Stripped

by Tori St. Claire

  A branch scraping against the side of his house opened his eyes once more, and he became aware of why he’d awakened in the first place. The short hairs at the nape of his neck lifted, silent triggers to something out of place. He listened for noises above the hum of his air conditioner.

  No sounds, but something. Something out of the ordinary.

  The overwhelming feeling they were being watched crawled down his spine. Logic argued against the possibility—his house was in a good neighborhood, a sign in the front yard broadcasted his security system. No one would peep around his windows in the middle of the day. No one had reason.

  His wariness must be some kind of reaction to the memories Natalya stirred. Old demons rising to the surface to remind him he was a wanted man.

  He closed his eyes again, and a car door slammed beyond his front window. Too close for comfort. He lifted to an elbow, sighting the room for where he’d laid his gun when he’d come home this morning. Spying it behind the planter on the kitchen counter, he disentangled his leg and lifted it over Natalya’s.

  When he worked his arm from beneath her head, she rolled onto her side, snuggling close to him. One hand clutched reflexively at his chest. A misplaced smile drifted to his lips. He liked that. He suspected if she knew she’d just silently instructed him to stay put, she’d run like the wind. But the primitive part of his brain saw a woman needing protection and was eager to fulfill her subconscious request.

  Toast. Officially, he was toast.

  An engine roared to life in his driveway, reminding him why he’d lifted to his elbow. He vaulted over Natalya’s body and stumbled around the coffee table to the window. Leaning a shoulder into the curtains, he peered through the mini blinds, catching the briefest glimpse of a silver sedan as it sped down his street. License plate obscured.

  Son of a bitch! Someone had been here. But why? Had the right people finally gotten word of his not-so-subtle invitations for his father’s friends to come and find him? He’d spent the better part of the last year dropping hints, making remarks in circles he felt certain would relay the news back to Kansas City and the silent, sleeping mob. Aaron and he had almost gotten into a fistfight when Aaron learned Brandon had openly revealed his parentage.

  Had his father finally come to finish what he screwed up the first time?

  Brandon moved across the room, habitually seeking out his gun. He checked the magazine, the chamber, then double-checked the safety and set it back down. This was exactly why he didn’t take naps on his couch with beautiful women who filled his brain with ridiculous notions that snuggling could be better than sex.

  One way or another, she’d suffer if he let her inside. She’d either find disappointment when she learned he’d brought about his family’s murder, or she’d find herself staring down the barrel of a loaded gun, bait to draw him out.

  If she were lucky, she’d disintegrate in an explosion and she wouldn’t feel pain. Or fear. But she’d pay the price for his mistakes.

  He turned back to the couch wanting nothing more than to ease back down between the cushions and her body and return to the contentment he’d known minutes ago.

  Shaking off the notion, he focused on what he understood—desire and the intense way she responded to him. God, he’d said some foolish things. Pathetic remarks that he vaguely realized he should keep to himself, but his damn tongue refused to stop. Get lost in you… Brandon softly snorted. Right. So much for letting his dick think for him.

  He glanced at the clock, observing it was ten minutes after four. She’d wanted to be home by now. He could almost guarantee when she woke up, no matter how sated she’d been when they fell asleep, she wouldn’t be pleased. Better get it over with. Take her home, ask about the gun like he should have an hour ago, and get to work himself. If they left now, he could still get back here in time to deliver Opie’s new chain. Sue’s girls would be ecstatic. With the heavy-duty links he’d bought, Opie could play with them in the backyard, and they’d never again worry about him breaking free.

  And he’d never again have to chase the overzealous elephant down.

  Yeah. Wake her up before he could fully remember the way she’d tasted against his tongue.

  He went to the couch, bending over to give her shoulder a shake. “Hey, you. It’s time to get up. You’re going to be late for work.”

  Her eyes snapped open. Unmoving, she stared at the buttons on the cushions. “What?”

  “It’s after four. We fell asleep.”

  Like a rocket, she shot off the couch and to her feet. “You’re kidding! After four? Oh, God, I don’t have time to get ready.” She grabbed her underwear and hastily stuffed a leg inside. “Damn it!”

