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Brock smirked. “Being difficult. She won’t commit to an actual arrival time, insists on staying at the hotel instead of the house, and won’t answer anyone’s calls.”
Finn’s lips quirked.Go Gretch. She was finally doing what the hell she wanted instead of listening to her parents. She’d always had it in her. “I wouldn’t sweat it. Gretchen loves you. She won’t miss your funeral, I mean—”
“Yeah, you’re right.” Brock sighed.
“She’s a big girl,” he reminded his friend, though it seemed like only yesterday he’d been calling her a kid. “She’ll show up when she’s ready. She doesn’t need to be directed. Relax.”
On the other end of the line Brock said something about his mom and stress and wanting this all to be over, but Finn wasn’t listening. He could only think about seeing Gretchen again as a grown woman, suddenly unsure if he felt worse for himself or the poor bastard in front of him.
~ ~ ~
Gretchen stood breathing in and out, steadying her heartbeat, listening to the pounding rhythm of the music and letting it sink into her veins. Though she’d never done drugs, she imagined they gave the same kind of high as performing.
The lights came up, erasing everything beyond the stage and leaving her in a world consisting of only her, the music and a pole. A smile tipped her lips. Holding the pole with one hand, she made a slow circle before coming to a stop with her back to the audience and giving them a full view of her lace covered derriere. She swayed side-to-side, before hooking a leg around the pole and flipping around, twisting and spinning to the ground.
She pulled herself up, before dropping to a squat, the pole between her spread thighs. She rolled her hips, the pole inching closer to her core with each undulation, until she could feel the cool steel reacting to her own heat. She ran her hand up her naked torso and over her barely concealed breasts. Her nipples pebbled, and her core dampened, reacting as if the hand belonged to a lover.
If only.
She spun once more before sliding to the floor, and then the music stopped, and the lights died. She stood, still breathing hard. When her boss had first come to her about going undercover as a pole dancer, she’d told him he was crazy. Now, she wondered why she hadn’t started dancing sooner.
As she stood, scanning the crowd, her gaze snagged on a man stalking through the club. Her body tensed with a mixture of interest, suspicion, and familiarity. She couldn’t make out his face from the stage with the lights shining so close to her, but there was something about his tall frame, topped off with wide shoulders that reminded her of someone. His muscular body was tense as he headed straight for her mark, Raymond Carlisle.
Instinctively, she reached for the gun at her back. Only she wasn’t carrying a gun, she was undercover and half naked. Her skin flashed cold, blooming with goosebumps. Shivering, she watched as the man reached Raymond who greeted him with a wide smile, before she made her way backstage. She’d get dressed and then figure out who the mystery guy was.
She slid her clothes on, oddly feeling more uncomfortable in the short, tight dress than she had in the bra and boy-shorts while dancing. On stage, she couldn’t see the men looking at her, but as she walked through the crowd toward the bar, the leering eyes of the patrons were difficult to ignore. Although she’d had a couple of guys grab her ass or say lewd things, so far it hadn’t been anything threatening. Tonight felt different. Tonight the hairs on the back of her neck stood up in ominous warning.
She stumbled to a stop to avoid running into Raymond as he hurried across her path, ushered by the unknown man. With his head turned away from her, he bumped her as he passed, his arm brushing her chest. Her entire body lit up, sending her pulse throbbing at the apex of her thighs. She turned and watched his wide back encased in black leather as they disappeared into Raymond’s office without looking back.
She made her way to the bar, still watching Carlisle’s door.
“You’re starting to be a real thorn in my side, Lilah.”
Gretchen turned at the use of her undercover stage name and looked up into the gruff yet handsome face of Grant, her favorite security guard. She smiled sweetly at him as he took a cigarette out of his pocket before flicking open the gold monogrammed lighter he always carried.
She batted her eyes. “Why in the world would you say something like that?”
Grant glared at her and took a drag from his cigarette, his fingers still flicking rhythmically at the lighter.
She liked Grant. He was a mystery, and as a federal agent she liked nothing more than trying to figure out a mystery. He was surly and reticent, but he’d never failed to ask her how she was doing or offer a kind word. And during those rare occurrences when she made him laugh, he was damn near gorgeous. He watched her out of the corner of his eyes, and she grinned. Making him smile had become her daily mission.
“Your dancing gets the guys’ testosterone pumping too much,” he explained. “Then they have to fight or fuck, and there are only so many willing girls out there.”
Her grin turned wicked. She winked, sipping her whiskey. “That’s what Carlisle’s paying me for.”
Grant rolled his eyes and they both sat for a moment, him smoking and her sipping. Her gaze kept drifting back to Carlisle’s closed door.
“What’s Carlisle up to anyway?” She tried for nonchalance. “I saw him with some new guy.”
Grant shrugged, evading.
“Yeah, okay. Who was that guy?”
Amber, the bartender, gave a dramatic sigh. “That was Jay.”
“Jay, huh?” Gretchen raised an eyebrow. “What’s his story? I haven’t seen him around.”
“He’s been out of town for a while,” Grant conceded. “He’s Carlisle’s head of security.”
