Lover Undercover

by Samanthe Beck

  “This, too?” he finally managed, the words little more than a low rumble. The thought of unclasping the bra and freeing her breasts made him light-headed. Or maybe that was the lack of blood flow to his brain. He wished they’d crank up the air in this place.

  She nodded.

  “I’m on it.” All in the line of duty, right? The whole point was to make this look real. He reached around and his fingers brushed the back clasp. Could be his hands were shaky, but the damn thing eluded him. He put his palms on top of her thighs and settled her on his lap. “You’re a moving target. Sit still for a minute.”

  Her hands returned to his shoulders. He leaned forward to complete his assignment, inadvertently rasping her shoulder with his jaw. Her little shiver of reaction sent a bolt of heat straight to his groin. Sweat rolled into his eyes. He squeezed them shut and counted to ten, trying to get himself under control.

  “There we go,” he murmured, opening his eyes and leaning back. Stacy didn’t move a muscle, but her shuddery exhale sent the bra straps sliding down her arms, revealing her breasts in all their glory. Choking back a groan, he lowered his hands to his sides, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the sight of her, all up close and personal.

  Her small, pink nipples tightened under his stare. The reaction seemed to startle her. She inhaled sharply and crossed her arms over her chest. Knowing it made him just like every fool who’d ever forked over money for lap dance didn’t stop him from wondering if she might be as affected by this as he was.

  “What now? Would Carlton would touch you?” Wait. Shit. What if she said yes? Trevor was only human, but there were lines here he couldn’t cross.

  “That’s not allowed,” she said breathlessly. Reluctantly, insisted the idiot in his head. “Aside from undressing me, Carlton preferred not to touch.”

  “Ah. That’s right. He liked to watch.”

  She nodded.

  “You put on a realistic show, and he watched?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay, then. I’m all eyes.” Keeping them on her face, he leaned back in his chair and mentally recited the Law Enforcement Oath of Honor.

  She rose from his lap and slowly tipped her head back until her hat tumbled away. Then she crossed her arms behind her neck, lifted her hair, and let it cascade down her back. The Oath segued into a prayer for strength.

  Prayers wouldn’t be enough, he realized, when she splayed her hands on her rib cage and slowly slid them up her torso toward her breasts. At the last minute, however, she hesitated. Her eyes drifted to his. “Do you want me to…?”

  The cynical part of his brain took charge, because he didn’t have any prayers left. “You’ve got the innocent, virginal act down pat. It’s surprisingly effective.” Then the cynic surrendered and all he had left was the truth. “Hell, yes, I want you to,” he whispered. “I might die if you don’t.”

  Maybe Stacy got off on tortured admissions, or maybe this was all part of the act, but she closed her eyes, ran her hands over her breasts, and gave a little whimper that vibrated all the way through him.

  “Like this?” she whispered.

  “That’s good. I mean…” Shit. “If that’s what Carlton liked.”

  She strummed her fingers over the tight peaks and bit her lip as if to hold back a moan. He stiffened in the chair and reached for her before he caught himself. “Jesus. Sorry.”

  If she heard him, she gave no sign. She seemed to be off in her own world, somewhere beyond those closed eyes. Real or simulated? Hard to say. Mesmerizing? Definitely. When she sucked her finger into her mouth, and then rubbed her nipple, transferring moisture to the glistening peak, he exhaled harshly, sending a burst of air over the tip. The skin puckered, and a moan echoed low in her throat.

  He groaned and shifted in the chair. Before he knew what she had in mind, she pressed her hips down and rode his throbbing cock. In his overtaxed imagination, there were no barriers between them. No lacy G-string, no dark-blue suit pants, just a slow, slick slide of heated flesh against heated flesh.

  They had to stop. He had to—oh, God. Her palm swept down her fluttering belly until her fingers found the soaked lace of her thong. With one hand braced on his shoulder for balance, she arched her back, thrust her breasts forward, and proceeded to rub and stroke herself into a frenzy.

