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“How’d you get this?” she murmured, tracing her index finger lightly along his upper lip.
His tongue itched to follow the path of his finger. Most people never noticed the thin, almost invisible, white scar, but whenever someone did ask, he usually dismissed the question with a bullshit answer.
“Domestic disturbance call, back when I was a rookie,” he said, before he fully realized he planned to tell her the truth. “We showed up and separated a couple tearing into each other right there in their front yard. Huge guy, and he’s got this scarecrow of a woman in a headlock. She’s kicking and screaming, trying to twist out of his grip. We waded in. I took the guy, and my partner took the female. Anyway, she slipped out of his grip, I turn around, and—wham—she slugs me in the mouth. Her ring scratched that little reminder right where I can see it every day.”
Her eyes shifted to his and li
ngered for beat before dropping to his mouth again. “Reminder?”
“Yeah. Don’t underestimate someone’s capacity for violence just because they look like they couldn’t hurt a fly.”
She brushed her fingernail lightly along the scar, in what he recognized as an instinctive effort to sooth a hurt. Didn’t matter. The uncalculated gesture affected him almost as much as her outfit, her dance, all the artifice. All the blood in his body settled heavily between his legs. Get your head out of your pants. You’re investigating a murder, for Christ’s sake.
“You learned the same lesson, I think.” At her raised eyebrows, he said, “The other night, with Long, when he pulled you offstage.”
“Carlton didn’t mean to hurt me. It was an accident.”
Okay, safe ground, finally. Discuss the victim. Learn his habits. “He wasn’t a problem, normally?”
“No. Nor was he particularly touchy. He liked to watch the dancers.”
“You, in particular.”
She shrugged, somehow incorporating the gesture into her slow, rhythmic sway. “I guess.”
“And this is what he liked? You, standing over him, moving your body close to his?”
“Carlton liked to participate in one aspect,” she whispered.
Judging by the look on her face, he was screwed. Safe ground eroded under him even as he formed the question that had to be asked. “How?”
“He would help me with my top.”
Trevor managed to swallow—an effort to relieve the tightness in his throat—but his voice held a distinctly thick quality when he replied, “Got it.” He raised his hands and began undoing the buttons on her white shirt, silently ordering himself to keep his eyes on her face.
She lowered her hands from where they rested on his shoulders so he could push the shirt down her arms. It hit the floor like a hushed sigh, barely audible over the music.
Then, because his eyes had a fucking mind of their own, they dropped to her impossibly gorgeous breasts, displayed to perfection by the lacy black bra. The music receded, and for several seconds, the only noise he heard was the sound of his breath rushing in and out of his lungs.
“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.
