Wild About The Bodyguard

by Tabitha Robbins

  “I work Sundays,” he whispered, filing fingers through her bed hair.

  She grumbled against his skin. “Who works Sundays?”

  “Guys who run gentlemen’s clubs.”

  She groaned. “Isn’t the idea of a men’s only club a little Victorian?”

  “Women have their clubs. Look at the GFWC.”

  “The General Federation of Women’s Clubs is different. They help communities. Give voices to people who wouldn’t otherwise get heard.”

  He loved her sense of right. “Well, now...you’re all social commentary this morning.”

  “Just saying...” she said, snuggling back in, “they don’t sit around puffing cigars and playing 7 Card Stud.”

  His chest tightened. “Most of those men give bucket-loads to charity. All kinds.”

  She seemed to let that sink in and then apologized. “Guess it’s more about me not getting the whole elitist, sense-of-privilege thing.”

  Neither did Chase. Although he wasn’t ready to confess that to anyone, including Sammy. She was entitled to her opinion.

  “Not that there’s anything wrong with providing a service,” she added. “Catering to a need, if there’s one. Guess you only need a few dozen fabulously wealthy men to sign up each year to keep the coffers overflowing.”

  He sat up and ran a hand through his hair. “I assure you—my coffers do not overflow.”

  “Really?” She pushed up on one elbow. “Have you ever thought about expanding the membership then? Maybe giving folk the opportunity to make wives and girlfriends associate members or something?”

  “It’s not that easy.”

  “Because you don’t want to ruffle any old school feathers?”

  “If you want to know...yeah, that’s partly the reason.”

  “The same reason you won’t make our case a whole lot easier by simply asking Garfield how his wife came by my ring.”

  He looked at her twice. “Getting impatient already?”

  “Just asking the question.”

  “I’ve explained how we ought to play this. We need to establish the facts first.”

  “You did explain.” She flopped back and stared at the ceiling. “And you’re right... I guess...”

  “Nothing comes easy, Sammy.”

  “Except me last night.”

  About to pull on his jeans, Chase stopped and gave in to a grin. Curling over her, he pressed a kiss upon her plump, warm smile. When it came to sex—to making love—Sammy truly was something else.

  After he kissed her deeply, she sighed and curled her arms around his neck. “Does this mean you’re having the day off?”

  He’d like nothing better, but, “Today I need to go into the office. Tomorrow I’m paying your former building super a visit. Ferdinand Rompus still looks after the same place.”

  Sammy shuddered. “Creepy man. Smelled funny, too. Like sardines.”

  “There was someone else.” Chase tried to sound casual. “The police report took note of a boy in your year...David Green.”

  “Sure. David was in my drama class. He was an okay kind of guy. Not so memorable, except he was real self-conscious about a blackened eye tooth. He hardly ever smiled.”

  “What was his family life like?”

  “I only went to his place once. His dad was a slob. Smoked pot.”

  That fit. “Did David have any siblings?” he asked, already knowing. It hadn’t been difficult to check.

  “An older brother,” she said. “Don’t recall his name.”

  Chase knew it. The name was carved into his brain. Hurly Green.

  “Did you ever mention the ring to David?” Chase asked.

  “One night we got smashed on beer, just the two of us. First and last time I ever got drunk. I was having a hard time with a stupid teacher who was riding my back. You know how things like that mean everything when you’re a kid.” Her head angled as she remembered more. “I’ve never been a hundred percent sure, but I feel I might’ve said something that night. Around that time, I had this obsession thinking we ought to sell the ring and live it up for a change. Stupid.”

  “What was the ring insured for?”

  “It’s all in those papers.” She ran a fingertip over his lips. “Mind if I come along when you question Ferdinand?”

  “I thought you said he creeped you out.”

  “There’s nothing like life experience where learning one’s craft is concerned. I’m dying to see a real P.I. in action.”

  His grin brushed her lips. “What do you think I was doing last night?”

  She pulled him closer. “Just getting started.”