  She was giving him, hands down, the sexiest show he’d ever seen. Her uncensored, uninhibited movements sure as hell didn’t look like an act. Didn’t feel like an act. Worse, he didn’t want this to be an act. The last thought shocked him into action. Abruptly, he widened his legs. The move forced her thighs farther apart. “Stacy, we have to stop—”

  Too late. Head back and teeth clenched, her entire body tightened against his. Her free hand clenched his shirtfront while the busy hand between her legs stilled. She sucked in a quick breath—as if she’d just walked into the biggest surprise of her life—and then came with a long, shattering cry.

  In that moment, Trevor knew that he was completely and utterly fucked.

  …

  “That was some performance.”

  Trevor’s sardonic comment cut through Kylie’s churning thoughts. What the hell had she just done? Had she lost her freaking mind, along with every last shred of decency and self-control? Yes, she was under pressure. Yes, this man stirred up unprecedented chemistry inside her and she had zero experience handling those urges. But indulging in a sexual fantasy to get through a private dance, forfeiting control for some kind of escape, was dangerous and humiliating. Shame burned hot enough to make her tremble.

  She pried her eyes open and looked at him. What she saw in his face set her trembling again, this time with panic. He knows. Ruthlessly, she cut the thought off. No, he suspects. He doesn’t know anything you don’t tell him.

  “I’m pleased you enjoyed it,” she said breezily, though it was more like a wheeze, and started to climb off him. “Carlton always did.”

  He caught her wrist, stopping her retreat. “All part of your show, huh?” His expression mirrored the disbelief in his voice.

  “That’s right.”

  Before she could guess his intention, he brought her hand to his face. The same hand that, seconds ago, had been nestled between her legs. He inhaled deeply, and her face flamed. She tried to pull away, but he held on.

  “If that was a performance, you deserve an Academy Award.”

  “No holding,” ordered a firm voice from the corner of the room.

  The interruption jolted her right out of her skin. Then recognition dawned and she almost wilted with relief. Benny. Good old Benny. She’d forgotten he was there, but could have kissed him on the mouth when his stoic instruction did the trick. Still watching her like a hawk, Trevor unhurriedly released her wrist. The disbelief on his face continued to challenge her assertion she’d been acting, but he said nothing more.

  Get out, fast. She scrambled away and scanned the floor for her shirt. She found it easily enough and shrugged the garment on, but shaking hands made dealing with the buttons difficult.

  “Need some help?”

  The deliberate patience in Trevor’s voice bothered her almost as much as the feel of his maddeningly steady hands trailing along her shirtfront, deftly securing buttons. His movements caused the fabric to shift and rub. Under his miss-no-detail gaze, her nipples sprang to attention.

  Swatting at his hands, she added, “Cut it out.”

  “Back off.” This time Benny’s disembodied voice sounded more menacing.

  “I’m not holding her,” Trevor replied calmly, not bothering to turn around. He finished buttoning her shirt and rubbed his thumb gently under her eye, where she’d tried to use makeup to hide the dark, puffy circles left by lack of sleep.

  The big man stepped out of the shadows. One look at his dogged expression and Kylie realized she was about to have an even bigger problem. Hoping to avoid trouble, she shifted away from Trevor’s touch. “Everything’s okay, Benny. We’re done.” Arms crossed, hip cocked, she sent Trev
or a look that silently dared him to contradict her. “Aren’t we?”

  He nodded. “For now. Get some rest, Stacy. You’re going to need it.”

  Chapter Five

  Trevor looked up from his half-completed expense report and cocked a brow when Ian stopped beside the desk. His partner had a closed file folder and an equally closed expression. Behind him, the typical chaos of the detectives’ bullpen ran its Monday afternoon course.

  “Vern Firth came through with the customer and employee lists.”

  Trevor leaned back in his chair. “How bad?”

  Ian shrugged. “Not terrible. Seven male staff members, including Firth, during the last year, and eleven Stacy regulars. I’m about half-done running the regulars for priors.”

  “Anything interesting so far?”

