Shot of Sultry (7 page)

She placed a hand against the door frame and peered inside Luke’s office, where Trey stared at the jellyfish floating in tranquil contrast to his rage. The muscles in his back strained the fabric of his T-shirt until she feared he’d rip the seams like the Incredible Hulk. Tentatively, she stepped inside and closed the door behind her. Trey whirled around, blue eyes ablaze in a way she’d never seen before. The heat from his gaze sparked a flame in the pit of her belly, and she instinctively backed away, pressing her spine to the wall.

“How much did you hear?” he asked, advancing on her one slow step at a time.

She held out a defensive palm. “Just enough to know you’re leaving, and Luke’s not happy about it.”

Tilting his head, he studied her, no doubt weighing the plausibility of her story. Several seconds later, he nodded. “Fine. Go on, then. I’m not good company tonight.”

She didn’t move. “Where’re you going?”

A charged silence followed, rippling the space between them, until Trey eventually heaved a sigh and muttered, “Dubai. When summer’s over.”

“That’s a long way from home.” The rigid set of Trey’s jaw told her she was pushing her luck, but she pressed harder. “What’s in Dubai that’s so important?”

“You ask a lot of questions.” He inched closer, reminding her of a tiger stalking its prey.

She shrugged one shoulder, maintaining a blank expression though her pulse quickened. “Occupational hazard.”

“A civilian contracting job,” he finally said. “Two years security detail for some bigwig developer who’s working with the military.”

He didn’t seem excited about the venture. “Why? I thought you were happy here.”

Trey smirked, flashing one dimple. “How ’bout this, Bo Peep. I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”

Bobbi glanced away from his piercing glare and focused on her brother’s desk. “What’s that supposed to mean?” She pushed off the wall and skirted around Trey, then began absently sorting receipts. She couldn’t think clearly enough to organize the mess, but Trey was making her nervous, and she needed to do something with her hands.

“It means,” Trey said from behind, settling close enough to surround her in his delicious scent of sandalwood and sex, “I know you’re lying to your brother.” He swept her hair aside, brushing her neck with his fingertips, and whispered in her ear, “So what’re you really doing here?”

Closing her eyes, Bobbi splayed both hands against the scattered paperwork to steady herself while the room spun. She hoped Trey hadn’t noticed the goose bumps he’d brought to the surface of her skin. “J-just shooting this project, like I said.”

He used his thumb to trace the chills along her upper back. He’d noticed, all right. She could practically feel the smug smile in his feather touch. “You’re a terrible liar.”

Without permission, her body backed against his, molding them together, his growing erection pressing her bottom.

Trey sucked a breath through his teeth. “What the hell’re you doing?”

Playing with fire was what she was doing. “Nothing.” Unable to stop herself, she ground against the thick bulge straining the front of his Levis. “We should get back to the bar.”

“I told you,” he said, low and gritty, as he grasped her waist and turned her to face him, “I’m not good company tonight.”

Bobbi’s breath hitched when Trey backed her onto the desk and stepped between her knees. His stone chest brushed her nipples, tightening them instantly. “I don’t care,” she barely managed in a whisper. “You have to s-suck it up and put on a happy face.”

With one hand, Trey fisted her hair, tipping her head back. He pressed his lips to her earlobe and murmured, “There’s only one thing that’s gonna put a smile on my face.” In one rough motion, he took her breast in his palm and used his thumb to stroke its hardened tip, electrifying every nerve ending in her body. Bobbi clutched his back, and her mind flooded with sensual images of those muscles tensing and flexing beneath her fingers while he made love to her. She arched further into his palm and bit her lip to contain a moan. “Can you guess what that is?”

She nodded as much as his grip would allow, and with her heart thumping against her lungs, she yanked her dress up, wrapping one leg around his waist.

He released her hair and abruptly cupped the satin crotch of her panties, massaging with the heel of his hand until she groaned and fell back onto her elbows. “Oh god.” She hadn’t meant to say it out loud, but all the blood in her head rushed beneath his hand as he worked her relentlessly up and down.

“Move with me,” he commanded.

