Pinups and Possibilities
Autore
Melinda Di Lorenzo
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Capitoli
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Chapter One
The first thing I have to do is admit that the second I pulled into the parking lot at Tangerines, I knew it was a strip club.
A huge sign, bearing the name in blinking, neon letters, and two enormous, orange-hued fruit that shone like a sunset, gave everything away. The parking lot was jam-packed with pickup trucks and SUVs, and a crowd of men hovered not far from the door, puffing on cigarettes and looking guilty. That made me roll my eyes. In a small area like this one, it was doubtful that any of the wives or girlfriends attached to these guys didn’t at least suspect their whereabouts.
I parked the car and considered the idea that the guy who had recommended Tangerines as the best place to relax and regroup might’ve been playing a joke on me. It wouldn’t be the first time somebody in a country town had sent me—the clueless city bumpkin, so to speak—on a wild-goose chase.
It made me smirk a little. I’d been led to far worse places by far worse people.
I pulled my out-of-place Mustang into a spot between a rusty Suburban and raised-up Jeep and I decided that I didn’t care either way. I’d been following the name Jayme Duncan for nearly three months. I was tired of diner food, tired of sleeping in shitty motels when I could find them, tired of sleeping in my car when I couldn’t, and tired of the chase.
I just wanted to find Duncan, toss him into my trunk, get him back to my employer and be done with this assignment.
God, I hope Jayme’s small enough for the trunk. If he’s not and I have to let him ride shotgun for a thousand miles, I’m going to go fucking nuts.
I was far too worn-out to deal with someone’s bitching for more than a minute or two.
I stared at the group of smokers, wondering if Jayme was one of them. I hoped not. The smell of smoke had a hard line to my stomach. Just being near a lit cigarette was enough to make my guts roll.
I frowned, cursing the fact that I knew so little about the guy. Of all the men I’d hunted, Jayme Duncan was the most elusive. No one was sure what he looked like. Everyone knew someone who had met him, but no one had ever spoken with him directly. He could be tall or short or Asian or bow-legged or even part donkey for all I knew.
I’d been half expecting Cohen Blue to call off the job, actually. Never had he let a chase go on for this long. His usual rule was three-hundred miles, or three-hundred dollars, whichever came first. In the six years I’d been chasing down men on his behalf, this was the only time I’d ever needed to come near either one of those limits, let alone pass them. I knew some of the other men who Cohen employed had reached those limits, and each time, my boss just cut his losses.
I was beginning to suspect that this particular debt was more personal to him than most. I wondered how much money Jayme Duncan owed Cohen, or what he had done to incur the man’s wrath. As always, I had no clue. My boss took pleasure in doling out information in the form of a breadcrumb trail.
“Start here,” the older man would say smugly, and then hand me a name and last-known address.
He expected me to chase them down from there. No physical description, no personal information.
It was like a twisted game Cohen created just to make my life harder.
Still, I didn’t ask for more. I wouldn’t give the glorified bookie the satisfaction.
Sometimes it was easy. The debtor would actually be at home, or would only have moved once.
Sometimes it was harder. He’d have skipped town, changed his name and be willing to sell his own mother out to avoid paying what he owed.
It never mattered much in the end. Someone always knew where to find them. Usually a jilted ex. Men who welshed on their bets often ran out on their women, too. Commitment issues.
Cohen never made a secret of the fact that he thought I would fail. He probably even hoped I would, so he would have an excuse to lay down an appropriate punishment. My boss wouldn’t hesitate to lay down a vicious beating for the smallest of infractions. Men had lost life and limb trying to live up to his expectations.
Maybe that was what motivated him to dole out the breadcrumb information. He wanted me to come home without the target so he could teach me his version of a lesson.
I hadn’t done it yet.
Six years. Eighteen men chased down. Not a single failure.
Except, of course, for Jayme Duncan. It was frustrating as hell. Which was why, for the first time in recent memory, I was taking a break.
My lead was undoubtedly a false one anyway. I mean, a man who pissed off my boss enough to let me drain resources like this wasn’t the kind of man who would be content in Trent Tri-City. The tiny towns—Trent Falls, Trent River and Trentville—were basically the three points of a hole-in-the-wall trifecta. I’d coasted past a drive-in theatre and an outdoor pool filled with leaves. There was one shitty motel, where I’d taken a room. And of course, at the epicentre, there was Tangerines. Their sinful little hub.
So yes, it was a strip bar and I knew it. I was still going in, Cohen and his agenda be damned. I worked for him because I had to, not because I wanted to. My employer could foot the bill for a fistful of singles and a bad meal.
Maybe even a lap dance, I added spitefully as I climbed out of the car.
That would get Cohen’s back up. It was the one thing he and I agreed on. Women and business didn’t mix.
