My Double Life: Wild and Wicked (3 page)

Or so he’d heard.

Taking his drink, Eric grinned. “You wouldn’t be dragging me there unless it had a sketchy reputation.”

“Hey, I’ve given you opportunities to go out on the town and get wild on your own, dude.” Trey clinked his glass against his friend’s before downing the rest of the chilled top-shelf chilled vodka he’d found in the freezer of a mini-fridge. “Now you’re stuck with me because I need to get you on the radar of a few more casting agents and this outing will help.”

“You don’t need to go with me, man. This time, I’ll get out there. Seriously.” Eric grimaced as he drank his shot.

“Not that I don’t trust you, but I’m going with you.” He was sending Eric out for an audition next week and he wanted to get the guy’s face in the celebrity gossip pages. Timing was critical. “I need you to land that lead role next week.”

“When you put it that way...” Eric straightened his tie. “We’d better get going.”

“Now you’re talking.” Trey set his glass on the bar and picked up his phone. “The car is waiting, so let’s roll.”

Forty minutes and a lot of weekend traffic later, they arrived at Backstage, where the bass pumped so loud the sound vibrated up Trey’s shoes. He stood a few feet behind Eric as they strode up to the velvet ropes outside the VIP entrance. A sizable line had formed at the main doors, but there was no one in front of the VIP curtain except for the bouncer with a guest list.

There were no paparazzi here, but that didn’t matter. Eric had been in a few highly recognizable teen flicks. All it took were a few people to recognize him and start snapping pics or video with a camera phone. Hell, even the dancers did stuff like that when they were between breaks, so it was a common enough practice. Trey just had to keep his client here for a couple of hours to be sure the guy would show up on the gossip blogs tomorrow. After the first few times, the story wrote itself for the bigger tabloid magazines, and two weeks from now, Eric would suddenly be seen as a Hollywood playboy.

Casting directors would fall in love with a whole new image. Trey just hoped he didn’t get painted with the “bad boy” brush, too. Not only was that kind of thing a distraction, but he didn’t need any more press these days.

“Come right in, Mr. Fraser.” The bouncer was already unhooking the velvet barrier. He wore a headset and adjusted the mouthpiece as he spoke quietly into it, no doubt calling ahead for front row seats.

As usual, Trey battled old guilt at the way his road in life was so often paved by his father. The bouncer would have recognized him as a Fraser, not because of his fledgling talent agency and definitely not because of the films he’d helped make with zero production credit. His dad insisted Trey would do better forging his own way in the world, so he’d been careful not to give him any professional recognition.

“Thanks.” He tipped the security guy well as they weaved through the club toward the front, gritty rap music taking the place of the slow number that had been on a moment before.

Trey noted with satisfaction that a number of heads turned as they walked through the main aisle toward seats that were so close to the action they could touch the center stage. Eric had already been recognized, it seemed. The bulk of his work done for the night, Trey settled in for the first show. He could discreetly do some research on Courtney Masterson from his cell phone, since he needed to confront her first thing tomorrow morning.

But one look at the blonde high-stepping her way to center stage made him shove his phone back in his pocket.

Hot. Damn.

And he was not a “hot damn” kind of guy. Especially not about women in places like Backstage, where legitimate dancers were mixed in with women who’d let you pay for just about anything in the VIP room if you had a fat bankroll. His tastes were a little more refined since he preferred to propel a woman to sexual frenzy because they were both into the moment—not because he’d paid for a lap dance.

Yet something about the performer who pranced her way toward the strobe-lit pole made him sit up straighter. She wore a tissue-thin body suit with silver feathers strategically placed over her breasts and in a V around her hips. Straight, platinum hair grazed her shoulders, the sleek shine and perfect bangs making him think it was a wig. A black-and-silver domino mask covered the top half of her face, but he could see her wink at the audience through the eyeholes.

He didn’t even blink as she caressed the silver pole with one hand and twirled around it on a pair of do-me stilettos. What was there about her that captivated the hell out of him?

“Nice.” Eric’s voice next to him set his teeth on edge, partly because, in his concentration on the dancer, he’d forgotten his client was there. But even more because he’d forgotten he wasn’t the only one drooling over the woman.

