by Cathryn Fox
Dawson is giving me good advice, I know it, but Christ, how the hell am I going to come up with a fake fiancée before Saturday night, just forty-eight hours from now? One who won’t just look pretty on my arm but can hold her own against a tough bastard like Cochrane.
Kennedy.
My gaze goes to the dancing brunette as I mull over the plan taking shape in my mind. I could pay the dancer to accompany me Saturday night. Let her know it’s just a business deal.
“Change of heart?” Dawson asks, his gaze leaving mine to take in the dancer.
“Nope, she’s all yours,” I say, still not sure what the fuck I’m going to do. One thing I do know is I’m not up for a private dance. At least, not from the brunette. Which is bat-shit crazy. Hell must be freezing over for me to turn down a woman.
Dawson rolls a shoulder and slips out of his jacket as he gestures to the manager and pulls out his wallet.
My phone pings and I pull it from my pocket to read the text from my sister.
“Hey, big bro.”
I stare at the phone and debate asking Olivia if she knows why Kennedy is in town, but decide against it. I can’t imagine Olivia would like me showing too much interest in one of her best friends. She knows my reputation and wouldn’t want me hooking up with any of the nice girls she associates with. And Kennedy is a nice girl, the kind of girl a guy brings home to meet his parents—not that my mind is going anywhere near that direction.
“What’s up?” I text back, happy that she and Gio have found each other again and she’s living with him in a Tuscan village.
“How’s London?” she asks.
“Fine.” My fingers swipe over the phone. “Just in a business meeting.”
“Carleton House?”
“Yeah.”
“Can you do me a favor?”
“Sure,” I say, even though she doesn’t have to ask. I might have been a bossy jerk when we were kids, but I’m protective of her and will do anything she asks, and she damn well knows it.
“Tomorrow night, nine o’clock. Can you be at the club?”
“Sure, why?”
“I have a friend who just joined and will be looking for a friendly face, someone nice to talk to.”
“What’s his name?”
“Oh, gotta go. Gio is calling.”
I stare at the phone, but no more texts come in. Talk about strange. Who the hell is this friend she wants me to entertain, and how the hell will I even recognize him? I power down my phone and shove it back into my pocket, my gaze going to the exit as the meeting ends. The men excuse themselves from the table, all seeking a private dance, and I slip away.
I step outside and look up and down the streets, searching for signs of Kennedy. When my hunt comes up empty, I walk back to the hotel, letting the rain pour over me. Maybe the cold droplets will help cool my heated skin. Or maybe I could find another way to extinguish the fire raging inside me—like go to Kennedy’s room and show her my thoughts are anything but brotherly.
If only she weren’t my kid sister’s best friend.
Chapter Three
Kennedy
I can’t believe I’m doing this.
Head spinning, I take a deep breath, my heart racing so hard I’m sure I’m going to pass out. I grip the makeup table in front of me, glance around the changing room, and look at all the beautiful dancers as they apply makeup and style their hair. A hand lands on my shoulder.
“Don’t worry, Kitten,” Electra—the girl who first introduced herself to me when I entered the establishment—says as she gives me a once-over.
“My name’s not—”
She shakes her head to stop me. “Not here, Kitten. We don’t use real names.”
“Oh, okay,” I say, and shrug. “Kitten is good, I guess.”
“Hear that, Mikey,” she calls out to the big, burly man who I’d handed my summons to earlier. He seemed to know all about me, clearly expecting me tonight. “Her name’s Kitten.”
Mikey nods and Electra angles her head and eyes me. “This is your first time, is it?”
I want to lie, but what’s the point? “That obvious, huh?” I grab a brush and run it through my long blond hair. I don’t have as much makeup on as the others, but I’m pretty sure it’s not my face anyone will be looking at.
Once again, a quiver moves through me, the under-sexed part of me loving this setup.
“Don’t worry. All you have to do is dance, and you’ll be fine.” She looks me over, and I cross my arms to hide myself, completely self-conscious in the sexy outfit I found in my dossier. “The guys are going to love you.”
