by White, Pat
“Sandy?”
No response. He padded across the hotel room and brushed a few strands of hair off her face. She had beautiful fair skin that looked so damned soft. He grazed her cheek with his fingertips, but she didn’t move. She’d dozed off.
What was she doing here? If her assignment was to spy on him, she was failing big time. He must have been insane to think she was trying to uncover his secrets. Write it off to his mild concussion and lack of sleep, thanks to this sweet girl.
But this adorable girl was supplying drugs to the wrestlers. His hand dropped to his side. If she was the drug connection to local teenagers—hell, even if she wasn’t—she could still lead him to the source. Anything to finish this assignment and move on.
“Sandy,” he said, a little louder.
Her head popped up and she blinked a few times. “Hotel. I’m in a hotel room.”
“My hotel room.”
She glanced up. “Right, your concussion. I’m watching you.”
“I don’t need watching. Go home.” He ambled to the bed and climbed under the covers.
“I have to wake you every few hours to make sure it’s not a class three concussion.”
“You have. It’s not.” He closed his eyes.
“How do you know?”
“I’ve had experience with concussions.”
“Work?”
He opened his eyes. The DEA? No, she was likely referring to his phantom construction job. “Yeah, work.”
“Then you know I should check on you every few hours.” She stepped into his line of vision, sitting on the bed opposite him.
“You woke me what, three times?” he said. “You’ve done your job.”
“I’d feel better if I could stay for one more round.”
A few more rounds with her looking like that and he’d lay her out on the bed and lick her up one side and down the other. She’d gotten comfortable in the last six hours, stripping down to a tank top and jeans. She’d even taken off her socks. Damn her for having sexy toes.
“Do what you want,” he said.
“Good. Answer a few questions so we can both take a nap. How old are you?”
“Thirty-four.”
“How long were you in construction?”
“Too long.”
“Funny.”
“Ten years.” It was true, he’d been constructing his career in law enforcement for the past ten years since he’d left the army.
“Girlfriends?”
He eyed her. “Kinda personal, don’t you think?”
She shrugged. “What exactly did you take last night before you went into the ring?”
“The boys gave me some of your wonder pills.”
“What else?”
“That’s it.”
“You’re sure?”
He shot her a look. She leaned back, elbows on the bed. He couldn’t stand the way her skimpy white shirt stretched across her chest, revealing her perfectly-shaped breasts. Time to find a hot, willing woman. After he recovered from this nasty headache.
“Can I sleep now?” he asked.
“Sure.”
He closed his eyes. He wanted her to leave and take that fresh minty scent and soft voice with her. This woman acted like the perfect nurse, but was actually peddling poison.
Then he felt the brush of her fingertips against his hairline. Soft, gentle. He pulled the covers closer to him, pretending to drift off to sleep.
“There’s ibuprofen on the nightstand,” she whispered. “Don’t take more than two.”
Warm fingertips grazed his cheek and trailed up to his temple. Relaxing. Drifting. Wait, he couldn’t let his guard down, not with her so close.
“Who hurt you, Jason McBain?” she whispered.
He knew she wasn’t referring to tonight’s match. He also knew if she continued to gently touch and stroke him this way he’d lose his mind.
He rolled over, turning his back to her. He didn’t open his eyes. He didn’t have to. He heard her sigh and felt disappointment hang in the air. She wanted to help him, to uncover his secrets.
The only person she should be worried about helping was herself.
The hotel room door clicked shut and he took a deep breath. He had to stay close to her but not let her inside. Great. How was he going to do that when she was already halfway there?
Chapter Six
A few days later, Sandy found herself waiting anxiously for her blind date. She tapped her fingertips on the lacquered bar at the Prime Minister restaurant in Chicago. Her index finger stuck to a dried puddle of mixer.
“Eeehhhh.” She snapped her finger off the bar, dipped it in a glass of water, and dried it with a napkin.