  “You’ve got plenty of time. The girls aren’t there this early.”

  “Jill is.” She tugged on her shorts.

  “Well that’s because—” He stopped himself seconds away from announcing to the current object of his desire that he’d slept with Jill. Not a good move. Jill possessed enough jealousy for both women.

  “Because what?”

  “Because Jill’s an overachiever.”

  Natalya lifted an eyebrow. “There’s not much to overachieve with stripping.”

  It sounded lame to his ears too, but he clung to the excuse, not knowing what else to say. “She wants Kate’s slot.”

  “Funny.” Natalya shrugged into her shirt and bra, picked up her hair tie, and hastily pulled her long auburn lengths back. “I’d swear she wants my job.”

  True. But not the job Natalya referenced. More like the one she’d just assumed—ardent lover who came to life in his hands and whispered his name when he put his mouth on her flesh.

  Natalya crossed her arms at the door and threw him an impatient look. “Well? Are we leaving? You might as well take me straight to Fantasia. I’ll grab a shower there.”

  Perfect! All he needed to do to make today the day straight from hell was deliver Natalya to the club, in broad daylight, announcing to the entire world—and Jill—he’d spent the day with her. Damned ideal.

  Still, he could hardly insist Natalya find her own way to work. Grinding his teeth together, he yanked on his clothes, palmed his keys, and strode outside. His car’s crumpled front fender only added to his mounting agitation. Smashed car, peeping tom, jealous ex—life just didn’t get any better than this.

  He let Natalya inside, then rounded the trunk to climb behind the wheel. He needed to get a grip. Once again, he’d lost an entire day. Where he could have used the five or six hours of her company to dig for information, he’d wasted it on trivial pursuits.

  No, that wasn’t entirely right. He hadn’t wasted it. He’d been trying to draw her out. It hadn’t worked. She knew more about him than he could claim to know about her. Still, they’d become closer. Physically, if nothing else.

  Patience.

  He took a deep breath and started the car. Take your time. Draw her out.

  And ask about the damn gun. He’d seen the stamped 226 on the grip, branding it as a Sig Sauer—no amateur’s gun. She had to know how to shoot to use that beauty.

  Backing out of his driveway, he deliberately avoided looking at Natalya. “You wanna tell me about that gun?”

  From the corner of his eye, he saw her go still. But she recovered with a quick shrug as he started down the street. “Just a gun. Self-defense. You carry one at the club.”

  “What’s the model?”

  For a moment, she chewed on her bottom lip. Then, reclining into her seat, she casually answered, “Tactical operations. I thought it was pretty.”

  Brandon choked on surprise. Damn pretty. It even sported a taclight and reflex site—nothing that came straight out of the box. Professional customizations.

  “You thought it was pretty,” he repeated. “You realize that’s no toy, right?”

  “It’s not?” She lifted her eyebrows in false, wide-eyed innocence.

  “So you can shoot it accurately?”

  Again, she shrugged. “Eno
ugh. If someone’s coming at me, it’ll do the trick.”

  He didn’t need psychic abilities to know she wasn’t telling him the full truth. For a woman to carry a firearm like that in her purse, she knew more than “enough” about what she had in her possession. No amateur carried around a customized Sig 226 Tactical Operations because it was pretty.

  So why did she have a top-of-the line, Navy Seal’s pistol in her purse?

  The answer tugged at the back of his mind. Protection. As in the witness kind. She feared someone enough to seriously learn how to defend herself. But still… something didn’t ring quite right. She could have chosen a dozen different types of semi-automatic pistols that would fulfill her needs. The average buyer with the same casual flippancy she showed wouldn’t know enough to choose that particular gun.

  His hackles rose.

  He’d bet his Shelby if he looked in her eyes right now those shutters would be firmly locked in place. Another guise. Another block to prevent him from seeing who she really was.

  Who the hell was she hiding from?

  Fantasia rose before them, forbidding him the opportunity to dig deeper. He pulled into the lot and dropped the Shelby into park. “We’re here.” And there sat Jill’s car, right next to the door, parked alongside Natalya’s. She’d know Natalya hadn’t come back for hers last night.