What had gotten into him today? First the rogue attraction to a shy accountant, and now this? Trey had clearly put sex so far on the back burner that his libido was having some kind of joke at his expense.

“I thought gentlemen’s clubs weren’t your kind of place,” Trey shot back, suddenly tense.

“I definitely pictured something a lot more sweaty and tacky.” Eric slid a hundred-dollar bill onto the stage, just a few feet from where the blonde now scaled the pole with the agile grace of a jungle cat. “But dancing like that takes training. She’s good.”

Trey ground his teeth together. He should be happy that Eric was settling in. Even better, a young woman on the arm of her distracted boyfriend had a videophone trained on Eric, so Trey’s nice-guy client had just been recorded slipping a tip to an exotic dancer. That was exactly what he’d wanted when he’d planned this night out.

Before he’d seen the dancer in question.

Unaccountably ticked off, Trey forced himself to pull his phone from his pocket and research some basic information on Courtney Masterson. Maybe it was just because the blonde arching around the pole had a passing resemblance to the accountant that he kept watching her out of one eye. Even with her mask on, the bone structure of her face looked similar, from what he remembered.

Not that he was checking her out or anything.

That little slice of denial ended when the dancer hung upside down from the pole with one leg, her face almost eye level with his. Their gazes locked for a long, heated moment.

Right before she blew him a kiss.

* * *

C
LEARLY
, I’
D
lost my mind.

As soon as that air-kiss left my lips, I wanted to take it back. I was courting disaster in every way possible, flirting with a hot client while hanging upside down by one leg. Count ’em. One.

It was a wonder I hadn’t broken an arm yet. And I knew with certainty that I’d get fired from my conservative risk-management firm if anyone recognized me. But I had entered the Dance Zone. A place where nothing could touch me, and I was a sexy, desirable dance goddess. It was a necessary fiction to spin for my subconscious to get me through the nerve-racking, scary-as-hell night.

I needed it to win Natalie the job she deserved. And it had the added benefit of making me feel—for a few moments at least—as though Trey Fraser had noticed me in a way he never would have back at the Sphere offices.

“Yeah, baby,” some random man shouted from the back of the room, making me lose focus during my superhero lift.

Another guy whistled.

My gut knotted as I recalled what an imposter I was. Could that person have whistled in a sarcastic way? While I obsessed over that possibility, I missed my next flip and slipped on the pole.

No!

In a panic, my eyes went back to Trey. Sexy, masculine, gorgeous Trey. And he still looked at me like... Wow. I got all hot and bothered again.

I totally nailed the next move—an inverted caterpillar thing that took me a whole month to master. I felt like a show-off, flexing slender muscles for Trey’s benefit, openly preening and arching. But seeing his expression reminded me why women learned provocative dances in the first place.

To seduce men.

Watching him watch me was a turn-on like nothing I’d ever experienced. Natalie’s routine didn’t involve any stripping—the costume was skimpy enough to start with—but I felt so turned-on by him, I could absolutely see myself peeling off clothes for this man’s benefit.

I wanted his eyes on me all the time. I wanted to make his mouth water, his body ache.

The hoots and hollers from the crowd encouraged me as I dismounted from the pole, landing in a sleek pose before I crawled on all fours to the edge of the stage.

Right in front of Trey.

His nostrils flared. His jaw flexed. I could see his chest rise and fall with the force of his breath.

I made a slow show of getting to my feet, tossing my hair and rotating my hips in a protracted roll. Hardly knowing what I was doing, I operated on instinct. Doing what felt good.

Now I turned so my back was to Trey. Hands on hips, I arched my spine to give him an eyeful of high-cut silver sequins that showed off my...cheeky side.

I flipped my hair one last time and glanced over my shoulder. This time I didn’t just blow a kiss. I slapped my ass with the flat of my palm and the crowd went wild.

The sound brought me to my senses. What was I doing?

Embarrassed now that the music had stopped, I felt my inner showgirl desert me. It was suddenly just me—Courtney Masterson—alone on stage in a blond wig and a goofy mask.

Casting one last look at Trey, I saw the spell was broken for him, too. He still looked at me, but he wasn’t on the edge of his seat anymore. He talked to the guy next to him—some actor I probably should have recognized.

What made me think Trey Fraser had been attracted to me?