  When Chase dropped Sammy home, she bounced out onto the pavement and tossed out an invitation. God, she looked cute in those jeans and Giants Tee. She looked even better out of them.

  “Sunday nights I usually go to a club of my own,” she said. “Wanna tag along?”

  “What time will I pick you up?”

  “I’ll grab a lift with a friend. Meet you there.” She gave an address. “Around eight?”

  “Eight’s perfect.”

  “Just to warn you...it’s a thousand times different to The Don. You might be a little shocked.”

  He chuckled. “It’d take a lot.”

  Fifteen minutes later, Chase was behind his desk, sorting through figures and more figures. But this morning it didn’t feel like such a slog. As his pencil scanned the list of creditors and associated figures, he even found himself whistling, that same tune Sammy had destroyed on the drive home the night before. He couldn’t help it. He liked everything about her, particularly the quirky stuff. He was seriously looking forward to tonight.

  When Tessa walked in through his opened door, Chase put those thoughts aside.

  “What are you doing here on a Sunday?” he asked, surprised. Tessa worked Monday through Friday.

  “I have to put something together for the anniversary celebrations. Invitations need to go out. I wanted to be certain...you’re still opposed to the girls getting an invite?”

  Collecting his pencil again, he mumbled, “What is it with everyone today?”

  “Sorry. You lost me.”

  “I woke up this morning to someone suggesting we open up membership to females.”

  Tessa’s expression froze before she straightened and rolled back a shoulder.

  Chase took a moment. Was Tessa cut over his reaction to the mixed gender invite issue again, or to his slip about having had a guest stay with him overnight? He hadn’t meant to put that out there. By the same token, he had never indicated that he wanted any relationship with Tessa other than the one they shared at the office.

  As far as these anniversary celebrations were concerned—he was over it.

  “You make the decision, the arrangements,” he said. “Whatever you think best. I’ll sign off on it.”

  She brightened. “So, dates can come?”

  “Sure.” Why the hell not.

  Tessa sounded pleased heading out. “Can I get you a coffee?”

  “Great idea.”

  When he glanced up, she was standing by the door.

  “Is there something else?” he asked.

  “I was going out to grab a bite around twelve,” she said. “Care to join me?”

  He and Sammy had skipped breakfast in favour of more time spent under the sheets. Now his stomach rumbled. He could do with a big juicy steak in an hour or so. But then he caught that glimmer in Tessa’s eye and thought better of it. She didn’t need mixed signals. He didn’t want to be blunt, either. He liked Tessa. Just not that way.

  He tapped his pencil on the sheet. “I need to get these figures done. Get some creditors off our back.”

  She wound a bouncy chestnut wave behind a diamond-studded ear. “After work then?”

  He tried to keep his expression neutral. “I have something on tonight.”

  Her smile wilted before she smiled again. “I’ll get that coffee.”

  As she walked out, he ignored a rear v
iew of her snug red skirt. Tessa was attractive, smart. And they worked together.

  Then again, he and Sammy worked together, too.

  But soon, God willing, the case of the courtesan’s ruby ring would be solved. After that...there wasn’t a reason in the world he and Sammy shouldn’t continue to see one another. Now that he’d given a green light to the extended invite idea, she might like to come to the club’s anniversary bash. Although that meant her battling the temptation of cornering Hector Garfield…

  Hell, maybe he ought to grow a pair, like Sammy had suggested, and simply ask Garfield about the ring himself.

  Chapter 9

  That evening, as Chase walked in through the main area of Sammy’s nightclub, he spotted her straight off. Standing in the muted light with other patrons by a bar table, she wore a black, light-weight knitted top with dark tights that pulled his eyes right out of his head. Her hair was wild—mussed with the occasional streak of bright pink. On another woman, the look might have come across as trying too hard. On Sammy, it was a knock out.

  When she saw him, her arm shot up. She waved madly before wading through the negligible crowd, which was enjoying the heavy-on-base music. The tantalizing sway of her hips was unconscious. Her smile was electric—wide and locked-in. As she joined him, her special scent wrapped around his senses and he was dragged in all the more. He reached to bring her close; he wanted to kiss her until her toes curled in those sensational high-heeled boots.

