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Izzie instantly stiffened. “Has he done anything to you?”
“Done? Oh, goodness, no. He’s barely looked at me since the day we went out. But there have been one or two times when I’ve caught him staring at me-with this, oh, God, it sounds so stupid, but I’d swear he looks almost hungrily at me when he thinks I’m not looking.”
“Hungry’s good. If it’s coming from someone you want to want you.” Not just a room full of horny men turned on by a naked dancer. Her audience sometimes annoyed the hell out of her. Sometimes it seemed like dancing naked alone would be better than dancing naked in front of a crowd. Of course, she wouldn’t get paid for that. A definite drawback.
“Not if he constantly hides it. And there’s more, he sometimes just comes across so much harder-tougher-than this nice, quiet, soft-spoken salesman. It’s almost like he’s trying really hard to be on his best behavior.”
Izzie didn’t like the sound of that. Guys who tried that hard to be on their best behavior had to be pretty bad during their not-quite-best behavior. She said as much to her cousin, but Bridget waved away her concerns.
Though they talked a little while longer, Izzie couldn’t keep her mind on anything. Her cousin noticed her distraction and tried to get her to talk about it, but she wasn’t ready to.
It wasn’t that she didn’t trust Bridget to keep her secret. Or that she feared her cousin would be shocked by it. But the truth was, it didn’t seem right for Bridget to be the one she talked to about this. Not when Nick was the first one who’d realized what she was doing on Saturday and Sunday nights.
She wanted to talk to him.
She wanted him. Period.
She just didn’t know if it was too late to get him. Judging by the way he’d slammed out of her dressing room Saturday night, she greatly feared it was.
IT TOOK EVERY OUNCE of willpower Nick possessed to avoid going into Natale’s Bakery that week. Something inside him insisted that he go up there and confront Izzie now that he felt at least moderately calm. Unlike the way he’d felt Saturday night at the club.
Something else demanded that he stay away, let her figure out what the hell it was she wanted from him and clue him in when she was ready. Maybe he’d accommodate her. Maybe he wouldn’t. It depended entirely upon what she wanted: him in her life, him out of her life? A secret affair, or a public one? A lover…a friend?
There were a lot of different possibilities. He honestly wasn’t sure which he was most hoping for. The only thing he knew he wanted was for Izzie to come clean with him about everything. Then they could figure out the rest.
He assumed it would take a while. Considering she’d called in sick from work Sunday night, he had the feeling she was going to avoid the confrontation for as long as possible. But, unless she quit working at the club, she wasn’t going to be able to avoid him forever.
Quit working at the club. He couldn’t deny that his first reaction had been to want her to.
He didn’t want other men looking at Izzie. He didn’t want other men fantasizing about her. And he most certainly didn’t want anyone getting fixated on her…fixated enough to stalk her, threaten her or hurt her.
Once he’d calmed down, though, he realized he understood exactly why she’d gone to work at Leather and Lace. It was probably for the same reasons he’d gone to work there.
She was every bit as out of her element in this old-new environment as he was. Fitting in about as well as he did.
Fitting in…hell, what he was doing right now was proof he didn’t fit in. It was Thursday night and he was holding a brown paper bag clutched to his side. Walking to his building, his eyes scanned side to side in the hope that he didn’t bump into his parents or another elderly relative who’d rat him out.
Chinese carry-out was probably grounds for his mother to call for an exorcism. Especially since he’d refused yet another doggy bag full of calzones and Pop’s lasagna tonight. If he bit another piece of pasta, he was going to explode like the giant marshmallow man in Ghost Busters.
“Tough,” he muttered, his mouth watering for the Kung Pao Chicken he could smell from the bag. Not to mention the eggrolls, fried rice…he’d bought enough to feed an army.
Nick knew a little something about clandestine missions. Enough to know that when you were on one, you accomplished as much as you could the first time, in the hopes that you could delay going back. And a big bag of food meant leftovers. Enough to last a week or so, meaning no more dangerous, secret excursions to Mr. Wu’s for a while.
Unless, of course, he had unexpected company for dinner. Female company. Like the female standing right outside his apartment door, her hand lifted to knock.
