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An eRedSage Publishing Publication This book is a work of complete fiction. Any names, places, incidents, characters are products of the author’s imagination and creativity or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is fully coincidental. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or any portion thereof in any form whatsoever in any country whatsoever is forbidden. Information: Red Sage Publishing, Inc. P.O. Box 4844 Seminole, FL 33775 727-391-3847 eRedSage.com
Dancing with Danger An eRed Sage Publication All Rights Reserved Copyright © 2012 eRedSage is a registered trademark of Red Sage Publishing, Inc. Visit us on the World Wide Web: http://www.eRedSage.com ISBN: ISBN: ISBN: ISBN:
9781603108058; 9781603108089; 9781603108072; 9781603108065;
160310805X 1603108084 1603108076 1603108068
Dancing with Danger Dancing with Danger Dancing with Danger Dancing with Danger
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Published by arrangement with the authors and copyright holders of the individual works as follows: Dancing with Danger © 2012 by Laura Sheehan Cover © 2012 by Taylor Wade Printed in the U.S.A. ebook layout and conversion by jimandzetta.com
Dancing with Danger ***
I find few things in life to be as passionate as a beautifullycrafted dance. Dance can inspire every imaginable human emotion, from impressed awe to sensual titillation, from breathtaking fear to overwhelming joy. In my opinion, true love is its only equal. In “Dancing with Danger,” I tell the story of Lily, a professional dancer who only knows passion through dance. Her workaholic father taught her all about hard work and being independent, but nothing about love. It isn’t until she meets Marc, a tough LAPD cop, that she discovers the full depths of her passion and capacity to love. I have always been a sucker for a protective, alpha male hero with a heart of gold… and boy-oh-boy, does Marc deliver. His charming personality could make any woman swoon, and his strong arms would be right there to catch her before she fell. I wanted to explore their journey to true love. Could Lily learn to place her trust and her heart in another’s hands? Marc might be able to protect Lily from dangerous threats, but is he willing to risk his own heart in the process?
Lily can bring an audience to its knees when she dances on stage, but until she meets Marc she has no idea she can be equally as passionate off stage. When a dangerous stalker forces her to place her trust into Marc’s capable hands, he will show her that not only can he protect her body, but he can protect her heart… and keep both satisfied.
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Chapter One Rookie officer Marcus Sloan sat up straighter in the passenger seat of the squad car, trying not to appear too excited as the radio cracked to life. “Hollywood Units: A 211 just occurred at Fountain and Mansfield. Suspect is described as a white or Hispanic female, 2535 years, brown hair, approximately five foot ten, 170 pounds. She is armed and possibly under the influence of drugs. Last seen in a silver sedan. License plate may have an X and a 3. 6A21 handle Code 2.” “Well,” snorted his partner and best friend, Peter Waxman, as he made a U-turn, “that's helpful.” Marc grabbed the radio and confirmed with the dispatcher they would respond to the armed robbery report, while Pete groused quietly. “How much you wanna bet she's actually five foot four, weighs 130 pounds and is driving a red car with a license plate that has neither an 'X' or a '3' in it?” With a half-smile Marc replaced the radio into its holster. In the few months since graduating from the Academy, he had seen enough to agree with his more experienced partner. It was hard to take any “eye-witness” account literally. They had both spent too many hours chasing down suspects whose physical descriptions were so outlandish they would have made He-Man run for cover, and all because some vic was more worried about looking like a pussy than giving the police accurate information. “All right, a silver sedan being driven by a brown-haired girl, that ought to narrow it down….” Pete continued to grumble as he turned left onto Sunset Boulevard. Marc hid a smile, knowing Pete was just in a bad mood because he was getting married next week. Oh, Pete loved his fiancée, no doubt about it. It was his future father-in-law getting Pete’s panties in a bunch. The man had been nothing but trouble since Lindsay's 6
Dancing with Danger family arrived in town for the wedding. Pete continued to gripe under his breath as they scanned the area. It was after 3 a.m. on Thursday night/Friday morning, about the only time of day this stretch of Sunset Boulevard could be found practically devoid of traffic. Most of the businesses around here were comedy clubs, movie theatres, restaurants, and night clubs, all of them closed at this hour. The skinny, sky-high palm trees that lent an air of exotic cheerfulness during the day now swayed forlornly over the strangely quiet thoroughfare. Pete took a right onto Gardner Street and headed south toward Fountain, leaving the tree-lined boulevard behind for the narrower avenue lined with darkened apartment complexes and business buildings. A silver Escalade with a white male at the wheel drove past, followed by a tan Toyota Corolla with a black couple inside. They had just turned onto Fountain Ave. when Marc spotted a silver sedan swiftly pulling out of a public parking garage behind them. “We might have something,” Marc said, pivoting in his seat to get a better look. “Silver sedan, female driver.” “I'll be damned,” Pete muttered, cranking the wheel and following the sedan. Marc snatched the radio again and called in the sighting to the dispatcher. After reporting their location, he squinted hard at the license plate and read it out, “TXD328.” He glanced at Pete almost apologetically. “It's got both an X and a 3.” Within minutes another squad car joined them. When Pete flipped on the siren, the silver sedan braked immediately, blinker on, and pulled over to the curb. Pete raised his eyebrows at Marc. Compliant behavior was not consistent with the out-of-control, drug-crazed suspect they were after. Pete shone the car's spotlight into the rearview mirror of the sedan. “This is the LAPD,” Marc announced into the PA mic. “Turn off your engine and put both hands on the wheel.” Pete removed his gun from its holster and got out. Standing behind the open driver's side door with his gun trained on the figure behind the wheel of the sedan, he barked, “Open the door and come out with your hands above your head!” 7
The woman responded quickly. She looked scared, but her movements were smooth and controlled, again unlike the erratic druggie they were looking for. With golden brown hair that almost reached her waist, she was only about 5' 3” tall, and if she was 170 pounds he'd eat his badge. He pegged her at about 115 pounds, max. At Pete's orders, she turned around and backed up toward the trunk of her car. The other unit approached the sedan to make sure there weren’t any passengers inside. Marc tapped the radio impatiently, waiting for the dispatcher to report back with a report on whether or not the car was stolen, or if the owner had any outstanding warrants. His gut told him this woman was not the perp. He hated putting innocent civilians through stuff like this, but reminded himself that procedures were in place for a reason. The radio finally crackled and the dispatcher confirmed what Marc was already sure of. The car had not been reported stolen. Owner was one “Lillian Brookstone” who, other than a few parking tickets, had a spotless record with no outstanding warrants. Marc got out of the car and exchanged a look with Pete, who had also heard the report. Both men were thinking the same thing. They were giving this poor woman a heart attack for nothing. Nonetheless, Pete stayed behind the door with his gun drawn as Marc cautiously approached Ms. Brookstone. “Ma'am, please put your hands on the trunk of your car and spread your legs,” he instructed. As she complied, he couldn't help but appreciate her petite figure and notice how the fabric of her pants hugged her bottom and dipped between her cheeks. Gritting his teeth, he mentally reprimanded himself. “Don't be an ass,” he mumbled to himself, and then winced for thinking about asses again. Damn, I need to get laid. Grunting, he forced himself to focus on the task at hand. Probably with a little more force than necessary, he started to pat her down. “Do you have any weapons or drugs on you or in your car?” **** Lily stiffened as the officer’s hands pressed against her ribcage 8
Dancing with Danger and down to her hips. “No, sir,” she replied, embarrassed that her voice shook a little, and even more embarrassed when she felt his hands sweep briskly beneath her breasts. He was most likely trying to check her bra for hidden weapons or something, but she wasn't wearing a bra. Her cheeks flamed hot, but he continued his pat-down without pause. He probably didn't notice, she tried to convince herself. Yeah, right. Irrationally, she had a flashback to her grandmother warning her, “Always wear clean underwear, honey, you never know when you'll be in a car accident.” It had barely made sense to her then, but now she wished her grandma had warned her to always wear a bra, in case she ever got frisked. She realized the officer had just asked her something. She replayed his question and stammered a reply. “What? Oh, um, Lily. Lily Brookstone, sir.” “You can go ahead and turn around now, ma'am.” Lily straightened up and faced him, folding her bare arms over her chest as a cool late winter breeze brushed across her bare arms, giving her goose bumps. She wore a snug, dark red tee-shirt and gray sweatpants chopped off just below the knee. Earlier the outfit had seemed perfectly acceptable for her drive home, but now she felt distinctly underdressed. The officer wore the traditional allblack LAPD uniform with a shiny gold and silver badge pinned on his chest. He was at least nine inches taller, and she tilted her head back to take all of him in. He had a strong, square jaw and chiseled cheekbones, military-short brown hair, and was, well, beefy. The cords of his neck muscles were visible before they dipped into his collar, and his biceps looked extremely impressive in the short-sleeved uniform. His tan forearms were incredibly sexy, the muscles tightening as he shifted his right arm to rest on his belt and his left arm to hang at his side, near his gun. Seeing the gun brought Lily's focus back with a start, and she quickly looked up into the officer's eyes. Green, she thought, and then chided herself for even noticing such a thing in her current situation. “We've had a report of an armed robbery,” the officer said, “with a suspect matching your description.” 9