  He groaned inwardly as another truth hit him. She also hadn’t walked to work as she’d claimed the night before. Damn the lies.

  “Well, I’ll see you after a bit.” She flung open the door, setting one foot onto the asphalt.

  “Wait.”

  Again the wide-eyed innocent look as if the entire afternoon together had been insignificant. Damn it, she’d let him in. Why insist on keeping him out now?

  His hand snaked across the center console to wrap around her wrist. Against his better judgment, he hauled her back inside the car and firmly planted his lips on hers. He’d force his way inside that protective shell of hers if he must. He was done with the game of back and forth.

  Prepared to fight for what he desired, her instantaneous surrender surprised him. Her mouth moved across his, soft and pliant, lacking all traces of her deliberate cool reserve. Slender fingers lifted to his cheek, resting there as her tongue greedily tangled with his.

  Pleasure vibrated in his chest, the kiss transforming from languorous and thorough to hungry and needy. He tangled his fingers in her hair, angling her head so he could taste her more deeply. Darkly sexy, her rich feminine flavor soaked into his senses, and his body responded like a whip. His heart pumped hard. His cock filled.

  Before desire could take command of his body and subject him to an agonized state, he abruptly terminated the kiss. With one chaste brush of his lips against her cheek, he settled back into his seat. “I’ll see you in a bit.”

  “Yeah,” she whispered. She gave him a long look, full of meaning he couldn’t decipher, then slid from the car.

  Brandon watched the gentle sway of her hips as she walked to the door. Smiled at the way she touched her fingertips to her swollen lips. He’d caught her off guard, but he’d succeeded. For one fleeting moment, he’d made contact with the woman she kept hidden.

  The door closed, blocking her from his sight. Dimly, it occurred to him he’d just kissed Natalya in public, something he never did. But he pushed the thought aside before it could breach his full awareness. He pulled out of the lot, struck by a nonsensical urge to do something else he’d never done for any woman.

  Turning left, he fell into pursuit for a gift. He told himself it was all part of the game. Spoil her a little. Crack her resolve. Draw her in and learn her secrets. After all, it was just a little money spent on something trivial. That his pulse kicked up a notch had absolutely nothing to do with the absurd notion of keeping her around.

  Twenty-six

  M

  istake. Natalya rifled through the papers on her desk, intent on finding her keys. The whole damn afternoon had been one big mistake. If she’d stood her ground and refused to see the lions, none of this would have happened. She wouldn’t have ended up naked in Brandon’s living room, wouldn’t have fucked him until she was delirious, wouldn’t have fallen asleep, and wouldn’t have kissed him outside Fantasia. Dmitri’s Fantasia. Where God only knew who might have witnessed them.

  She scooped up a handful of junk and dumped it in the trashcan. Just seeing the clutter reminded her of the way her breasts had crinkled the papers as Brandon slammed into her from behind. The way she’d willingly submitted… the confounding power he had over her. He treated her like a woman, and by God, she liked it—but she absolutely didn’t care for the realization.

  Damn it, where the hell were her keys? Annoyed with the debris she’d inherited, she swiped the full surface contents of her desk into the trash. She didn’t need the litter. It only added to the chaotic state of her office and stoked her temper. Disorganization made her twitchy.

  Just like Brandon.

  What was it about that man that turned her common sense to mush?

  She yanked open the narrow center drawer and dug through an ocean of pens, safety-pins, pasties, tampons, Little Debbie chocolate cakes, and more scribbled notes on torn scraps of paper. Everything she could want to survive a full week of living in her office, but no keys. She slammed the drawer shut, rattling a plastic cup full of more pens.

  Planting her hands on her hips, she surveyed her office and walked through the last time she’d driven her car. She’d come straight here, sat down, and navigated Becca’s crisis. Her gaze pulled to the chair where the hysterical dancer had sat. The mountain of piled bikini tops and other assorted costume parts looked promising.

  She attacked it with a vengeance, tossing article after article of clothing over her shoulder onto the floor in front of the door.

  “Missing something?” Sergei’s low voice rumbled with amusement.

