A SEAL's Fantasy (4 page)

But not Lara.

“You busy tonight?” he asked, leaning one bony shoulder against the door frame and staring past her at one of the blonde principals who was cleaning the rouge off her nipples.

“Why?”

“Dana called in sick,” Rudy muttered around a cheekful of tobacco. “You want her spot in the ten o’clock show?”

Lara grimaced. Her new textbooks had cost twice what she’d budgeted and rent was due in five days. The only way she was going to make it through this month was if she survived on ramen noodles and cold cereal for two weeks.

Of course, given the size of her costume, keeping the calorie count down wasn’t a bad thing. But she had class tonight. It was her last semester, which brought her within kissing distance of her goal. And nothing, not even affording fresh vegetables, got in the way of her goals.

“Thanks, but I can’t,” she said with just a hint of regret.

She’d survived on less for longer.

And, hopefully, she wouldn’t be worrying about barely making it paycheck to paycheck soon.

“Mistake,” Rudy said, his gaze cutting to her.

“What’re you doing in here?” Flo pushed past Rudy, cast a glance over the undressed state of her various dancers, then shoved the man out of the way. Once a dancer, now a stage mom, the statuesque redhead wore a beehive straight out of the fifties and blue eye shadow to match. “Get. I’ll report you to Roberto, you sneak in here one more time.”

“Didn’t sneak. Came in to offer Lara a spot at ten. She refused. Stupid.” He looked past Flo to give Lara a derisive look, then shook his head and walked out.

The door ricocheted as it slammed closed.

“He’s right.”

Lara glanced at the redhead, then shrugged. Apparently that wasn’t a good enough answer, because the older woman stomped over, shooing dancers out of the room as she came. By the time she reached Lara’s locker, half the room was empty and the rest were moving fast.

“I have plans,” Lara said before Flo could poke at her.

“How long have you been here?” Flo asked, paying more attention to the costume she was inspecting for tears than to the woman she was bitching out.

“Two years.”

“And you’re not principal yet?” Flo adjusted the costume on its hanger, then pushed it aside to check the next one. “You’re good. Better than most of the girls. You’ve got the moves, the talent. Your body is solid, sexy. Your looks stand out, even on stage.”

As uncomfortable with the compliment as she was with realizing that the women left in the room were listening, Lara just shrugged and grabbed her street clothes out of her locker.

“So why aren’t you headlining?”

“Maybe because I don’t want to?” Lara said, tugging on her thong, then yanking up her jeans.

Christi gave Lara a sympathetic pat, then scurried around Flo and headed for the door.

Lara grimaced. She wasn’t oblivious to the whispers that her answer caused. Nor was she blind to the expression of relief on more than one face. Dancers might put on the we’re-all-friends facade, but it was as false as their stage lashes. And usually just as brittle. The chorus went out for drinks together; some even roomed with each other. But every single one of them knew that it was every woman for herself. If stepping over one to get up the ladder was what it took, then watch your scalp for stiletto gouges.

“That’s the third time you’ve been offered extra. Rudy won’t be giving you too many more shots.”

Dammit.

Since Rudy wasn’t likely to make another appearance so soon, Lara didn’t hesitate to drop her robe. She pulled on her bra, the flowery lace stretching over her ample Ds as she slipped the satin straps up and snapped it closed. Unlike most of the women who were dressing, she didn’t bother to check her half-dressed appearance in the mirror. She knew her boobs were full and high. At twenty-four, she had no worries about drooping. Her stomach was flat, and since she didn’t have time to shower before class, it still shimmered with body glitter. Her long legs were poured into tight denim and as she pulled a light blue sweater over her head, the soft fabric draped and flowed to her hips.

“Roberto knows I need Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays off after eight,” she finally said. “I’ve got a commitment, and he’s fine with it. Rudy’s just playing a power game.”

“Roberto might be the choreographer,” Flo agreed, referring to the man in charge of the showgirls at the Silver Dust Casino, “but everyone knows that Rudy has plenty of power. Enough to trip you up if you aren’t careful.”