Her gaze wandered to the second officer as he shut the squad car’s door and put his gun in his holster, approaching them. Her stomach lurched. Holy Mother, he had his gun drawn? “Could you tell us where you're coming from and what you've been doing in the last hour?” the first officer said. Lily jerked her gaze back to him. “Ah, I was at work.” Something in her manner must have alerted him that she was holding something back, because he suddenly frowned. She realized her mouth was clamped shut and her arms were folded tightly across her chest. She tried to relax. “And where would that be, ma'am?” he inquired with a raised eyebrow. She took a deep breath before answering. “A few blocks northeast of here, Officer… Sloan,” she read from the name plate above his shirt pocket. “Northeast?” he prodded. “Yes.” “Where, exactly?” “Why does it matter?” She immediately regretted her knee-jerk response, realizing how suspicious it sounded. Instead of answering, however, Officer Sloan remained stubbornly silent. He kept firm eye contact with her, waiting. After a few moments she sighed. “Near Hollywood and Cahuenga.” “That's quite a bit further than a few blocks,” he responded quickly. “Why would you park all the way down here?” “I don't know,” she lied. “We’ll need to see some I.D., ma'am,” the other officer interjected. “Yes, sir, of course. It's in my purse, in the car.” “I can get it for you, ma'am.” Officer Sloan waited for her to acquiesce, and then strode quickly to the driver's side door she had left open. He nodded to two other officers she hadn’t even realized were there and picked up her purse from the passenger's seat. She watched as he walked back toward her with a long, purposeful stride. His sharp green eyes were locked onto hers as he 10
Dancing with Danger returned to stand in front of her. She tore her gaze away from his and focused on her purse, which he held open. She quickly removed her wallet and pulled out her driver's license. The other officer confirmed her identity and scribbled some information in his notepad. “Do you mind if we have a look in your car, ma'am?” he asked as he returned her license. Lily glanced at her feet for a moment and swallowed. “I'm sorry, sir, but I'd rather you didn't. But I swear I had nothing to do with that robbery, and I have nothing illegal in my car.” She looked up again, her chin jutting out defiantly and her jaw clenched tight. Officer Sloan seemed about to speak when their radios suddenly cracked to life. The robbery suspect had been spotted heading south on Fairfax, driving on the wrong side of the road, and officers were in pursuit. Exchanging a quick glance, the two policemen jogged back to their squad car. The other pair of officers quickly did the same. As Officer Sloan passed by her, he placed her purse in her hands and said, “Thank you for your cooperation, ma'am. We're sorry for the inconvenience.” After being claustrophobically surrounded by a cadre of uniformed males and flashing lights, Lily suddenly found herself standing alone by the trunk of her car. The other policeman had already hopped behind the wheel, but Officer Sloan paused for a moment at the passenger's side door. “Will you be all right, ma'am?” Lily realized she was simply standing there, purse in hand, jaw slightly open in shock. She closed her mouth and quickly nodded. He smiled before getting into the car, and once again a hot flush rose to her cheeks. After the squad car drove off, sirens and lights blazing, she gave herself a mental shake and climbed back in her car. She thunked her head on the steering wheel a few times before starting the engine and pulling away from the curb. Lily was so exhausted, she didn't even notice the dark blue truck that pulled away from the curb behind her and followed her home.
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Chapter Two “One large, no-sugar-added, ice-blended mocha, no whip, and a small vanilla roast with cold soy!” Judy called over her shoulder as she tucked a strand of jet-black hair behind her ear. Lily blinked fiercely and opened her eyes wide in an attempt to wake herself up. She glanced at the clock, disappointed to discover it was only mid-afternoon and she still had two hours left on her shift. Shaking off her exhaustion, she took an empty cup and poured a measured amount of powder and coffee extract into it. She slid open the tub and grabbed a scoop of ice, the blast of frigid air a welcome jolt to her senses. A slight shiver raised goose-bumps on her arms, giving her a flashback of her almost-arrest last night when she had gotten goose-bumps for an entirely different reason. The blender roared dully as she let her mind drift to Officer Sloan and his sexy forearms. His hands were warm and big when he frisked her, and those green eyes had been marvelously unforgettable. How often did he have to work out to get arms like that? And what did the rest of his body look like? She’d bet— “Earth to Lily! You makin' soup or coffee there, chica?” “Ack!” Lily squeaked as she rescued the almost-ruined iceblended mocha. “Sorry, Judy, I'm just really tired.” “No worries, sweetheart. You look pretty beat. Did you teach this morning?” “Yeah, it was 'Princess Day' today, so the little cuties were all dressed up in their favorite Disney gowns for ballet. They were really adorable.” Lily put the lid on the mocha and poured the vanilla-roast into another cup, leaving a few inches at the top. Judy shook her head in awe. “I can barely handle my Maribel. I have no idea how you wrangle a dozen three-year-olds at the same time.” “Yeah, try doing that and teaching them how to dance. But luckily I only have to deal with them for one hour at a time. You've got Maribel 24/7, so I'm sure that's a lot harder.” Lily added soy 12
Dancing with Danger milk to the coffee and called out for the customer to pick it up at the counter. “Yeah, well, she's got her aunt, three uncles, and her abuelos to keep her occupied most of the time, thank God.” Must be nice. All Lily had was her father, who vehemently disapproved of her leaving D.C. to pursue a career he perceived to be a waste of time. Steadfastly ignoring a threatening wave of melancholy, she straightened a tilting tower of plastic cups, fiddling with the balance and eventually restacking them in two shorter columns until Judy blessedly changed the subject. “So, how many classes did you get this season?” “Only four.” She stopped fiddling with the cup towers and rested her hip against the counter. “Three 'Tiny Tot' classes, and one beginning jazz class for 6 to 8-year-olds. But they said they might give me a shot at the advanced classes later this year. I love teaching the little ones, but I have to admit it gets a pretty routine when I’m limited to the most basic choreography and spend half the class disciplining instead of dancing.” She shrugged as if it didn’t really matter, but Judy knew her well enough to guess what she was thinking. Dancing. That’s what she really wanted to be doing. She silently cursed her bum knee and even bummier agent that had gotten her off track from her dream. As if reading her thoughts, Judy asked quietly, “How's the leg?” She cast her friend a reassuring smile and flexed the limb in question. “It's fine now, really. All the exercises my PT trainer taught me actually have me in better shape than I was in before. And I'm back to taking three dance classes a week now, which is wearing me out, but it’s really good for me. In fact….” She gave Judy a coy look. “What?” “I've got an audition tomorrow for Five Star!” “Holy shit, chica! Why didn't you tell me? That's wonderful.” Judy rushed over and scooped her in a tight hug that lifted her right off the floor. “It's been, what, like ten months since you sent them your reel?” “Almost a year, yeah.” Lily laughed as Judy set her down. 13
“Five Star… that’s like the number one dance agency in L.A., isn’t it?” “Damn straight. Everyone jokes that a dancer needs to hire an agent just to get an audition with a Five Star agent.” “Well, good, ’cause that last agent was a pedaso de mierda.” “I don’t think I learned that particular phrase in high-school Spanish.” “It means exactly what you think it does. Any agent who would drop a client just for getting injured deserves to be called that and worse.” Judy was called away to serve a customer, so Lily picked up a damp rag from the sink and wiped down the serving counter, trying not to think about the disaster her last agent had been. She scrubbed a particularly sticky spot, reminding herself that despite his monumental ineptitude, she had managed to do pretty well for herself for a while. Her biggest mistake was allowing him to convince her to accept that night-club dance gig during one of her dry spells. She’d known she made the wrong decision the moment she saw the rickety go-go stage, but her agent insisted she finish the weeklong job. A few nights later the six-foot high stage collapsed. She’d been wearing four-inch heels. Her knee hadn't stood a chance. With an aggravated grunt, she tossed the rag into the sink and briskly washed her hands. “I still think you should sue his ass,” Judy commented over the sound of the faucet. “I can’t believe he dropped you after the doctor recommended a month of rest.” “How did you know what I was thinking?” “Because your face always turns red when you’re angry. And when you’re embarrassed. Or excited. Never mind, I have no idea how I knew, I’m just psychic.” Lily laughed, feeling a teeny bit better as Judy turned back to the register to help another customer. She would’ve loved to sue her agent, except that would cost money. Money she didn’t have. The whole ordeal happened about six months ago, and since then she'd been working three jobs to cover her expenses, which now included several thousand dollars’ worth of medical bills since the dance club 14