She responded, arching her lower back, straining against him as he ground his palm in slow circles. Closing her eyes, she focused on the delicious tension mounting between her thighs, and for several long minutes, the only sounds in the room were her shuddering breaths and the soft rustle of skin rubbing satin. A tiny voice in the recesses of her mind told her this was wrong, but pure pleasure silenced it as she climbed higher and higher toward the peak.

“Look at me.”

She allowed her lids to flutter open.

Still standing between her legs, Trey locked eyes with her and lightened the pressure, brushing his knuckles over the dampened fabric, teasing her until she felt swollen with need. Aching for more, she planted both heels on the desk and rose up to meet him.

“If I slipped off your panties,” he said, fingertips swirling in
just
the right place, “and spread your gorgeous thighs nice and wide…” Gripping the desk with both hands, he fit their hips together, then rocked against her aroused flesh so slowly it made her eyes roll back. “I could make you come so hard you’d forget how to breathe, Bobbi.”

Yes!
She didn’t know if she’d said it aloud, and she didn’t care. Reclining flat on her back, she let her knees fall out to the sides and shamelessly begged with her hips.

“But,” he said, “that’d be a real bad idea.”

Oh god, no, it wouldn’t. That’d be the best idea ever.

A distant door slammed—either the back entrance or the one leading to the bar, she couldn’t tell—and Bobbi flinched, sharing one panicked glance with Trey as he pulled her to standing.

When Bong knocked once and barged right in, Bobbi was still pulling down her dress and fighting for oxygen, while Trey spun to face the wall—a wise idea considering his erection was probably visible from space.

“Oh.” Bong’s eyes widened. “Did I interrupt something?”

“No,” she panted, finger-combing her hair. “What’s up?”

Clearly, her sound boom guy wasn’t fooled, because he gave a knowing grin and glanced at his checkerboard Converse slip-ons. “Colton wants to take us on a field trip.”

“To where?”

“He won’t say, but he promised we’d like it.”

Bobbi didn’t have a good feeling about this. Of course, circulation hadn’t been fully restored to her brain. “What about the brunette?”

“They snuck into the bathroom right after you left. I think he’s done with her now.”

“Well, that was fast.”

“Yeah.” Bong stepped out of the office, winking at her. “People around here don’t waste any time.”

Bobbi caught his meaning, and her cheeks flushed. Though still throbbing below the waist, her senses had begun to return, and she couldn’t believe what she’d almost done. If Bong hadn’t interrupted them, she’d be on top of Luke’s desk right now, spread-eagled with Budweiser invoices stuck to her bare ass, doing the dirty deed with one of her documentary subjects. What the hell was wrong with her? This was supposed to be her comeback project, not the final nail in her career’s coffin.

“I’m sorry,” she said to Trey, while smoothing the wrinkles from her dress. “I shouldn’t have let that happen.”

“Me too.” Trey’s voice was still thick with lust, but an added dash of guilt darkened his tone. “I was in a shitty mood, but that’s no excuse.” Still facing away, he cleared his throat. “Luke can’t know about this. I’m supposed to be keeping you out of trouble, not…you know.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“So, we’re okay, right?”

“Of course,” Bobbi reassured him. She took a moment to steady her breathing and added, “I’m a professional.”

Not that you’d know it from her behavior, but that was about to change. No more messing around. Nobody—not even the blond sex god at her side—would keep Bobbi from reclaiming her career and restoring her reputation.

She just needed her body to get the memo. Good thing she’d remembered to pack plenty of batteries.

“The Sultry Lady. Texas-Sized T&A,” Bobbi read aloud from the fluorescent pink sign atop their field-trip destination. Wonderful. Just when she thought strip clubs couldn’t demean women any further, one rose to the occasion. She knocked on the Plexiglas divider to get Colton’s attention. “Let me out.”

Trey shifted beside her on the cruiser’s backseat, gripping his knees hard enough to make his forearm tendons strain beneath his skin. She felt his pain. An hour had passed since their near-sex experience, and her pulse still throbbed uncomfortably right between her “gorgeous” thighs.

