Stripped (33 page)

Ecstasy slammed into Natalya, carrying her to that strange, unidentifiable place Brandon created. The haven where feeling ruled, and
for one brief moment in time she was nothing but a simple woman being loved by a powerful man. She arced forward, desperate to ground herself against Brandon’s solid body. He guided her legs around his waist, crushed her against his chest, and pumped once more. His groan filled her ears as his cock filled her body. Deep inside, she felt him pulse, felt the hot wash of his seed beneath the condom barrier.

Gently, Brandon lowered her to the desk and eased himself from within her sensitive tissues. His gaze flicked to hers, darker and more intense than it had been before passion claimed them. Yet he remained silent, one corner of his mouth upturned with a touch of arrogance as he tied the condom off and dropped it in the trash.

He brushed a kiss against her cheek and tucked a stray lock of her hair behind her ear. “Beautiful,” he whispered. “I could do that all night long.” Backing off, he righted his pants.

So could she, but she didn’t dare admit it. Instead, she nodded as she slid to her feet and reached for her clothes. As she dressed, Brandon dropped a small green sack on the desk near her elbow. “Found your phone in my car. You got a text message about an hour ago. I’d pass it along if I could read Russian.”

He’d answered her phone. Well, almost, at least. Where did he get off? Her phone belonged to
her.
He might have made her come, but damn it, that didn’t give him grounds to go poking through her stuff.

As anger ignited in her veins, a glimpse of dark brown fuzz poking out of the bag stopped the slow spread through her limbs. She pulled the handles apart, revealing a small stuffed lion. Bewildered, she arched an eyebrow. “This isn’t my phone.”

Brandon shifted his weight again. Shoving his hands into his pockets, he looked to the floor. “It’s in there.”

Hell, he felt as awkward as she did. Gifts, no matter the nature, always carried meaning. A trinket to seduce, a token of thanks, an apology—no man gave presents without subtly implying something else. Damn it, the lion would have to be adorable. If it’d been ugly, or hadn’t brought the stark reminder of the memorable hours they’d
spent at MGM, she’d have shoved it back at him with a refusal to accept.

This, however, took her back to days at the circus with her family. Afternoons spent cheering her teenage boyfriends on as they tried to knock over milk bottles for a prize at the summer fairs. Days her mind had forgotten, but her heart kept the memories alive. Back before she’d known how it felt to watch a man die.

“Um. Thank you,” she mumbled, unsettled by the suffocating warmth that spread all the way down to her toes. Innocence. He’d given her a glimpse of innocence. A ball of emotion lodged in the base of her throat.
Oh,
God.

As awkwardness spread between them, leaving them staring at each other, both clearly wanting to escape. A knock at the door broke the budding tension. She’d never seen Brandon look more relieved as he answered. Sergei’s shadow descended in the entryway. His gaze caught Natalya’s for a fleeting moment, long enough she could give him an affirmative nod to go ahead.

“Hey, boss. I think you better come listen to this guy against the wall.”

Quick as lightning, Brandon’s demeanor changed. Confidence replaced the shy downcast of his eyes. He stiffened his shoulders, at immediate attention. “Problems?”

“Maybe. He’s been getting handsy with the girls. I’d hate to have Natalya step in.”

She shot Sergei a frown. Seeing her moment of escape, however, she gave her sack a shake. “I’m going to go back to my office. Night’s almost over.”

“Wait a minute.” Brandon swiveled around to face her. “I had a point in seeking you out. I need to know if you could give me a lift home. I’ve got one headlight—”

“Sure.” She’d have promised him the moon if it let her escape faster. As it was, she doubted he’d hold her to her word once he witnessed her betrayal. Aaron could give him a lift home.

They departed his office, and Natalya took another look at the stage as Kate’s routine concluded with an uproar. Brandon and Sergei disappeared into the crowd. She backed through the heavy metal door in one giant stride. No more fooling around—time to locate Iskatel´.

Avoiding the curious glances from the dancers who occupied the lounge, she jogged to her office and set the bag on the desk. Whimsy claimed her for a heartbeat as she pulled the lion out of the sack and smoothed its wild, fuzzy mane. A soft smile floated over her face. In a hundred years, she’d never admit how this little stuffed animal touched her. All the priceless jewelry Dmitri had given her didn’t compare to Brandon’s far simpler gift.