Dancing with Danger had gone under and the owner skipped town before Lily got organized enough to try to hold him liable. Her savings were long gone and she was barely keeping her head above water by dancing whatever gigs she could find and working minimum wage at the coffee shop and dance studio. This Five Star audition couldn't come soon enough, she thought. Although she’d never admit it to Judy, she was physically, mentally, and emotionally exhausted. But if she could land a few professional gigs, she’d be able to quit dancing at those other venues and cut back her hours at the coffee shop. As the after-work crowd died down, Judy took a moment to make a cup of hazelnut roast for herself. “Aaah, this is worth working here any day.” She leaned back on the counter and closed her eyes. “I'll take your word for it.” Lily smiled tiredly as she took a swig of water from her reusable bottle and slumped wearily against the espresso machine. She always had the bottle on hand, and another at home in the fridge for the moment she walked in the door. Judy accused her of being part-mermaid for all the water she drank each day. “You know you’re the only person on the planet who doesn't drink coffee, right?” Judy opened one eye and looked at Lily briefly before taking another sip and moaning gratuitously. “Ha, ha. Look, coffee smells great, but it tastes horrible and gives me the shakes. So I'll stick with water, thank you very much.” She downed another gulp. “So why do you work at a coffee shop?” Lily almost choked on her water when she heard the deep voice inquire from the other side of the counter behind her. Judy plunked down her coffee and jumped to the cash register. “Sorry, officer, I didn't see you there.” “No worries, ma'am, I only just got here. Good evening, Ms. Brookstone.” Officer Sloan flashed a smile over Judy's shoulder to Lily, who froze as his gaze focused on her. He remembered her name! Officer Sexy-Arms was in her coffee shop, and he remembered her name! Realizing her mouth was hanging open, she slammed it shut and then opened it again to say, “Oh. Yes! And you? I mean, how are you, Officer Sloan?” 15
He seemed inexplicably pleased at her stuttering, and her cheeks burned. “I'm doing great. But please, call me Marc.” “Oh. Yes. Marc.” Her sudden inability to form complete sentences baffled her. She was never shy, so what was wrong with her? Judy watched her with a gleeful expression before looking back to Marc. “So what can we get for you today, officer?” “Just a large coffee, ma'am. Thank you.” “Oh, please call me Judy. And this is Lily, but it looks like you two have met already?” Judy peeked over her shoulder, raising an expectant eyebrow at her. “Uh, yeah. Last night. He pulled me over. I mean, I didn't get a ticket, but, yeah. We met.” She didn’t think her face could get any hotter. She spun around to pour a cup of house-blend and exhaled a bit louder than she intended. For heaven's sake, you've performed in front of thousands of people and never freaked out. Get a grip, woman! “Oh, so you pulled her over but let her off with just a warning, huh?” Judy teased. Lily watched discreetly over her shoulder as he ran a hand over his short brown hair and laughed. It was a warm, rich sound that resonated in her bones and made her heart palpitate. “Yeah, something like that.” “Well, here you are, Officer.” Lily handed him his coffee, taking a peek at his muscled arm when he reached out to take the cup from her. Yup, still sexy as hell. “I mean, Marc.” “Thanks, Lily. Can you give me some sugar?” Shocked at his blatant come on, she froze and felt her mouth fall open. But then he threw his head back and roared with laughter. “I meant, you know, sugar, Sweet 'n Low, Splenda?” “Oh my God—” Her fingers flew to her face, as if that would stop her cheeks from blooming into an impossibly deeper shade of red. What an idiot! This is what happens when a woman forsakes all social interactions for the sake of her career. She becomes completely… idiotic. 16
Dancing with Danger Maybe Judy was right. Maybe she did need to get out more. Fighting back complete and utter humiliation, she forced herself to meet his gaze. His eyes were twinkling, his laughter genuine and carefree. Suddenly she couldn't stop herself from joining in. “Oh, Lord! I don't know what I was thinking,” she gasped, relieved to find that she was laughing at herself rather than crawling under the counter and melting into a pool of abject mortification. “Mujer, I think you need a break!” Judy pushed her out from behind the counter. “Why don't you show this fine gentleman where he can 'get some sugar?'” Lily continued to chuckle, glancing at Marc as she untied her apron and stepped out from behind the counter. Laughing at her ridiculousness made her feel much more relaxed, and she was pleased that she managed to lead him to the condiment counter without tripping over her own feet. In fact, she even found her hips swaying a bit more than usual. This was fun. The exhaustion she’d been feeling only moments earlier seemed a distant memory. Maybe she ought to find the time to do this sort of thing more often. After all, her doctor had instructed her to reduce her stress levels. “Voilà!” she announced, executing a graceful half-turn to face him. She presented the condiment counter, with its sugar, stir sticks, and creamer, in a grand gesture that would have made Vanna White jealous. “Thanks. Just what I was looking for.” With a gulp, Lily realized his gaze never moved from her face as he spoke. **** Her hazel eyes were captivating, Marc realized, especially when they widened so beautifully as they were doing now. But he found himself even more fascinated by the shape of her mouth, particularly the way her upper lip jutted a little forward in a sexy, pouty overbite. “Anytime.” She paused and gave him one last smile before heading toward a door he assumed was the break room. She moves like she's underwater, he thought, watching her glide 17
to the back of the shop. Even her hair billowed out gracefully behind her. He couldn't remember the last time he’d smiled and laughed so much in such a short period of time. He hadn’t even been aware he was on the lookout for her nondescript sedan until he saw it parked in front of this coffee shop when he and Pete drove by on patrol. He’d suddenly felt the need for a wake-me-up cup. And what a damned fine cup of coffee it was turning out to be. Ever since pulling her over last night, Ms. Brookstone had wiggled her way into his thoughts more than once. And some of those times he’d even been awake. What could it hurt? “Hey, uh, Lily?” “Yeah?” She twirled around just before disappearing into the back room. The bright redness in her face had faded, leaving her cheeks softly flushed in a pleasing shade of pink. He cleared his throat and glanced outside at his squad car. The reflection on the windshield prevented him from seeing Pete, whom he’d left waiting inside the car. Marc took a step closer to her. “I already have plans I can't cancel for tonight, but tomorrow night I'm free and I was wondering if you’d like to meet up for a drink? Not coffee, I promise.” Her smile faded. “I'd love to, really, but I, uh, I've got work tomorrow night.” “Well, we can meet afterward if you want. I pull night shifts all the time, so I'm used to staying up late.” “I won't get off until really late.” She hesitated and looked over her shoulder at her friend behind the counter. Annoyed, and more disappointed than he cared to admit, Marc was about to cut his losses and beat a hasty retreat when she suddenly swung her gaze back to him and blurted out, “What about Monday? Or Wednesday? Those are my nights off. I mean, I have to teach a class, and I've got a shift here on Wednesday afternoon, but that's during the daytime so it doesn’t really count. So”—she finally paused for a breath—”would one of those evenings work for you?” He was surprised by the giddiness in his innards at her eager response, and even more surprised at the tug of concern he felt as 18
Dancing with Danger he listened to how busy her schedule was. She’d seemed almost dead on her feet when he first came into the shop and saw her propped up against the espresso machine. Just keep it cool and casual, Sloane. “Sure. It's a little late, but I'm off at 9 p.m. on Monday. How's that?” “Perfect.” She smiled at him and his smile followed suit of its own volition. He knew he ought to get back to the car, but didn't want to leave just yet. “So, what kind of class do you teach?” A brightness shone in her face as she responded. “Dance. I teach dance a few times a week at a local studio, mostly to—” A loud honk erupted from the parking lot. Pete leaned out of the squad car with a wicked grin. He waved to Lily and then stared at Marc while deliberately pointing at his watch. “I think you're being paged, Officer Sloan. Here, give me a call later and we'll iron out the details for Monday.” She pulled a marker from her pocket, wrote her phone number on a coffee sleeve, and handed it to him with a half-smile. “Yes, ma'am.” He took the sleeve with a half-smile of his own and headed outside, ignoring the voice in his head that warned him not to get in over his head. **** Lily was extremely grateful for the three-hour nap she managed to snag after her shift at the coffee shop. She smiled as she drove past the curb where she’d met Marc the night before, then pulled into her usual spot in the parking garage on Fountain Ave. She climbed into the backseat and quickly changed her clothes. By the time she ran out to the street to hop in the cab she’d called earlier, she was unrecognizable, wearing men's slacks, a button-up shirt, and a dark-gray blazer that hid her figure, plus a man’s golf cap that concealed her hair. She told the driver where to go, and when she reached her destination ten minutes later, she paid him in cash and slipped quietly out of the cab, carrying a large briefcase. She followed a group of rowdy young men through the front entrance, but then turned left and slipped through a door marked “Employees Only.” 19
Thumping music drummed as she passed through the DJ's booth, which was lit only by a tiny light above the sound board. She gave the DJ a wave, and he nodded in return. She opened a door on the other side and hopped down to a concrete floor that lay a few feet lower than the booth, kicking up a cloud of dust. It was practically pitch-black in the storage space, with only a few shafts of pulsing light seeping through the cracks behind the main stage. On the other side of the wall, high heels clunked softly between whooping cheers. Lily quickly set down her briefcase and undressed, stuffing her disguise into the briefcase before putting on a narrow half-face mask. Walking carefully on her bare feet, she crossed to the other side of the storage area and out one last door, into the brightly lit dressing room of Vixens—Los Angeles's most popular topless strip club.
