Taking the Score (4 page)

An urge to alternately protect and plunder her tight, fuckable body battled in his chest. The more honorable instinct won out. Barely. He stood, sending her tumbling, but he caught her before she fell on that hot little ass of hers and hauled her upright.

“I need to see you alone.”

“Nice work, mate,” Nigel the Limey Idiot said.

Brody pulled Emma toward him and encircled her waist possessively. She gasped, maybe at his display of dominance, more likely at his pulsing cock against her belly. No one in this place would lay a finger on her as long as he had breath in his body and multiple zeros on his bank balance.

“Now. Alone.”

“The private rooms cost a lot of money.” At his eyebrow lift of
I’ve got this
, she added, “And they have cameras.”

“Audio recording?”

“Usually, but one of them has been in need of repair for a while. We can see if it’s free.” She looked over his shoulder to the bar. He turned and found a hulk brooding his way. The big kahuna, Brody supposed. “You have to pay first,” Emma whispered, her bottom lip quivering.

Black Amex. Check. He threw it on his seat. He’d pay whatever it took to get her alone. To get her out of here.

“Lead the way.
Chardonnay
.”

Evidently torn between wanting to return a snarky comment and remove them both from this tricky situation, she chose the latter. Good call. Taking his hand, she led him to a corridor and eventually to a room near the end. She pulled him inside.

He slammed the door behind them and pushed her against it, that dangerous brew of lust and anger in maximum concentration now that they were alone.

“Now, how about you explain to me what the hell is going on here?”

Chapter Five

Mr. Kane was pissed. Understandably so; she had blindsided him, after all. She’d never seen him angry before, and it was…hot. She needed no more reasons to be attracted to him, yet here he was serving up more of the sexy.

His hair dipped over those sex-nerd glasses that always made her weak-kneed. His mouth was set in a strai
ght line, no humor, no give, yet she suspected a kiss might soften it. And make him hard elsewhere.

Or harder.

She’d felt his arousal against her dampening sex as she’d writhed all over him out in the VIP lounge. A purely biological reaction, of course, just bodies rubbing against bodies, because there was nothing sexy about what had occurred. Yet faced with the most humiliating situation of her life, she had still managed to get turned on.

Because that’s your default setting, Ems. A bad girl who just needs the right set of circumstances to revert to no good.

“We have to make this look like a regular customer/client interaction.”

“I’ve paid for your time. I can spend it any way I want.”

“Three songs cost $150.” The music was pumped into the rooms, the same as heard out in the club. Brody probably wiped his ass with hundred-dollar bills, but no way did she want to be in debt to him. The situation was already a complete mess.

“Have a seat,” she said, motioning to the small red velvet sofa.

“Or what? You’ll get fired? Sounds like a great plan to me.” Anger carved his features into hard planes and increased her attraction to him by a factor of oh,
a million.

“Then you may as well leave now.”

Evidently exasperated, he sat down. “You, too. Make it look good, right?” He patted his lap.

There was no need to go that far. Lots of dancers sat and talked to the clients, stroking their egos instead of stroking their dicks. She sat on the other half of the love seat, her feet curled under her, leaning in so it looked like she was flirting with the customer for the camera, but not so much that her breasts were saying
howdy
. A tricky balancing act.

“I’d like to hear an explanation for why one of my employees is here. In a strip club.”

That last part was ground out from a mouth now hard with disapproval. Irritation at his holier-than-thou ’tude flared. “Well, maybe we should talk about why you’re a customer. Men like you keep places like this running. You’re creating a need.”

“Sorry to disappoint you, but it’s called pulling out all the stops to nail down the deal. Your oodles of ooolio—” He waved a hand, reaching for the word.

“Oolong,” she supplied helpfully.

“Your oolong tea and crumpets didn’t cut it. Our dickhead of a client is only interested in the crumpet.”

“Do you think he’s going to come through with what we need?”

He rubbed his mouth, considering. “He seems happy enough for now so all is not lost…wait one—fucking—second.” He dug his fingers into the back of the sofa and an image of him doing that to her hips assaulted her brain. Holding her in place for his pleasure. “You’re trying to detour this conversation from what’s important, Ms. Strickland.”

“You’ve had your hands on my ass and I ground my lady lips into your dick. I think you can call me Emma.”

Shock enlivened his grim features. Had she really just said “lady lips” out loud? This was not their standard repartee around the office.

“Emma,” he gritted out with tremendous effort. “Explain to me what’s going on.”

