“Girl, those chicken arms are the least of your problems. I wouldn’t know where to start.” Shaking her head, the other woman stalked away.
That five minutes had been a better floor show than the last three dancers. Brad definitely felt he’d gotten his money’s worth for the night. But he didn’t want a careless comment to poke at Trina’s ego. “You’re not scrawny. You’re, uh, compact.”
“Geez, and you’re horrible at compliments.” Trina wrinkled her nose. “Compact makes me sound like a bulldog. Or a trash bag you tamp down to squeeze in another milk carton. Don’t you know how to talk to a woman?”
How the hell was he supposed to answer that without coming off as an arrogant dick or an idiot? Brad swirled the ice cubes in his drink. Couldn’t even hear them clink over the relentless thump of the music. Did she really expect him to be Mr. Smooth Talker when they were screaming at each other just to be heard?
“Depends on who you ask. My mom says I’m a closed book. My homicide captain says I joke too much. And my ex-fiancée was never around enough to notice if I opened my mouth or not.” Shit. Where did that oversharing dump come from? Maybe he had a second-hand high from the weed he was trying to ignore being smoked three tables over. Not his jurisdiction, not a dead body, and so not his problem. “Regardless, I haven’t had much practice lately.”
She spread her arms wide in invitation. “Want to practice on me?”
That stung. Brad might be on a break from all things soft and feminine, but he could still get a girl—any girl he wanted—with the verbal equivalent of crooking his little finger. Being on the bench for a few months while he got over being dumped didn’t mean he’d forgotten how to play the game. Brad stood. Stretched himself all the way up to his full six feet and three inches. Even in her ridiculous shoes, he loomed over Trina. Then he cupped a hand to her ear, making sure to let his breath warm it before he spoke.
“Honey, the things I want to do to you, I don’t need any practice. I’m an expert.”
Her hand fluttered up to her heart, covering up that just-enough-of-a-handful cleavage. At the same time, her eyelids fluttered shut. Then Trina suddenly sucked in a deep breath.
“You ought to carry a license to chill. Look at me.” She stuck out her arm. “I’m covered in goose bumps now. Oh, you’re good. But you’re not a super hero. Why bother hiding a talent like that from the world?”
“‘With great power comes great responsibility,’” he quoted in an ultra-serious voice.
Trina burst into delighted laughter. “A man who knows his Spider-Man, I see. Impressive. I’m more of a Superman girl, myself. I do love a man in a cape.” She narrowed her eyes. Gave him a head-to-toe onceover identical to the one he’d given her a few minutes ago.
“You look like you’re measuring me for a cape. Let me stop you right there. That’s never going to happen. Not on Halloween, not ever.” Brad hated dressing up. One of the perks of making detective was not having to drag on his uniform and god-awful hat every day. His go-to for costume parties was to wear trunks and a bathrobe, and claim to be a medal-winning swimmer.
“No, I picture you as Captain America. The shield. Protecting the country against wrongdoers, just like you do now. You’ve got the hair for it.” Her hand reached out to skim along the side of his head. “Probably the agility, reflexes and endurance, too.”
“Definitely the endurance,” he said with a significant double waggle of his eyebrows. That squeezed another trill of laughter from her. And Brad realized he was having a great time flirting with the cute redhead. As long as he ignored the eardrum-busting music, the lap dancer sticking her tongue out at him while she dry-humped the guy in front of them, and what had to be a frat guy puking in the fake bushes in the corner. He’d never thought of a strip club as a good pick-up joint before. Hire by the hour, maybe, but not really a place to get his flirt on. Who knew?
Trina slid her tray off the table and onto her shoulder. “I’d better go deliver these drinks. But if you can stick around, I get my dinner break in a few minutes. We can chat more then.” She swished away, her grass skirt revealing just the slightest hint of under-ass. Damn, it was hot.
Brad thought back four months. He and Coop had stayed at their family’s beach house in Ocean City for a week. Ran into Trina and her best friend, Darcy. While Coop and Darcy got tangled up in each other, all four of them got tangled in what he’d suspected to be nothing more than a wild flight of imagination on Trina’s part. In actuality, it ended with the girls being held at gunpoint and the guys locking up a particularly disgusting criminal who preyed on foreign teenagers.
