Hot and Bothered

by Crystal Green

But when had she turned into this slobbering lust monkey anyway? Time to cool it.

  The driver had gotten out of the limo and come around back to open the door. Rochelle held steady while Harry slipped on his light black jacket to cover his holstered gun and exited first. He looked around outside, even though the odds of another creeper being here were astronomical.

  As Rochelle and Gideon waited in silence, she sighed, not meaning to. He was just . . . so near. And she wasn’t only talking about his current proximity—she’d come this close to having Gideon this morning, almost getting that closure with him.

  She was about to break the quiet with another small talky tidbit about—God she didn’t even know what she wanted to say to him at this point—when her phone dinged.

  She didn’t even look at it, already knowing it was her dad, rescheduling yet again. But her mood lifted as the familiar roar of a pickup came along.

  Gideon reached under his light jacket, as if flexing for his firearm, but Harry leaned down into the car and spoke in a calm voice.

  “It’s just the cousins.”

  Buzz’s red Sierra pickup jerked to a stop next to them, and Jonsey spilled out of the passenger’s side, his blond hair fighting its way out from under his cowboy hat.

  “Bring on the trouble!” he yelled while heading for the limo, sticking a hand inside to help Rochelle out.

  She grasped onto him, swinging her legs toward the door, her blue Jimmy Choo leather heeled sandals hitting the blacktop before Jonsey pulled her to her feet. He kissed her on the cheek and cupped the back of her head with both hands, smoothly avoiding her sleek over-the-shoulder ponytail.

  “You good, cuz?” he asked.

  “I’m good, cuz.”

  He let go of her. “Where’re those creepers? Boy, I haven’t had a decent fight since—”

  “Jail,” Tucker said mildly, slamming the pickup’s passenger door behind Jonsey. He was dressed in his biker boots, holey jeans, and a tight, untucked white T-shirt whose sleeves were high enough to barely hide a gothic web tattoo trailing from his shoulder to the top of his biceps. His dark hair was unruly, coming to his neck. “Jonsey, we already talked about this. Me, Buzz, and the guards will handle any creepers.”

  Buzz came around the front of the truck, pushing up his cowboy hat and revealing his short, dark hair. “Amen to that, Tuck. You hear him, Jon? Because if you get rough, I’ll be the first to fry your ass.”

  Jonsey laughed. “You’ll have to catch me first—after I do my damage.”

  Rochelle grinned at him while adjusting his hat in playful fondness, appreciating his protective nature. Jonsey was the young pup of the brothers, not yet out of his twenties, but he’d always tried to keep up with the big boys.

  By now, Gideon had exited the limo to stand by Rochelle’s side. Shivers rolled down her, and she reveled in them. She did her best to hide it from him and her cousins, who were already clapping Gideon on the back in a fine hello.

  “Just like the old days!” Buzz said, already pulling Gideon toward the door. “We used to have some times here even before Jesse bought the place, didn’t we?”

  “Now, Buzz,” Gideon said, slapping him on his shoulder and disengaging, “I’m on duty.”

  Buzz gave Gideon’s arm a rough squeeze. It was clearly the male version of a thank-you for what Gideon had done for Rochelle today.

  She was sure the gesture would’ve been a whole lot different if he’d known what happened afterward in that bathroom, though.

  Harry had already gone inside the club, no doubt to check things out, although Jesse Navarro had told Gideon he’d secured everything beforehand. Since Jesse seemed to be a good friend of Gideon’s, Rochelle had every faith she was walking into somewhere as convivial as her own mansion.

  For the most part.

  Jonsey went to the door, resting his fingers on the handle and giving Rochelle an amused look.

  “I’m so happy I’m here for Rochelle’s first time,” he said.

  She almost choked. He had no idea how truly close by he’d been for her first time—the cousins had been just inside the ranch house, not so far from the old barn where she and Gideon had . . .

  Yeah. Not thinking about it.

  Jonsey opened the door and ushered Rochelle and Gideon inside, where they were met in the near darkness by a raucous Beyonce song followed by the smell of perfume over grilled meat.