Well, I’m sure you’d love to hear about my coked-up sister who virtually sold me to her loan shark to pay off her debt. Or the fact that I’ve been the only mother she’s ever known and I failed her big-time. How the last three months have zapped every jot of energy from me and turned me into this.

She’d spent most of the last seventeen years ensuring Daisy never got a chance to become familiar with the inside of a courtroom, from overseeing every piece of homework she turned in to feeding her home-cooked meals, trusting that the family that eats together keeps its troublemakers out of jail and crack houses. But it wasn’t enough.

The clammy film coating her skin was ever-present, impossible to wash off. Shame. Shame at how she had screwed up as her sister’s guardian. Shame at how Brody was looking at her right now.

“I have a few debts”—
true
—“and I usually work here as a cocktail waitress”—
also true
—“but I’ve always wanted to dance”—
half true, what girl didn’t?
—“and the opportunity presented itself.”
Was shoved down my throat.

“You
chose
to do this?”

Indignation rose, swift and sharp. “Why shouldn’t I choose to do this? Is there something wrong with doing this?”

That stymied him. He opened his mouth. Closed it before he shoved his other foot in.

“Every woman who works at this club is choosing to exercise agency over her body and gift the world with her beauty and talent.”

Pure disbelief greeted that. “And the dancing? Was that your gift to the world? Because if so, I hope you kept the receipt.”

She shrugged. “So, I’m new. I just need to practice, that’s all.”

“
Practice?
You mean you’re going to be doing that again?”

Very likely yes, because there was no way any of those dance moves had come close to getting her out from under Ray. She shuddered inwardly at the image that threw up.

“A girl’s gotta do.”

“Emma.” The way he said her name, a husky exasperation, sent warmth curling through her blood. “Tell me what’s going on here. Really. This isn’t like you.”

He had no idea. So grinding on a guy—on her boss—in public was not her thing but she had to admit she’d felt a brief surge of power like the Emma of old. That bad girl fighting to break free of her skin. Get down and dirty.

She might be a crappy stripper, but she was an excellent bad girl.

Emboldened by his disapproval, she went on. “You don’t know me, Mr. Kane. PA by day, T & A by night.”

He growled, actually growled. She had read about that in romance novels, but never thought she’d hear someone do it. That throaty sound seemed to propel him a breath-robbing closer. Or perhaps it drew her in. White-hot emotion swirled in those gray eyes. She swallowed, not quite believing the words hurtling from her scrambled brain to her mouth.

“Next time I might try my hand at the pole.”

He growled again, and this time there was no doubt it was…indelibly sexual.

“If you need money, we’ll sort something out.”

No way. She refused to take charity. She may as well open her legs right now. Brody might make a better creditor than Ray, but the upshot was the same: some guy with his boot on her neck and his hand up her skirt.

“It’s not just about the money.”
It is.
“This is my way to express myself.”
My skanky self.

“For fuck’s sake, take an art class. Learn to play the guitar.” He cupped her jaw, a sensual display of intimacy that warmed her from the inside out. “There are a million ways you can express yourself, Emma.”

Oh God, she really should not have given him permission to say her name, because he owned her when he pushed out those two little syllables.

“I want to express myself through dance,” she insisted. Keeping up this charade of self-expression was admittedly ridiculous, but she’d committed and couldn’t see a viable way out.

He closed his eyes and for a moment she had a brief flash of what it would be like to watch him sleep. After she’d worn him out “dancing.” Thick, velvety lashes, beautifully sooty, framed those silver-gray eyes like a work of art. When his eyes fluttered open again, she could see he was trying his utmost not to strangle her. His concern was touching, though she’d much rather he was touching her where she was most concerned.

Stop it, you dirty girl.

The song ended, leaving just two more, six minutes give or take on his tab. But those six minutes were unnecessary. Too many lines had already been crossed. She needed to put distance between them before she did something stupid. Or, more stupid.

Unfolding her feet encased in their wobbly prisons, she stood and moved toward the door. In a flash, he was on her, his hand cupping her hip, sending fire through her veins that terminated at the juncture between her legs. A dangerous current zipped between them.

“Time’s not up,” he grated.

Her gaze strayed to the “eye,” the camera in the corner of the room. Was Ray in his office drooling or was he just happy to have Brody’s Amex so he could run up bogus charges?

“There’s nothing more to say.”

“You’re not working here anymore. I insist.”

Another blast of heat barreled through her at his dominant tone. The boss was never this bossy at work. “Haven’t you heard, Mr. Kane? This is the twenty-first century and women have rights. You can’t insist on that.”

His answer was to “insist” until her back met the wall, right below the camera. The blind spot in the room, her brain whispered.