Maybe this was a bad decision. She shouldn’t have let big brother Curt set her up with mystery man, Decker Smitts. What kind of name was Decker, anyway? But she’d been desperate, determined and downright horny. Thank you, Jack the Stripper.
Taking care of The Stripper the other night had shaken her resolve to keep her hands off wrestlers. After listening to his desperate mumblings as he slept—and groggy answers to her questions—she’d left his hotel room knowing two things: 1) someone hurt him deeply; and 2) she wanted desperately to help.
That’s how it began with Cody. It started with healing and ended with hurting.
“Not doing that again,” she whispered.
As for the horny part of the night… She scolded herself for being attracted to The Stripper’s magnificent body, his firm, six-pack abs and broad chest dusted with incredibly touchable hair. Why him? Why now? Was it because her baby clock was ticking, or perhaps she feared becoming her Aunt Doris, who dated invisible fish? Did it matter?
Cosmo asked her to spy on The Stripper, and figure out what he was up to. If she didn’t get her libido in check she’d end up following The Stripper around like a sex-crazed virgin.
What a mess. It was definitely time to grow up and stop being drawn to bad boys and lost causes.
Big brother Curt was a responsible father with a steady job and normal friends. He’d been bugging her to meet his teaching buddy Decker Smitts. So here she was, waiting for her blind date: a nice, normal man.
Who cared if her date wore a hairpiece at thirty-three? She’d told Curt it didn’t matter. After all, it wasn’t about a man’s hair, or smile, or steel abs. It was about what was inside, how he took care of his family, how he loved them. Kind of like how The Stripper took care of his little sister.
“Are you Sandy?”
She glanced up. A tall man with thick brown hair and gray eyes smiled at her. Not bad, she thought, noticing a chipped tooth in front. Don’t be judgmental. Dental insurance is a killer these days.
“Yep, that’s me.”
“I’m Decker Smitts. You look different than I expected.”
“Really? How so?” She sat a little straighter. She’d taken special care to dress in her most feminine outfit: a low-cut silk blouse and black pants. She’d even dug out the garnet earrings Mom gave her.
“I don’t know, you look,” he paused. “Young.”
She wanted to ask if he meant young as in jailbait or young as in “what beautiful skin you have.” It didn’t matter. She was used to men thinking of her as someone’s kid sister. Time to change all that.
“You look different, too.” She stood and they shook hands, his fingers long and slim, kind of like the man.
She batted her eyelashes and gave his hand a little extra squeeze, hoping to turn him on.
“You’re much taller than I expected.” She smiled. She knew men loved feeling tall.
He smiled. At least she thought it was a smile. Or did she squeeze his hand too hard?
“They’ve got a table for us.” He motioned her ahead of him, a gentlemanly gesture. Cody Monroe always expected her to walk in his shadow, her tongue hanging out, eyes glazed over with adoration. She’d never be fooled like that again, never get sucked into the fantasy that a man loved her for her integrity and womanly qualities, as opposed to loving
her for her healing hands or influence with Cosmo.
The hostess led them through the dining room to a table by the fireplace. How romantic, she thought, although a little warm. She shucked her lightweight jacket and noticed Decker’s eyes widen a bit. Good. She deserved to be admired by a man.
He smiled. “Their specialty is the New York strip.”
Drat, the “S” word. She’d hoped she could completely forget her obstinate patient from the other night.
“Sounds great.” She forced a smile, realizing how foreign it felt.
She must have been convincing because the corner of his mouth curved slightly and his fingers tightened around the edge of his menu. It seemed she wasn’t the only one in need of a warm physical connection. Oh heck, call it what it was: she needed great sex. That would purge The Stripper from her mind.
Decker put down his menu and she did the same. “Want something to drink?” he asked.
“Sure.”
He ordered a bottle of special reserve pinot noir.
“So, you rub down professional wrestlers for a living, huh?” His eyes gleamed.
Okay. This meant either he got hard at the thought of her hands oiling up hard muscles, or he swung both ways and wanted an introduction to one of the boys.