  But he hesitated. Did they have that kind of relationship? Clearly she didn’t expect a “Hi, honey!” smooch because she simply snatched up his hand and tugged him back toward her table. Raising her voice to be heard over the music, she glanced back over her shoulder.

  “You look particularly hot tonight, Mr. Wild.”

  “You look pretty edible yourself,” he replied.

  With a provocative grin, she dropped back and walked alongside of him. Somehow their fingers loosened and hands dropped away.

  “Sorry I’m a little late,” he said. “Leo dropped over.”

  “Everything okay?”

  “He was down. He had to get rid of his assistant. Too much of a distraction.”

  “Leo doesn’t mix business with pleasure, I take it.”

  “Not to date.”

  “I remember you didn’t want to get involved with me, either.”

  First time in his life he didn’t mind being wrong.

  Sitting on a stool at the table, a sultry brunette in a long, dark dress took note of their approach. When her indolent false-lashed gaze slowly blinked, Chase was reminded of a pampered cat. Sammy made the introductions.

  “Laycee Hall, meet Chase Wild.”

  “The man with a club of his own.” Laycee nodded at his shoulder. “You have a tattoo I need to see.” Forearms folded on the tabletop, Laycee leaned forward. “I’m always intrigued by big snakes.”

  Chase edged a look Sammy’s way. Had she told her friend the details surrounding their first meeting in the locker room or that they’d gotten naked together since?

  When a mega buff guy sauntered up, Laycee’s “too cool for school” mask slipped as she gripped the man’s impressive shoulder.

  “Here’s one of my almost happy customers,” Laycee said.

  The man extended his hand and they shook. “You must be Chase. Jay Scott.” He sat beside Laycee. “Guess we’re talking ink.”

  “Stencil was on, the motor running,” Laycee explained, “when Jay suffered a sudden change of heart.”

  Chase wasn’t sure, but under that well-groomed stubble, Jay might have blushed. No need to embarrass the poor guy more. Or get him upset. This guy was muscle heaped on muscle.

  “Chase is into stencils, too,” Sammy said. “And some pretty weird tools. You should see his pliers.” Heading off, Sammy tossed over her shoulder, “I’ll grab us a couple of beers.”

  As the song changed into something grungier, Chase faced two people whose wary looks said, “Pliers?”

  Resetting his smile, Chase explained. “I’m renovating a house.”

  Jay nodded deeply. “A lot of money in restoring places and shifting them on.”

  “I’m not sure I want to get rid of this one. Not sure I ever want to finish it, actually. I’m enjoying the work too much. Right now I’m putting together a stained glass panel.”

  Laycee perked up. “You have an artistic bent? I have a few of my own designs.”

  Sammy was back.

  “I’m not artistic, as such.” Chase accepted the beer Sammy handed over before adding, “But I like a challenge. Nothing better than piecing things together until they fit just right.”

  Laycee shifted her gaze to Sammy, who was fake punching Jay in that monster bicep of his. Chase worked out regularly, but he was a midget compared to this guy.

  “When’s your first dance, Valentino?” Sammy asked Jay.

  “Keep your britches on.” Jay straightened an imaginary bowtie. “The crowd isn’t here yet.”

  Laycee grinned. “You mean the screaming, fainting hoards of females who shove big bills at your even bigger—”

  “Let Chase get to know us a little better,” Jay cut in, “before you dazzle him with your extensive vocabulary.”

  Laycee slowly grinned. “Mr. Wild doesn’t look like the retiring type.”

  One hour and another beer later, the joint was pumping. The area was packed, mainly with hormone-infused females. All around, Chase heard Jay’s name mentioned. He wasn’t into watching guys perform, dance—whatever—but after speaking with Jay, sharing views on sports and hearing about his commitment to law school, Chase was ready to cheer him on, too. No tips included.

  The stage housed a pole similar to the one in Sammy’s living room. Did men pole dance? If these hoots and hollers were any indication, the ladies wouldn’t mind what the male dancers did so long as they flexed big and bucked hard.