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Chapter Three The dressing room was flanked by two long counters with mirrors, the narrow space cluttered with shoes, clothing, and makeup. All the dancers were out on the club floor except Nikki, who sat at her dressing station. Lily smiled tentatively at her. “Oh, what? Are you actually going to dance today or just sit back here all night like a princess while the rest of us work?” With a sigh, Lily, or “Miss M” as she was known at Vixens, went to her station and pulled out her makeup bag. “Just trying to be friendly.” “Why start now?” Lily stifled another sigh and instead pulled out her costume, shaking it to remove any wrinkles. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. Just sit there with your little mask on and that horsey mouth shut tight. I’ve got work to do.” She finished touching up her lip liner and then briskly packed her make-up into its bag. Lily closed her eyes and counted to ten, steadfastly ignoring her. She knew the fact that she never took off her mask, even backstage, irked some of the other girls. And she did tend to keep to herself most of the time, at first worried about keeping her identity secret and later simply because none of the other girls wanted to talk with her. But what she thought really bothered them, especially Nikki, was that she never gave lap dances. She performed on the main stage and private stages, but wouldn’t work the floor. The management was fine with it because the only person losing out on cash was her, but the other girls probably thought she was a snob. That’s the price she paid for secrecy. No one could ever get too close. Determined not to let Nikki’s sour attitude ruin what had been a pretty good day so far, Lily smoothed out her new outfit, enjoying the feel of its soft fabric. The vibrancy of the yellow and black brought a smile to her lips. Tonight she would be Silk Spectre, a 21
character from Watchmen, a movie she’d seen a few months earlier. The yellow-and-black superhero costume with its thigh-high boots had inspired her to add this new routine to her repertoire, which already included a Mardi Gras dance, a cat-woman piece, a “super spy” Mission-Impossible-esque dance, and a few classic dominatrix numbers. All her costumes incorporated a mask. Nikki flounced past her and out onto the club floor, leaving Lily alone in the dressing room. She stared at her reflection in the mirror. The black half-mask concealed the shape of her nose, which she had always thought was her weakest and most recognizable feature, and it also covered most of her forehead and cheek bones. Her upper lip peeked out from the bottom of the mask, and she could still see her eyes, but with the club lighting and distance between her and the audience when she was on stage, she felt confident in her disguise. She was touching up her foundation when the crowd cheered and Tamara entered, breathing hard from her performance. Despite her determination to not let the other girls get to her, it made her feel inordinately happy when Tamara nodded to her costume and asked, “Tryin' somethin' new tonight?” She grinned. “Yeah. I hope they like it.” “They always do, honey.” Tamara went to her station and started pulling out the cash stuffed in the straps of her G-string. The music roared back to life as the DJ invited Nikki up on stage. Lily smoothed on lip liner and followed it with a few deft strokes of a deep-hued lipstick. After adding a final layer of gloss, she put a finger in her mouth and sucked on it, slowly pulling it out. A handy trick she’d learned backstage at ballet recitals to help keep lipstick off her teeth. As Nikki's hard-rock song hammered through the walls of the dressing room, Lily slipped on the rest of her costume and zipped up her tall, black boots. She loved those things. They had cost her two night's worth of tips, but she didn't care. They were hot, and absolutely necessary for the costume. She rolled her shoulders and ran in place for a few counts of eight, getting her blood pumping and warming up her muscles. Then she lifted a leg onto the corner of her station and folded her 22
Dancing with Danger upper body over it, extending her hamstring and calf muscle. Her mind wandered as she stretched. Marc was, of course, the first thing to pop into her head. She got butterflies thinking about their date on Monday. She hadn’t been on a date in, what? Eight months? She did the math in her head and realized it had been almost a year. She switched legs with a frown. Well, it had been a busy year. And all the good men in L.A. were either taken or gay. Except Officer Sexy Arms. She stifled a giggle and pondered the question of what to wear, wondering what he would think of this out. She snorted at the thought. No way in hell was he ever going to see her in this little number! Well, maybe one day, but in the privacy of her bedroom, not at this place. It wasn't that she was ashamed of what she was doing. Well, that wasn't entirely honest. She absolutely hated that while she was struggling to make it as a more “traditional” dancer, she had to resort to exotic dancing to pay her bills. But at the same time, exotic dancing itself never really bothered her. All dancing, for her, was a means of expression. An art form meant to elicit an emotional reaction from both the dancers and the audience. Simple as that. A good dance could inspire, it could energize, intrigue, sadden, enchant, or yes, it could arouse. Whenever she performed, she always let herself get swept up in the passion, and exotic dancing was no exception. It was a powerfully sensual experience for her. She knew no way to capture an audience other than to make sure they were caught in the same riptide of sensation with her. While it was true she wanted to make it on her own by dancing in more “traditional” venues, she didn't wear the mask because she was ashamed. She wore it because very few people in this world saw exotic dancing in the same light as she did. Her job as a dance teacher for young girls would be at risk if word ever got out about her “night job,” not to mention what would happen to her father (and her) if someone in the press got wind of the fact that Senator Brookstone's daughter was dancing topless at a strip club in Los Angeles. Clapping and cheering intruded on her thoughts, and soon Nikki 23
strutted back into the room. Ignoring her, Lily smiled to Tamara. “I'm on.” “Have fun, hon.” The DJ riled up the crowd, and her heart leapt as several excited whoops followed from the big Saturday night mob who must have remembered her from a previous night. “Bring it on,” she whispered and stepped on stage. **** “Lindsay's going to kill you guys for this, you know.” Pete grasped a pitcher of beer in one hand and a recently emptied glass in another. Marc eyed the contents of the pitcher warily as Pete sloshed it around. From the same hand that held his glass, Pete pointed a finger at each of his buddies in turn, ending on Marc. “Just you wait,” he added ominously. “Yeah, right. She's the one who took you to your first strip club the night you turned eighteen.” Ben laughed. “Yeah, because she wanted to help you 'experience the joys of coming of age' that she had already experienced being oh-so-much older than you,” Steve interjected. “Two months. Not even that. One month and nineteen days.” Pete unsteadily poured the beer into his glass. “The only woman I know who would take a guy to get registered to vote and drag him to a titty bar in the same day.” “A match made in heaven!” Marc raised his glass. The guys laughed and slapped Pete on the back before taking a swig in tribute to the bachelor-of-honor. Marc set down his empty glass and glanced around. He hadn't been to a strip club in years. The present company was great, and the dancers were beautiful, but it wasn't really his scene. Sure, the ladies were hot, he couldn't deny that. But it all seemed so… methodical. They had some sexy moves, but that's all they were, a series of movements that showed off their very flexible limbs. There didn't seem to be anything sensual about it. He liked a woman to be just as turned on as he was, not simply going through the motions for his benefit. “Marc! Your turn, buddy.” Marc caught the now-empty pitcher as Ben tossed it to him. With 24
Dancing with Danger an exaggerated groan, he stood up and went to the bar to fetch another. As he watched the bartender refill it at the tap, he heard the DJ croon, “Get your cash ready, guys, Miss M is on the stage! You won't see this masked Vixen on the floor, so if you want to get up close and personal, get your ass to the rail and bring out the green. No one knows the true identity of this mysterious little sex kitten, but trust me, after her performance, you won't care!” The crowd was a little louder than before, and even the bartender glanced at the stage. Curiosity piqued, Marc turned and watched the mysterious Miss M stride out and take command of the room. She was a tiny little thing, but not super-skinny like some of the other dancers, nor were her boobs ridiculously huge. The music pulsed quietly, building slowly in tempo and volume, but she simply stood there, legs spread wide, her head tilted a fraction to the left, as if contemplating her first move. The mask concealed most of her features, but he could see her eyes sparkling as she scanned the crowd as if assessing them. Marc's groin gave a slight jerk as he realized her mouth was shaped just like Lily's, with a bit of an overbite that pouted her upper lip slightly forward. He watched those lips shift into a very slow, very wicked grin. The men crowding the stage went wild, banging their mugs on the rail and shouting at her to dance. With a suddenness that took Marc off guard, she whipped into a crazy, spinning kick. Her booted leg whirled over her head, giving him a tantalizing peek of black lace panties. Her long brown hair whisked out behind her as she bolted forward and launched into some sort of gymnastic move that flipped her sideways in mid-air. She landed gracefully with those incredibly sexy legs spread wide, barely pausing before bursting into another series of martial artslike maneuvers. With a laugh, he took in her costume. She was playing out every man's fantasy of the sexy super-hero: she was Silk Spectre in the flesh, employing real karate moves to convey a mood of complete sexual abandon. He noticed she wasn't stopping to gather the cash the men waved at her. Despite the fact she hadn't removed a single piece of clothing, she had the crowd whooping and shouting for more. He was just beginning to wonder how long she could pull this off before 25
