Riding on Instinct
Page 20He was saved from any more excruciating realization of his own idiocy when she moaned and stretched. She rolled over onto her back and arched it as she raised her arms over her head, which pushed her breasts upward.
He fought the groan, and cursed his throbbing cock.
She lowered her arms and laid her hands over her stomach, then turned to face him, blinking sleepy eyes at him. She smiled.
“Sorry. I seem to have passed out.”
“Yeah, you did.”
“How long was I asleep?”
“About an hour.”
She yawned and sat up, then pulled the ponytail holder from her hair, using her hand to shake out the curls until they spilled over her shoulders. When she gave him a sideways glance, he sucked in a breath.
Her half-lidded, sleepy gaze, her hair falling over her shoulders and framing her face, were so damn sexy it was like a gut punch. From innocence asleep to sex vixen in two point two seconds flat.
Yeah, he did need to get laid. Because his thoughts about his partner were heading in dangerous directions. He couldn’t afford the distraction. His job was to hunt the rogue agent, and protect his partner.
He couldn’t protect her if he was fucking her.
He pushed away from the bed and stood, dragging his fingers through his hair. “We should go to the club tonight, make an appearance so you can meet everyone and we can get the layout of the place.”
She slid off the bed. “Great idea. I’ll go take a shower and get ready. And I’m starving.”
He nodded. “We can eat before we go.”
Anything to get out of the confines of this box that contained a bed and a beautiful woman.
Whose idea was it to share a room anyway? It wasn’t like anyone would check up on them to verify the story they were lovers. Damn Grange for being a stickler for cover accuracy. This was his fault.
At least the room had two queen-sized beds. Though Spence would have rather had a king to fit his large frame. His feet would probably hang off the bed.
He shook his head at that, realizing he’d slept in a lot of worse places than this fancy hotel with its too-small bed. He was getting spoiled in his old age.
He walked onto the balcony while he waited for Shadoe to take her shower.
Nice. Secluded, offering up privacy but with a voyeuristic angle. He liked that. You could do some fun things on this balcony.
If a guy was here to do fun things.
Which he wasn’t.
He heard the bathroom door open and turned to see Shadoe stepping out, followed by a wave of steam. She had a towel wrapped around her body.
He turned away and looked down over Bourbon Street instead, making a mental note to buy beer to toss into the mini fridge in the room. He could use a cold brew right now to lubricate his dry throat.
He waited for her to finish up in there, then grabbed clean clothes, slipped into the bathroom, and turned on the shower, trying not to think about the fact that Shadoe had just been in here. He cleaned up and got out of there in a hurry, then dried off and put on his jeans. The bathroom was stifling, so he opened the door and walked out.
Shadoe was at the small vanity putting on makeup. Her hair hung in damp, curling tendrils behind her back. He wanted to pick up one of the trailing curls and play with it, but instead walked past her to grab his shirt. She turned halfway to watch him.
He felt her gaze on his back and smiled.
“You have a tattoo,” she said.
“Yeah.” He lifted his arms to pull the shirt over his head.
“No, wait. I want to see it.”
In seconds, he felt warm hands skimming over the spot where the eagle had been tattooed. Her fingers arced over the outstretched wings.
He remembered the day he got the tattoo. He’d been told by Grange that he was going on his first assignment.
He’d made it. All that hard work, all his attitude finally shed—most of his attitude, anyway. He’d felt like he was free of his past.
“Why an eagle, and why flying like this?” she asked.
“Freedom.”
His life could have gone in so many different directions, none of them good. That day, he’d felt free. He had his entire life ahead of him, he was soaring, and it all looked like blue sky to him. The eagle had seemed perfect.
“It’s beautiful.” She still had her hands on him.
He wasn’t going to complain about that.
“Thanks.”
“Do you have any more tattoos?”
He finally turned around to face her. “No. Not yet. Do you?”
She grinned. “None. Yet.”
He cocked a brow. “Dying to get one, are you?”
“Actually, I’d love to. But I never know what kind of assignment I’ll have, and a tattoo might not be the best thing to show on an undercover case.”
“Put one where no one can see it.” He pulled his shirt on.
“Hmmm, now there’s an idea.”
“And what would you get?”
He studied her, cocking his head to the side to look over her body.
She finally turned her gaze to his. “What?”
“Just trying to figure out what tattoo would fit you.”
She laughed. “You don’t know me well enough to answer that.”
“You need a rose, but not a red one. It wouldn’t look right on your skin. Peach, maybe. Or even some sort of white flower. But you’re tough, too, so you’d need something hard to go along with that. Barbed wire, or a gun, maybe even a sword. Or a skull. A tattoo that says you’re a woman all right—soft and sweet-smelling—but tread light, or you could get your head blown off.”
She raised both brows. “Wow. Is that how you see me?”
He sat on the bed to slide on his boots. “That’s how I see you.”
“Huh.”