  Chase was nursing his third beer when the lights and music dipped. Pockets of the audience began to call out as Jay appeared wearing a dapper suit, bowler hat and umbrella. Obviously ready for the show, Sammy wedged herself in front of Chase and wrapped his arm around her middle. Inhaling the scent of her hair, he pulled her closer.

  She tipped her head back to tell him over the hoots, “You are seriously going to want to take dance classes after this.”

  “Uh, no, I’m not.”

  When the music swelled, Jay got full-throttle into his routine. Striding down the catwalk, he teased the girls, swinging the umbrella handle around a wrist, throwing up his bowler hat and positioning himself so that it landed back square on his head, no hands. The ladies went berserk.

  And then the rain set in—a sprinkling at first, which was, in fact, illusions created through lighting and a series of shimmering ribbons. Clever.

  After Jay stomped around in the “puddles,” through mime he let the audience know that his suit was wet. He ditched the jacket and signalled to ask the crowd’s opinion before grabbing his crotch and ripping the costume’s pants clean off. He tossed them at a woman, who jumped up and down while draping the legs around her neck like a scarf. Then Jay gave his all to a male bump and grind.

  When the “rain” grew heavier, he tried to put up his umbrella, which appeared to be stuck. So, the shirt came off next. The loosened black tie got a reprieve. Chase smothered a grin. How long would the conservative pair of boxer shorts last?

  As Jay spun around, presenting his broad bare back to the crowd, he ditched the shorts. The crowd exploded! Chase didn’t know if he would survive the stampede. When Jay spun back around, the music stopped and the umbrella popped opened at just the right time and place.

  The curtain dropped while applause hit the roof. These women were screaming for a chance to show their greenback appreciation.

  Then the curtain flew back up. Jay tapped his bowler hat back in place on his head and strolled forward. The crowd let him know they were interested in what was stashed inside that pouch of bulging black silk. That mother need
ed a leash!

  Jay spread the love around as long as ladies kept shoving bills down his front. When the thong was overflowing, he stuffed the notes down into the umbrella.

  Chase tried to make himself heard above the commotion. “Your friend wants to give all this up to be a lawyer?”

  Sammy was laughing. “Crazy, huh?”

  Chase looked around again. There were a few guys here, too, but he was guessing Sunday was ladies’ night. “I don’t mean to sound unappreciative, but I’m not sure how many male strips I can watch.”

  “They have a special guest coming up,” she told him.

  “A female?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  Didn’t make a difference. He brought her closer. “I’d rather go home and get busy with our own striptease.”

  “That dance turned you on, huh?”

  “You turn me on.”

  Before he could kiss her, she prised herself away and held up a finger. “One minute. I need to visit the restroom.”

  He watched her weave through the crowd before finishing his beer and looking around again. He’d known about this place but had never had occasion to visit. Male strips aside, he’d had a great night. He got a good vibe from Sammy’s friends. They were the type to watch her back.

  Hell, everyone needed friends like that.

  He was wondering how long Sammy would be when the lights changed hue and brightness. Frowning, he craned to see if he could spot her over some heads. He really didn’t need to see another male torso ripple tonight.

  As he turned, a spotlight hit the stage and that pole. The music sounded like something from a film noir classic. A woman appeared and struck a dramatic pose. Fishnet stockings. Rat Pack jacket. Black Fedora hooked low over her brow. When the beat of the music changed, she flung the hat out to the crowd. The dark shades went, too.

  Chase’s heart shot to his throat and at the same time his jaw dropped to his knees.

  Holy shit. That was no stripper. That was his date!

  As the star of the show strutted around, knees jerking high to each beat, Chase tossed a look around at the audience. From what he could make out in the shadows and rebound light, every male in the place seemed stuck in a trance. When she ditched the jacket, her shirt, and then swiveled around the pole like a well-oiled top, Chase felt his chest puff out. He wanted every person here to know, that was his girl. And right now she was blowing his mind.