the crowd got too impatient, when suddenly the music changed. She was crouched low, her left leg stretched out to the side. One daring member of the audience strained to stuff a bill into the top of her boot, but he couldn't quite reach because they were so damned tall. As the music transitioned into a more sultry rhythm, Miss M slowly folded in her leg and stood up. She was breathing hard, the rise and fall of her breasts mesmerizing. She retreated to recline against the nearest pole, as if spent yet aroused by her acrobatics. Marc realized that this, too, was totally in character. He'd seen Watchmen over the summer and remembered how Silk Spectre had gotten turned on sexually by action and heroics. Judging from the hollers in the audience, he wasn't the only one who remembered what came next. Miss M let her head fall back as she ran her gloved fingers through her hair, down the sides of her neck, around her breasts, and then diagonally across her belly to converge between her legs. Her lips parted with pleasure, and he felt himself harden in reaction. With her hands still between her legs, she slid her spine down the pole. Suddenly he wanted to rush on stage to catch her. He almost felt her round little butt in his hands as he imagined lifting her and pressing her up against the pole with a thrust of his hips. He shook his head to cast out that fantasy and adjusted his stance to make more room in his pants. Miss M slid back up the pole and twisted into one of the fancy pole maneuvers he had seen earlier that night. But for some reason her moves seemed more natural than the others had been, as if she was teasing herself as much as those who watched her. Hanging upside down with her legs wrapped around the pole and her hair flowing down to the floor, Miss M jerked her tight yellow and black corset and ripped it wide open. Underneath, she wore a black lace demi-cup bra. The contrast of that lace beneath the leather and spandex superhero outfit was tantalizing. Placing both hands on the ground below her head, she kicked out one leg, then the other. She planted her feet on the stage and kept her legs straight as she climbed her upper body up along the pole, her ass pushed outward and her back arched. Her breasts 26
Dancing with Danger almost spilled from the bra as she slowly stood upright. She pulled the straps of the opened corset off her shoulders and slid the entire outfit down her body, rocking her hips from side to side as the fabric slipped down. She stepped free of the outfit, now clad in a lacy bra and panties, plus the boots, gloves, and mask. The contrast of all that black against her milky skin was mouth-watering. She laughed, a sweetly innocent and shameless gesture that reminded him suddenly of Lily. Smoothly, she gyrated her body to the music, twirling around the pole and along edges of the stage, allowing the men to tuck cash in her boots and into her panties. As she turned around and bent over, Marc saw she wasn't wearing a Gstring like most of the other girls, but that the bottom curve of her cheeks peeked out from below the lace. The panties were transparent enough that when she turned to the front, he thought he glimpsed an enticing shadow leading down between her legs. Miss M was dancing again. The way she moved was an enchanting mix of natural grace and teasing sensuality. She moved only in ways that seemed to give her pleasure, and watching her made him almost feel guilty, as if he were intruding on a private moment of intimacy. But then she would smile and make eye contact with the crowd, making it clear that she was intentionally inviting them into this shared moment of sensuality. A sudden wave of anger and jealousy toward the men closest to the stage rushed through him. He laughed at himself. Damn, she’s good. His laughter faded, however, when she finally removed that tiny excuse of a bra. Her breasts were perfectly round and not much bigger than a handful. Her nipples were hard little peaks of rosy pink, exactly the same color as Lily's lips had been this afternoon. Damn, he thought again. Before he knew it, the song was over and Miss M was gathering the remaining cash before striding off stage with one last sultry wave. It was another few moments before he realized he had company at the bar. The entire bachelor party crew stared at him, laughing. “What?” he retorted defiantly, hoping they couldn't see the bulge in his pants. 27
“Boys, I think one of the Vixens finally caught Officer Sloan's attention,” Pete roared. Scowling fiercely, and relieved it was too dark for them to notice if his face was flushed, Marc snatched the now full pitcher from the bar and headed back to the table. The guys followed, thumping him on the back and punching him in the arm, teasing him mercilessly the entire way. When a blonde dancer came around to their table offering lap dances, Steve asked her about buying Marc a lap dance from Miss M. The blonde raised an eyebrow and said a little too sweetly, “She doesn't give lap dances, honey.” She slid closer to Steve and whispered, “But if it's mystery you're lookin' for, I've got more than enough for you, big boy.” “You sure do, and I'll take it!” Steve shrugged unapologetically at Marc before stuffing a ten dollar bill into her G-string and sitting back to enjoy the ride. Pete flagged down a busboy and asked him something that Marc couldn't hear because the music had started again and another girl was dancing on stage. The kid shook his head, but gestured to a curtain next to the bar. Pete gave him a wad of cash and the boy ran off. Taking a look at his beer mug, Marc decided to cut himself off so he could drive home. He eyed Pete suspiciously and narrowed his gaze even more when he realized Pete was purposefully not looking his way. When the busboy came back and nodded to Pete, Marc groaned inwardly. When Pete smiled at him and announced to the table that Marc had a surprise waiting for him behind the curtain, Marc groaned out loud. **** “Miss M, you've got a private for Room 2!” shouted Henry, the busboy, knocking on the dressing room door. “Thanks, Henry. Is it a reg?” Lily opened the door. “Nope, some new guy. It's his bachelor party, I think,” he said as he handed her a wad of cash. “All right. I'll be right over.” She gave him a few dollars as a tip and took a deep breath before reaching for her costume. Private 28
Dancing with Danger dances always made her more nervous than the main stage. For some reason, performing in front of a crowd was much less nervewracking than performing in front of one or two people. But private dances paid out well, and in a good week, she'd only get a handful of requests, so she couldn't afford to refuse. She had only a few regulars, not nearly as many as some of the girls who had been dancing at Vixens for a while. The other girls also supplemented their income by providing lap dances, but she didn't. She was paid less per night because of it, not to mention all the tips she missed out on, but she didn't feel comfortable doing it. It didn’t feel like dancing to her, and she was worried about being too close to any customer and possibly being recognized. Performing on the private stages wasn’t as bad, though. She could maintain some distance from the customers. Still, she had to psych herself up for the private showings. Dancing for her “regulars” was sometimes more nerve-wracking than dancing for strangers. She felt safe behind her mask, but something about full anonymity made exotic dancing much easier for her. At least with her regs she didn’t have to worry about them breaking the no-touching rule. Strangers were another matter. With a shiver, Lily recalled the drunken newcomer a few weeks earlier who had tried to touch her. She didn't think the guy had intended to hurt her, but it was a terrifying moment when he jumped onto the stage and tried to rip off her mask. Luckily the bouncer responded instantaneously, rushing into the room and dragging him out within seconds. She pushed the episode from her mind and sucked in a deep breath. With a quick glance in the mirror to make sure her mask was firmly in place, she took her music CD and headed out the door to the private room. **** “Sorry man, but Miss M is booked right now. I know she's your fave, but d'you want one of the other girls tonight instead? Or d'you wanna wait?” “No. That's fine.” The dark-haired man shrugged nonchalantly. “I 29
changed my mind. Thank you.” Henry grabbed two empty bottles and gave the table a quick swipe with his towel before heading back to the bar. The darkhaired man sat back in his chair and watched as a crowd of young men laughingly pushed a tall, muscular fellow into the curtained room next to the bar. Taking another sip of beer, he continued to watch the curtain with narrowed eyes, long after the other men had returned to their table. **** Marc was going to kill them. He hadn't wanted to put up too much of a fight because Pete delighted in torturing him, and it was his party, after all. But Marc really did not want to be stuck in this claustrophobically tiny space waiting for Miss M. It wasn't as if he couldn't handle a lap dance, or whatever this “private showing” was, but he was embarrassed by how attracted he'd been to the dancer. He also felt slightly guilty. He knew he hadn't even started dating Lily, not really, but just thinking about her when he watched Miss M had made him feel like a horse's ass. It was because of this train of thought that when Miss M walked onto the little stage and turned on her music from the panel in the wall, he recognized her instantly. “Lily?”
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Chapter Four Lily's heart stopped. No, it hadn't stopped, she realized. It had plummeted to her stomach and was now painfully and erratically flailing there, making her nauseous. She recognized Marc's voice immediately. It took a few moments for it to sink in that he had also recognized her. Oh, no. “Lily?” He was staring at her with an indescribable expression. Shock, confusion, doubt, horror, disgust…. She didn't know what he was thinking, but assumed it was all of the above. She opened her mouth, but couldn't speak. She couldn't move either, and she couldn't think. It was as if her brain and body had shut down in an attempt to stop this from happening. “Lily, is that you?” He walked tentatively to the stage, squinting. Her emotions recovered more quickly than her body. Shame rushed through her, burning her face and filling her eyes with tears. Fighting back a sudden urge to cry, or maybe vomit, she spun around and ran. She slammed into the door at full speed and fumbled with the knob for several desperate moments before flinging it open and sprinting down the dark hallway until she reached the dressing room. Had she been able to see through her tears, she would have been grateful the room was deserted. But all she could see was a blur of colors as she paced back and forth by her dressing station. What do I do? What do I do? Racing into the storage area, she grabbed her briefcase. She was panicking, and she knew it. She wasn't breathing properly, couldn't get enough air into her lungs. Tears were streaming down her face, but the mask prevented her from wiping them off. She drew a pair of men's pants over her outfit, not caring she was still wearing her thigh-high Silk Spectre boots. After yanking on the men's shirt she tried to button it, but her hands were shaking too much. She realized the shirt was on inside out, and 31
