by Sabrina York
• • •
The welcome party was all the torment Brandon had expected and more. The worst part of it was the fact that Porsche was in the room, and he couldn’t hover at her side. Cade had been very clear that he was to mingle with the guests. The fact that Porsche was one of the guests hadn’t seemed to make a difference.
They weren’t all middle-aged women, though Brandon actually preferred chatting with them because they were less likely to grab his package at random intervals. What was it about women that made them think a man who danced for a living was their own personal squeeze toy?
He had a pleasant conversation with Hanna Stevens, a spunky redhead who’d grown up in Snake Gully. She’d known Porsche her whole life and was more than willing to share stories about their youth. Many of them had him in stitches. But when he glanced across the room at Porsche, she didn’t seem happy that he was enjoying himself with Hanna. In fact, she glowered at them.
He responded with a wicked grin.
Just wait until he told her what he’d discovered about her.
There were other women he tried to avoid. A couple of them followed him around like the predators they were. Thankfully, he wasn’t the only antelope on the Serengeti. This was a large party, so Cody had booked ten dancers. They were all great guys, and they knew it was his first time, so they were keeping an eye out for him and were willing to step in if he got cornered. Except for Andy, who found it amusing to send over the ones with the grabbiest hands.
He was dancing away from one of those when he bumped into someone behind him, and she squeezed his ass. He whirled around with eyes wide, ready to protest, but it was Porsche. “Stop that,” he growled.
“Ohh,” she cooed. “You don’t like that?”
“You’re giving the other women ideas.”
“Honey, no one needs to give them ideas, not with you dressed like that.” She eyed his ridiculous costume up and down. He was dressed as an old-time cowboy in a cheesy duster, leather pants—what cowboy in his right mind wore leather pants?—and suspenders over a bare chest. And yeah, where was the logic in that?
“What? This old thing?”
“You look superhot.”
He tipped his hat. “Thank you, ma’am.”
“Not as hot as Superman.” She glanced at Rick and whispered, “Gotta love a man in tights.”
“It is a brave choice.”
“Isn’t it?” She took a sip of her drink. “I see he’s been circumcised.”
“Stop looking at other men’s genitalia.” He tried not to laugh. It wasn’t amusing in the least.
“Where’s the fun in that?”
“Have I mentioned I’m a very jealous man?”
“You have not.”
“Well, I am. Add it to your list.”
She eyed him saucily. “Technically, we never made a list for you.”
“Well, start one. At the top, put jealous lover.”
“No. I think snores goes at the top.”
“I do not snore.”
“You kind of do.” She made a hideous noise, a cross between a motorboat and a rhino with postnasal drip.
“I must object. You’ve hardly had much experience in this arena.” Only the once. When he’d fallen asleep on her.
“Fortunately, one doesn’t need extensive experience to know some things.”
“One should not jump to conclusions.”
“One never jumps.” She grinned. “It’s too much effort.”
“Are you hogging Brandon?” Hanna asked, sidling up beside him.
Porsche frowned. “Not as much as I’d like to,” she muttered.
“We had a great conversation earlier, didn’t we Brandon?” Hanna’s eyes danced.
“Isn’t Logan here somewhere?” Porsche said meaningfully.
“Logan?” Brandon asked.
Hanna grinned. “My fiancé. He’s up in the room. He didn’t want to come down for fear that Cody would make him dress up like a construction worker.”
“Understandable,” Brandon said, adjusting his suspenders. They were cutting into his bare shoulders.
“Well, he should join the party,” Porsche said. “You know. Keep you entertained.”
“Oh, I’m plenty entertained.” She edged closer to Brandon, though he could tell it was only to annoy Porsche. And it worked. “Besides, I have Logan surfing the Internet, looking for honeymoon spots.” She blew out a breath. “I already nixed Talladega and Branson.”
“Both romantic choices,” he said. He had no idea why both women glared at him.
“I was thinking Cancun,” Hanna said. “Or Hawaii?”
“I’d love to go to Hong Kong,” Porsche said, and Brandon’s gaze snapped to her.
“Really?” He’d always wanted to go there too. “Tibet would be nice.”
“Hardly a honeymoon spot though,” Hanna said. “What with all the yaks.”
“Hey, yaks are my favorite ungulates.”
“Oooh,” Porsche warbled. “Mine too. We have so much in common.” There was hardly any sarcasm in her tone at all.
“I though you preferred bulls,” he rejoined.
“That is not funny.”
“What’s not funny?” Hanna asked.
“Cody’s bull nearly trampled me,” she complained.
“To be fair to the bull,” Brandon said, “she was wearing red.” This didn’t earn him any points, so he decided to shift the topic to safer waters. “So what does Logan do for a living?” he asked.
“His family owns the Wild West Tex Mex restaurant chain.”
“Really?” Brandon’s eyes widened. “I love their new chili.”
A hint of pink rose on Hanna’s cheeks. “That’s my dad’s recipe.”
“Really?”
“Mmm hmm.”