Hurrying off the stage, I nearly turned my ankle coming down the two stairs that led into the dressing area. Only to find Trey had beaten me there.

My fantasy man was standing between me and my return to my boring, normal life. Had he recognized me? I couldn’t even ask him, because if I did, my tongue would seize up, just like back at the office, and I’d give myself away for sure. Now, more than ever, I couldn’t let my stutter get the best of me. I’d use some of the speech techniques I’d learned—talk fast, talk slow, talk soft, anything to talk my way around that damn hitch in my words.

Unfortunately, as I stared at the chiseled features and mega-masculine bod of Trey Fraser, I was more nervous than I’d ever been in my life.

3

“H
AVE
WE
MET
?” Trey blurted with all the finesse of a kid in junior high asking a girl out for the first time.

Suave, dude. Really classy
.

The dance diva in silver sequins shook her head, the black and silver on her mask flashing as she moved. Up close, she wasn’t as tall as she’d appeared onstage. She still moved with athletic grace, but there was a subtle difference in the way she carried herself, as if some of her confidence leaked away once she stepped out of the spotlight.

He wished he could see behind the mask.

“No?” Trey felt like an idiot for following her after the dance, but he’d been so mesmerized he hadn’t even thought about what he was doing. Besides, something about her seemed familiar. “I’m Trey Fraser,” he offered, hoping that would help her remember him. “I know it sounds like a pickup line, but I honestly thought we might have met before.”

Extending his hand, he waited for her to return the greeting, but club security was by her side in an instant. Belatedly, Trey realized a couple of other guys who’d seen the show had the same idea as he did and now stood behind him, waiting for a word with the sexy blonde.

Crap.

“Mr. Fraser,” one of the security guards addressed him politely while the other beefy bouncer chased away the rest of the salivating throng, “I’m sure Ms. Night would be happy to speak with you backstage where the dancers have a lounge.”

“I didn’t mean to bother you,” Trey said around the muscle-bound bulk between him and the woman. “Great job up there.”

Before he could turn away, the bouncer put an arm around the dancer’s shoulders and shuffled her a few steps closer to Trey.

“It’s no bother, Mr. Fraser,” the club employee assured him, straightening a dark blue tie and flashing an ingratiating smile. “I’m sure it’s Ms. Night’s pleasure.”

Meaning it was part of her job.

And didn’t that just put things in perspective for him? What the hell was he thinking, following a pole dancer around like some champagne-swilling VIP who thought anything in the place was his for the taking. He hated the idea that this was exactly the kind of crap his father pulled all the time. Thomas Fraser II went through life assuming the world was his for the taking.

“Of course,” the dancer said very softly. She’d stepped forward to take Trey’s arm. “Th-this way, please.”

He went with her only to make sure they were out of earshot of the bouncer. She led him behind a black curtain into a small reception area with a door she left open. A compact couch and a couple of ottomans were situated around a coffee table with a large arrangement of orchids and greenery. A waitress popped through the doorway almost as soon as they entered, but when the dancer shook her head to refuse service, Trey gave the server a tip and sent her on her way.

“Ms. Night, is it?”

“Natalie.” She spoke quickly, in a breathless rush. “Stage name.”

He vaguely recalled seeing “Natalie Night” on a program posted at the entrance of the club. Back onstage, another performer already entertained the crowds, the breathy music and pounding bass punctuated by a few male shouts of approval.

“Well, Natalie, I won’t keep you. I only came back here because I didn’t want to get you in trouble with the club management.” He took in the gilt framed mirror behind the sofa and on the ceiling, guessing this room was designated for private dances and more. Not once in his life had he paid for “extra” even though he had been inside clubs like this in the past. What more might Natalie offer if he was so inclined?

“I’ll be fine,” she assured him, tugging on the strap of her costume to move the material toward the edge of her shoulder. “Tonight was just a trial run for—” She paused. Smiled tightly. “For me.”

She seemed to speak with deliberate patience, articulating slowly as if she might be annoyed at having to converse with a fan. Not that he blamed her. But he was too curious about that comment to walk away yet.

“This is your first night on the job?”

“A public audition for a role in the—” she drew a hand through her hair, the medium-length platinum strands settling right back into place “—fall lineup.”