  Ian opened the file and handed him a stack of printouts. “Nada. Not so much as a restraining order from a past girlfriend. Nothing to suggest any of these guys has a history of disturbing behavior. They’re white-collar professionals—accountants, executives, lawyers. An evening at Deuces isn’t cheap, but her regulars can afford the hit. Not saying there aren’t any gainfully employed wackos out there, but if one of these men is our killer, he pays someone else to do his dirty work or he keeps his violent tendencies on a tight leash.”

  Trevor leafed through the reports, giving the data a cursory scan. “Yeah. It’s a possibility, I guess, but bashing someone’s skull in and then working them over with brass knuckles doesn’t say cool-headed restraint to me…or hired hit. The face-work strikes me as personal. A pro wouldn’t sign up for something so messy and inefficient. I think our guy’s impulsive and relies on violence or the threat of violence to get his message across. Someone who doesn’t mind getting his hands dirty, so to speak. The combination usually leaves some kind of trail in the old permanent record—a domestic violence charge, assault, battery, stalking. It doesn’t scream accountant.”

  Ian inclined his head. “I agree. So, we finish the regulars and then focus on the employees?”

  “Yeah. Let’s finish the runs and see what we get.” Tapping the reports, he added, “In the meantime, I’ll contact the lovely and talented Miss Roberts and ask her to come down and chat with me about her biggest fans.”

  “You think maybe she’ll remember some of them this time?”

  He smiled. “Hope springs eternal. I do think I’ll be able to tell if one of them makes her nervous.”

  “What makes you so sure?”

  “Because I make her nervous, and I can read it plain as day.”

  …

  Don’t act nervous, Kylie ordered herself and stilled her restless hands by folding them in her lap. Difficult instructions considering she once again sat in an LAPD interview room, beside Detective Trevor McCade. Sitting next to him was a nerve-racking way to spend a Wednesday evening, no matter what the reason.

  Currently, silence stretched between them while he made notes in a file and she tried to look anywhere besides the triangle of bronze skin revealed by his loosened tie and unbuttoned collar. She tried not to dwell on their time together Saturday night—the way his eyes had moved over her body. Despite her resolve to put the incident behind her, she’d been reliving the encounter constantly, the unprecedented urges he’d drawn from her, the addictive new sensations. Now, with the living, breathing man in front of her again, her addled system jumped to high alert. When she found herself wondering how it would feel to trace her tongue over the scar above his lip, she gave herself a mental shake, fixed her attention on her hands, and assessed the course of the interview so far.

  On the bright side, she was doing better with his questions this time…at least she thought she was. Thanks to Stacy’s “clients 101” crash course, she’d arrived for the interview armed with names, descriptions, preferences, and impressions.

  On the not-so-bright side, she’d been a little surprised to learn that despite the intimate dances Stacy gave these men, her twin really didn’t know any more about her best clients than Kylie knew about her yoga students. Her sister considered all the men “nice,” by which she apparently meant docile and mildly pathetic. Stacy truly didn’t have information that would be helpful to a murder investigation.

  Kylie’s attention wandered back to Trevor, and stalled there when she realized he was watching her. He gave her his easy half smile, and her insides fluttered so badly she had to force herself not to press a hand to her stomach.

  “Your memory seems to have improved tremendously in the last couple days,” he observed, shifting closer.

  “I’ve had plenty of time to think about my clients since Saturday. You’d be surprised what you can remember about someone when you’re considering whether he might be a killer.”

  He closed the file folder and nodded. Lighter, sun-burnished strands of his hair gleamed under the fluorescent lights. “Let’s cut to the chase then. Do any of these men worry you?”

  “No. My VIPs are harmless.”

  His brows shot up, speculatively. “I don’t know if we can trust your judgment there. After all, Long and Montenegro weren’t exactly harmless. One pulled you offstage. The other did something during a private dance that convinced you to have him bounced.”

