He was staring at me.
I could feel it.
A shiver worked its way up my spine.
On impulse, I grabbed the fedora off Cam’s head and spun it onto mine, tipping it over my face and halting in position. The music cut off. The spotlight went out.
Money flooded the top of the bar.
It was over.
Thank Baby Jesus the routine was over.
And I wasn’t naked!
Cam reached for me, lifting me off the bar and sitting me on the side where he was, effectively putting a barrier between me and all the strange, grabby hands. “I so owe you for this,” I told him as he helped me gather the money off the bar.
“Are you kidding me?” he whispered in my ear. “That was my pleasure.”
Ty appeared at the end of the bar to escort me backstage and I was beyond thankful. As we made our way through the crowd, I got an eerie feeling and I looked over my shoulder toward where I saw the man standing in the shadows.
He was gone.
* * *
Roxie was already on stage doing her routine when I made my way to my dressing table. A couple of the girls congratulated me on the dance as I walked by, and I smiled and thanked them when all I really wanted was a moment of quiet.
My cell phone was ringing on top of my dressing table when I approached. It was my mother. Again. Concerned that something was wrong, I answered.
“Mom?” I said, moving toward the back of the room where the community clothes and wigs were. “Is everything okay?”
“Harlow? Where are you? What’s all that noise?”
“I got another job, waiting tables. That’s the music in the background.” Okay, it wasn’t a total lie. I did wait tables… in tiny outfits and in between my dances.
“Another job? Are you having money problems, honey?”
She would go straight to that.
“No, Mom, everything is fine.” That wasn’t a total lie either. I didn’t need money. I just scraped a whole bucketful off the bar. “Is there something wrong?”
“I just called — tell — that—” I pressed a finger to my ear to block out some of the noise.
“I can’t hear you. You’re breaking up,” I said.
“— tell you — came—”
I pulled the phone away from my ear. One bar. Practically no reception.
“Mom, are you and Daddy okay?”
“Yes—” I heard her say.
“I’m going to have to call you back in the morning. My reception is really bad in here.”
“Wh— Harlow?” And then she was gone. The call dropped.
“Stupid cell phones,” I muttered. At least I knew that she and my dad were okay. Everything else could wait ‘til morning.
Hopefully she would have forgotten about my new job by then and would forget to ask for the details. My mom loved details.
I forgot completely about the phone call after that because I got so busy waiting tables. The crowd finally began to clear at two a.m. and Adam told me I could go. The only dance I did was the one on the bar.
I wasn’t complaining.
I counted out my tips and smiled. Another eight hundred-dollar night. I cashed out all the singles at the bar and then went in the back to exchange the boy shorts and corset for my white T-shirt dress. I used a cleansing wipe to clean off most of the makeup from my face, but I let down my hair.
I was literally exhausted.
The Motrin I took wore off hours ago. My head was pounding and the goose egg on the back of my head hurt.
I just wanted my bed and quiet.
Cam was leaning against the wall by the bathrooms when I exited backstage. He had replaced the black bowtie with a snug white T-shirt and his black leather jacket dangled from his hand.
He pushed off the wall when he saw me, prowling closer, and used his body to push mine back against the door I just exited through.
“You drove me crazy tonight,” he murmured, ducking his head and taking my lips hostage. He could kidnap me anytime.
“Those little shorts,” he murmured between kisses, “have got to be the sexiest thing”—more kisses—“I have ever seen.” More kisses.
I giggled. “Glad you liked them.”
He pulled back and swiped the pad of his thumb across my lower lip. “How are you feeling, babe?”
“I’ve been better.”
He held out the jacket and I slipped my arms into it and he tucked it around me. The sleeves fell well past my hands and I smiled. “C’mon. Let’s go.”
“Adam said you could leave too?”
“He knows I’m your ride.”
I breathed a sigh of relief when I finally stepped outside on the pavement. “That place was loud,” I muttered as we walked toward the Mustang.
“Head hurt?”
“A little.”
We didn’t say anything on the short ride to my apartment. When we got there, Cam reached into the back and pulled out a dark-colored backpack.
“What’s that for?” I asked curiously.
“I’m staying here tonight.”
“You are?” I said, surprised.
“Someone has to wake you up every couple hours.”
I groaned. “I’m fine. I’ve been awake forever.”
He shook his head. “The doctor said—”
“Fine. You want to stay, stay.” I was way too tired to argue.