Balancing on one foot while she pulled on a knee-high stiletto boot, Lara sucked in a deep breath. She didn’t need Flo’s warning to know she was tiptoeing along the edge of blowing her job.

She’d run across plenty of Rudys in her days. She’d been dancing professionally since she was seventeen. Broadway in New York or casinos in Reno, it didn’t matter. There were always power-hungry egomaniacs with hard-ons out to screw you over.

She knew it didn’t matter if you were the best, if you were the brightest or if you had the most talent. She knew promises didn’t mean a thing and that trusting anyone was an invitation to be screwed over backward.

This was the third casino she’d danced at since being dumped here in Reno three years ago. But dammit, it was going to be her last.

“I’ll be fine,” she said, zipping her other boot, then grabbing her purse and backpack out of the locker before slamming it shut.

She gave Flo a smile, rare for being real, and shrugged.

“I know what I’m doing, and I’ll be fine,” she repeated. “I don’t play by any guy’s rules. Doesn’t matter how much power he thinks he has. He can’t mess with me.”

Two minutes later, Lara had to sigh and wonder why life always sent her words back to bite her. Did she flip life the bird and tempt fate? No. Did she ignore hard-learned lessons and traipse down the same stupid path time and time again? No, no, a million times no.

But life clearly didn’t trust her.

Lara walked down the long service hall toward the employee exit. The door was usually manned by a guard or two, big burly guys posted to keep the lowlifes away and make sure nobody played grab ass with the girls when they left.

Tonight the door had been left unguarded. And she was the only dancer leaving between shows.

Rudy might not be able to punish her officially for not taking his
generous
offer. But like petty men everywhere, he found a way to slap at her.

Message received.

And, she determined, her chin high, ignored.

She tugged her denim jacket on over the purse she’d draped from one shoulder to the opposite hip, automatically tucked her keys between her knuckles. She shoved the heavy door open.

She didn’t make it three steps before catching the attention of the creep cadre, as she had disdainfully dubbed the men who littered the back alley of the casino. Dealers, dopers and desperate losers gathered in clumps. A dozen sets of eyes cut to her, then over her shoulder to the empty doorway. The nasty smiles made her stomach knot. But only because dealing with the creeps might make her late. At least, that’s what she told herself. She wasn’t a fan of lying, but sometimes a little fib kept a girl from turning tail and running.

For every step she made, the creeps slinked one closer. Her fingers tightened around her keys while she shifted her backpack off her shoulder so it dropped to the crook of her elbow, better for swinging.

“Yo.”

Lara ignored the call just as she ignored the disgusting suggestions and lewd propositions. Her feet wanted to run, but she knew better. Jackals loved it when their prey showed fear.

“Lara Banks?”

She kept moving, her steps a little faster now. Twenty feet to the end of the alley and the road. Crowds, tourists, cops. She was almost there. Footsteps sounded like thunder as they came closer; the catcalls and rude comments were so loud now they echoed in her head.

Her breath hitching a little, she anchored her fist around the strap of her backpack and prepared to sprint to the end of the alley.

Before she made it three feet, a hand grabbed her shoulder.

Without thinking, Lara spun, swinging her pack with all her strength.

The only reaction the guy showed was a slight huff as it slammed into his belly.

She wouldn’t get any help from the creep cadre. They were more likely to pull out their cameras and film the attack.

Fist high and ready to scrap her keys across his face, Lara froze.

It was him.

The guy from the front row.

Her stomach did a slow, twirling sort of dive, leaving fear behind and coiling into a deep, intense lust.

He was even more gorgeous up close.

And he was a creep who accosted women in an alley, she reminded herself.

Figured.

* * *

W
ELL, WELL.
A
PPARENTLY
little sister Lara had gotten all the looks in the Banks family, Dominic decided. And all the style. She had the same mahogany hair and green eyes as her brother, but the resemblance stopped there.

Her hair was short, a wicked angle that highlighted sharp cheekbones and exotically long-lidded eyes. And her mouth...oh, baby. Her lips were full and rosy, erotic enough to put a porn star to shame. Of course, that impression might be the result of watching her strutting her incredibly sexy body onstage for an hour.