The waitress interrupted the moment by presenting their wine. Sandy watched Decker swirl, sniff, taste and nod in appreciation. The waitress filled Sandy’s glass. She passed on the swirling and took a hearty sip.
“Lovely,” she said.
It was all lovely: the expensive wine, the soft music from a nearby quartet, the warm fire crackling a few feet away. A quiver of uneasiness zipped through her tummy. What was that about?
“Do you like your job?” he asked.
“I guess.” She’d never really thought about it. “It’s a family tradition, pro wrestling,” she clarified.
“I teach eighth graders.”
“Wow, you’re brave.” She took another sip, the wine loosening her shoulder muscles.
“Nothing brave about it. You just have to be patient and try to understand what they’re going through. I was a geek in school so I can relate to the shy ones. What about you? You were one of the popular girls, right? A cheerleader, I’ll bet.”
She laughed, enjoying the misconception. “No way. I spent a lot of time in the principal’s office.”
“No kidding?”
“Nope.”
“What for?”
“Let’s just say I didn’t want to be at school.” No, she’d wanted to be at a match watching her dad win another championship. Back then she’d thought it was real.
For the next few minutes Decker talked about his students, coaching after school basketball, and the last trip he and Curt took to northern Minnesota. She could see why Curt liked the guy. He was easy to talk to, no pretense.
Too bad there were few sparks flying between she and Decker. Was that her fault? No, she wouldn’t let Cody’s critiques of her sexual performance ruin this night.
By the time their entrée was served, they were both a little buzzed and laughing at his silly jokes. She leaned back in her chair and relaxed, watching him wave his fork as he retold the story of the attacking muskrat.
He laughed. “Must have been insane, crazy, ya’ know?”
Decker may not be the man of her dreams but he was a pleasant guy, and at her age maybe she should settle for pleasant. That way she wouldn’t fall too hard and be ripped apart by a heartless, self-centered Adonis like Cody ... or Jack the Stripper.
Her gaze drifted to the lobby and she nearly choked on her steak. Speak of the devil and there he stood. Jack the Stripper glanced into the dining room like he was looking for someone. Or spying on someone?
“You okay?” Decker asked.
She snapped her attention back to her date. “Fine, fine. Time to hit the ladies’ room.” She stood.
“How about dessert?”
Stepping up beside Decker, she glanced into the lobby and caught The Stripper’s eye. Leaning down she whispered into Decker’s ear, “Chocolate, anything chocolate, and I’m all yours.”
His eyes widened in appreciation. Yep, they were both going to get what they needed tonight.
She sauntered through the restaurant, breezing up to The Stripper. “Follow me,” she commanded.
She marched down the long hallway to the bathroom, swinging her hips in a way she didn’t think possible. This was her night. Her “hot-and-wild-woman” night. Nothing was going to ruin it, especially not a two-hundred pound jerk that didn’t appreciate the time and energy she’d spent trying to help him.
She stopped short of the ladies’ room and spun around to face The Stripper. “How dare you show up here!”
“What are you talking about?”
“This is my private life. I never mix it up with my job. You shouldn’t be here.”
“Why not? I’m hungry,” he said.
She crossed her arms over her chest. “I’ll bet.” Damn him for looking so edible in all black: tight jeans, a buttoned-down shirt and that worn, black leather jacket that hung to his knees. He looked devilishly handsome and dangerous. The very sight of him turned her on.
“You need to leave,” she said.
He shot her a sly smile. “Why?”
“Because I’m nervous enough being on a blind date and I don’t need you stalking me.”
“A blind date?” he said, his smile broadening.
“Stop teasing me. I’m trying to forget my day job. Don’t you ever want to do that?”
A strange expression colored his eyes but quickly disappeared. “I’m sorry,” he said, taking her hand. “But I need your help.”
“Now?”
“I’ve been having dizzy spells and—”
She snatched her hand back. “There’s an emergency room down the street.”