There is only one guy I want to love me.
Stop it. That’s not the reason you’re here!
As I lecture myself, I call on every ounce of courage I can muster and let myself think about Sean, the real reason I’m following through with this ludicrous adventure. I’m supposed to have legendary sex before returning home, and after giving it much consideration last night, I concluded that it’s damn well time I feel a real man between my legs. And there is only one real man I know—Sean Fraser, the bossy jerk from my childhood.
I just pray he’s out there tonight so I can finally get his attention, and when I do, I’m going to take what I want from him—what I’ve always wanted—and then return to the States. Sean will think he’s in bed with a dancer named Kitten, oblivious to the fact that it’s me, Kennedy Lane, a girl he always considered a nuisance.
“If a man wants a private dance,” Electra says, pulling my thoughts back. “Remember the house rules.” She wags her finger. “No touching.”
“No touching, got it,” I say, even though I have every intention of being touched.
The music changes, and Electra takes my hands and pulls me from my seat. “You’re on, Kitten.”
I stand on stupid heels that are far too high, and gather a breath of courage. I walk to the curtain and peel it open. “Please all welcome Kitten,” Mikey says into a microphone, and I let out the breath I was holding.
Legendary sex, here I come. I hope.
Light spills over me, and the song changes again. I peer into the crowd, but the damn lights are blinding me, and it takes all my concentration just to put one foot in front of the other and make it to the pole without doing a face-plant.
So far so good.
I put my hands on the warm metal and spin around it, and when the lights shift, I glance into the audience. My heart picks up tempo when I see Sean seated at a table alone, dressed impeccably again, a glass in his hand. He’s watching me, his gaze latched on my every move, and for a brief second, I panic. What if he knows it’s me?
He doesn’t, Kennedy. Get it together.
I continue with the routine I learned in class. I don’t think it’s sexy. Hey, it’s meant for core-strengthening, but I’m a half-naked girl on a pole, so I don’t think anyone in the audience cares. Music buzzes through me, and a few murmurs from the crowd reach my ears, but there is only one man who holds my attention, and right now he’s leaning forward, looking at me like he wants to eat me alive.
Yes!
When the music ends, I walk back behind the curtain and another girl takes my place. Electra grins at me. “That was fantastic,” she says. “I bet every guy out there is fighting to get you alone.”
“How does that work, anyway?”
“Whoever bids the most wins.”
Heat sizzles through my veins as I grab a brush and fix my hair. Will Sean bid the most? Then again, will he even bid at all?
“Kitten,” Mikey says. “You’ve got a live one.”
I glance at Electra for explanation. She rubs her thumb and two fingers together. “Big bucks,” she says.
“Follow me,” Mikey says.
I walk down a long hall with the broad man, the walls practically hugging his shoulders as he rocks back and forth on those big stump legs of his. “The men can look but not touch,” he explains as we walk. “There’s a button on the wall inside. Just press it if
you need me, but I don’t think you will. The men here know the rules, and none of them will risk losing their membership.”
I nod, even though he can’t see me. House rules or not, I don’t think anyone is going to mess with any of the girls if they have to contend with this guy. He unlocks a door, and I step inside.
“How long do I dance?” I ask.
“He hired you for a half hour. When you’re done here, ring the bell and I’ll escort you back.”
I nod, liking how well they care for their women here, but I have no idea if half an hour is a long time or not. Mikey leaves, and I step into the room and catalogue my surroundings. I’m in some sort of glass booth, but the walls don’t go all the way to the ceiling. On the other side of the pane I can make out a single chair facing me, and a door. I feel a moment of disappointment. This setup isn’t conducive to what I have in mind.
But that disappointment quickly segues into a combination of nervousness and excitement when the door slowly opens. Please be Sean. Please be Sean. If it’s not him, no way am I going through with this. The lights in my box brighten as he enters, making it hard for me to see out. Obviously we’re not supposed to be able to identify our clients. I narrow my eyes to take in his tall, athletic frame, dressed in a dark suit that fits his muscles to perfection as he seats himself. He rakes his hair from his face, a familiar childhood movement, and a jolt of lust zaps through me.