  As Buzz and Tucker moved past her, Rochelle’s eyes adjusted to the sight of a main stage that held poles with dancers wrapped around them, straddling the metal, licking their way up while pushing a hand down their clothes-challenged bodies. Mirrors reflected every move around the room like a carnival while men sat at the edge of the stage and at tables, enjoying lap dances, and . . .

  Eating meals? People actually did come here to eat Jesse’s carne asada?

  Hmm.

  Rochelle eased a curious look at Gideon. Carne asada or not, this guy was certainly the cock of the walk for bringing her here, where girls were dressed in negligees, bumping and grinding. Wasn’t he afraid he was sending her the wrong message, just asking for another round of horniness from her?

  He still looked stoic. “It’s not what you’re thinking.”

  “And what would that be?” she asked over the music.

  He waited until Buzz and Jonsey whooped their way to a table, followed by Tucker, who already had his intense gaze on a lap dancer dressed like a schoolgirl. From the way she smiled at him, they had to know each other. Buzz and Jonsey obviously had their favorites, too—a pair of ladies dressed in baby doll nighties with kitten ears fixed to their heads. One of them even greeted Buz with a scratching motion.

  Through it all, Harry stood by, a total statue of discretion.

  Gideon leaned close to her. As he talked, she could feel every word stirring her hair, his breath against her ear, warming it. “This place is safe, like I told you. I would’ve suggested the Rough and Tumble, but we’ve already had one creeper there.”

  “And who knows how many others might show up randomly?” Like Dillinger, if he was inclined to mess with her.

  “This is the first time I’ve ever thought of the Rough and Tumble as anything but a friendly haven.”

  He seemed rather down about that, as if the saloon meant more to him than it appeared to her—as if it was a kick-back place he could go to without any worries weighing him down.

  Interesting.

  “Loosen up, pardner,” she said, testing him. “You’re so tense. How is that possible after what we did today?”

  And that didn’t go over very well.

  When she saw his jaw tighten, she teasingly put a hand over her mouth and spoke around it.

  “Am I not supposed to mention it?”

  “Rochelle . . .”

  “Because I thought it was good to get that tension out of us. You see, now we don’t have to think about it anymore.”

  What a joke, because she sure was thinking about what’d happened this morning, his mouth all over her, rocking her to small cries and pleasured moans.

  As he planted his hands on his hips, looking straight ahead, his jaw rock solid, he became a different Gideon, definitely not the one she’d been with today. He’d gone back to the near stranger who was only here to do a job.

  She got the message loud and clear, but what came with it was even worse—that never-ending embarrassment she always seemed to feel around him. And it was flying in her direction like a stream of red that was about to splash over her.

  Why couldn’t she ever make the right move with Gideon?

  But she didn’t get defensive about it. She didn’t fuss. She merely smiled, as if she’d been kidding him and wouldn’t do it again.

  “Who knew,” she said, “that you’d be the one to grow up with such a stick up your butt?”

  He didn’t answer, b
ut she wasn’t about to hang around for a response anyway—not when she was alive and free, without a creeper in sight. Not when she should be having fun.

  There was just something about escaping possible death or injury that’d pumped her up tonight, and even if she knew she was on an adrenalized roller coaster thanks to the attack today, she plowed into the depths of the Pink Ladies, leaving the embarrassment behind.

  As usual.

  ***

  Gideon knew it was going to be a long night.

  He could feel the restlessness in Rochelle that had been building all day, and it’d all started after the creeper attack. It hadn’t helped that he’d just now brushed her off when she’d gotten too friendly, and Lord knew he couldn’t afford friendly, especially after their kiss-and-tickle session this morning.

  Obviously, he was going to be doing more than watching for creeper threats tonight. It looked like he’d be babysitting the biggest kind of pain-in-the-ass client—a partier.

  But since he’d helped create her, he was gonna stick by her.

