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His heart had wedged in his throat. “You okay?”
She lifted her head and said breathlessly, “Holy shit, I thought you were one of them.”
Them. “A Demon?”
She nodded, getting to her feet.
“Do they know you come in here early to dance?”
“No. They haven’t discovered that yet. If they do, I’ll be forced to stop.”
“By them?”
“Yes, but not because they won’t like me using the stage to stay limber and in shape.”
“Because you don’t trust them,” he concluded.
“Yes.”
It pissed him off that she had to be so damn cautious because of the club’s new owners. Now he worried about them catching her on stage, dressed like that. While what she wore shouldn’t matter, with them, it might. Especially when the club was closed, like it was now, and no one else was around. No witnesses. No one to have her back.
He tamped down his rising fury. The best thing he could do for her would be to help serve karma on a fucking platter to those Demons. “Do you trust me?”
He hoped her slight hesitation only meant the question had been unexpected. Then again, she hardly knew him. He no longer assumed citizens thought cops were trustworthy or good. He had seen plenty of shitty ones himself.
So, taking caution with someone new was smart, whether a person wore a badge or not.
“Yes, but I didn’t think you’d show up quite this early. I thought I’d be done before you got here.”
“How many times a week do you dance?”
“As many as I can manage.”
His gaze rolled down her body, appreciating how toned and fit she was. Since he worked hard on his, too, he knew how much time and dedication was involved. He swept his hand out. “Then don’t let me stop you.”
She lifted an eyebrow. “An audience of one?”
“I can keep an eye out for any intruders.” It wouldn’t be a sacrifice, that was for damn sure. He tipped his head to the side. “Do you mind?”
“It’s only fair, I guess, since I got to ogle you.”
A smile pulled at his lips. “You were ogling me?”
Her shoulders lifted and fell. “You’re hard to ignore.”
Speaking of hard, he was surprised he wasn’t right now. With how she was dressed, with the way she moved, with how husky her voice had become with that last statement. “The feeling’s mutual.”
A bit of mutual appreciation was definitely going on between them.
The song changed again, filling the space between them with Dark Horse by Katy Perry.
Pressing her shoulder blades to the pole, she stretched one arm up, cocked one knee and planted her bare foot on the narrow metal cylinder behind her. Arching her lower back, she pushed out her tits, then licked her lips and gave him a look that sent fire roaring through him.
Goddamn.
Normally, strippers used those types of actions to cause a reaction… A shower of cash being thrown onto the stage or a customer booking a private dance. It was a look perfected to make the man, or woman, think they were the only one in the room getting the dancer’s attention, when that was farthest from the truth.
But no one else was in that club this morning.
And he certainly hadn’t dug out his wallet to make it rain cash.
Falling forward at the waist, she swung her head and torso in an arc, flinging her hair so it caused a blonde explosion around her. When she straightened, her gaze rolled from his feet to face with excruciating slowness.
But every cell—every damn one of them—in his body stood up and took notice when she winked and crooked a finger at him.
A bass drum beat in his chest and his cock became as hard as the damn pole she was gripping.
He was in no way ignoring that invitation, so he hopped up onto the end of the stage. Walking an invisible line, he stepped heel to toe and added a roll to his hips and shoulders, the same way he had during his routines the last two Monday nights. As he did so, she continued to work the pole, keeping their heated gazes locked.
Then he was there, standing in front of her, close enough to touch.
Close enough to fill his nostrils with her scent.
Close enough to see the pulse pounding along her throat.
Close enough to see the unmistakable invitation in her Caribbean blue eyes.
Jesus. Was there any other woman more captivating than the one standing before him?
From the second he saw her across the club his first night at The Peach Pit, she quickly sucked him in without even trying. And this morning, he was giving up and going under.
Completely fucking under.
What was crazy about the whole thing was they had only kissed so far. He didn’t understand this pull.
Who was he to question it? He would act on it, instead.
Starting at her temple, he dragged the back of his hand along the edge of her face, down the side of her long neck, traced the black elastic collar circling her throat, then continued across her collarbone. He skimmed his knuckles along the outer curve of her breast and down her ribcage. He paused only long enough to flick the dangling jewelry at her navel with his fingernail before dragging his fingers along the taut skin of her belly and finally curling them around her hip in a tight grip.