She buried her nose in the soft fur, closed her eyes, and reveled in the memory of Brandon’s awkwardness. That momentary lack of confidence, the first she’d witnessed from the hardened cop, touched her deeply as well. He’d been nervous—and for him that said a lot.

Namely that he was getting too close.

Sighing, Natalya set the lion in the middle of her desk and fished inside the bag, producing her cell phone. A touch of her fingertip brought the Russian text message into view. It was labeled,
Private.

Her heart jumped to her throat, beating hard and fast. There’d only be one person not already in her contact list who’d communicate with her in Russian—Iskatel´. Dmitri had said to expect contact.

She tapped the touch screen to open the message, and her heart skidded to a halt.

Like the student observes the master teacher… I’m watching
you.

The phone slipped from her fingers, clattering to the floor. She gripped the corner of her desk and pulled in short breaths to ease the constriction of her chest. Watching her. In all the times she’d coordinated with Alexei on targets, though their communications were often
cryptic, this went beyond. No suggestion they meet. No implication they should discuss the plans or her role in them. Instead, he delivered a veiled warning.

A warning that she’d screwed up.

She clutched the desk tighter and fiercely shook her head. No, she was imagining things. Dmitri sent her here to
teach
Iskatel´ how to manipulate the women so the killing would end. She was just being paranoid. Nothing she’d done with Brandon in public could be construed as anything but an attempt to forge the necessary relationship with her employer that would give her the ability to do the things Dmitri desired.

Except that kiss.

Her stomach balled into a knot.

She dragged in another deep breath and straightened to peel off her clothes. Iskatel´ would make contact again. Regardless of the meaning to his message, he’d armed her with one solid, unavoidable fact: If he could see her, then she could see him.

She pulled on her bikini bottoms, more committed to her pole dance than ever.

S

Brandon chastised himself as he followed behind Sergei to a row of plush chairs and polished wooden tables near the front of the stage. He’d thought of a dozen ways to casually present his gift, all of which eluded his grasp as he nearly shoved the stuffed animal into Natalya’s hands with the lame excuse he’d found her phone.

Her reaction hadn’t been comforting either. No, that hesitancy, the wavering before laughter or sincerity, downright had him questioning why he’d bought the toy in the first place. A toy, for God’s sake. Who bought a grown woman a toy?

He ordered the nonsense in his head to stop as Sergei brought him
to a halt behind a balding man wearing a thick gold chain around his neck. Sapphire wagged her ass in his face, but the rhythm of her hips was interrupted by her constant attempts to slap off the man’s wandering hands.

Brandon eyed the clunky gold wedding ring on the man’s pudgy left hand as he once again fitted a palm around the curve of Sapphire’s smooth cheek and gave her ass a firm squeeze. She jumped forward, whipped around. “Damn it, Paul! How many—”

Her gaze jumped up to Brandon’s scowl. Eyes wide, she took a step backward. Paul’s head swiveled around, his ample size making it impossible to twist his body more than a half an inch or so.

More than happy to give this client the full picture of his displeasure, Brandon stepped into Paul’s line of sight. “Problem here?”

“Uh.” Beads of perspiration broke out over Paul’s glossy forehead. “I paid her to dance. One hundred fifty dollars. I want my damn money’s worth.”

Brandon’s gaze skidded to Sapphire, her trembling eyes questioning whether her new boss would stand behind her or throw her to the wolves for the sake of pleasing wealthy clientele. “Did she tell you her rules?”

As Sapphire nodded, Paul answered, “I don’t remember anything but her stuffing my money in that scrap of red.” He thrust an angry hand toward Sapphire’s string-tied top.

The slight widening of Sapphire’s eyes, followed by their abrupt narrowing, spoke anger she wouldn’t dare confess in front of the clients. Too many years on the Strip had taught her tips didn’t come from pissing off the men. Nor did job security. But the unspoken fury she wielded toward her customer told Brandon all he needed to know.