I watched as he put the ragtop up and locked the doors to the car, and then we both trudged upstairs and into my dark apartment.
I turned on a lamp by the couch and told Cam to make himself at home and then grabbed my PJs and shut myself in the bathroom.
I washed off the rest of my makeup, brushed my teeth, and used some faucet water to swallow another Motrin. Grabbing up my T-shirt dress and undergarments, I switched off the bathroom light and padded into my bedroom, wearing my boxers and tank top.
Cam wasn’t in the living room as I crossed through, and I briefly wondered if he was in the kitchen.
He wasn’t.
He was lying in my bed.
Without a shirt.
“What are you doing?” I asked him as my desire stole my breath and I forgot all about my headache and how exhausted I was. I’d never seen my bed look so good or so inviting.
“You said to make myself at home.”
I laughed and dumped my clothes on the floor. I’d deal with them later. “And you took that as an invite into my bed?”
His grin was slow. “I figured if you needed me, I should be close by.”
“Uh-huh,” I said, going around to climb into the opposite side. Thank goodness I had a queen-size or there would be no room for me. Not that it mattered. I would find a way to squeeze in beside him even if my bed were the size of a sardine can.
“Nice room you have here.”
The walls were painted a light cream color; the headboard was one of those DIY projects my old roommate helped me make and was padded with a chocolate-colored faux-suede material. All the bedding was white, and there were various throw pillows in assorted shades of blue. The dresser and vanity were both painted a robin’s egg blue and there was a large framed mirror propped against one of the walls. The only other decorations in here were curtains that were horizontally striped with alternating colors of cream and blue.
“Thanks.”
I settled against the pillows, thinking this was the first time I ever had a guy in my bed. He got up and walked toward the door. Somehow I thought when I finally did have a guy in my bed (whether or not he invited himself), he would have stayed a little longer.
He closed the door and then turned and looked at me. “I wouldn’t want to wake Roxie every time I wake you up.”
“I am not responsible for any bodily harm that comes to you if you actually try to wake me up.”
“You wouldn’t hurt me.”
I snorted.
“Tell me something, Harlow,” he said, moving back toward the bed. I barely heard him speak. I was way to en
tranced by the way his gym shorts hung low, exposing those parallel muscles that cut his hips and disappeared beneath the fabric. “Is this the first time you’ve had a man in your bed?”
“Yes.” If I had been thinking clearly, I would have come up with a less lame response.
“Can’t say I’m not happy about that.” He pulled the sheet up over us both.
“Thank you for tonight,” I said. “At the bar.”
“Were you nervous?”
I nodded. “I’m a terrible stripper.”
“You’re not so bad,” he said, sliding lower beneath the covers and turning on his side to face me. A lock of blond hair fell over his forehead and I so badly wanted to push it back. But I felt a little shy all of the sudden. “You just need to relax.”
“It’s hard to relax in a crowd of drunk, grabby strangers.”
“That guy was lucky he let go when he did,” he said, his voice turning dark.
“I was kind of relieved when Adam told me to work the floor.”
He grinned. “I told him you didn’t feel well.”
“You did?” I gasped.
He nodded. “You should have seen your face when we turned into the lot and there was nowhere to park.”
I groaned and he laughed. “Complete and utter panic.”
“I don’t know how you deal with all those people.”
“Hey, people are always nice to the guy with the beer.”
I giggled. He was a really good guy. Almost from the moment we met, he’d been looking out for me, even when I wasn’t paying attention (okay, I had a horrible attention span).
I reached out and brushed the hair off his forehead. His eyes closed. Feeling a little bolder, I ran my hand through his hair, flexing my fingers against his scalp.
After a few minutes, he pulled my hand away and pressed a kiss to my palm, then tucked it near his chest. “You should go to sleep. You’re exhausted.”
“I’m not tired anymore.”
His eyes flashed up to mine. Desire swirled in their depths. In response, the desire within me began to unfurl.
“You have a concussion.”
“If you keep me awake, you won’t have to wake me up in an hour.”
“If I kept you awake right now, I would be the biggest douche bag known to man.”
“Are you turning me down?” I asked, a little bit of hurt squishing the desire.
He laughed. “Hell no.”
“Then…?”
“Why is it that women get offended when men try to do the right thing?”
“What?” His convoluted answer was making my headache return.
He hooked a hand around my hip and slid me across the mattress, closing the distance between us. Then he turned onto his back and guided my head so it was pillowed on his shoulder. His arm wrapped around me, holding me snuggly at his side.