that's when the sobs really came. Forgetting the buttons, she threw on the jacket and clutched it closed in front. Snatching her briefcase, she stumbled into the DJ's booth. He looked up from his sound board as she passed through. “Where the hell are you going? You're up again in twenty.” “I can't.” Hating how pathetic she sounded, Lily took a deep, shaky breath and said, “I just can't right now. I need to, I need to go for a minute. Just give me a minute!” She pushed through the door and ran out. **** Marc stood unmoving for several moments after Lily disappeared through the stage door. He still couldn't believe it. Lily. The shy, flustered, innocent girl he had pulled over and frisked, the woman he’d made blush just by smiling at her, the lady he had asked out, was a stripper. He wasn't sure how he felt about that. Surprised? Hell yeah. Then again, he didn't really know much about her other than she worked at a coffee shop and taught dance classes. Come to think of it, though, he knew a bit more than that. He knew she had another job, one that caused her to work very late hours. One she’d refused to elaborate about the night he and Pete pulled her over. And being a dancer, he supposed it wasn't a huge leap for her to be working as an exotic dancer. Damn, she's a stripper. Did this change how he felt about her? Before he could sort through his thoughts, the crowd on the other side of the curtain roared. One of the other dancers must’ve finished her routine. The noise brought him back to the present, and he realized he was still staring at the door behind which Lily had disappeared. She’d been crying when she left. Shit. After a moment's hesitation, he climbed onto the stage and opened the door. The hallway was dark and empty. Cursing himself for a fool, he tentatively crept down the hall. There was a shaft of light streaming out from a partially closed door straight ahead. He gently approached and quickly peeked inside. 32
Dancing with Danger An empty dressing room. No sign of Lily. Had she left the club? Now what? Worried about being discovered, he jogged quietly back to the private room, closing the door behind him. Lily's music was still playing. He jumped off the stage and stood there for a while, thinking. By the time her song had finished, he had a plan. **** The tall man abruptly exited the private room and hurried back to his table, unaware he was being watched. The man appeared agitated, which was concerning. Had he tried to touch his Lily? No, a bouncer was standing near the private rooms and would have been called in if anything had happened. He'd seen it before. Maybe the tall man had made a pass at her and she’d refused. The thought made him smile. He knew his Lily liked to show off, that she liked to be watched. Just thinking about it made him hard. But he also knew she didn't like to be touched. At least, not by anybody but him. He could tell by the way her fingers caressed his hand when he gave her tips. Oh, yes, she liked it when he touched her. He knew by the way she smiled at him. It was a secret smile, different from the one she used on the main stage. Special. Just for him. His Lily was so special, and clever, too. She snuck in and out of the club dressed as a man, using the guest entrance. It had taken several nights of waiting and watching before he’d discovered her crafty disguise and realized the small man with the hat and briefcase was actually his Lily. He smiled as he discretely rubbed himself under the table with one hand. She was very careful. He liked that about her. She never took her own car to the club, but instead parked it about a mile away and took a cab. He knew, because he’d followed her cab. He also knew where she lived because he’d been following her home from the parking garage for the past few weeks. She was so diligent, so precise, so perfect. Part of him hadn't wanted to know who she was under the mask. He hadn’t wanted to destroy the mystery, didn’t want to spoil her perfectness. But he couldn't help himself. It turned out to be a good thing, though. He should’ve known 33
nothing could dissolve her perfectness. And now he knew her name, her beautiful, distinguished name. Lily Brookstone. The tempo of his strokes increased as he said her name quietly to himself. Lily. My Lily. She was always so graceful, walking down the aisles of the grocery store. Watching her nimble body, even when she was doing everyday things like pouring coffee, infused him with pleasure. He’d sometimes follow her to her dance studio to see her elegantly emerge from her car. He imagined himself holding out his hand, and her delicate palm would rest against his as he helped her from her car. She’d give him her secret smile. The thought of those sweet lips curving up, only for him, triggered a shiver of pleasure and he moaned quietly, knowing the noise of the club would conceal any sound he made. The most delicious part was that he was certain his Lily knew he followed her. They had a connection. They never talked, but he could tell. She was always graceful and sensual with her actions because she was moving solely for him, aware he was spying on her. She always drove slowly and used her turn signal so he could follow her wherever she went. She even left a crack open in her bedroom curtains so he could watch over her as she changed and went to bed. And then, of course, there was the way she smiled and looked at him when she danced for him in the private room. Oh yes, she knew everything he did, and she liked it. She wanted him. She needed him. The tall man was leaving the club now. Good. With a satisfied smirk, he downed the last of his beer with his free hand and waited for his Lily to come on stage again. **** What am I doing? Lily thought desperately. She’d forgotten to put on her hat, and she was still wearing her mask and make-up, not to mention her boots. She sprinted down the street and looked for a place, any place, to hide. Somewhere dark and concealed so she could gather her thoughts. There was a gas station at the corner, and a liquor store next to it, but both were crowded and well lit. She dashed across the street instead. There was a bagel shop, but it had 34
Dancing with Danger to be closed at this time of night. The parking lot was empty, but its bright security lights offered no sanctuary. She saw the dumpster corral, a concrete enclosure with three high walls surrounding the trash bin to conceal it from view. She ran to it. There was a small space between the dumpster and the walls, and Lily slipped in, her briefcase clutched in her hand. She could still see the bright lights of the parking lot above her, but she was completely out of sight unless someone came into the enclosure. Get it together, Lily. She sucked in a deep breath through her nose and then stopped when she smelled the rank contents of the dumpster. Coughing, she shook her head and breathed in steadily through her mouth. In and out. In and out. Just breathe. She closed her eyes and attempted to gather her thoughts. But Marc's horrified expression flashed in her mind and she snapped her eyes open, shame overwhelming her again. Then, just as quickly, anger replaced her embarrassment. “Fuck!” She yelled the word, slamming her briefcase into the wall behind her. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” Why was she ashamed? She had done nothing wrong. How dare he judge her? He didn't know anything about her. But even as she thought this, she knew it was ridiculous. How could she know what Marc felt or what he was thinking? She hadn't even given him a chance to react before she ran away. Her own feelings and panic had nothing to do with how he reacted. She didn't even know what that reaction was. She hadn’t done anything wrong, she told herself. She had nothing to be ashamed of. But she was ashamed, and she wondered why. It was like a father catching his daughter pleasuring herself, she decided. Sure, there wasn't anything wrong with masturbation, but that doesn't mean you wouldn't be horrified if your father caught you doing it. Oh, no, her father. Marc knew her name! What if he discovered who her father was? Would Marc tell him, or alert the press? Or 35
blab to his friends on the force? No, he wouldn't do that. She forced herself to calm down. It was unfortunate he had seen her at the club, but he didn't seem like the type of guy to gossip. She would have to talk to him, of course. Apologize. No, I have nothing to apologize for, she reprimanded herself fiercely. But she would have to talk to him, to make sure he didn't tell anyone. And she had to cancel their date. Her eyes started to well up again, but she refused to let the tears fall. She had to get a grip. She had a job to do. She couldn’t afford to fall apart. She was a professional. This was a legitimate, paying job. She had to pull herself together and get her butt back in there. She hated this. Conflict and confrontation were things she avoided wherever possible. She’d left D.C. rather than continue to fight with her father, and now she was running away from Marc, unwilling to face him either. Damn it, she didn’t need this kind of tension in her life right now. She had to stop this awkward mess before it got any messier. This wasn’t a situation that would resolve itself while she hid behind a dumpster. Taking one final, steadying breath, she stepped out of the enclosure. And then darted back inside with a gasp. Across the street, Marc was emerging from the club. So much for facing her problems head on. Coward. She poked her head out to watch him. He scanned the parking lot and then disappeared around the back of the club. She held her breath until he came into sight again, having circled the building. He had his keys in his hand and was twirling them distractedly. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, he yanked open the door to a Jeep and slammed it behind him. A guilty sense of relief stole over her as he drove away. Well, that’s that. It’s over. She dashed back across the street, fiercely ignoring the slight tug of loss as his taillights faded into the darkness. The show must go on.
