Strip Search (9 page)

Against her, Mark stiffened, lifted his mouth from hers, and set her on her feet.

No! He couldn't leave her like this.

Damn him!

He swore in a low growl as he whirled away from her and marched toward the door. Mark dug into his pocket, then she heard him wrench the door open. Nicki frowned, lost in a haze of pleasure-clouded senses. What was he doing?

The scent of hot pizza bombarded her brain a moment later. Food. The pizza delivery guy. Nicki released a pent-up breath. The bell ringing in her head had been the doorbell, not a signal of great sex to come.

She pulled her shirt down over her aching nipples and clapped a hand over her swollen mouth. That kiss had gotten totally out of hand.

Mark emerged around the comer and set the pizza box on her kitchen table. His heated green stare told her that food was the last thing on his mind.

God, it was tempting--the thought she could grab him by any and all protruding parts of his body and lead him to her bedroom mere steps away. Pizza could wait. Sanity could, too.

But now that she could breathe again, she just couldn't bring herself to conveniently forget her intelligence for the next hour or two.

She didn't need distraction, and Mark Gabriel was definitely a big one, with a capital D. He worked for her, so tangling the sheets with him didn't seem like something a reasonable person would do unless her common sense had flown off to Fiji for a vacation.

But that wasn't what stopped her.

The domination in his kiss, the easy and total mastery he wielded over her body from the instant he touched her--nothing in her experience had come even remotely close. In the past, men had always been easily led. A suggestion here, a sharp note there, they generally danced to the tune of her choice. She wasn't called Commando Bitch for nothing.

Mark was different. He wouldn't even dance unless he felt like it, much less let her pick the tune. Nicki wasn't prepared, had no defenses.

From the beginning, the attraction that flared so bright had been unsettling. She'd wanted Mark bad--faster than anyone else, ever. On some level, her body must have known he could give her something she'd always craved yet feared: A real challenge, a sexually dominant man who didn't
need
to control others but unconsciously asserted quiet authority because he
was.
The devastating skill of his mouth only served to further overwhelm her.

That's what scared her. She'd never asked herself this question before, and couldn't believe she was now, but what if she couldn't handle him?

"Why don't you take the pizza and go back to your place?" Her voice shook, and she didn't care. She just needed time alone, to sort this through.

"Nicki ..." He raked a hand through his hair, as his brow furrowed with a frown. Wisely, he didn't step any closer. "That went farther than I intended. I didn't mean for it to get so ... intense. But I'm not going to apologize, not when you were right there with me. Admit that."

Anger and embarrassment stung her. She felt her face flush. He could have let her off easy by taking the blame. He'd started it, after all. But no, he wasn't going to let her squirm away from it. Not a bit.

Damn him.

"Fine. You're the man."
And I apparently have all the spine of Gumby.
"Take the pizza and go."

"Truce," he cajoled. "Let's eat and talk about my costume. I swear I won't touch you again, not even if, by some miracle, you beg me to."

"You wish." Nicki snorted. But inside, she feared it wouldn't take anything near a miracle to make her beg. God, she needed to get a grip on herself.

"Yeah, I do." He shot her a rakish smile, complete with dimples, as he lifted the lid on the pizza box, grabbed a slice and handed it to her.

Nicki took it and bit into the crust and cheese concoction just to give her mouth and hands something to do.

Mark took another slice and followed suit.

"You got five minutes," she laid down the law--though she was painfully aware she had no way to uphold it. "What's the matter with your costume?"

He sighed. "I look like a vampire. And the silly homed helmet, are you serious?"

"The dancer you're replacing had a whole cowboy bit. It doesn't fit you. This does. If you're image-conscious, this isn't the right job for you. When you're here, you're a fantasy. Period."

In fact, he was a fantasy, in general. Not lasting, not really real, not something she could keep. Nicki knew she needed to drill that factoid into her head for her self-preservation.

But the unvarnished truth didn't stop her from aching for him. Everywhere.

True to his word, he didn't touch her again. Not even to shake her hand or hug her goodnight. Not even his eyes held remembrance or suggestion. That made her want him more, not less.

Damn him.

The fact Zack had asked Mark to an emergency rehearsal on Thursday afternoon underscored the reality that his efforts to screw up his Viking routines had not gone unnoticed. The fact Nicki had been called in to observe delighted him.

Mark arrived a few minutes early, wearing the stupid-ass costume--except the helmet. He wasn't wearing that unless absolutely forced.

With a scowl, he tossed the offending headgear on a nearby trunk.

"You're not still pouting about your costume, are you?"

Nicki. Mark whirled toward the sound of her voice to see her entering the stage area from the left, dressed in a denim skirt that showed a long length of thigh and a white sleeveless top that gathered right beneath breasts, which he lamented that he hadn't gotten his mouth around when he'd pressed her between the wall and his raging hard cock three days ago.

She'd been avoiding him since.

"I don't pout," he returned.

Rolling her eyes, Nicki flashed him a kitten's smile. "All men do. Whether you call it brooding or contemplating or 'needing space,' it's pouting."

"So do you women have a name for that thing you do when you avoid us, like you've been doing to me?"

Her mouth tightened. "I have not."

"Isn't that code for 'needing to catch up on a few things'?"

"There's no code for being busy. It's just a fact of life. I have more to accomplish than to buff myself up at the gym by day and take my clothes off at night." She tossed the glossy curtain of her inky hair behind one shoulder. "Besides, I don't owe you an explanation. We're not dating."

Mark cupped his chin and pretended deep thought. "No, we're just almost having sex against your breakfast nook wall."