Trina had been a lot of things that week on the beach. Crazy. Capable of cobbling impossible assumptions together into a surprisingly solid case. Wacky. As addicted to changing careers as he was to the Orioles. Adorable. Way too deep a pool for him to jump into at that cataclysmic point in his life. But the one thing she definitely hadn’t been was a stripper.
Why would a nice girl from Baltimore be working in an AC strip joint? Especially one with a solid friend like Darcy, who Brad was sure didn’t know about this job, and would definitely not approve. Couldn’t be a money thing. If Trina was hard up, Darcy would’ve either taken her in or handed over a loan. It didn’t make sense. And the more he thought on it, it sure as hell didn’t feel right.
Coop was family to Brad—by choice, not just because of their matching blue eyes. And even a rookie cop could read the clues to know that Coop would fold Darcy into that family sooner rather than later. Which made Trina a friend-in-law, at the very least. Which meant he had to look out for her.
Totally altruistic. Just the right thing to do. Nothing to do with how he’d wanted to plant his fist in the guy three tables over who’d tried to smack Trina’s ass as she walked by. Or how the thought of some other guy getting the same eyeful of bra and breast that he had made him a little crazy.
He finished off the brownish water left at the bottom of his drink and slammed it on the table. Club Eden was no place for a sweet and funny woman like Trina. And he wouldn’t waste any more time flirting while jackasses gaped their fill of her. Cape or no, he intended to rescue her from this pit. Brad stood, intent on charging off to find her. Luckily, she appeared from behind a listing palm.
Grabbing his sport coat off the banquette, Brad draped it around her shoulders. “We’re leaving.”
Lips pursed, she cocked her head. “You want to come with me to dinner?”
What he wanted was to throw her over his shoulder and make a run for the door. But mindful of the bouncer, Brad just put a hand at the small of her back to urge her forward. “I want to take you away from here,” he growled. “Dinner, drinks, back to Baltimore—take your pick.”
“I do need to be back in less than an hour, but geez, you really offer a girl the world. All I had in mind was some boardwalk fries and a soda.”
Brad turned sideways to avoid a collision with a string of three very topless, oiled-up and glittery dancers. “We can decide the menu later. It’s hard for me to think about food with all this nakedness around me.”
“Shucks.” She paused in the doorway, the ceiling gels putting a pink glow all around her. Gave him a sly, knowing smile. “There goes my fantasy of having you lick a hot fudge sundae off of various naked parts of me.”
Chapter Two
As soon as they cleared the always-sticky threshold of Club Eden, Brad threw an arm around Trina’s waist and hustled her down the sidewalk. Not that Trina objected. Being leered at and “accidentally” groped for hours on end wasn’t her idea of a good time. Getting away from the smoke and the stench of alcohol, the music and the strobe lighting would do wonders for the headache she developed each night at this point in her shift. Her mood, now, that had picked up to somewhere just this side of awesome once she spotted Brad. She’d harbored a crush on the detective since the moment they met last summer. Fate dumpi
ng her almost into his lap tonight must be a reward for...well, something.
“How about we get some air before dinner?” he asked after they’d gone a block in complete silence.
“Sounds good.” Although food could wait. She’d far rather keep walking, tucked against Brad’s side. Feeling his warmth as their thighs brushed. The strength of his biceps against her back. It was all kinds of wonderful. It had been way too long since she’d gotten this close to a man. And she couldn’t think of a better way to end her dry spell than Brad Hudson.
At the end of the next block, he steered them onto the wide, weathered boards of the iconic Boardwalk. Early October meant it was still warm enough for shorts some days, but at night a determinedly cool breeze came off the water. A gaggle of teenaged girls giggled their way past, all clutching plates of golden brown funnel cake covered in a thick layer of powdered sugar. Two lazy sea gulls sat on the edge of an overflowing trash can. Aside from that, she and Brad were alone.