  Natalya turned to find her partner lounging on the doorframe, humor turning up one corner of his mouth. She threw up her hands in exasperation. “I can’t find my damn keys. They’ve got to be around here somewhere.”

  “I’m sure they’ll turn up. You better check these over and make sure I brought what you wanted. I’ve got to hit the floor.” He extended his arm, offering the plastic bag that dangled off his index finger.

  Her spirits lifted at the sight of her costume, keys temporarily forgotten. She snatched the bag, and opening it, rummaged quickly through. Shoes, bikini top and bottom, body glitter… Perfect. “Looks good.” She set the bag in her chair, then folded her arms over her chest, pinning Sergei with a hard look. “I think you need to do some explaining.”

  He gave her a shake of his head. “Not here. Not until we’ve accomplished what we came to Vegas for.”

  Natalya’s gaze narrowed. “You’re going to leave without saying anything?”

  “I haven’t decided yet.”

  That hardly seemed fair. Brandon should know his brother lived. Then again, she had her own fair share of secrets she held from Brandon, and she hadn’t decided whether to tell him before she moved on to her next assignment, or whether to keep him in the dark. She couldn’t very well lecture Sergei on the ethics of lying.

  Kate didn’t give her opportunity, anyway. She breezed past Sergei into Natalya’s room, panting. “Oh, good.” She sucked in a short breath. “He’s not back here.” Sagging, she leaned on the edge of the desk. “When I didn’t see him in the front of the house, I thought for sure he’d be with you.”

  Natalya rolled her eyes as she turned around to pick through the rest of the clothes on the chair. “Just because I went to see the lions with him and Derek doesn’t mean we’re attached at the hip.” Having reached the bottom of the clothing stack and finding nothing, she scooped the clothes off the floor and piled them all back on the metal seat. “Did either of you see Harvey on your way in? I’ve got to talk to him about props.”

  “I’m right here. Just finished hauling up Sapphire’s trunks. Whatcha need?�
�

  Peeking around Sergei’s shoulder, Natalya spied the shorter, stick-thin man in the hall. He wrinkled a freckled nose and shoved thick black glasses up his nose.

  Sergei twisted into the hall. “I gotta get out front. Talk to you both later.”

  “Come in, Harvey,” Natalya beckoned with a wag of her hand. “Shut the door.”

  He did as requested, the constant fidgeting of his hands indicating discomfort. While his gaze flicked between Natalya’s and his untied combat boots, he avoided eye contact with Kate at all costs.

  “Hey, Harv,” Kate greeted as she took Natalya’s chair.

  The man’s face turned three shades of red, gradually increasing in depth until he glowed like he’d spent three weeks under the desert sun. “H-H-Hi, Kate.” He shuffled his feet.

  Natalya chuckled to herself. A crush had never been more obvious. Poor kid. He couldn’t be much older than twenty-one, and she’d lay odds on the fact he didn’t have the first clue what to do with a woman. Certainly not Kate, Fantasia’s gem.

  “I need to talk about an act with you.”

  He snapped to attention, his back straighter, his expression all business. “Is there a problem? I know Ben’s new, and he’s screwed up a couple things, but I think we’ve covered pretty smoothly.”

  “No, it’s not about Ben. You’re crew’s doing a good job. It’s a new act for tonight.”

  “Oh, whose?”

  A slow smile crept over Natalya’s face. “Mine.”

  A

  n hour later, considerably later for work than he’d been in a good two years, Brandon sat in Fantasia’s parking lot and stared at the one-eyed reflection of his Mustang’s front end. The accident still pissed him off. But playing the Good Samaritan for his neighbor, even if securing Opie’s chain had delayed him, eased the burn of his damaged car. One headlight also gave him good reason to ask Natalya for a lift home. If she agreed, knowing he’d have time with her later would give him the ability to focus on the case while he worked tonight. He stared at the door, loathing the idea of what came next. Most prominently, Jill. If she witnessed that earlier kiss, she’d be in viper form. He really needed to sit the woman down and spell it out in black-and-white lettering again. Yet, he couldn’t bring himself to stomach the short time alone with her that conversation required.