I quickly shoved aside thoughts of my obligation to the man before they could consume me. I didn’t want to dwell on the why. I couldn’t dwell on it. Instead, I nursed the steady hatred that I felt for him. If he was going to keep me on the road for this long, he could pay for it all.
I straightened my plaid, button-down shirt—also bought on Cohen’s dime—and strolled confidently toward the saloon-style swinging door that led into the club.
* * *
I wasn’t really expecting to be stopped as I made my way in, so when a meaty hand pressed against my chest, I very nearly answered with a fist. My tightly balled hand drew back instinctively. At the last second, though, I realized the big hand was attached to a big man, dressed in an official-looking Tangerines T-shirt, complete with the fruit-themed logo in the centre of his steroid-wide chest.
“Can you buy those inside?” I joked as I forced myself to shove my twitching hands into my jeans pockets.
“ID, please.” The tough-looking man ignored my attempt at humour.
“Huh?”
I ran my fingers through my slightly grey-tinged sideburns. Maybe I looked under thirty, but I doubted it. My premature salt-and-pepper look had been getting me into bars since my seventeenth birthday. And the last time I had been asked to provide ID anywhere was on my twenty-third birthday, nearly seven years earlier.
The bouncer rolled his eyes at my puzzled expression.
“Not for your age,” he clarified. “Everyone who comes inside hands over either a passport or a driver’s licence. We’ll file it under your last name, and so long as you keep your mouth shut and your hands off the girls, we’ll give it back to you at the end of your…visit.”
“And if someone doesn’t hand it over?” I responded.
“Then someone doesn’t come in,” he answered with a shrug.
I hesitated. I couldn’t help it. Part of what makes me good at my job is that no matter where I go, no matter who I talk to, I keep my identity under wraps. Another part of what makes me good at my job is that I’m more than a little confrontational. It’s hard to get people to pay up if they don’t think you’re going to follow through on your threats. For once, the two traits worked together and made me buck against the idea of handing over my ID.
I gave the bigger man a quick, assessing once over. He had an easy fifty pounds on me, and he undoubtedly had friends inside Tangerines.
Probably all wearing matching shirts.
The chunk of my brain that had the sardonic thought wanted me to give the man a healthy shove anyway. It was probably also the part of my brain that didn’t respond so well to having not slept in more than twenty-four hours. After less than a minute of internal arguing, I gave in and handed the bouncer my driver’s licence. He barely glanced at it before pulling out a plastic bin labelled with a large letter D.
“Last name on the way out,” he reminded me.
He waved me through, looking bored.
Probably because now that I’m not arguing with him, I’ve lost my appeal for conversation, I reasoned. Or more likely…my potential to become someone to pound on.
I nodded my acknowledgement as I sidled past him to get my first look inside the bar, and immediately forgot about the orange-clad man as I began to scan the room. It was dimly lit, but cleaner than a lot of similar establishments. I attributed a large portion of that to the fact that there was no haze of cigarette smoke, and had to give credit to the owner for keeping it that way.
Two mostly undressed girls did a slow and lazy dance on a raised table near the stage. Low music played from the overhead speakers, and most of the customers appeared disinterested in the side dancers as they waited for the main attraction.
I quickly dismissed the idea of sitting near them and glanced around for a better place to situate myself. I eyed up the bar. A lone man in a hooded jacket was the only patron on one of the high stools, and he didn’t look like the type to strike up a conversation. Which suited me just fine, as did the fact that I wouldn’t be facing the stage. I sauntered over and took a seat a few spots down from the guy in the black jacket.
The bored bartender set down an empty glass without even looking at me.
“What’ll it be?”
“Diet whatever you’ve got,” I replied.
“With rum? Or vodka?”
“Neither, thanks.”
His eyes finally snapped toward me, and he gave me a hard once over. The long-sleeved plaid effectively hid the physique I worked hard to maintain, but it didn’t cover my height or my girth. Six feet on the nose might not be attention grabbing, but confronting my two-hundred-pound form from only three feet away was nothing to laugh at, either. I raised a solitary eyebrow as he took in my appearance.
“You out of diet?”
“No, sir.”
He grabbed the soda dispenser, filled up my cup, and then very quickly found a group of glasses that needed polishing. I grinned darkly into my own glass as I took a deep sip.
“Enjoying yourself?”
The soft, throaty voice made me jump, and I swivelled my head as I realized the other man at the bar wasn’t a man at all. The biggest, bluest eyes I’d ever seen, set in a porcelain-skinned face, stared back at me. They were wide with surprise, like she couldn’t believe she’d spoken. She held my gaze for a moment, and surprise turned to something else. I couldn’t quite pinpoint what it was, but it made my heart stop beating for a breath and then start up again, hammering at double speed.
She looked down quickly, and when she brought her face back up, she’d buried her emotions.
Too late, I thought.