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Chapter Five The rest of the night passed by in a blur for Lily. She did her dominatrix numbers for the remainder of the evening, taking comfort in the angry, fierce choreography that didn't require letting her guard down. She had one more request for a private dance at the end of her shift, but she declined, wanting to get out of there as soon as possible. If the other girls noticed her change in mood, none of them said anything. In the storage area she took her time changing into her disguise before heading through the sound booth. As she passed by, the DJ asked her if she was O.K. She nodded and forced a weak smile. After the stuffy heat in the club, the cold air was a welcome relief as she stepped into the night. She dashed to the curb and hopped into the cab waiting for her. She listened vacantly to the driver's Indian music as he drove her to the parking garage. She hadn't allowed herself think about Marc since returning to the club, but now that she didn't have her dancing to distract her, he was all she could think of. She'd known eventually she would have to tell him about her “night job.” He didn't seem like the kind of guy who would want to date a stripper, so it was probably best he had found out right away, before they’d wasted any of each other's time. Granted, she wished bursting into tears and running away hadn’t been her reaction when he found out. Not her first choice, if she’d had time to give it thought. But there was nothing she could do about that now. She had simply been taken off guard. Surely he, of all people, could understand what it felt like to be taken by surprise. When the taxi pulled up to the parking garage. Lily paid and stepped out. As she headed to the stairs, she sorted through her keys so she would have the right one ready when she reached her car. She took the stairs two at a time and then strode briskly down the aisle to her vehicle. 37
“Lily.” She gasped, almost dropping her keys and briefcase as she took an involuntary step backward. Marc was leaning back against the hood of her car, arms folded. “Marc.” She breathed the word. Clearing her throat, she said more clearly, “What are you doing here? Did you follow me?” “No. I was waiting for you.” His expression was unreadable. He was still leaning on her car. “Why? And how did you know where to find me?” “I saw you leaving this lot last night before we pulled you over. When I couldn’t find your car at the club, I put two and two together and figured you didn't park there, so I came back here to wait for you. As to your first question”—he unfolded his arms and moved a few steps closer to her—”I would think it was fairly obvious.” Lily took a deep breath. “Yes. We need to talk. First let me put my stuff in the car.” She walked around to the passenger side to avoid getting too close to him and unlocked the back door. She took her time putting her briefcase onto the back seat, trying to gather her thoughts. She hadn't expected to deal with this so soon. She eventually shut the door, but stayed on the other side of the car as she addressed him. “Look, Marc. I'm a professional dancer. I've done commercials, musical theatre, industrials, conventions, music videos—” “You don't need to justify yourself to me,” he said. “I'm not!” she retorted hotly. “These are just the facts. I'm a dancer, that's who I am. It's what I do. I injured my knee a few months ago and lost my agent. I'm trying to get a new one, and in the meantime I'm dancing at Vixens, which is a perfectly legitimate exotic dancing venue.” She waited for Marc to contradict her, but he didn't. It was uncomfortable looking into those sharp green eyes. She couldn't read him, couldn't figure out what he was thinking. Instead, she looked around at the few other cars parked in the garage. “I don't know why I ran out when I saw you at the club. I was just surprised.” She glanced back at him involuntarily. Her voice softened as she said, “I never meant for you to find out like that.” 38
Dancing with Danger He didn't respond for a moment. “Did you mean for me to find out at all?” It was a fair question. “I don't know. I think so. Eventually.” They didn't say anything for a while. “I didn't think I was ashamed to work there. But now I'm not so sure.” She was surprised when she heard herself say the words out loud. “I don't think you have anything to be ashamed about.” He leaned forward, looking at her intently from across the roof of her car. “You're really great at what you do.” She felt a wave of emotion ripple through her chest, a mixture of relief, pride, embarrassment, and incredulity. “I can do more. I mean, I can dance for real, not just stripping.” “Well, I think you were dancing 'for real.' But I know what you're trying to say, and I'm sure you're right. I mean, I'd love to see you dance in other, er, styles,” he finished awkwardly. She had to tear her gaze away from his. “Marc, I'm not sure it's a good idea for us to see each other.” As she said it, she wished she could take the words back. But she had a responsibility to her father, and she wouldn't let her selfish desires put his career in jeopardy if she could prevent it. “Why? I just said I don't mind that you're a stripper!” He scowled fiercely. “I mean, it’s not exactly what I—” He pushed angrily away from the car and paced into the empty stall next to it. “Look, I barely know you, but I’m not going to judge you. You’re a dancer. You dance.” He shrugged as if it were that simple. “And I appreciate that, Marc, really I do. You have no idea how much. But things are complicated. I don't think I should be seeing anyone right now.” She hated herself for saying it. She had left D.C. so she could live her own life and not be governed by her father anymore. But here she was, clear across the country, still denying her own wishes in order to protect him and his reputation. “That's not how you felt earlier today,” he retorted. She didn't respond. She stared into the backseat where her briefcase was sitting. Crammed inside were her make-up kit, various costumes and shoes, and the mask she hid behind every 39
time she danced. All locked up inside, concealed from view. Suddenly she felt as confined as her belongings, trapped, hidden, and cut off from the world. Looking up, she realized Marc was watching her. She lifted a hand to run through her hair but stopped, remembering she was still wearing a golf cap. Instead, she tugged self-consciously at the collar of the bulky sports jacket. His eyes narrowed as he watched her. “Why the disguise and the remote parking if you're not ashamed?” he asked suddenly. “What?” “If you're not ashamed of being an exotic dancer, then why hide your identity? Why wear the mask, and avoid lap dances, and dress as a man to sneak in and out of the club?” He fired the questions at her as he walked to her side of the car. “If you aren't ashamed, then what are you trying to hide?” His cop brain was in fine working order, she thought. He already knew too much. He was too observant. No matter how much she wanted him to know the truth, to know her, she had to nip this in the bud. She hardly knew this man. How could she possibly trust him? But there was something about Marc that made it impossible for her to hide. He looked at her and she felt like he already knew everything, saw everything. Before she could stop herself, she blurted, “My father is Gerald Brookstone. Republican senator from Virginia. Staunch conservative, chairman of the U.S. Senate's Select Committee on Ethics, and lifetime member of the Christian Coalition.” She continued to stare into his gaze, unable to break away or even blink. There was a strange sort of release in her chest as she spoke. “He’s not the type of man who would take well to discovering his daughter was a stripper, or more importantly, not the type who would take well to the press discovering his daughter was a stripper. He doesn't approve of my dancing career in general and certainly wouldn't approve of this particular gig. Very few people know I work there, and I need to keep it that way.” She held her breath, astonished at herself for confessing all this to a man she had only met yesterday. She, who hardly trusted 40
Dancing with Danger anyone, had opened her heart and laid it bare. Oh, dear God, what have I gotten myself into? **** Lily swallowed and looked away, but Marc had seen everything. The enormity of the secret she had just revealed. The resignation in her eyes betraying the knowledge that she could never please her father as long as she pursued her dream of becoming a dancer. The toll that dream was taking on her as she struggled desperately against the odds, all by herself. She seemed horrified that she’d revealed what must have been a heavy secret she’d been carrying for a while. He watched as she took a deep breath and then jutted out her chin and met his gaze. He looked down at this tiny, lonely creature who was bravely facing incredible difficulties with absolutely no support system and felt a sharp tug in his gut. He fought the sudden urge to scoop her little body into his arms and comfort away all her worries. Where the hell did that come from? This wasn’t his style. He knew how idiotic it would be to fall for someone he didn’t know, and he wasn’t about to make that mistake. But he couldn’t fight his strange urge to comfort her, to be near her, to get her to drop her guard, even if only for a short while. She put on a strong front, but how long would she last, trying to support the world on her tiny shoulders? He slowly walked to her and reached forward to tap the brim of her gray golf cap. “Nice outfit. I think I've got the exact same jacket.” She let out a surprised chortle, and his lips quirked up in response. “It's a bit small to be exactly the same,” she pointed out, stepping closer to her car. “You're right. Mine came in Normal-Man Size, instead of Freakishly-Small-Man Size. Where did you find men's clothing so small anyway?” He stepped closer again and brushed the shoulder of her sports jacket. Her breath caught in an almost inaudible gasp as his body invaded her personal space. She took another step backward, 41
although she was now practically pressed against her car, and Marc fought a smile. Her shields were still up in full force. “The Boys Department at Target. And there's no way that's a Normal-Man Sized shirt,” she said, playfully plucking at his dark blue polo shirt. The short sleeves fit snugly around his biceps. He saw through her attempt to diffuse the situation and chuckled, noticing how her body relaxed slightly at the sound. Shields down to 50%. He reached forward again and slid her hat off. Her long, silky, light brown hair tumbled around her shoulders and down her back. She smelled softly of coconut and cocoa butter. She looked up at him, her hazel eyes huge and her mouth open ever so slightly. Surprisingly, her guard remained lowered. In fact, she seemed to melt a bit as his gaze wandered over her face, her body. He leaned down until his face was inches from hers, where he could feel the soft exhale of her breath on his lips. She didn’t pull back or stiffen, and he thrilled at the small victory, unable to prevent a triumphant smile. Her gaze wandered involuntarily down to his mouth as he smiled, and that was all the invitation he needed. He closed the small distance between them in a fraction of a second, capturing her warm lips with his. **** Lily’s breathing hitched as Marc finally closed the gap and kissed her. His lips were surprisingly soft and cool, a direct opposite to his hand, which felt strong and warm as it brushed along her neck and then burrowed through her hair. Heat radiated from his chest, and without thinking she wrapped her arms around him and pulled her body away from the car and into his embrace. His tongue slid along her lower lip, as if tasting her, and she couldn't hold back a soft moan of pleasure. His other arm came around to envelop her completely, pressing her small body closer to his impossibly large one. Their mouths locked together, tongues tasting and exploring each other wildly. She grasped the back of his shirt as he suddenly pushed her back against the car, molding himself to her. She could feel his arousal against her belly, and she involuntarily thrust her hips up in 42