While I can’t see his face, I recognize it’s Sean. There is a familiarity about him that I’d know anywhere. My nerves fire, and for a moment, I’m shocked that I’m actually going to go through with this. This is so not like me. Then again, perhaps whoever sent the dossier is trying to kick-start my sex life. It would be wrong to let all their hard work in setting this up go to waste, right?
Yeah, right, Kennedy. This isn’t about your sponsor; this is about you. You want this.
“Hey, Kitten,” Sean says quietly, and my heart jumps into my throat. That sexy voice, deeper than in our teen years, sizzles down my body and settles itself between my thighs. As he draws a desire out in me, I begin to dance to the music.
There is no pole in the room, so I just move in circles, exposing myself to him. I know I might not be model-thin like the girls he went after years ago, but I’m confident in my body and curves. I sway and bend my knees, spreading my legs and sashaying toward the floor. I glance out, and when I feel the weight of his stare, a deep, intense longing, ten years in the making, takes hold.
The music is low—low enough for me to hear him peeling his zipper down. OMG, he’s opening his pants. He’s opening his freaking pants. Does that go against house rules? I have no idea, but what I do know is that he’s about to stroke himself while watching me, and that shit is hot.
I try to breathe, but how is that possible, knowing Sean is freeing his cock and taking it in his hands? It’s probably all kinds of wrong, but it does bolster my confidence to know I’ve finally gotten his attention. Well, Kitten has finally gotten his attention.
Heat pools deep in my belly, and I hear him grunt. Holy shit. I could die just thinking about it—I swear to God it’s the hottest thing I’ve ever heard—and I wish I had a better view.
His grunts become louder, quicker, and I listen to his palm move over his cock. Feeling bolder than ever before, I turn, press my ass against the glass, and bend forward. A low, tortured sound curls around me, and I smile, loving the way he’s responding. I dance, he groans, and his fist works harder. The legs on his chair scrape, and I think he’s tilting his seat back. A moment later it slams to the floor and he presses his forehead to the glass.
I hear a rustling sound as his breath steams the glass. Is he cleaning himself up? I strain to see, and he stands, tucks his cock back in, zips his pants, and turns. He opens the door and leaves. I stand there breathless, excited…so damn aroused I don’t know what to do with myself. So much for legendary sex. Cripes, talk about a plan backfiring—to a certain extent, anyway. I did manage to get Sean to notice me as a woman. But a hell of a lot of good that did for me.
With equal measures of elation and disappointment, I press the button, and Mikey comes back to collect me. In the change room, I pull my dress on over my still-shaking body, grab my coat, and slip out the back. I need a drink. Or three.
I step outside and let the night air wash over me, although it does little to cool my heated blood. I almost wish it were raining again. Dashing down the sidewalk, I make my way to the bar inside Hotel Royal. Maybe I’ll be able to find a hot guy, take him back to my room, and have sex. It might not be legendary sex, but God, I need something, anything, to ease the heavy ache between my thighs.
I step up to the bar, order a glass of wine, and grab a private table in the corner so I can collect my thoughts. I shed my coat, and with my body still on fire, I scan the room from the dark corner, take in the patrons, and make eye contact with a few men. Picking up a random guy for sex isn’t my thing, but I’m doing all kinds of things out of the ordinary today, aren’t I?
A large shadow blocks my view, and my heart jumps as my glance slides up the hottest guy I know. My gaze locks with caramel eyes, and I suddenly can’t breathe.
“This seat taken?” he asks.
I try for normal, a difficult task considering this man just masturbated while I danced for him. “No,” I say, and take a big gulp of my drink. I wave my hand toward the seat. “Help yourself, Mr.…” I purposely leave his name off. After all, I’m not supposed to know him.