He shifted his stare back to the double chins beneath Paul’s arrogant smirk. “Let’s get this straight,
Paul.
Like your
wife
sets the rules in your house, the girls set the rules in mine.” Bracing both hands on the arms of Paul’s chair, he leaned down until his face was inches from
the smirk that now faltered. “If they tell you paws off, you keep your fucking paws off. Got it?”

“Y-Yeah.”

“Good. Now apologize to Sapphire before I change my mind and have Sergei escort you out.”

Brandon stood, hating the disbelief that reflected in Sapphire’s startled stare. Damn it. Whoever had taught her strippers didn’t have rights in Vegas needed a good beating. Sadie’s had been that way too before he’d taken it over—pretty girls terrified if they stood up for their bodies they’d find their asses on the street. The whole scene disgusted Brandon on so many levels he couldn’t name them all.

He gave her a supportive nod and turned away. Now, to finish his conversation with Natalya.

When he reached the edge of the stage, the house lights went dark, preparing for the next girl. Becca, who was filling Chablis’ spot damn well.

“Now, gentlemen, we have something new for you,” the DJ droned through the speakers.

Brandon paused. Cocking his head, he looked toward the glass-encased booth where Eddie addressed the crowd. New? Becca couldn’t have developed a new routine so soon. When the girls switched up, they practiced for countless hours before opening. He’d spent a lot of time here with the former management during those events, witnessed the meticulous way they analyzed their costumes’ functionality and the coordination of props and lights.

Two orange floor lights blinked on, crisscrossing each other and illuminating a thin screen that shimmied and gave the simple lighting life. Behind the veil, another set of lights blended into the action, creating the effect of fire.

“We all have secrets. Desires, passions, sins,” Eddie intoned. “She’s there inside you all. That being who wants nothing more than escape. Wanting freedom.” The low resonating beat of drums filtered
through the speakers, adding mystique to the DJ’s voice. “Wanting pleasure.”

A third light faded in, illuminating a mock fire pit in the center of the stage, and with it, a silhouetted woman.

“She is, the Shadow.”

Drums exploded, and the silhouette came to life. Slowly, she gyrated around the stacked logs, her hips a matched rhythm to the pulsing beat. A hush descended over the crowd. Brandon stood transfixed, along with every other man in the room, his gaze riveted on the slow undulation of smooth hips, firm breasts. The sensual cadence of a woman who knew true seduction involved the imagination.

The elegance of something more than skin and jiggling tits.

It can’t
be.

Arms raised over her head, she turned a hypnotic circle, then flattened her breasts to her thighs and slid outstretched fingertips all the way down to her toes. Rising, she uncoiled like a flower opening to sunlight, only to once again shimmy hips that knew no restraint. Belly dancing. But more… something… Brandon’s heart thumped hard.
Enchanting.

A collective murmur rumbled through the crowd.

The drums increased tempo, pounding with more intensity, and the dancer’s cadence increased. Driving. Gyrating. Slender hands, made more so by the trick of lights, skimmed up her ribs, cupped her breasts. She tipped her head back, as if she arched her back in silent ecstasy, and long hair tumbled to the backs of her knees. Hair she gathered into her hands as she swiveled her lithe body upright. She piled it on the top of her head, only to let it fall as she glided those tempting hands down supple curves once more.

Brandon’s body tightened, his own imagination replacing her hands with his. He might have only known Natalya for a handful of days, but he recognized the natural grace in a heartbeat. Hell, she’d just arched her back the same way less than five minutes ago.

Natalya.

His hand clenched into a slow fist. God damn, when he should be so furious arousal couldn’t find a place to spark, let alone ignite, his body was attuned to the stage like she’d cast a magnetic field around him. She gyrated, her silhouetted form in profile, and his cock pulsed with the motion of her hips. Her whisper echoed in his head.
Brandon…

Primitive drums supercharged the smoky air with an undercurrent of electricity. Taking full advantage of her mesmerized audience, Natalya turned her backside to the crowd. Spiked heels spread two feet apart, she undulated her torso, lowering her shoulders level to her waist. Dainty hands fanned out straight, gracefully arced to the back of her thighs. Only the outline of her fingertips marred the smooth lines of her silhouette as she bent in slow motion, until one-by-one, she closed her fingers around her ankles, her hair touching the stage between her legs.