The movement distracted him from her words, his eye going to all the bare skin her costume exposed. With sudden fierceness, he realized he did not want her in the fall lineup. Not one damn bit.

“You don’t want to work here.” He pictured the club bouncers shoving her into VIP rooms with high-paying guests who would be only too glad to dole out money for a private show. “I know you’d be a featured performer with your talent, but some clubgoers don’t always respect the dancers’ boundaries. You wouldn’t want to have to...you know...entertain clients back here.”

Then again, she must know what the job involved. And he was probably way out of line to tell her how to live her life, but damn. She was too talented to deal with rich jerks.

“I’ll worry about that when the time comes.” She spoke so softly he had to lean closer to hear her.

Close enough to catch her scent—some light, barely-there fragrance.

“I have no business telling you what to do.” He tried to back away and get out of there but found himself still standing way too close to her.

He wanted a look behind the mask and settled for trying to discern her eye color under the black domino mask. Blue, maybe.

“Didn’t you like the dance?” she asked, shifting from one sky-high heel to the other, her precisely painted lips moving with slow precision as she spoke.

Seized with the urge to lick all that glossy pink away until he could see the real color beneath, he felt his blood surge. He wanted this woman, even though he didn’t know one damn thing about her.

“I liked the dance a whole hell of a lot.” That didn’t explain what made him follow her. Or what made him stick around when he had no plans to pay for a private performance. “Too much. Maybe that’s why I don’t think you should perform it in a place like this where the dancers are encouraged to work overtime.”

It was difficult to gauge her reaction under the barrier of the mask. But her mouth curved in a sly, sexy grin that raised his temp a few degrees.

“You were a great audience,” she confided in that soft tone that made him feel as if they’d already been intimate. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”

He was close enough to kiss her. And the way she spoke to him made him think she might welcome it. But the clock on the wall chimed the hour just then, dragging her attention away.

“I’ve got to go,” she announced, straightening her shoulders.

Was his time up already? He wondered if he was supposed to tip her even though all they’d done was talk.

“Wait.” He was so distracted tonight he didn’t know what he was doing. But he didn’t think he’d be able to focus on his work or his plan to one-up his dad if he didn’t find some stress relief soon. And this woman had definitely flirted with him. “Can we meet later? No strings?”

He could send Eric home with the driver and take a cab to his own place.

“I’m sure that’s against club policy.” Her rebuff seemed carefully worded.

Because she was cautious, or because she was trying to let him down easy?

“But you don’t officially start work here until the fall.”

“I won’t work overtime—now or then,” she reminded him, throwing his words back in his face.

“So meet me for the hell of it.” Suddenly, that sounded like the best reason ever. He’d planned, plotted and thought through his every move so carefully over the last six months, shutting down his personal life completely to focus on resurrecting his career and his name.

Why not do this one thing just because he wanted to? Just because Natalie Night was sexy and intriguing?

“You really did like the dance, didn’t you?” From another woman, he might have guessed she was fishing for compliments. But she sounded genuinely surprised.

And that didn’t make sense. Pole dancers worked the stage because they craved the spotlight and they were confident about their bodies.

“I think it’s you that I like,” he admitted, reaching for the bottom of her mask and gliding a finger along the top of her cheek where it rested. “May I?”

He edged the barrier upward slightly, waiting for approval.

“No.” She stepped back quickly. Unsteadily. “I’ll meet you later, but the mask stays on.”

“Seriously?” He didn’t know what surprised him more. That she would agree to meet him or that she would want to remain anonymous when she did.

Although a vision of her draped all over him, her lean thighs straddling him while she wore nothing but sheer fabric and feathers, packed a punch so powerful it took his breath away.

“Can you be at the back entrance in fifteen minutes?” Her gaze skittered up toward the clock on the wall again.

“Yes, but won’t there be a crowd congregating there to see you?”

“Really?”

Again, that seemingly innocent surprise made no sense. Was she playing him?

“Security will walk you to your car, but I think they’ll discourage you from meeting anyone from the club once you’re off the clock.”

She frowned.

“I’ll handle that,” she said finally, taking a step backward. “And Trey?”

“Yes?” He heard the music change and knew another act was taking the stage.

“I’m really glad you were here tonight.”

