Mistress Christmas (3 page)

Holly panicked. How
was she supposed to get out of this? Nick actually believed she was a stripper.

Well, duh, Holls, you’re in a strip club dressed like a dominatrix. What’s he supposed to think? That you’re an accountant from Cherry Creek?

Maybe she could reason with him. Ignoring the rigid set to his jaw, she said, “Look, I think you might’ve gotten the wrong idea about me. Let’s talk to the manager. She’ll set you up with someone else.”

“I don’t want anyone else,
Holly
”—he paused, giving her a second to absorb the fact that he’d heard her real name—“I want you. Just you. No substitutions.”

She saw the challenge in his eyes. Nick expected her to argue. He probably didn’t even care about a damn lap dance; he just wanted her to refuse so he could cause problems.

Screw that.

The schnapps provided enough edge that his high-handed behavior pissed her off. Rather than back down and return to being Holly the wallflower, she threw her head back and became Holly the wallbanger.

Not-So-Saint Nick wanted her to dance? She’d dance. And he’d pay for it in more ways than one.

Holly smiled seductively. “A private lap dance will cost you one hundred bucks.”

“That’s pricey.”

“I’m worth it.”

“Prove it.” Nick peeled off five twenties and attempted to place the money in her palm.

“Ah ah ah. Roll the bills up together and hold them between your lips like you’re puffing on a cigar.”

“Do you know how dirty money is?”

“Do you know how dirty I can dance?” she countered with a husky purr.

His eyes flashed fire and she knew he’d totally forgotten about potential germs.

“While I’m picking a song, put your hands by your sides and wait for me to decide where I’ll allow you to place the payment.”

She strolled to the boom box and flipped through the CD selection. Lots of smoky blues tunes. Boring. If she planned to follow through with this and play the femme fatale to the hilt, she’d pick a song he’d never forget. A song that’d make him hard as an icicle every time he heard it. She paused when she reached a familiar cover.

Perfect.

Holly’s hands shook as she started the CD. Now she just had to remember the sinuous moves she’d seen other strippers perform. The ballet lessons she’d stopped taking twenty years ago weren’t ringing a bell, but she’d watched enough episodes of
Dancing with the Stars
to fake it, right?

Her nerves zipped from fear to fire when she heard the distinctive
tick tick tick tick
followed by the grinding guitar riff
baum… badabaum… badabaum
of AC/DC’s “Back in Black.”

Throwing her hips out side-to-side in a sexy manner as she sauntered forward was harder than it looked. She must’ve been successful. Nick couldn’t keep the rolled bills between his lips because his jaw had dropped.

Heh heh.

Nick hastily picked up the cash and put his money back where his mouth was.

Holly allowed a brash grin as she gyrated her hips to the escalating drumbeat. Placing her hands on his shoulders, she stepped between his knees and angled her chest beneath his jaw. “Put the money in the right side of my corset. With your teeth.”

A male sound of approval emerged as he bent his head. His silky hair brushed the tops of her breasts, soft as a lover’s whisper and she bit back a sigh.

His ragged exhalations drifted across the perspiration coating her skin as Nick oh-so-slowly pushed the slender cash roll down the center of her cleavage.

The second his whiskers scratched her mounded flesh, Holly saw a challenging glint in his eyes. “I can’t get it in all the way, darlin’, without using my hands.”

Ooh. What a cocky comment. She hitched her shoulders sideways, forcing his chin to graze both her breasts. “Maybe you oughta use your tongue,
darlin’
, since it’s the strongest muscle in the body.”

Nick placed the tip of his tongue alongside the money roll and pushed it beneath the cup of her bustier, licking the hidden swell, damn near touching her nipple.

A wave of desire washed over her. She forgot to breathe and swayed a bit from the dizzy sensation.