If
I
slipped
off
your
panties
and
spread
your
gorgeous
thighs
nice
and
wide, I could make you come so hard you’d forget how to breathe, Bobbi.
Even if she lived a thousand years, she’d never get those words out of her head. Trey hadn’t said a thing the whole ride over, but she knew he was thinking about it too. It was the invisible elephant in the squad car. No, bigger than that. The invisible brontosaurus.

Colton opened her door and Bobbi stepped out, scanning the barely illuminated parking lot for Bong’s van. He’d probably circled around back for an empty spot since Colt had claimed the last one in front of the two-story stucco building. A seductive beat drifted from the entrance to The Sultry Lady, punctuated by the whoops and whistles of what sounded like hundreds of men.

“I still can’t believe a nice little town like Sultry Springs has,” she made air quotes, “a gentleman’s club.” There was nothing gentlemanly about paying a desperate, young woman to grind on your lap.

“It’s outside town limits,” Colton said. “The county can’t ban titty bars, thank the Lord, just regulate ’em.”

“Is it always this busy?” she asked, moving aside to let Trey out.

Colton chuckled to himself and pulled off his Stetson. After raking his fingers through his jet-black hair, he tossed his hat into the cruiser. “Nope. You could say tonight’s a special occasion.”

Uh-oh. She didn’t like the sound of this either. “Spill it now, or we’re going home.”

“All right, honey. Just calm down now.” He made a
come
here
motion, lowering his voice. “Can you keep a secret?”

“Usually,” came her tentative reply. She and Trey moved closer, forming an awkward huddle.

“Not all of these cars belong to customers,” Colt said. “The sheriff’s been investigating prostitution rumors, and there’s an undercover bust going down tonight. When the head guy gives the signal, they’re gonna lock all the exits and sweep the private dance rooms. Should make an interesting episode for your show, don’t you think?”

Bobbi straightened while a hesitant grin lifted the corners of her mouth. Finally, a lucky break. “To say the least. So, that’s why you’re here?”

“Nah.” He smiled at Trey as if sharing a private joke. “I’m just comin’ around for my weekly inspection. It’s a tough job, but I’m man enough to handle it.”

Shaking his head, Trey hooked a thumb at his buddy and explained, “New law says the girls have to cover their nipples with latex, and this lucky bastard gets the job of making sure it’s enforced.”

“Lucky?” She gave Trey a narrowed sideways glance. “Since when is contributing to the sexual objectification of women considered a stroke of luck?”

Trey rolled his eyes. “Here we go.”

Before she had a chance to school him on the negative impact of the sex industry on society, Bong called out from somewhere in the darkness. He jogged into view beneath the streetlight’s glow and met them, panting for breath.

“Waste of time.” He nodded toward the beefy linebacker standing guard at the front entrance. “They’ll never let us take the camera inside. I tried something like this in Anaheim—”

“Don’t worry,” Colton said, “we’re using the back door. I called in a favor from the co-owner.” Smiling, he shifted his utility belt. “Found his homemade distillery while I was camping last summer, so he owes me big. Anyway, try to stay out of sight and ditch that microphone on a pole.”

Bong considered a moment. “The smaller camera has a built-in mic, but the quality won’t be the same.”

Bobbi held up one hand. “For something this juicy, we’ll deal with it.”

“Juicy?” Bong asked.

“Don’t advertise this,” she said, “but they’re busting up a prostitution ring tonight.”

“No shit.” They shared a glance, each, no doubt, recalling this morning’s conversation about manufacturing drama. Catching their subjects inside a strip joint in the middle of a police raid was better than gold, and they both knew it. “Okay, then we’ll go in the front and find a table with a wide view. I’ll fit Weezus with a hidden mic and tell him to wear the strap-on.”

That got everyone’s attention.

“Not what you think,” Bong said and jogged away.

Trey raised one blond brow, and while the three of them made their way to the back of the property, Bobbi explained that Weezus had crafted a strap-on apparatus similar to a Kevlar vest that concealed a small camera inside, and since he was already taller than 6'5", the added bulk looked natural on his Kong-frame. Like Bong had said, the quality would be rough, but the gritty effect might actually enhance the sense of danger on screen and make it easier to blur the faces of anyone who didn’t sign a waiver.