“It’s awesome. In fact, I’ve loved everything I’ve tried at that restaurant. And the ambiance is very soothing.”
“Hanna does the art.” Obviously Porsche felt the need to interject in the conversation, but he didn’t mind.
“All the art?”
“The paintings. The murals. At least in the stores that have been updated.”
“Wow. You are very talented.”
“Thank you.”
“I’d love to meet Logan.”
“We’ll have to make that happen,” Hanna said with a smile.
“Hey there!”
Brandon winced as Cody slapped him on the back and bellowed in his ear.
“Mingle, bro. Mingle.”
Brandon shot an apologetic glance at the two ladies—one he really didn’t want to leave—and said, “Duty calls.”
“Duty is bossy,” Porsche said with a glower at Cody.
Cody, of course, just grinned.
Chapter Seventeen
“So,” Cody drawled as Brandon walked away. Porsche’s gaze followed him.
“Mmm?”
“Are you having a nice time?”
Porsche frowned as Brandon was stopped by one of the women across the room, one of the barracudas. She had long glossy nails and pouffed-up hair and waaaay too much makeup. Her dress was so slinky and tight Porsche was surprised it didn’t rip at the seams. And her boobs . . . Who had boobs like that? They thrust out like the headlights on an old Model T. Porsche had the prickling temptation to squeeze one. First, to see if it would even squeeze—it did appear to be cast in steel—and second, to see if it went a-ooga. She narrowed her eyes as that woman set her hand on Brandon’s bare chest and then nearly growled when her fingers curled, sinking her nails in deep, as though she wanted to mark him.
“Porsche?”
She flinched. “Huh? What?”
“I asked if you’re having a good time.”
“Of course I’m having a good time,” she snarled. “Why wou
ldn’t I be having a good time? This is a party.”
Cody lurched back. “I . . . um. Okay. Can I get you another drink?”
“Oh, yes please.” She handed him her empty glass. “Something strong.” Something potent.
He grinned and bounded away and she resettled her attention on Brandon, who was now surrounded by a flock of vultures. They were all cut from the same cloth as the first, with perfect hair, perfect faces, and really good plastic surgeons.
She didn’t even notice Claire come up beside her, so it was something of a surprise when her friend spoke. “Good party, huh?”
Porsche glared in response. “Who are those women?” she asked, nodding to the clowder of cats.
“Them? They’re from Dallas.”
“Are they Hanna’s friends?” They didn’t seem like the kind of friends Hannah would have, but people did change when they moved to the city. She had.
“Diane’s. Most of them are high society, but Diane and Sam run in that crowd because of the business.”
“Hmm.”
“They came to celebrate her birthday with her.”
“How nice of them.” And if that bitch didn’t get her hand off Brandon’s back she was going to lose it. Was she rubbing him? Seriously?
“Here you go,” Cody said, appearing before her—and blocking her view, dammit.
“What?”
“Here’s your drink.” He thrust a tumbler at her. “I know you like tequila.”
“What is that,” Claire asked, eyeing the glass, “six shots?”
“She asked for something strong.”
“You better eat something if you drink all that.”
But Porsche had no appetite. Well, except for blood. She wouldn’t mind a taste of that about now. She satisfied herself with the tequila because it had a lovely numbing effect. Claire and Cody talked around her, or at her, but she was oblivious to the conversation, until Claire said something along the lines of, “We should move into the ballroom. Dinner will be ready soon.”
Cody nodded and then clapped his hands to make the announcement and the room began to clear.
Porsche lingered, though, holding back with the performers, who would be going straight to the stage. It pleased her that Brandon headed to her side and sighed. “Glad that’s over.”
“Me too.”
He glanced at her. “What’s wrong?”
“Oh, am I frothing at the mouth?”
“A little.” There was no reason for him to grin.
“That woman was pawing you.”
“Was she?”
“You know damn well she was.”
“I didn’t notice.”
“How could you not notice? Hell, she practically marked her territory.”
“Ah, but I’m not her territory, am I?” He tipped up her chin and met her gaze. His kiss calmed her. But not totally.
“Whose territory are you?” she grumbled, needing to hear him say it.
“I’m yours. You know I’m yours. None of those other women even register in my brain as female.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
“Not even Boobula?”
He chuckled and pulled her into his arms. “I promise. This is just a job. I wouldn’t even be here if it weren’t in my contract. I can’t wait until we can be alone.”
Mmm. Nice. “Me too. And about that, I can’t think of a place where we could—”
“Hey, are you coming?” Cade called, and Porsche realized the room was empty.
She frowned at Brandon. “I suppose we should go.”
“I suppose we should. You’re coming backstage with me, right?”
“You know I am.”
His grin was wicked. “Excellent.”
They walked arm in arm to the ballroom but didn’t enter. Instead they took the hallway on the far side, which led to the rooms used for staging. There was a large prop and costume room Porsche had visited many times with Claire, then a dressing room for the guys. As they passed, she could hear the chatter. But Brandon led her to another room just off the stage.