Whatever I’d seen made me want to lose myself her eyes and bury myself in her skin. My eyes caressed her face hungrily. Aside from a tiny, nearly invisible, star-shaped scar on one delicate cheekbone, she was flawless. Lust, fast and hard, drove my pulse higher, and I had to clear my throat as I tried to brush off the strong physical reaction.
“Do I look like I’m not enjoying myself?” I asked.
“Not the way these other guys are,” she replied. “You do know this is a strip bar, right?”
“Is it?”
She nodded. “Naked girls and drinks.”
“I hadn’t noticed.”
She tipped her head to the side without removing her hood. “I almost believe you.”
“Almost?”
“Mmm-hmm. I know you didn’t come for the girls, because you’re not looking at them. And I know you didn’t come for the drinks, because you’re not having one. But you look like the kind of man who always knows exactly where he is.”
She still hadn’t pulled off her hood, but her eyes were assessing me, curiosity plain on her face. Something about her look made me uneasy. Like she could see right through me. I brushed it off and gave her a crooked grin.
I nodded at her glass. “So what’re you drinking?”
“Straight-up water,” she admitted.
“Maybe I’m here for the same reason as you, then.”
She shot me a bemused smile. “You got your days mixed up and you didn’t realize you had the night off and you honestly couldn’t think of somewhere better to go?”
“Okay, maybe not exactly the same reason.”
She twirled her fingers around the top of the water bottle.
“Which part is not exactly the same?”
I couldn’t look away from her manicured hand as it dragged down her drink and then back up again. The simple gesture was incredibly sensual, and in spite of my sobriety, my head spun just a little.
She lifted the bottle up and my gaze found a new place to rest. Her mouth hovered over the bottle, then closed over it as she took a delicate sip. It was as enticing as it was distracting.
Was she doing it on purpose? I couldn’t tell. She wasn’t dressed provocatively. In fact, the black coat she wore hid any hint of her curves. The way she moved, though…she exuded a subtle sexuality. Like it was second nature for her, but not as though it was put on.
She met my gaze, and the muted heat was there in her eyes, too. Shit. Everything about her brought to mind gauzy sheets and feather pillows.
“Well?” she said softly.
I struggled to remember what she had asked, searched my mind for an answer. “None of it’s the same, actually. I haven’t had a day off in months, and I’m just passing through for work. I can think of a hundred of places I’d rather be than here.”
“Your boss lets you do your work in a strip bar?”
I shrugged. “My boss is a son of a bitch, and I don’t care where he wants me to work.”
She shifted in her seat, and for a moment I thought my words had offended her and that she was going to move away. Instead, she slid over so she was on the stool right beside mine.
“If he’s such a jerk…why are you working for him?” She wanted to know.
I took an unsteady breath. This close, I could smell her light flowery scent. Lavender.
“We all have to do things we don’t like sometimes,” I replied.
“That’s true.” There was real conviction in her agreement.
Her thigh brushed my knee, and I realized for the first time that under the bulky black coat, she was wearing a dress. When she leaned in, the coat parted a little, and I saw that it was tight across her breasts and loose at her hips and it was pushed up far enough to reveal a significant amount of leg.
A pulsating beat reverberated through the club, and the house lights dimmed. A murmured voice announced the arrival of the girl coming onto the stage. I barely noticed her.
“What about the other part?” she asked.
“What part?”
“You said you can think of a hundred places you’d rather be. Name one.”
I gave her a crooked smile. “That was before I started talking to you,” I teased.
Two spots of colour, visible even in the dim lighting, darkened her fair cheeks. When she spoke again, it was in a voice like raw silk.
“Fine,” she said. “Name one place you’d rather be. With me.”
“Just one?” I joked.
She shot me a dead-serious look. “Just one.”
My mouth went dry. I knew what she was really asking, and I knew what I wanted to say, but I still felt the need for caution as I answered her. There was something about her that made me think I shouldn’t take what she was offering too lightly.
“My hotel room,” I told her.
For the second time, she met and held my gaze and I saw a range of emotion in her eyes that set me on fire. I thought it must match mine perfectly. Deep desire. Surprise at where this was leading. Well-hidden pain. And an acceptance of the invitation that hung between us.
“Let’s go,” she said, and jerked her head toward the stage. “Before all you can think of is her.”
I couldn’t even have said if the girl on the stage was a blonde or a brunette, whether she was partly nude or fully there. All of it was nothing more than a backdrop for those enormous blue eyes, full of promise and waiting for me to say yes.
I nodded once, and she reached for my hand. The feel of her fingers interlocked with mine sent something akin to an electric current through my arm.
I started to speak, then stopped. What was I going to say? Was I going to admit that I had barely done more than glance at a woman in years? Was I going to explain that the pull, the longing I felt now had everything to do with this girl herself?
I wasn’t sure if I should, and I wasn’t even convinced I could. So I just stood up wordlessly and followed where she led.