When they reached the back door, Colton pounded a code with his fist that sounded just like the intro to “Ice, Ice, Baby,” and a few seconds later, a portly man with a missing front tooth ushered them inside. Bobbi didn’t doubt the validity of Colton’s story, because this guy looked like the type to hide a still in the woods…maybe even utter the phrase, “You got a purty mouth, boy.” She tried not to think too hard about his personal life as he led them to the dressing room.

From the way the girls bounced and giggled at the sight of Colton, you’d think he was a rock star. They left their individual vanities and lined up for inspection, thrusting their hard, fake cantaloupe boobs toward the deputy’s face while issuing unspoken invitations with their eyes.

Unbelievable. He was like the Pied Piper for horny women.

A few girls tossed flirtatious glances at Trey, but he didn’t notice. He’d averted his gaze, choosing to study his work boots instead of their nearly naked bodies, and Bobbi couldn’t help admiring him for it.

While Colton took his time scrutinizing each latex-coated nipple, Bobbi turned her attention to the metal locker bank, which each dancer had embellished with photos and oversized name tags: Destini, Kandi, Brandi, Karli, Kourtni. It reminded her of the way girls in middle school used to decorate each other’s lockers to celebrate birthdays or home games. She’d always envied those students. The only adornment Bobbi had ever found on her locker was a Gap ad with the words, “Get some new clothes, loser” scrawled beneath. As if living in poverty with an addict had been her first choice. When Mama’d died six months later, Bobbi had asked her dads to send her to a new school.

“Hey.” Trey nudged her with his elbow. “I could use a drink. Let’s go sit at the bar.”

“Great idea.” She snapped her fingers at Colt until she had his full attention. “Meet us out there when you’re done.”

He nodded, but as seriously as he took his job, it would probably take a while.

The scent of theatrical fog and the quintessential stripper song, “Closer” by Nine Inch Nails, greeted them inside the club. While Trent Reznor sang about getting closer to God in a really unconventional way, an emaciated blond in a glittery thong was doing creative but disturbing things to the pole on stage, captivating the audience seated at the tables below.

Bobbi spotted her crew in the back corner and gave them a wave as she climbed onto her bar stool.

“What’re you having?” Trey asked, sitting so close their legs touched. He wrapped one arm around her waist and ordered a Bud draft.

“Vodka tonic.” She glanced at his arm, then back to him. “What’re you doing?”

“Sending a message.”

“To?”

“All the dudes I saw watching you when we walked in the room.” He pulled away just long enough to toss a twenty onto the bar before holding her again, tighter than before. “Marking my territory. Staking my claim. No one’ll bother you now.”

Snickering, the bartender opened a fresh bag of snack mix and shook it into a clean bowl. “He speaks the truth.” He pushed the bowl across the lacquer bar and served their drinks before stepping away to help another customer.

“Lovely.” At least he didn’t pee on her. “How did I ever manage to fend off unwanted advances before you came along?”

“Probably by launching into some femi-nazi lecture.”

“I hate that term.
Nazi
isn’t a word you can just throw around, and it’s completely inappropr—”

“Thanks for making my point.” He took a chug of beer and licked foam off his upper lip. “More likely you’d sucker punch the guy, like you did to me.”

“Yeah, well,” she said as she squeezed a lime wedge into her drink before taking a sip. “You had it coming. You smacked my ass. Hard!”

He held his mug just below his mouth, smiling as if replaying the memory. “Yes, I did. But if that didn’t repel the poor bastard, you could always insult him like you did to June and Luke.”

“
What?
” In her shock, she’d dribbled bittersweet tonic down her chin. “I never did that.”

“You dissed their house.” He released her waist and dug into the bowl of snacks, then handed over an extra napkin. “Their mismatched furniture, remember?”