“What’s this?” she asked.
“Cade gave me a private dressing room.”
“Really?” she said with a grin. “You must be special.”
“I, ahem, like my privacy.”
Privacy. A magical state that was so difficult to find. She shot him an impish grin. “I like privacy too.”
“Do you?” He opened the door and backed her into the room. It wasn’t huge, but large enough for a table and chairs. It was cluttered with random items including a firehose, several sirens, some backdrops, and a set of flaming batons.
She had little time to explore, because he turned her around and closed the door with her body. And he kissed her.
It was a hungry kiss, but she supposed he hadn’t had a chance to eat many of the hors d’oeuvres at the party, on account of all the groping.
But on second thought, she didn’t mind groping. As long as she was the gropee.
And ooh, she was.
His hands were large and strong and scudded over her body like they’d been formed just for this. Delight rippled through her as he caressed her sides, her hips, her bottom. But when he cupped her breast, she had to break the kiss because her need for air was becoming desperate.
That wasn’t the only thing that was becoming desperate. Her need was fairly rampant too.
How was it that he could take her from zero to a hundred and sixty with just a kiss?
But she didn’t really mind.
She wrapped her arms around his neck and lifted her leg around his hip and rubbed against his erection. It was a glorious erection, thick and full and heavy.
“Oh, God,” he groaned. “You need to stop that. How am I going to perform?”
“You’ll just have . . . more to work with,” she said.
He huffed a laugh into her hair and then moved his beautiful and talented mouth down to her neck and proceeded to nibble that spot that made her squirm.
A sharp rap on the door shattered the mood. “Two minutes until the opening parade,” someone called. It might have been Cody, but her hearing was dimmed by the thud of her pulse in her ears. “Get oiled up.”
Brandon lifted his head and wrinkled his nose. “I have to get oiled up.”
“I hate when that happens.”
“You can help me.”
“Oooh. Can I?”
“It’s why you’re here, right?” he jested.
But it wasn’t really a joke. It was deadly serious business. Business she undertook with solemn attention. It would be a tragedy if she missed so much as a spot.
And glory be, what delight it was, spreading the oil over his broad chest. She moved slowly, deliberately and was extremely diligent.
“You’re killing me,” he said, laughing.
She surveyed her work. “I think you need a second coat.”
But when she reached for the bottle, he grabbed her wrist in a gentle cuff. “I think that’s enough.”
“But—”
“Seriously, Porsche. Any more and I’m going to need to change my pants.”
She glanced down at the shiny leather. “What a shame that would be.”
“Indeed.” He chuckled and opened the door as the sounds of the other men trouping through the hall echoed. “Come watch me perform. It will inspire me, knowing that you’re watching from the wings.”
“Don’t mind if I do,” she quipped, and followed him into the hall.
The performers were lined up along the wall, a precession of hotties from stage right and down the stairs into the hall. They all greeted her with smiles and then winks at Brandon.
Then the lights went down, and the music swelled and the show began.
Say what you want abou
t Cody Silver, the man knew how to put on a show. It was a dazzling spectacle of thrumming music, flashing lights, and well-executed dance steps. All the men on stage were professionals and they performed flawlessly. It seemed to Porsche’s eye that they wholly enjoyed it as well, prancing around, shaking their collective booties and doing signature moves that made the ladies scream.
She didn’t even mind so much when Brandon got the loudest cheers.
He deserved them.
And besides, when all was said and done, he was hers.
• • •
The opening set went well, and had the added benefit of forcing him to focus on something other than the delicious weight of Porsche’s breast in his hand. Or her palm sliding over his chest. Or the taste of her breath in his mouth.
But as he bounded offstage, she was waiting for him with shining eyes and it all came back.
“You were great,” she said.
“That was only the start,” he said. “I have three more sets.” He kissed her quickly, briefly. As briefly as he could manage. “I’m going on again in a minute.” He was first up, but Cody had a little repartee with Cade scheduled so the dancers had a chance to catch their breath. He grabbed a water bottle from the table and took a sip. Not too much, or he’d get a stomachache, but he had to rehydrate.
Porsche, diligent to her duties, dabbed him lightly with a towel. “You were right,” she said. “You are a sweater.”
He grinned and pulled off his hat, snagged the towel, and riffled his hair with it. “Feels good to move like that.”
“Feels good to watch.”
Oh, she was a naughty wench.
From the edge of the stage, Cody gave him the signal that his set was about to start. He kissed Porsche quickly, took another sip of water, and prepared. His heart stuttered in his chest, but it was a wonderful stutter. Excitement and anticipation swirled within him.
The lights went down and the music began to rise. He shot a look at her and smiled. “This one is for you,” he said, just before he stepped onstage. She was the only woman in the world, and he was dancing just for her.
He saw, in her expression, she understood.
Though he knew the steps of his dance like the back of his hand, he took a moment to orient. It was tough, moving through the fog Cody insisted on, but he loved the effect so he tolerated it.