She turned on her heel and walked out of the room, her hips swinging in a walk that was gently feminine and not purposely seductive. Or so it appeared to him.

He was having the damnedest time reading this woman.

Would she really meet him, or was she already planning to send security after him as soon as he showed up in the parking lot? Trey had no idea. But she was the hottest, most diverting woman he’d ever laid eyes on.

And he planned to enjoy every possible moment he had with Natalie Night. There would be time enough tomorrow to quiz the Sphere Asset Management researcher and get the answers he wanted.

Maybe after indulging his overheated sensual imagination with Natalie, he’d be able to look into Courtney Masterson’s gray eyes and see the calculating woman she really was and not the sexy accountant his brain had conjured.

* * *

T
HIS
WAS
BAD
. Really bad.

I stumbled into the dressing room and scooped up my duffel bag, desperate to get out of the club before Trey realized I’d left. Because even though my heart was beating like a hummingbird’s—a jillion beats per second—I knew taking things further with a client would be out of the question. Unlike Fawn, no headhunters were heaping job offers at my feet.

It stood to reason that I shouldn’t have made a plan to meet him. But I’d felt tongue-tied and blurted the first thing that came to mind to get past him and into the dressing room. I figured I’d bought myself fifteen minutes without having to make excuses or explain myself.

“Nice job on the pole, New Girl.” Another dancer smiled at me as I swept my tubes of mascara and body glitter into the bag.

Six feet tall, at least, the woman was an ethnic blend à la JLo and flat-out gorgeous. The fact that she was mostly naked and applying pink body paint around her left breast only added to her stunning appearance. She looked like she was wearing a body suit of tattoos.

“Oh. Um.” Tough to make eye contact with a half-naked woman, but I tried. “Thank you. I’m Court—that is, I’m Natalie.”

As much as I needed to get going, I didn’t want to alienate Natalie’s future colleagues.

The pink-painted beauty laughed. “You’re not the only one hiding an identity,
Natalie
. We do love our stage names in this business. I’m Kim, but everyone here knows me as Kendra.”

“Nice to meet you.” Bag packed, I took an extra minute to admire the butterfly she’d somehow painted upside down on her chest. “Your artwork is amazing.”

“Yeah?” She straightened and eyed herself critically in a mirror banked by fluorescent lights. “Everything looks sort of green in these mirrors.”

“It’s really good.” I dug in my bag for a shapeless beach dress to cover my costume.

“Did you see Eric Reims in the crowd?” she asked, dipping her thin artist’s brush into a palette with black paint.

“Who?” Tugging the collar closed, I felt more like my old self again.

“The actor in the front row. He’s been in some teen movies, but last summer he did a low-budget romantic comedy.” She shaded the background of a flower with light strokes. “You couldn’t miss him. He was the hottest guy next to the stage.”

Personally, I begged to differ, but I had a vague impression of a youngish, polished blond man seated next to Trey. And yeah, he’d be fine if you went in for the baby-faced types. I’d only had eyes for Trey.

“I think I know who you mean.” Shuffling back a step, I wanted to call Natalie and tell her the good news. The club owner had already told me my spot was secure for the fall lineup.

That meant Natalie had a job. It felt good to think I’d erased a small part of my debt to my dance instructor. I could never have experienced a night like this—a thrill on so many levels—without her.

“He sat next to Trey Fraser, the hot-headed son of Thomas Fraser, the big producer.” Kendra picked up a small tin of rhinestones and carefully applied them to the butterfly’s antennae. “I think I read that the son is Eric Reims’s agent now.”

At the mention of Trey’s name, I got all worked up again. I’d never been the boy-crazy kind, not even when I was a preteen and everyone else salivated over the most popular guys in school. Maybe it was knowing I couldn’t compete, or that I’d only embarrass myself. But even through college and my years in the workforce so far, I just hadn’t dated much. A couple of fumbling relationships with guy-friends. Nothing like the breathless, Tilt-A-Whirl feelings that Trey inspired.

The thought of walking away from the chance to be with him tonight hurt anew. How often did opportunities like that come around?

Before I could answer Kendra, the guy who seemed to be the head bouncer stuck his head in the dressing room, knocking belatedly on the open door.

“Ms. Night?”