“That had nothing to do with them.” Blotting her chin, she struggled for a way to explain her reaction that night. She hadn’t told anyone about the dollhouse—not even her court-appointed child psychologist—and never in a million years did she expect to say, “Their place reminded me of an apartment I lived in as a kid, and it stirred up some bad memories. That’s all.” It wasn’t much in the way of confessions, but getting the words out felt strangely liberating.

Trey frowned around a cheek full of pretzel. “What kind of bad memories?”

“I dunno.” Unable to hold his intense gaze, she used her swizzle stick to poke at the ice cubes inside her glass. “Feeling hungry and ignored. Not learning to read until fourth grade. Getting teased because I smelled bad and wore thrift store clothes. Teaching myself to fight before I could ride a bike. Take your pick.”

He didn’t say anything for a while, just traced a bead of condensation down the length of his beer mug and stared into the amber liquid like it revealed the secrets of the universe. Finally, he rested both forearms on the bar and said, “I’m doing it to clear my military record.”

“What?”

“Going to Dubai. The army discharged me for striking an officer, but I can apply to have my record expunged after I serve out this contract. That’s why I’m going.”

“Oh.” Now she understood—quid pro quo. He’d traded one uncomfortable admission for another. Her heart warmed, and Bobbi decided she liked Trey Lewis. “Well, good luck.” She pilfered through the snack bowl and handed him a flawless, whole cashew. “I hope it works out for you.”

“Keep this off the record though.”

“Of course,” she promised. “But why do you need it cleared so badly?”

He popped the cashew into his mouth while his chest shook with soft laughter. “Why are you really in town?”

“Oh, so it’s my turn again?” No way was she spilling about the lawsuit. It was too embarrassing, and she’d divulged enough for one day. “I told you, I’m only—”

“Save it, Bo Peep. I knew you were full of shit from day one. You rub your nose when you lie.”

“No I don’t. I scratch my nose when I’m nervous.”

“And when you lie. It’s an easy tell.”

“Really?”

He held up one hand. “I swear it on the Cubs.”

“Huh.” She touched the tip of her nose, hoping no one else had picked up on her habit.

Trey glanced over his shoulder to scan the crowd, then turned back to his Bud. “Wonder when the raid’s going down. I’ve got an early day tomorrow.”

“And you call
me
a strange bird,” Bobbi said, raising her glass at him. “Forget to take your Metamucil this morning?”

“My what?”

“You’re a single guy at a strip club, and instead of getting a lap dance in a private room, you’re grumbling that it’s past your bedtime.”

Smiling, he chugged the last of his beer, then wiped one hand across his mouth. “You offering? ’Cause we could find an empty room somewhere.” When he glanced down at her thighs and licked his top lip, heat pooled in her lap, and she had to cross her legs to diffuse the sensation.

“Sorry. Left my sequined thong in my other bag.”

“Damned shame.”

Abruptly, the music stopped, and Bobbi rotated her stool toward the front entrance, where half a dozen armed, uniformed officers stormed inside and barred the doorway. A man’s voice came over the speaker system, ordering, “Remain in your seats. I repeat: remain in your seats. The sheriff’s department will release you momentarily.” Plain-clothes cops rose from the crowd and made their way to the club’s periphery, while the audience muttered in protest at being held hostage, especially when the dancer clicked offstage in her platform heels.

Here
we
go
. She glanced at Weezus, glad to see he’d knelt on his table with a perfect view of the dozen or so doors to the exclusive dance rooms, where all hell was about to break loose. As long as Weezus’s chest faced the action, he’d capture the mayhem on camera.

A scuffle broke out from one of the tables as a tall redhead pushed against a uniformed deputy. “You idiot!” the customer shouted, reaching into his back pocket. “Stand down!”

The deputy drew his gun. “Keep your hands where I can see ’em!”

“I’m a federal officer,” the redhead protested. “You’re interfering with an FBI investi—” Before the guy had a chance to produce his badge, another deputy tased him, and he convulsed wildly before crumpling to the floor.

At that, about twenty of the redhead’s buddies—presumably other federal officers—jumped to his aid, swearing and shouting accusations. The undercover deputies jogged into the fray, demanding the feds “get down on the motherfucking ground!” and a full-on brawl ensued.