He dropped his gaze to take in that body up close. It was definitely one worth getting personal with. She was tall, in her heels just a few inches shorter than he was, with most of her height in those long, sleek legs. The kind of legs made to wrap around a man and take him for a wild ride. Her jacket obscured but didn’t hide the lush curves of her breasts. His fingers itched to move that denim aside and get a better look.

He resisted.

Not because she was glaring at him. Nor because of any stupid rules about her being off-limits because she was Banks’s sister.

Nope.

He yanked his lust back, holding it in check.

She was his mission.

“Hi,” he said, his smile pure charm. He didn’t figure it’d take more than that. It rarely did. “You’re Lara, right?”

“Excuse me,” she said, moving her hand from side to side as if flicking him out of her path. “I’m in a hurry.”

He’d been able to resist her looks, stunning though they were.

But that voice. Hello, darlin’, that voice was pure sexual invitation. Low and husky, it was meant for dark rooms and silk sheets.

“You’ve got a second, though, right?”

She gave him a look, a combination of irritation and inquiry, as if she couldn’t figure out why he wasn’t listening.

He could have told her he was listening just fine. But her order and his wishes were in direct conflict, and Dominic made a habit out of getting his way. Especially when it came to beautiful women.

With that in mind, he amped up the charm a little and tilted his head.

“Look, I just want to talk to you.”

“Right,” Lara mocked with a roll of her eyes. “Talk. Sorry, big boy. I’m busy. Why don’t you grab one of the girls on the corner? They’re never too busy to chat.”

He snorted. Damned if her smart-ass mouth wasn’t just as sexy as her legs.

“We can keep it public. There’s a diner across the street. We’ll talk there.”

“I’m not into talking, even in public,” she said as she tried again to pull her arm from his grip. He didn’t let go.

“Sweetheart, you just bared your all to a theater full of drooling guys. You obviously have no problem with public displays.” A fact for which he was very grateful. He might not be planning to enjoy what she had to offer, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to appreciate its existence. Covered in shiny fabric or simple denim, the woman had a body of a goddess.

“My
all
was fully covered,” she reminded him with frown.

“Not fully enough to diminish the fabulous view,” he corrected, his smile automatically shifting to flirtatious before he could stop it. Not that he’d have tried. After all, a goddess had to expect a little worship with a body like hers.

“I’m betting at some point, your mama probably taught you that look doesn’t mean touch.” She shot a pointed glance at his hand, still holding her arm. “You wouldn’t want her disappointed, now would you?”

Dominic grinned. She was as clever as she was pretty.

Still, he didn’t let go. Clever and pretty wouldn’t keep her safe. He, on the other hand, would.

He just had to convince her of that.

After giving him an arch look, she tossed a glance over his shoulder. He knew there were a bunch of losers leaning against the back of the casino, all in various states of uselessness.

“Look, I’ve gotta go,” she said, twisting the arm he held to the side so she could check her watch. “You have something to say, do it now. In thirty seconds I’ll call the goons back. They might not be able to take you, but you’ll have to let go of me to deal and then I’m gone.”

“I need to talk to you about your brother,” he said, trying not to sound amused. He knew from experience that women didn’t like it when he wasn’t intimidated by their threats.

Maybe she sensed that he was trying not to laugh, because she stiffened, her spine rigid and her chin lifting. She swallowed once, then glared and shook her head.

“Sorry, buddy. I don’t have a brother.”

“Phillip Banks. Lieutenant Phillip Banks. Navy SEAL.”

She tilted her head, giving him a long look, then shrugged.

“Like I said, I don’t have a brother.”

Dominic rocked back on his heels.

It’d taken Lucas all of five minutes to pull Banks’s family info. Parents deceased two years ago, sister estranged and living in Reno working as a showgirl. The house and ample family coffers willed to the eldest and only son, and all sitting in wait back in Maryland. From the info Lucas had pulled up, which had included Banks’s sister’s driver’s license, home address and last known work address, the woman in front of him was none other.

“Look, sweetheart, I can’t blame you for denying it. If I had Phillip Banks for a brother, I’d probably lie, too. But facts are facts, no matter how much we might not like them.”