“Sean,” he says, exuding raw power, raw passion, as he lowers himself into the seat. “Sean Fraser.” There is a slight angle to his head, and his eyes narrow, curious, as he looks me over. I feel a moment of panic, praying to God he doesn’t know it’s me.
“Nice to meet you, Sean. In London on business?” I ask.
He quirks a smile, looking like every sexual fantasy I ever had. “That obvious, huh?” Shifting closer, he leans in toward me, and his scent is enough to melt my clothes, what little I’m wearing. The clients the girls dance for are supposed to be anonymous, but something tells me he knows I know.
“Tell me, Kitten,” he says, “was there more going on in that booth than just you dancing for me?”
Holy Jesus, way to get right to the point.
My stomach flutters. “What…what do you mean?” I ask.
“I think you liked it when I stroked my cock.” Raw hunger flares in his eyes. “I think you wanted to watch, maybe stroke it for me.”
Flames shoot through me, and I’m hardly able to believe how direct and bold Sean is being.
“I––no touching––house rules.”
He looks around the room, his glance flitting over the piano player and the couples dancing before zeroing back in on me. “Yeah, but we’re not in the house anymore, are we?”
I swipe my tongue over my bottom lip and his gaze drops to take in the movement. “No, we’re not.”
“So tell me, did you need it just as bad as I did, or am I reading this situation all wrong?”
I go still. Am I really having this conversation with Sean? “I…I…” I fumble, unable to form a coherent thought.
He leans closer, and beneath the table, his hand lands on my thigh and toys with the lace stockings I’m still wearing. He pushes up my dress, the slit exposing my right leg. He might as well be stroking the bundle of nerves throbbing between my thighs, because I’m sure I’m about to orgasm.
“How about I find out myself,” he says, not asking but telling, a feral intensity about him that I’ve never seen before. He’s going to freaking eat me alive. A flurry of excitement races through me.
I want to stop him, say no, but instead find myself widening my legs because, yeah, I want him to take me. His grin is so cocky; I don’t know whether I want to kiss it or smack it off his face. I should put a stop to this. He’s practically accosting me here in the bar, touching without permission—then again, maybe the widening of my legs was all the permission he needed. And seriously, am I going to le
t this opportunity pass me by? I’m in London on a quest for sex, and Sean is the perfect man to give it to me.
He widens my thighs even more, and his fingers climb higher. I turn my head away, hot, tight need spearing through me. Good God, what if someone is peering into our dark corner and watching us? My pulse thuds, and I can’t tell for certain whether that’s from excitement or fear.
“Look at me, Kitten.”
I turn back to him, and his eyes are piercing, holding me captive as they lock on mine. I want to whimper, squirm, beg him to touch me already, but the sound will draw attention, I’m sure. One look at the two of us and it’d be easy to tell what Sean is doing beneath the table.
A moan I have no control over crawls out of my throat.
Oh God, in only a few short hours I’ve turned from a straight-laced museum curator to a kinky dancer with fetishes. Did the bartender put something in my drink?
“Mmm,” he says, his thumb brushing my sex, his breath scorching my face. “Very hot.” He puts his mouth next to my ear, the heat of his breath caressing the shell. “I bet you’re wet, too.”
I gulp, wanting nothing more than for him to slide a hand into my panties and find out. Before I can respond, he stands and holds his hand out to me. “How about a dance?”
His hand swallows mine whole as I reach for him, and he lifts me from my chair. My body collides with his, and his cock presses into my stomach. My eyes widen, and he just gives me an unapologetic grin in response, no modesty or constraint—bold as hell.
A shiver races through me.
His scent curls around me as he guides me to the small dance floor and pulls me into his arms. He’s so tall I have to crane my neck to see him, and when our gazes lock, I feel like he has me under some sort of spell.
A warm arm slides around my back and he pulls me close. “So what about you?” he asks. “What brings you to London?”
I grew up in New York. My accent has given me away. “Business,” I say, a partial truth. I’m in the business of seeking out legendary sex, but he doesn’t have to know that. Let him think I’m here in London to dance at his club.