"It was just a kiss!"

He held in a laugh. "Okay, we'll go with your terminology.

A kiss, as I knew it, was much less involved. But I definitely like your idea better. I'll be sure to win more bets from you so we can ... explore that definition more."

Nicki's face turned several shades of pink. "Don't be a smart ass. You cornered me, and we kissed. I let things go on a bit too long. Out of curiosity, more than anything else."

Curiosity? Yeah, right. Did she expect him to believe in the Easter Bunny, too?

"Hmm. So the hard nipples in my palms and the damp panties pressed against me, that was curiosity?" He grinned. "I like your way of being curious. I noticed that the more demanding I got, the wetter you got. What other burning questions do you have that I can help you solve?"

She drew in a harsh breath and stepped closer, blue eyes flashing. Oh, boy. Nicki had a temper, and Mark had no trouble guessing that he was pissing her off good. Too bad. He wasn't about to let her deny that their "kiss" packed all the punch of an X-rated Christmas and Fourth of July celebration rolled together.

He couldn't forget it. Why should she get off easy?

"Oh, and your reaction was so cerebral?" she shot back. "I doubt very much that was a ... a lead pipe in your jeans."

Mark figured he could play this one of two ways. One, he could 'fess up to the fact she'd charged him up enough to supply Vegas's power grid for a month. Two, he could downplay, even deny, his intense reaction to her--and watch the fireworks.

He'd bet his second degree black belt that her pride wouldn't stand for the latter.

Feigning a shrug, he said. "A hard-on is like a reflex for a guy. You're female, I'm male ... It happens. It doesn't mean anything."

"Really? And you're just tossing my reaction up in my face to inflate your own ego?" Her glare was half disbelief, half fury.

Pretending to ponder, Mark wandered a bit closer. "I hadn't given it much thought. Maybe I am."

She gritted her teeth and closed her eyes. Mark swore she was counting to ten.

"This is why I don't date. No one in the asshole population appeals to me. You all feed us every line of crap you can think of and--"

"You think I'm lying?" Mark did his best to sound offended.

Nicki's eyes threatened to bulge from their sockets.

One-way ticket to Las Vegas: three hundred fifty dollars. A week's stay at the Bellagio while he convinced Nicki to give him this crazy job: eighteen hundred dollars. Cost of pizza to bribe his way into her apartment: fifteen bucks. Seeing her reaction to his claim that she didn't particularly affect him sexually: absolutely priceless.

Holding in his mirth, Mark regarded her with the blandest expression he could manage ... anticipating the imminent pyrotechnics.

"Yes! You pinned me to a wall. You extended the kiss. You--you lifted my shirt and--"

"I enjoyed it. Don't get me wrong."

"But I personally didn't affect you? Any pair of breasts would do? You just had an erection that felt harder than granite for no other reason than the fact I'm estrogen-based?"

Nicki was winding herself up, and Mark was enjoying the view. Amazing that she hadn't stopped long enough to realize he was feeding her a line of bullshit just to yank her chain. His sister, Kerry, had ceased falling for his elaborate practical jokes when they were still teenagers and taken the fun out of everything. His sexy new boss was fresh game.

"I don't know," he said finally. "Not just any female gets me going, obviously. I doubt someone like Joan Rivers would get a rise out of me." Mark paused, pretending to consider the situation. "Come to think of it, I haven't really been interested in anyone for a while. Maybe it is you."

"Maybe? But you really don't know?"

Her feminine pride stung, he could tell. Poor baby. Next time, she'd know better than to write off the amazing chemistry between them. But today, he had a point to prove.

"Yeah, maybe." He shrugged. "How can I really know?"

Nicki's gaze, full of fire and challenge, skimmed his body, pausing over what he might politely call his lap.

"No lead pipe at the moment, it appears."

"Nope." Mark nearly bit the inside of his cheek to hold in a grin.

She slowly prowled toward him, hips swaying, those blue eyes glinting with an adult-style dare. No question, she was coming after him with both barrels.

He could hardly wait.

Mark expected the full frontal assault. It was her easiest and quickest shot to his libido. But no. She surprised him by brushing past him, her breasts barely grazing his arm. Stopping behind him, she ran a finger lightly down his spine--a mere ghost of a touch. Sensations shivered their way through his body, bursting out from his center.

His cock began to twitch.

Drawing in a deep breath, he waited, feeling Nicki ease to his left. Her band trailed from his hip, over his ass and down his thigh, as she sidled up to his left shoulder. Once there, the lodging of her breasts on either side of his arm was clearly no accident. Damn, he wanted to turn to her, grab her, introduce her back to the stage floor for about the next two hours. Reminding himself that he was trying to convince her that he was unmoved, at least for now, he did nothing.

"You know," she whispered, her voice sex-filled and uneven, "It's important that the male dancers remain impervious to all the temptation presented by the club's female guests. If you have trouble controlling your reaction to women in general, we're going to have a problem. You'll need to practice resisting your ... reflex."

He looked down, and Nicki's sultry smile nearly blasted a hole in all his plans. Half challenge, half invitation, that smile beckoned, communicated her power as a woman, taunted him with her self-confidence. She would do her utmost to turn him on.

Well, she was welcome to try. More than welcome.

"No ... reflexes?" he asked.

Nicki slanted a saucy smile up his way. "G-strings don't leave much to the imagination. It's a no-no to show too much. Takes all the mystery out of things."

"I see. How do I practice resisting, as you suggest?"

"Let's see how much practice you need first."

Her game amused and thrilled the hell out of him all at once. He couldn't wait to see where this was going. "All right."