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“If you think this is only lust, you’re kidding yourself. Aren’t you the least bit curious to see where this could lead?”
Chin to her chest, she shook her head. “The cop and the stripper?”
“The cop thing is a problem for you, huh?” He jammed his hands in his pockets and took a step back. “Fair enough. It is for some women. Lousy hours, less than extravagant pay, occasional risk to life and limb.”
Some painful history there, she realized, and because of that, couldn’t bring herself to take the easy way out. “It’s not your job,” she said quickly. “I think what you do is heroic. Any woman would be lucky to spend time with you.”
“Any woman but you.”
“I’m not—” She broke off. Those consuming eyes of his interfered with her ability to craft a lame explanation. Shifting her attention to the center of his chest, she tried again. “I’m not at a place, at this point in my life, where I can date.”
He took her chin between his thumb and forefinger and stared at her for several seconds. “You’re afraid,” he finally said, his voice a combination of disbelief and certainty. “A woman brave enough to follow her conscience into a dark parking lot at two thirty in the morning is scared to follow her heart toward something right in front of her.”
Her heart felt like an anchor at the moment, heavy in her chest, incapable of leading her anywhere. When she didn’t reply, he dropped his hand and gave a small, humorless laugh. “You’re a tough one, Stacy Roberts, and yet something this simple scares you to death. I don’t know why I’m surprised. You’ve been a bundle of contradictions from the start.”
“I’m sorry,” she said softly, and forced herself to take a step away. At least she didn’t have to lie. She was afraid to pursue a relationship with him, just not for the reason he assumed.
The jaded smile stole across his lips. “One look from those baby blues and I almost believe you.”
Before she did something stupid, like burst into tears, she turned
and started walking to her car.
“Hey, Stacy, wait.”
Something reluctant and resigned in his voice stopped her, like he’d tried to talk himself out of saying whatever he was about to say.
“Ever consider another line of work?”
She looked over her shoulder. He stood there, so big and solid and fundamentally good, his concerned expression practically shattered her resolve. Land’s sake, this man cared. Of course, thanks to her ridiculous charade, he was wasting his care on someone who didn’t need—or deserve—it.
“Sometimes,” she replied. It seemed like a safe answer.
“I think you’ve got a lot of untapped potential. Someone so smart and observant could go far in any career she chose. The stripping?” He shook his head. “It’s not for you.”
Yeah. Mustering up a smile, she said, “Oh, I don’t know. Some say I’m pretty tough.”
“As nails,” he agreed. “But you’re not the one I’m worried about. Have some pity on those poor saps sitting in Deuces, kidding themselves into thinking for the price of admission you’ll share some of your mysteries with them.”
She wanted to tell him “Deal,” just to wash the world-weary cynicism out of his face, but it wasn’t her gig to surrender. “At least you don’t have to come down to Deuces and pose as my client anymore.” That alone should have been a load off her shoulders, but instead the realization sent her anchor of a heart sinking deeper in her chest.
Chapter Six
Customers packed Deuces, making Thursday feel more like a Saturday. Between two twenty-first birthday parties, a bachelor party, and a bunch of guys in software sales out to blow their bonuses, Kylie barely had time to miss Trevor—provided scanning the crowd for his entirely too attractive face every ten minutes didn’t count as missing him. For some stupid reason, she found herself hoping he’d show up. God, she was an idiot.
The thought repeated in her head like a mantra as she made her way back to the dressing room after her second featured dance. You’re an idiot…an idiot…an idiot. Absently, she pulled tips from her garter belt and white satin thong.
The door flew open. Ginger breezed in. “Christ, Snowflake, you’re an idiot,” she said and tossed something at her.
Kylie caught the item and frowned. It was the gossamer baby-doll top that went with the thong and completed her “naughty virgin” outfit. She’d forgotten to wait by the stage for the runner to bring her discarded clothes.
“Oh. Thanks.”
Ginger braced a hip against the vanity counter, crossed her arms in front of her chest, and met Kylie’s gaze in the mirror. “What’s with you? You haven’t been yourself lately.”
Kylie dropped her eyes and shrugged her top on, then focused on fastening the tiny snap between her breasts. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Not that I’m complaining, mind you, but these last few times we’ve worked together you’ve been strangely nice. You say ‘hi.’ You say ‘bye.’ You even say ‘thank you.’ What’s happened to the coldhearted ice queen we used to know?”
