her he’d turned her iced teas into the more potent Long Island kind. The first thing she recalled this morning was a mouth full of cotton and a headache the likes of which she’d never felt before. Drums beat in her skull and she lay in bed unable to move, let alone rise and get a glass of water or Tylenol.
“Here. Take this.”
She forced her dry, heavy eyelids open and saw a glass of water and two pills in a large masculine hand. “Damian.”
Just like that, highlights of last night came back to her in mortifying, vivid detail. She’d stripped in the bar, been carried out in Damian’s arms and, as thanks, she’d attempted to seduce him in the cab.
Oh, my God. She would have rolled over and hid in embarrassment, except she needed that water desperately. When she sat up too quickly, dizziness hit her hard and she fell back against the pillow, each movement causing pain of a different kind.
“Easy.” He helped her to an upright position and she gratefully swallowed the pills, gulping the liquid fast.
“Thank you.” She kept her eyelids shut tight, more out of mortification than need. “I’m guessing you brought me back to…where are we, anyway?”
“We’re in your hotel room. I figured you wouldn’t mind me invading your privacy to find your key card i
f it meant you didn’t have to spend the night in my room. And you’re welcome.”
“You’re quite the gentleman,” she said wryly. “What time is it anyway?”
“A little after noon.”
The camp. Her job. Panic assaulted her. Her eyes shot open and she bolted up, or at least she tried to, but Damian had anticipated her reaction and placed his hands on her shoulders to hold her down.
Her eyes darted around the room. “I’m late for work, you’re late for the camp. We have to get moving.” But even as she argued, her pounding head and the waves of nausea clearly told her she wasn’t going anywhere at the moment.
“Sophie’s handling everything,” he said, as he loosened his grip on her shoulders.
Sophie had flown down to Florida? She eased back against the pillows and finally turned her heavy-lidded gaze to Damian.
Even in a rumpled, razor-stubbled state he was the most handsome man she’d ever laid eyes on, while she probably looked worse than roadkill. So much for all of Sophie’s lessons and hard work.
“How did Sophie get here in time?” Micki asked.
He rose and walked barefoot across the carpet to the window where he’d thoughtfully kept the shades drawn. “I called her late last night. And before you say another word, how much of last night do you remember?”
Micki narrowed her gaze. If she claimed not to remember the kiss, would he continue to pretend it had never happened? Could that be what he’d done the last time, when he’d been the one drunk and out of control? If so, she could definitely understand his perspective better now that she’d walked in his shoes. But she had no intention of handling the situation the same way. Denial wasn’t Micki’s style, but since it apparently was Damian’s, she wouldn’t rush into dealing with what had happened last night.
Hot Number (Hot Zone Book 2) Page 5