Garish lights of the Boardwalk behind them were as bright as midday. It was about as romantic as the cat food aisle in a grocery store. But in front of them, from the dunes onward, was nothing but the unrelieved darkness of the ocean and the evening sky. And darkness had great romantic potential.
“Are you rescuing me?” she asked breathlessly. Because that would be wonderful. Sexy as all get out. Romantic, albeit totally unnecessary. Trina could take care of herself.
Without hesitation, Brad said, “If you need rescuing, then sure, I’m your guy.”
Excellent. A real-life hero at the ready. Her very own white knight for the night. “I don’t, actually, but thanks for the offer.”
He glared down at her. “Maybe I think you do need to be rescued. Does Darcy know you’re here? In AC? Working in a strip joint?”
If that was his interrogation-room voice—and it was more than scary and hard-edged enough to be—then the criminals of Baltimore didn’t stand a chance. Still, she’d done nothing wrong and refused to be steam-rolled by someone clearly in a mood. Throwing attitude around was not a one-sided game. So Trina jutted her chin out a little. Cricked her head waaaay back to look up at him. And put a little extra sway in her hips to make sure to bump against him every time she thrust out her leg.
“Yes to the first. Both parts. No to the second.” Trust a cop to make a big deal out of a perfectly legitimate job. So lots of her co-workers spent their shifts mostly naked. So what? Were Brad’s questions fueled by his protect-and-serve mentality? Or was he that much of a stick-in-the-mud? Because she didn’t want to waste her time trying to break her dry spell with somebody using their police badge as a chastity belt.
He leaned against the railing to the dune crossing. Crossed his arms over that big, broad chest. “Are you ashamed to tell her?”
Wow. Thorough was his middle name. Trina bet he was the kind of guy who flossed every night. Never skipped. Because it was the right thing to do. She backed up until her butt met the opposite railing. Mirrored his pose. “I just never got around to it. Do you tell your best friend every single thing you do at work?”
“Coop’s my partner. He knows what I do all day, ’cause he’s with me.”
“Oh, yeah.” So much for trying to deflect the question back on to him. That was supposed to work in an interrogation. Trina made a mental note to figure out later how she’d screwed it up. Mistakes were learning tools, after all. And she sure learned a lot on any given day.
“Besides, a strip club isn’t work. It’s a one-way ticket to a crap life.” One big step was all it took to bring him flush with her on the other side of the narrow path. Brad caged her in with his arms. “Do you need money? A job? All you have to do is let me help. Because let me tell you, what you’re doing now with your life is a very bad idea. Very dangerous.”
It absolutely tickled her that he was pulling this gallant routine. Such fierce protectiveness for someone he barely knew said a lot about Brad’s character. It made him even more appealing. But the hammering away at her had to stop. No matter how blue his eyes were, Trina refused to put up with being talked down to like that. “I don’t need a job. I have one. And your cousin got it for me, so don’t be so judgmental.”
His mouth gaped wide open. Brad stepped back. Plowed a hand through all that thick and perfect hair. “Coop got you a job in a strip club?”
“No, silly.” Oh. That’s why he wouldn’t drop this thing. She’d forgotten to mention that Club Eden was just a ruse. A loud and smelly sham of a career. Of course, a hard-core sham. One that forced her to walk miles every night in painful shoes, and knotted up her shoulders from carrying the loaded drink trays. “I’m here undercover.” Trina dropped her voice to a stage whisper on the last word.
“What the hell do you mean? ’Cause from where I’m standing, you’re barely covered at all.” Sandwiching the lapel of his jacket between his thumb and fingers, Brad slid his hand up and down it, knuckles almost touching her breast.
Trina almost forgot to breathe. Then sucked in a lungful, hoping it would expand her chest enough to cause an accidental touch. Maybe all Brad needed was a little shove in the right direction. That direction, of course, being right onto her lips. “Um, that private eye Coop hooked me up with at the beginning of the summer? Joe Shulman? I’m working for him on a case right now. I’m officially a junior investigator trainee.”
His hand fell back to his side as he snorted. “That sounds like a certificate that you send away for with three cereal box tops.”