  She flagged down Aria, a waitress wearing a pink cat suit, then expansively gestured around the room, no doubt ordering a round of something or other for everyone. And even though Rochelle was going to fit in pretty damned well after treating the crowd to booze, she sure looked out of place in that sophisticated black, red, and white designer sheath she was wearing.

  Next to him, Harry loudly muttered under the music. “Want to explain anything to me about that private, flirty interaction you just had with our client?”

  “She did the flirtin’.”

  “True, but don’t come crying to me when she gets blasted. She walked off pissed at you, so she’s all yours once we get out of here.” He’d told Gideon he appreciated the extra hours, but no guard, including Harry, liked a drunk client.

  The other guard walked over to Rochelle and the table where her cousins had already summoned Trixie and Delilah, the two dancers who were wearing little cat ears and purring on Buzz’s and Jonsey’s laps. Tucker was texting on his phone, avoiding the ardent gaze of another dancer who was dressed like a Catholic boy’s wet dream and whose stage name was Mary Agnes.

  Gideon had seen the boys in here a time or two. Buzz and Jonsey usually came together—probably so the older brother could keep the younger one in line—but Tucker always walked in alone, hanging out toward the back of the room until Mary Agnes would sashay over to him, huddling with him in the shadows until he went home just as alone as he’d arrived.

  Gideon could relate. How much easier would his life be right now if he’d had nothing to do with Rochelle, who was, by the way, flapping a handful of bills at Trixie and Delilah, clearly asking for a dance?

  He felt someone walking toward him and glanced over to find Jesse Navarro, whose granite-muscled arms were crossed over his black-shirted chest. The low colored lights bathed the sun he’d shaved into his crew cut.

  “You got everything in hand?” he asked.

  And he wasn’t enquiring about the creeper.

  Gideon merely frowned.

  “Thought so.” A few beats of a Lita Ford song chugged by. “I should thank you for bringing your client in. My cash drawer’s gonna be muy lovely tonight.”

  Rochelle posed for a picture with Trixie and Delilah as the kitties danced for Buzz and Jonsey. The flash lit up everyone’s smiles, then they all high-fived.

  Screw the creepers, right?

  Jesse asked, “Those pics are Twitter bound, you just watch.”

  “Oh, you’ll get some good publicity when Rochelle pastes photos all over her social media later.” He’d talked to her about sending any messages while she was actually at this location, and she’d agreed to hold back until she got home.

  But that was then.

  “Nice to hear that she’s good for some marketing.” Jesse’s stare bolted into Gideon. “Has she been good for anything else?”

  “Not talking about that, Jesse.”

  “Hey, I watched that conversation you two had by the door. She’s down to fuck, quick-draw. Or haven’t you noticed?”

  Noticing wasn’t the point. Gideon hadn’t missed what she’d said about getting the sex over with so they could relax around each other. Shit, like she’d been relaxed during it. Like he was even remotely relaxed now.

  Especially since one question kept running through his mind: Had Rochelle just wanted to get some screwing out of the way with him? The idea made him bristle.

  Aria the waitress had made quick work out of fetching a tray of filled shot glasses along with a few bottles of tequila. Everyone at the table reached for the goodies and toasted each other, tossing down the drinks. Afterward, Rochelle waved her free hand, sucking in her breath.

  She clearly wasn’t used to the stuff.

  Yup, long night ahead.

  He noticed that the other waitresses were circulating the room with trays of shots, pointing to Rochelle’s table while talking to the customers, all of who acknowledged their patron in thanks.

  Waving back, Rochelle poured herself another shot from the bottle. She let loose an enthusiastic whoo along with Jonsey, who’d refilled, too, then leaned her hand on the table, already losing her balance, just before she linked arms with him and drank.

  “Dammit,” Gideon said.

  “Lightweight.” Jesse grunted. “She probably sips Champagne, and this is too exotic for her. A little bit of the worm always breaks the real ladies down, makes ’em not ladies.” His face remained unreadable. “Hell, and who needs a lady with regrets after she’s had tequila and all the trouble that comes with it?”