“I can and I will,” he said. His hands dug into her hip bones. His hard, suited body pinned her in place. In his eyes, there lived enough heat to burn every last piece of skimpy stripper clothing from her body.

No one can see us in this part of the room.

“I know,” he rasped.

So she’d said that aloud.

“You’re not supposed to make me—” He broke off. “This is not the role you’re supposed to play in my life, Emma. You’re my assistant, my employee, the person I rely on to keep my day ordered.”

Fury, previously on a low simmer, now overboiled in her chest. Evidently, they were not having the same shared experience. Emma’s life strikeout, the one that included a descent to the slimy depths of rock bottom, was an
inconvenience
for Mr. Broderick Kane the fucking third.

“Am I supposed to apologize because I’ve upset the order in
your
life?”

“Yes, damn you, yes.” His gaze dropped to her mouth. His brow crimped, a strange shift of emotion on his face, and as she followed his thoughts chasing each other, her own anger transformed into something sharper. Edgier.

Dangerous.

Damn it, he was going to fire her tomorrow anyway. Maybe tonight. He’d find a way: a morals clause, conduct unbecoming a Score Property employee, criminal levels of twerking.

This might be the last time she saw him.

Anger at the unfairness of it all flushed through her. Her whole life had been spent looking after and out for others. Her personal and professional sacrifices, it was all for nothing. Why shouldn’t she have something of her own, even if it was brief moment of heaven before she crashed headlong into the abyss?

If she was going down, she was taking Brody Kane with her.

“You don’t like things out of place, do you?” she goaded. “Your neat rows an undisciplined mess?” Her breathing had picked up, each word out of her mouth a provocation. “You especially don’t like when you don’t have all the answers, Brody.”

“Don’t test me, Emma. I’m taking you out of here. No one else will touch you.”
Ever again,
she finished in her head.

Old, bad-girl Emma latched on to the opening his threat presented.
Welcome to the party, bitch.
“I’m staying. Plenty of clients left who’ll pay top dollar for a chance to touch this ass.”

“Emma—”

“Frankly, you’re wasting the room, Mr. Kane. And you’re taking up valuable time when I could be earning so much more with my needier clients.”

Those gray eyes burst into supernovas. “
That
will happen over my dead body.”

“I wonder if Mr. Smythe-Osborne would enjoy some good old-fashioned American hospitality. Two girls are always better than one, and if Score Property is paying—”

His lips crashed down on hers, devouring, igniting a flame in every cell of her body.
Yeah, this.

No kiss had ever tasted this good. No kiss had ever incited her in this way. His tongue swept through her mouth with possessive, velvety strokes that sent swirls of desire eddying in her gut. Her fantasy of kissing him had always been tame. Guy was a dweeb, after all. But this kiss… Brody Kane had skills in the mouth-to-mouth department.

He pulled back, shock on his face at what he had done. What they had done.

Torment tightened his brow. He really was suffering over this, but hell, so was she. And she suspected only one thing could ease it.

He was her boss, and she was dressed as a stripper in the back room of a strip club. But very likely, he would soon be her ex-boss because there was no unringing this bell.

She leaned in and licked the corner of his mouth.
Oh, bad, bad Emma.
“Make it better, Brody.”

Her desire reflected back at her in his eyes, his need a living, breathing animal between them. He couldn’t possibly deny her, could he? In case there might be any doubt, she coasted a hand down the front of his body. Oh, yeah, baby, just as she thought.

Packing.

He didn’t stop her.

She unzipped his suit pants, and outside the soft fabric of his boxers, cupped the hardest, largest cock she’d ever had the privilege to handle.

Your move, Mr. Kane.

…

Good. Fuck.

Brody had entered some sort of fever dream. East was west, up was down, and Ms. Strickland was a stripper who had just wrapped her typing fingers around his granite-hard cock.

His prim and proper personal assistant was neither prim nor proper, but he’d give her top marks on her next performance evaluation for personal. The hand stroking his dick was very personal indeed. No way in hell was he gifting sexy little Emma Strickland to whatever drunken louts remained out on the main floor. If he had to buy the damn club so he could stop her from working here, he would.

Right this minute, his gorgeous PA belonged to him.

His gorgeous
stripper
PA. All these contradictions were driving him mad with curiosity, confusion, and mind-wiping lust. He had to know more about why she was here.

He had to know
her.

His mouth returned home to hers, teasing, dragging a frustrated moan from her throat. She chased his lips but he pulled back, then went in again with a nip of her lower lip. Soft and pillowy. He shouldn’t be playing this game with her. It wouldn’t give him information. It would only frustrate.