“A little wetness always makes it glide in easier, doncha think? Especially since this is bigger than what you’re used to.” He jammed his tongue in again, withdrawing the wet warmth before sliding the money down and out of sight. His hair floated across her collarbones, releasing his dark and alluring male scent. After placing a gentle kiss on the top button of her bustier, he traced a path up the center of her cleavage with openmouthed kisses, heated breath, and the rasp of his beard.

Lust slammed into her and she almost came right then.

Not good, remind him who’s in charge.

Holly nudged his face up with her sternum and swept her damp lips over his ear, whispering, “Now be a good boy and I’ll show you why Santa begs me to sit on his lap.” She spun around and began to shake her groove thang.

He groaned when she rubbed her leather-clad ass up the inside of his thigh, stopping at the junction of his legs.

While keeping her arms above her head for balance, she made little grinding circles on his crotch. Over and over. Swinging her loose hair across his handsome face so strands caught on his razor stubble and tickled his pouty lips. Holly slid her butt cheeks up the inside of his other leg, swishing her hips back and forth. Dropping her arms, she situated her hands on his knees. She peeped over her shoulder, rocking her pelvis until once again her ass was nestled against his groin.

Nick’s obvious erection sent a gush of moisture to her core, causing her to taunt, “Is that a jumbo candy cane in your pocket or are you happy to see me, Not-So-Saint Nick?”

A feral snarl rumbled from his mouth and his hands latched onto her hips. “Keep it up and you’ll get more than you bargained for.”

Holly refused to let his challenge go unmet. “Maybe you’re already getting more than you bargained for.” Once again her arms twisted above her head like a belly dancer. She rotated her shoulders, shimmying and scraping her backside against that rock-hard flesh pressing beneath his jeans. Her heart thudded. Her skin was hot and tingly. Her nipples were hard as gumdrops.

Nick’s rough thumbs stroked the bared section of her skin peeking above the waistband of her pants. “Jesus, you’re killing me. Harder.” He pressed her bottom more firmly to his crotch.

A yelp escaped as her spine landed against the solid wall of his chest. He snaked her left arm around the back of his neck and threaded the fingers of his left hand through her right hand. Not an inch of space existed between them.

Then Nick fisted his hand in her hair and pulled her head to the side so his mouth could attack her throat with demanding kisses.

“Oh God.” Nothing set her off like lips and teeth and tongue on that sensitive section of her neck. She automatically writhed against him, desperate for more.

His pelvis was bumping up, as hers ground down, and they moved from side-to-side in perfect synchronization. His hot, wet mouth destroyed any sense of decorum and she moaned with utter abandon.

Swearing, Nick pushed her away, spun her around, and aligned her body until they were face-to-face. He draped her legs the opposite direction of his on the bench. The friction at this angle was perfect. Pelvis-to-pelvis, her clitoris rubbed the seam on the inside of her pants and the bulge in his jeans. The soft mounds of her breasts were plastered to his hard chest.

Lift, lower, grind. Lift, lower, grind.

So close. Dammit. It’d been a year since she’d experienced a climax not brought about by her own hand. She craved that explosion. That mindless throbbing. That ultimate rush of heat.

“Holly.” Nick groaned her name like a prayer and clamped his hands to her face. He slammed his mouth to hers in a ferocious kiss that stole her breath, her sanity and sent her careening over the edge straight into orgasm.

She kept moving, dragging out the delicious sensation. Then Nick stiffened below her and she felt a burst of warmth where they were pressed together.

He rode out his climax. A growl-like hum reverberated in her mouth, as he soul-kissed her so deeply she swore the steady movement of his tongue tickled the soles of her feet. When his thumbs simultaneously stroked the edge of the velvet mask and the curve of her cheek beneath it, she damn near came again at the simple eroticism in his tender touch.

Nick released her lips, kissing the line of her jaw to her ear. Breathing hard, he murmured, “Now I finally understand the appeal of lap dances.”

Then it hit her: she’d been dry-humping a complete stranger in public.

Talk about cheap.

What you mean cheap? He paid you a hundred bucks for the privilege of getting his rocks off with you.