  Gideon ignored Jesse’s hard attitude when it came to women. His friend had seen a lot of action overseas, things that made him hard about life in general. Gideon had seen death, too, but he’d learned to shove it away. Jesse wore it on his sleeve.

  “Can you get some food to them as fast as humanly possible?” Gideon asked. “She’s gonna need it.”

  “I didn’t know part of your job was coddling.”

  “That’s not what I’m doing. I’m facilitating.” And making sure he didn’t go home with a real mess on his hands.

  Jesse nodded, then smoothly stalked toward the kitchen. Gideon exhaled and made his own way to the table, seeking a place where he could be nearly invisible yet all too visible for anyone who might approach Rochelle. He even gave scary looks to anyone who just wanted to stop by to say thank you for the free round, and they got the message.

  Harry was nearby, too, and when Rochelle saw that Gideon had joined them, she got a mischievous smile on her face and walked over. Her side ponytail, her curve-hugging dress, the sway in her stride . . . all of it chomped at Gideon’s groin step by step.

  “You’re ticked off,” she said, jaunty as hell.

  He kept surveying the room. “And you’re upset about today. That’s why you’re on overload.”

  “Are you telling me not to celebrate our escape from a creeper?”

  “Take it any way you want.”

  “Oh, you’re such a Jiminy Cricket.” She laughed. “I might even start calling you that, but you’ve got nicknames I like much better, quick-draw.”

  At the table, Tucker was watching Rochelle with suspicion in his gaze that Gideon didn’t like. But when Tucker saw that Gideon noticed, he took another shot of tequila and went back to staring at Mary Agnes, who was still giving that lap dance.

  Now Gideon sent Rochelle a look. “Unless you’re thinking of telling your cousins about your extracurricular activities, you might want to mingle with your party.”

  Clumsily, she raised her empty glass to him. “You’re so right. Also . . . I need more tequila. I’ve never had it straight, but it’s the good stuff, and I like it.”

  She wiggled her fingers in goodbye at him, but Gideon remained unruffled. He prayed that Tucker or Buzz would have the good s
ense to see that she needed to slow it down with the booze and that she was at warp speed because of the creeper attack. Maybe she’d listen to her cousins, because all Gideon seemed to do with his comments was provoke her.

  But when didn’t he do that?

  Luckily, Tucker stopped her from pouring herself another shot, urging her to a sit in her chair and watch Trixie and Delilah, who were flirting and dancing for Buzz and Jonsey. And Rochelle did do that for about two seconds before she grabbed her phone and took a selfie, smiling with unrestrained joy. She started laughing to herself and tapping away on the screen like she was sending the pic.

  Drunk tweeting and giving away their location? Not on his watch.

  As a matter of safety, he stepped forward, gently taking hold of the phone and relieving her of it. She was just opening her mouth to protest when their waitress brought a big bowl of chips, salsa, and guacamole, which Rochelle went for immediately.

  Tucker looked back at Gideon, raising his eyebrows. Gideon only gave a slight nod to the Burton boy.

  Disaster, controlled.

  For now.

  When Rochelle began moving in time to an Usher song, Gideon feared she might hop on stage and really show everyone how damned free and liberated she was.

  As free as Cherry had been.

  That got his mind to rolling. Thanks to what he’d read in that book so far, he wondered once again just how much of Rochelle was in that novel. Was she actually as uninhibited as the Cherry she’d written about? How much of herself had she projected onto the starlet?

  He thought on that very seriously as he watched her sitting there like she was two seconds away from bursting out of her skin, letting every ladylike inch of her transform into the Rochelle he’d been with earlier, in the bathroom, tearing at his clothes and giving him head.

  The Rochelle he still wanted with every brutal bang of his wayward body.

  9

  Tequila sucks.

  That’s all Rochelle could think of as Tucker guided her into the mansion, through the foyer, then up the stairs. She was tipsy, but she didn’t think she was that drunk. It was just that she’d never had straight tequila outside of a margarita until tonight at the Pink Ladies, and she wasn’t used to the powerful kick of the unadulterated drink.