Okay. So she’d made up the title. Joe, in a weak moment, had agreed to let her use it. It might not sound as official as Detective Hudson’s title, but it made her feel official. That mattered. Especially after the first few months of filing and research and general gopher-type assignments Joe heaped upon her. She’d been okay with paying her dues, as long as it meant she was on track to become a full-fledged investigator. Using the title was a way to remind Joe, and herself, of the endgame.
Brad looked out across the dune at the blackness. Shook his head. Turned back to her. “I need to hear you say it. Tell me that you don’t really want to be a topless dancer.”
“Of course not. My boobs aren’t big enough, for starters.”
All that fierce protectiveness fell from his face. Replaced by a different kind of fierceness as he dropped his gaze and flat out ogled. “They look fine to me. Just big enough.”
“Thanks, I guess.” Lame. Not a flirty response at all. She needed to regroup. Get him off the topic of her pretend job. Put it to rest once and for all and move on to something more fun. And flirty, of course. “This waitressing is just a temporary gig while I dig up some dirt on a customer. I’ll be glad to dump it when I’m done. Gotta admit, I won’t miss it. I love new experiences. Kind of addicted to them, really. But I had my fill of this one after about half an hour.”
A full grin transformed his face. Even better, it revealed a dimple on the left side. “I’m relieved to hear you say that. Guess I can take my finger off of speed dial to call Darcy and Coop and get them down here for an intervention to save you.”
Near-crisis averted. Because Trina firmly believed in saving herself. Not that she needed it right now. But it was a good motto to live by. She’d been caught unprepared this summer when held up at gunpoint. And had vowed to never be that helpless again. “I do get to keep the paycheck and the tips, so that’s an added bonus.”
“Well, I hope they let you keep the uniform, too.”
Trina hated the uniform. The shoes hurt. The grass skirt chafed along her hips. And the stupid vines around her bra top just drove her nuts. But seeing the look in Brad’s eyes, hearing the deep thickness of his voice, made her want to keep it. Or at least, keep it on until he decided to rip it right off.
Oh yeah, she was just as attracted to Bradley Hudson now as when she’d seen first spied him, tan and wearing only trunks. They’d flirted l
ike crazy that whole week on the beach. She’d fallen fast and hard for the hot blond hunk with his thick hair, ripped muscles and dreamy blue eyes. Sparks had flown both ways. And then...nothing. Not even a kiss. Then she left the beach and didn’t hear another word from him. Unless you counted how often he visited her in dreams. Yummy dreams.
The way he was looking at her right now left no room for interpretation. He was interested. But half a second away from launching herself at him, Trina stopped. Decided to think through her action plan first. Joe constantly reminded her to take the time to plan and then review the plan before enacting it. To be methodical rather than her go-to spontaneity. So she thought about it. Thought about how there’d been just as much interest at the beach, and yet he’d walked away. Wondered what had stopped him. Wondered if whatever it was might stop him again, now. Leave her feeling like an idiot.
Back then, she remembered, he’d just come off a broken engagement. Which she’d hoped meant he was up for some hot rebound nookie. That sure didn’t pan out. But, come on, he was a guy. No way was Brad still nursing a broken heart. Men healed and moved on much faster than women. So if he wasn’t still moping about his ex, why’d he been drinking at Club Eden? Alone? Looking none too happy about the situation, either.
Yeah, the safest course of action (something else Joe always counseled, to the point of boredom—a totally safe life struck Trina as a fun-free zone) would be to figure out why Brad was here. Before launching herself at him like a stud-seeking missile. After all, he’d given her the third degree about being in Atlantic City. It’d be, yes, fun to turn the tables on him.
She shot out a hip and shook a finger at him. “Forget my uniform. Why aren’t you back in Charm City wearing yours? Fighting crime and kicking bad-guy ass?”
“Detectives don’t wear uniforms. Unless you count the bullet-proof vests we put on when things might get hairy.”
“You think you can skate right past my subtlety? Nice try, but I don’t give up that easy. So I’ll come right out and ask: Why are you here? Now? Alone?”
Love on the Boardwalk Page 2