With his free arm, he clicked off the bedside lamp. Darkness plunged around us.
“Baby, get the sleep now while I’m offering it to you because the minute you become mine, sleep won’t come as often.”
I slid my leg between his while he gently caressed the exposed skin of my waist and then I easily drifted off to sleep.
11
Every hour he woke me.
With kisses.
I never even tried to hit him.
When he would pull away, I would clutch him back for more.
Each hour upon hour, the kisses lasted just a little bit longer.
Every hour upon hour, seduction grew thicker, wrapping around the room like a heavy fog just after a twilight rain.
It was a delicious game of foreplay, kisses stretched into touches, and touches stretched into caresses. His hands began to linger on the inside of my thighs and the hollow between my breasts. Every time he touched me, my entire body quivered. It got harder and harder to fall asleep because I wanted the sweet torment to go on and on.
I don’t know what time it was when need began to overpower everything else. The curtains were drawn and the room was still dark. My hands grew bold as he lay back and tried to sleep.
I was tired of sleeping.
I started with his chest, grazing my fingers across his collarbone and down his defined chest. The pads of my fingers explored his nipples, which puckered tightly whenever I touched them too long. And then my hand dipped lower, trailing in a straight line past his belly button, and snagged on the waistband of his shorts.
There was a string there for adjusting the waist. I played with that string, occasionally brushing my knuckles across his belly. Every time I did, his muscles contracted.
Keeping my body still, lying against his side, I gently released the string and began to slip just a little bit lower.
The ridge in the center of his shorts told me he definitely wasn’t asleep. Using two fingers, I brushed down the length of him.
He moaned.
Then I came back up, once again exploring the shape and hardness of him. A little bolder, I cupped ay hand around him, sliding back down toward the base.
He caught my hand.
“What are you doing, Harlow?”
“Waking you up.”
“Oh, I’m awake.”
“Good. I wouldn’t want you to miss this.”
He sucked in a breath and I smiled in the darkness.
I pushed up off the mattress and leaned over, kissing him softly and then pulling away and kissing down his neck and chest. Because I wondered what he would do, I flicked my tongue across his nipple and he groaned again.
So I did it again. And again.
And then I started to kiss lower, heading toward the waistband of his shorts.
He moved fast, catching me under the arms and dragging me back up his body. “Not so fast,” he whispered. “You’re not the only one who gets to play.”
A little wave of thrill shot through me, and my toes curled against the mattress. He rolled me over gently, making sure there was a pillow beneath my head. And then he reached for the straps of my tank top, peeling them away, slowly lowering the shirt until my entire chest was bare.
Cam stretched the shirt down over my hips, past my legs, and then tossed it away. His skin was warm when his body came over mine and we were skin to skin, chest to chest. My nipples hardened instantly and the friction of him against me made me gasp.
His mouth claimed mine in a kiss that was more aggressive than the gentle ones that pulled me from sleep. Whatever desire was left dormant inside me came roaring out of its cage. Our tongues stroked each other with a secret kind of song that only they knew. My limbs hummed with pleasure and his chest vibrated like he was a giant cat.
His kiss traveled lower, latching onto one of my breasts and suckling the oversensitive skin until the inside of my legs tingled and began to lift off the mattress. I gripped his head as he kissed lower across my abdomen, and when he pulled at the waistband of my boxers with his teeth, my knees began to shake.
He pulled the shorts away and paused. I could feel his gaze on me. “You’re not wearing any panties,” he rasped.
“I never wear any to bed.”
“I’m going to touch you now,” he whispered. “You’re going to like it.”
He began in the juncture where my legs met my body, drawing a finger up each side along my vagina and making my tongue slide over my teeth. A small whimper escaped my mouth and he chuckled low.
Gently, Cam slid closer, each hand parting the folds and dipping into my most sacred place on my body. He groaned. “You’re soaked.”
His finger slid back and forth, up and down, and every once in while it would brush against the little bud nestled between the folds and my body would spasm involuntarily. “Not yet you don’t,” he said and pulled his fingers away.
When I thought I couldn’t take any more, he lowered, pressing my thighs wide.
I whispered his name, unsure about what he was doing.
“It’s okay, baby. I got you.”
Yes. Yes, he did have me.
In fa
ct, I was pretty sure somewhere along the line, he collected another piece of my heart.
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