Holy crap. Holly scrambled off him like he’d suddenly developed a case of leprosy. She fell on her ass before she leapt to her feet.

“Holly? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Everything. Shit. Shit-shit-shit-shit-shit.
Shit
. I have to go. Now.” She backed away, trying—and failing—not to stare at the dark, wet patch on the front of his jeans.

“No, wait.”

She didn’t. Holly turned and fled through the door backstage where she knew she’d be safe. But she didn’t know if she was running from him or from the bad-girl wild side of herself that scared her to death.

Fuck.

Mistress Christmas had gotten him so hot and bothered from a simple goddamn lap dance that he’d squirted in his jeans. It’d been years since he’d had to untuck his shirt to cover the evidence of an accidental discharge.

Stunned, Nick sat on the bench and replayed the entire encounter. What a damn enchantress. From Holly’s come-hither smile, to the sexy, mesmerizing motions of her smoking hot body, to the sound of her breathy sighs, she was absolute perfection. He licked his lips, once again tasting the hunger and neediness in her kiss.

None of that kissing, full-frontal grinding should’ve happened. The “hands off” policy for lap dances in strip clubs was usually strictly controlled. The stripper taunted and teased, rubbed and gyrated, while the customer basically sat on his damn hands and watched. Nick knew those were the rules.

So why hadn’t Mistress Christmas known them?

Granted, the sensuous way that womanly body of hers swiveled and shimmied was breath stealing, but there’d been something…sweet and unsullied about her performance. Something shy and earnest about her. A feverish need to please that seemed to surprise her as much as it had him.

But Nick had to ask himself—could innocence be faked? Was that how she lured men to financial recklessness? Get the bouncer to look the other way, break the “rules” about no touching, bring the customer to orgasm while faking her own? Then the stripper with the heart of gold runs away, expecting the customer to be so desperate to get off again in secret that he’d come back for more?

He could totally see that angle working. Problem was, he couldn’t see Holly as the type of woman to work that angle.

Which was probably why it worked so goddamn well.

After Nick retrieved his coat, he scrutinized the bar for a glimpse of her.

Nada.

Cold air and snow blasted him in the face when he stepped outside, but it didn’t cool his temper or his libido. With nothing else to occupy his time, he could wait in his car in the parking lot and hope to see her sneaking out the employee entrance.

Yeah? What then? Follow her? To what end?

Nick needed to catch her in the act of stealing inside the bar, not stalk her to see if she lived in a low-rent district. Not fantasize that she’d welcome his advances outside the club.

Jesus. How pathetic did it make him that he didn’t have anything better to do than moon over a stripper who’d given him the first decent orgasm he’d had in over a year?

Nick’s pager buzzed. He read the text scrolling across the screen. Figured. Duty called him back to the station.

His gaze lingered on the vehicles parked by the service entrance before he drove off.

But he’d be back.

“Y
ou ran out
of here pretty fast last night, Holly. Was everything okay?”

“Uh. Yeah.” Holly applied crimson lipstick to her upper lip.

“You sure? Bubba said you disappeared for a while into the private area and then you careened back here like you’d seen your grandma in the audience.”

The lipstick slipped, smearing a thick red line across Holly’s cheek. “Goddammit, Ivy! That’s not even funny.”

“Jumpy much?” Ivy pinched Holly’s chin between her thumb and forefinger and swiped at the streak. “What’s going on with you?”

“Nothing.” She couldn’t share what’d happened with Nick with anyone, least of all Ivy.

Nick. Just thinking about the man sent an ache between her thighs. That cowboy was outstanding and out of her league with a capital “O” for orgasm—unintended or not. After the volatile lap dance, she’d hidden in the dressing room until she’d had to strut across the stage. And once again, it’d taken two shots of schnapps to bolster her courage.

Thank god Nick hadn’t been around. She’d managed to flirt with several patrons before ditching her sexy, sassy persona and heading home.