“I don’t want a doctor. I want you.”
“You need a doctor.”
“I need you.”
The words vibrated deep in her chest.
“Don’t.” She took a step toward the bathroom. “Go to the hospital and get a CT scan. We should have done that the other night, but I was afraid—”
“What? That I would lose my job, right? See, you care about me, you look out for me. You’re the only one I can trust.”
Trust? What a joke. “Go home.”
She pushed open the bathroom door and went inside, anxious for some space, desperate for peace. Instead, she got a shadow in the form of Jack the Stripper. He stood next to her, smiling.
She squared off with him. “You can’t come in here!”
“Sure I can.”
“Stripper—”
“Jason,” he corrected.
“I’ve done all I can. Find a neurosurgeon.”
“I don’t trust doctors.”
“I don’t care.”
“Yes, you do.”
“ARGH!” She shoved at his chest but he caught her wrists.
Then his lips were suddenly on hers, warm and wet and ever so soft. Her legs turned to oatmeal and started to give way, but he held her up. With a firm yet gentle grip around her waist, he held her against him, his tongue teasing her lips, warming her insides.
“Oh! Excuse me,” a woman said.
The stranger broke the spell and The Stripper broke the kiss. He smiled down at Sandy, and that’s when she realized her legs were nearly wrapped around his waist. Good grief! She slid to her feet and turned to face the mirror.
“Could you give us a second?” he said to the woman who’d come in to use the bathroom. She sheepishly walked away.
Sandy stared at her reflection in the mirror: rosy cheeks, wide eyes, swollen lips.
“I’m...” Jason ran his hand through unruly hair. A few strands fell across his forehead. “That was ... a mistake.”
She studied his eyes through the mirror’s reflection and read regret. He regretted kissing her? Sure, probably because he feared ruining their working relationship, or maybe because the
kiss was a complete letdown, or worse.
“Okay, you’ve had your fun. Now leave.” She washed her hands.
“Fun? What are you talking about?”
“The boys put you up to this, right? They sensed my attraction to you and sent you over to mess with me, see if someone other than Cody Monroe could get in my pants. What’s the bet? Fifty bucks? A hundred?”
“No one sent me.”
“Uh-huh. I can tell when you’re lying Stripper, and I have no patience for it. Please leave, so I can get back to my date.”
The Stripper shoved his hands into his coat pockets and stepped out of the bathroom. Only then could she breathe; only then did her pulse return to normal. That man was going to test her resolve in every way possible. She’d already lost her ability to think professionally around him. She’d practically melted at his feet like a schoolgirl.
Somehow, some way, she had to regain her professional distance. She’d tell Cosmo she couldn’t do his undercover assignment; she’d ask Johnny to handle all medical concerns regarding The Stripper. And she would never, under any circumstances, call him by his real name: Jason.
“Okay, now we know what you’re not going to do,” she said to her reflection in the mirror. “Now focus on what you’re gonna do tonight.”
She shook out her hair, ran a brush through it and practiced a pout. Not bad. Forget about The Stripper, forget about the kiss, and forget about the throbbing between her legs. With her virgin lifestyle since Cody left BAM, any man could have had that effect on her.
Tonight she hoped it would be Decker Smitts.
* * *
Jason shifted in the small rental car, feeling damned uncomfortable. “Hell,” he muttered, eyeing Sandy’s condo.
It was going to be a long night, he thought, glancing into the rear view. Where the hell were they? It was nearly midnight. They’d been ordering dessert when he left them an hour ago. They should be home by now.
Being a high-energy kind of guy, surveillance ranked last on his list of favorite things to do. He got antsy waiting for something to happen.
Like he didn’t already know what was going to happen? Sandy would bring her dopey date home, screw his brains out and send him on his way. Who was that guy, anyway? She’d said it was a blind date, but J found it hard to believe she needed to be fixed up, not with those curves, mesmerizing eyes and her sharp wit.