  She’d said as much to Stacy and was prepared to provide the same reply she’d received. “Carlton was drunk when he pulled me offstage. He didn’t normally drink much, but for some reason he overindulged that evening. The alcohol made him clumsy and overeager. He never intended to hurt me, he just forgot to let go when he took his seat. If the stage bouncer had been doing his job, the whole thing never would have happened.”

  “And Montenegro?”

  Embarrassment more than nerves had her fingers toying with the silver “om” pendant dangling in the vee of her light gray T-shirt. “Alex wanted to, ah…” Heat swept her cheeks, but she forced herself to spit it out. “He wanted to do a sort of spanking thing during a private dance. I don’t know what the other girls let a client get away with, but I don’t allow that kind of contact. I told him no. A few minutes later he tried it anyway. Ramon didn’t do anything—no big shock because Ramon is off in his own world most of the time—so I cut the music and told Alex if he didn’t keep his hands to himself I wouldn’t dance for him anymore.”

  “He took it badly?”

  “No, he took it like a mischievous boy caught with his hand in the cookie jar. But the disruption finally attracted Ramon’s attention and I guess he got worried I was going to tell Vern he sat around and did nothing while a customer manhandled me. He made a big scene and escorted Alex out of the club so he wouldn’t look derelict. I didn’t want Alex bounced. Ramon did that on his own.”

  Trevor’s steady gaze met hers. “Would you characterize his reaction as impulsive and violent?”

  “I’d characterize it as a shortsighted attempt to cover his butt.”

  “Why shortsighted?”

  “Deuces is an upscale club. The bouncers are expected to be discreet and professional when dealing with a disturbance, not create an even bigger one by dragging a customer out by his collar. I heard through the grapevine Vern gave Ramon grief for handling the incident as he did.”

  “So Alex made Ramon appear unprofessional? Maybe put his job in danger?”

  “I don’t know if I’d say his job was in danger.”

  “But he didn’t look good?”

  “No, I guess not.”

  “Who was working the stage when Carlton pulled you down?”

  Kylie opened her mouth to reply, and then stopped as the answer hit her. Shocked, she turned to Trevor. He nodded encouragingly.

  “Ramon.” She barely managed a whisper.

  “Carlton made him look incompetent at his job.”

  She swallowed to ease the tightness in her throat. “Yes. I found out later Ramon left the stage unattended to take a personal call. Totally against policy. I think Vern threatened to fire him if he ever did it again.”

  “Ramon’s the link between Carlton a
nd Alex.”

  Kylie shook her head. “You’re saying Ramon killed two men because they caused trouble at Deuces? Made him look bad?” She shook her head again, unwilling to accept the theory. “That’s no reason to kill someone.”

  “Welcome to my world.”

  The utter calm of his voice made her realize he was serious. Unbidden, Ramon’s dull, empty stare filled her mind. She shivered, but then straightened in her chair. “It can’t be Ramon. He wasn’t working the night…” Her words trailed off as the fuller implication of her statement sank in.

  Trevor smiled, a panther closing in on his prey. “Ramon wasn’t working the night Carlton was killed.” It was a statement rather than a question, but Kylie answered anyway.

  “No.”

  “I’m liking it better and better. He’s got the size and strength for the job, he knew the men, and now, he’s got motive and opportunity.”

  She blinked, so stunned she hardly dared hope this particular nightmare might actually be over. “Are you going to arrest him?”

  “We’ll pick him up for questioning. In the meantime, if you could keep clear—?”

  “Not a problem. I don’t work again until tomorrow night. But what about the other dancers? Are they safe?”

  “They’re fine. We’ve never established a link between the dead men and any of the other dancers.” He looked as if he wanted to say something else, but held his tongue. Instead he picked up the remote control and tapped a button that she assumed stopped the cameras, then leaned back in his chair and looked at her. A strange awareness simmered in the depths of his dark eyes.

  Now her nerves rushed back, along with something else—something she didn’t want to think about. Restless, she straightened the side seams of her gray workout tights.

  “Thank you for your help, Stacy.” His expression, the timbre of his voice, triggered butterfly wings in her chest.