That was all she said. Her gaze lingered for a few minutes, before she turned back to the mirror to finish her makeup, then took clothes in the bathroom and got dressed.
Which was good, because he needed to shut the hell up before he inserted his entire booted foot into his mouth.
Designing tattoos for her now? Next he’d be writing poetry. Or singing love songs.
Christ.
Pretty pathetic for someone who planned on keeping his distance from his partner.
She wasn’t helping when she came out of the bathroom in a tight black leather miniskirt, black halter top, and thigh-high black boots with a stiletto heel. A thin silver chain wound around her neck, the end dangling between her breasts and disappearing into the low vee of the halter. She wore her hair loose, the curls falling around her shoulders and back. She wore more makeup than she usually did, her lips glossed up in pink, highlighting the mouth he’d kissed last night.
Making him remember. Making him want.
His cock woke up in a hurry. He knew he stared, but he couldn’t help it. Especially remembering the way she looked when he first met her. The difference was incredible. From buttoned up, plain and severe, to full-on sexy bombshell.
But that’s the persona she was supposed to portray—the sultry stripper—the kind of woman who could walk into a club and capture every man’s attention.
Dressed like that, looking like she did, she was definitely going to command attention. He grabbed his gun and slid it into the back waistband of his pants, then pulled on his jacket to cover it.
Shadoe noticed his actions and nodded, bending down to lift her skirt up.
He arched a brow, glad for the show. Her legs were bare, her thighs the most mouthwatering things he’d ever seen. She lifted the skirt a couple inches. Strapped to her hip was a sheath with a slender blade. She smoothed her skirt down and shot him a smile. “I’m packing, too.”
Was she ever.
“That’s fine for tonight, but when you’re up on the stage getting naked it’s going to be kind of hard to conceal a weapon.”
She rolled her eyes. “Well, duh. I know that. Just tell me if you can see it.”
“No one will get close to me. I have a bodyguard.” She waggled her eyebrows. “Besides, as my lover, you wouldn’t let another guy touch me, now would you?”
“Not a chance in hell that’s gonna happen.”
Her lips lifted in a satisfied smile.
“Let’s go. The club is a few blocks from here, so we’ll ride. Think you can hike that skirt up enough to straddle the bike?”
“I can manage just fine.”
He’d try not to think about all the skin she would show along the way.
They went downstairs and he brought the bike around, craning his head to watch as she held on to his shoulders, stepped on the peg, and swung her leg around the back, then settled on.
Sweet. Sexy. She wrapped her arms around him and nestled her breasts against his back. “All for show, of course.”
“Of course.” He gave the throttle a goose, letting the noise of the pipes vibrate through them both. She grinned, and he took off.
The ride was short, and Spence ached for a chance to really cut loose and take a ride out on the country. He wanted to see the bayou. He’d bet Shadoe would enjoy that, too.
But they weren’t there to have fun and see the sights. They had a job to do.
He parked the bike in front of the Wild Rose and Shadoe climbed off. There were a couple dozen guys hanging around out front, and all of them zeroed in on her as soon as she stepped up on the curb. Hungry gazes followed her into the club, especially when Spence made sure to state loud enough that “Desi,” their new headliner, had just arrived.
Since not just any stripper could walk into a club and be a headliner, Maria and Grange had provided the background for Desi as the upcoming newest thing on the circuit. With Maria’s connections and Grange providing ID and fake background, Desi the headliner was born.
Several of the loiterers outside followed behind Spence. He’d just bet they were thinking that Desi would be dancing tonight.
Sorry, guys. You’ll just have to come back tomorrow.
Though that thought didn’t make him happy, either.
Why he should care if she stripped in front of these guys, he didn’t know.
He didn’t care whom she took her clothes off for. Hopefully it would be a packed club. The more people who jammed in here, the easier it would be to blend in and do their jobs. Shadoe was there to focus attention on her. She needed to embed herself as a feature stripper, so that every man there would want to spend time with her, to talk with her, to pay to have a moment, a half hour, an hour or more with her.
And maybe, if they were lucky, their rogue agent would show up and want some of “Desi’s” time, too.
In a perfect world, anyway.
After a brief stop at the cage where Spence announced who they were, they were waved through with a smile and the bouncer said he’d notify the manager that Desi had arrived. Shadoe smiled and walked through.
The club was smoky dark, except on the square stage where the pole was lit up and a mostly naked dancer snaked her way around the cool metal before making her way to the edge of the stage to shake her stuff in front of eager, dollar-waving men. To the left of the stage and built up several steps was a deejay choosing and playing the tunes. Rockin’-hard hip-hop music blasted through the speakers set up all over the place. The thumping bass entered through his feet and vibrated every part of his body.
Seats and built-in tables lined all three corners of the long stage; various tables were set up beyond that. There were four privacy areas in the back of the club where lap dances were conducted, mini stages for private parties complete with poles, and at the back of the club a long bar that was filled to capacity with men and women.