Dancing with Danger response. A quick pulse of pleasure throbbed between her legs, and she desperately felt the need to press harder against him. Hearing herself moan in desperation was a shock, making her suddenly conscious of the ferocious and somewhat frightening reaction she was having in response to his embrace. Never before had she responded so vividly to a man’s touch. It was even more powerful than the thrill she experienced when performing. She wasn’t ready for this. Was she? With a gasp, she pulled her mouth from his. “Marc, wait.” **** Marc lifted his head, but kept her wound tightly in his embrace, trapped between his body and the car. She had let her guard down, without a doubt, but he couldn’t push her too fast. Her eyelids were heavy, and he could see the swirling amber and green of her eyes were clouded with passion. She was breathing heavily, and with a low chuckle, he realized he was too. He leaned back slightly, keeping one hand behind her head, stroking her hair. To hell with taking it slow. “How about getting that drink now? I don't want to wait for Monday.” She laughed breathlessly. “Me neither. But honestly, I don't drink much, and I still need to drive home.” His hips were still pressed against hers, and he was reluctant to pull away. Luckily, she didn’t seem too eager to move either. “Uh, how about some ice cream instead?” she blurted out, and then immediately blushed. But he gave her a half-smile in return. “Yeah, a cool-down sounds like a smart idea.” He reluctantly stepped back and dropped his hand from her hair. “How about you leave your car here and I'll drive us down to the grocery store for some Ben and Jerry's?” She took a somewhat unsteady breath as he stepped back. “That sounds lovely. But, um, do you mind if I change first?” Marc had almost forgotten what she was wearing. He stuffed the hat back on her head and said, “Sure. Where do you want to change?” “Well, I usually just switch clothes in the back seat of my car. I can change really fast, if you want to just wait here, and, um, turn 43
your back?” Her cheeks flushed again and he figured she probably remembered he’d already seen her almost completely naked a few hours earlier. “Sure, no problem.” He kissed the top of her head and went to stand near the trunk of her car, facing away. He tried to think of something else as he heard the car door shut behind her. He was already uncomfortably aroused, and the thought of her getting naked in the car behind him wasn't helping him take control of himself. He sucked in a deep breath and scanned the parking garage as he waited. With a frown, he noticed a dark blue truck with three antennas parked a few aisles over that hadn't been there when he was waiting for Lily to arrive. It must have driven up in the last few minutes, but he didn't remember hearing anyone get out of the vehicle. Then again, he and Lily had been a little preoccupied, and for all he knew a marching band could have trooped by without his noticing. He continued to frown at the vehicle, however. It seemed vaguely familiar, and he was still trying to place where he had seen it before when Lily emerged from the car, slightly out of breath. She had changed into a pair of blue jeans that hugged her curves nicely and widened a bit at the ankle. Some of her hair was frizzed up from the static of the snug, dark green turtleneck she had pulled over her head. She tried to smooth down the wild strands when she saw him staring. “You look great.” He took her hand in his and led her to his Jeep, parked a few spaces away. “Let's go grab some Cherry Garcia.” “Eww, Cherry Garcia? Are you crazy? It's all about Chubby Hubby, or maybe Peanut Butter Cup.” He opened the passenger side door for her. “Chubby Hubby? Do I dare ask what's in that one?” “It's fudge-covered peanut-butter-filled pretzels in vanilla malt ice cream. And that's practically word-for-word from the label. Believe me, I would know.” He closed her door, walked a bit more quickly than usual around to the driver's side, and hopped in. “Pretzels in your ice cream? I think I'll stick with Cherry Garcia.” 44
Dancing with Danger She laughed, and he couldn't help but join her. **** No! His hands painfully clutched the steering wheel of the dark blue truck as he glared into the rearview mirror, watching the Jeep disappear down the parking garage ramp. His vision blurred and he let out a long, harsh scream before punching the dashboard with enough force to knock his car stereo askew. The fucking whore! He had hurried from the club after being told she wasn't giving any more private dances. He knew something had happened with that tall bastard, something had gotten her fired up. He could tell by the way she danced for the rest of the night. It wasn't the teasing, playful Miss M he was used to. Instead, she was fierce, determined, and sizzling. It had aroused him painfully and he ended up having to go to the men's room to satisfy himself. He hated jerking off in public bathrooms. They were dirty and stank of piss and other men. But he had desperately wanted her to dance for him tonight. Instead, she had been too upset to accept any more private requests after that tall man. So he'd rushed to her parking garage, knowing his Lily would take pleasure in having him follow her home. She would be comforted by his presence, as she always was. But when he arrived, he had seen that fucker fondling her, his hand in her hair, his mouth on hers. He was so infuriated he'd almost stormed out of his truck right then and stabbed the bastard. But then he had seen Lily smile. It was the secret smile, the one she only gave him. And now she had given it to someone else. He screamed again and ripped the rearview mirror from the windshield.
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Chapter Six “Oh lordy, if I eat another bite I think I'll explode.” Lily groaned as she tilted her seat back a few inches and loosened the top button of her jeans. Marc scraped the last bit of Cherry Garcia from his own carton and licked the plastic spoon clean before setting them both down on his dashboard. He reclined his seat and turned his head to look at her. She seemed to sense him watching and turned her face toward him. “Thanks. That was exactly what I needed.” “Gourmet cuisine and a romantic, intimate setting?” he teased, gesturing out the window. After buying the ice cream they had decided to dig in right where they had parked the car, in the corner of the Ralph's parking lot. “Yes, and good company and good conversation too.” She smiled at him. She looked satisfied, but exhausted. He felt a small surge of disappointment when he realized he ought to let her go home and get some sleep, rather than take her back to his place and keep them both awake for a few more hours, as he had been secretly hoping. She'd worked at least two shifts today, one of which involved some serious physical activity, not to mention the emotional roller-coaster she'd been on, and it was showing in the shadows under her eyes. “I should take you back to your car.” “Yeah, you're probably right. It's been a long day.” He raised his seat and started the car. They drove back to the parking garage in comfortable silence, both of them still digesting the mounds of ice cream they had scarfed down. “So, are you still up for Monday?” he asked as they headed up the parking structure’s ramp. “Most definitely. But I need a day or two to burn off all these calories,” she said, patting her stomach. “Seriously though, I had a 46
Dancing with Danger really great time tonight, and—oh no.” She bolted upright. “Oh no! Marc, look at my car. Look at my car!” He yanked the Jeep into the closest stall and slammed on the brakes. “Stay here. Stay in the car, Lily!” he barked when he saw her reach for the door. He jumped out of the Jeep, scanning left and right as he cautiously approached her vehicle. The drivers' side window was shattered, and glass was spattered all over the interior. He circled quickly around the car, noting all four tires had been slashed and every light had been crushed. Looking into the interior he saw her gym bag and briefcase had been torn open, their contents strewn about the backseat, all of them slashed into pieces. Small bits of broken CDs and mirrors were scattered amongst shards of glass from the windows. Her mask lay atop the chaos, looking as though it had been sawed in half with a knife, which, Marc thought, was probably exactly what happened. Most notable, however, were the words scrawled on the back window in dark red. Examining them more closely, he saw they were written in lipstick. He looked around the parking lot again, taking note of the few vehicles parked in the area. There were no people, which wasn't unusual considering it was just after 4:00 am, and none of the other cars had been damaged. In fact, everything looked exactly the same as it had before they left for the grocery store, except for Lily's car, of course, and the one missing vehicle he knew would be gone. The dark blue truck. He had thought the truck looked familiar when he had spotted it before they left for ice cream, and glancing back at Lily's desecrated mask, he finally realized where he'd seen the truck before. Damn. It had been parked in the Vixens lot. He'd seen it when he was looking for Lily's car earlier in the evening. “Oh no,” Lily whispered. He spun around to see that she had left the Jeep and was approaching what was left her car. “Lily…” he began, walking to her and touching her arm. “What is that? What does it say?” She squinted at the back 47
window. “Is that—oh shit, is that blood?” Her hand flew to cover her mouth in horror. “No, no, it's lipstick. He wrote it in lipstick.” He failed to mention he was fairly certain it was her own lipstick. “He? Who did this? What does it say?” She stepped forward and read the message WHORE I KNOW WHO YOU ARE YOU DO NOT HIDE FROM ME YOU BELONG TO ME The last word had been written over and over again, making it bolder than the rest. “Oh, Jesus.” He took her hand and pulled her back to the Jeep. She went with him without comment, which only worried him more. He pulled out his cell phone and called the police station, requesting they dispatch a unit to their location immediately. As he spoke with the station, Lily started pacing. “My things, I should see if he stole my stuff. I have my wallet and keys with me, but all my clothes and make-up, my music, my dance shoes….” She started to walk toward the car again, but he held her back. “Lily, wait. Wait just a moment.” He finished the phone call and then turned her to face him. “I don't think this was a robbery.” He hesitated, not wanting to tell her that although her things weren't stolen, almost everything in the car was destroyed. She was pale and shaking, and he didn't want to overwhelm her with all the gory details right away. “There's glass everywhere. And we should leave the scene as clean as possible, in case the detectives want to search for fingerprints,” he finished lamely. It was a stretch. He knew car break-ins rarely garnered much attention in L.A., and even with the message on the window, the department didn’t have the resources to launch an investigation. But he was certain this wasn't a run-of-the-mill attempt to steal her car, nor was it a smash-and-grab. No other cars in the lot had been vandalized, and the destruction of her costumes and the lipstick 48
Dancing with Danger message were too personal. This was clearly targeted directly at Lily. The thought made him nauseated. Lily ran both hands through her hair in agitation. “What am I supposed to do, then?” “There's a unit en route now, and you'll file a report with them when they get here. You should also call your insurance company. Do you know their number?” “I've got it right here.” She fumbled with her keys and found the key-chain tag. “I need to find a pay phone.” She dazedly started to walk away, but he grabbed her hand. “Was your cell phone in the car?” “What? No, I don't have a cell phone anymore. I had to cancel it a few months back. It was either that or my car insurance….” Her voice drifted off as she looked back at what was left of her car. “Here, use mine.” He put his phone in her hand and guided her into the Jeep to sit while she made the call. Two cops he was vaguely familiar with arrived on the scene a few minutes later. They surveyed the scene as she finished up with the insurance company, and then they took her report. By the time they finished, the eastern sky was glowing pink with the promise of sunrise. Marc told both the officers and Lily about the suspicious truck he had seen, but neither had any useful input. Lily didn't know anyone who drove a dark blue truck, and when he asked her about possible enemies, she couldn't think of anyone with whom she was on such bad terms. After a little probing, she admitted to having an ex-boyfriend back east who had a temper, but she hadn't been in contact with him since she broke off their relationship more than two years ago. There were also some female co-workers who didn't like her, she explained, but no one who she thought hated her enough to do something like this. The cops were pulled away a short time later in response to a report of an armed robbery a few blocks east of their location. After they left, he asked Lily privately if the truck could possibly belong to someone associated with her father. “Do you think he’s having you followed? You know, to keep an 49
eye on you or something?” “No. My father has pretty much disowned me,” she said flatly. He dropped it, not only because the topic seemed to hurt her, but also because his gut was telling him whoever drove that truck was the bad guy. A tow truck finally arrived. As he was talking to the driver, requesting that her car be taken to a specific shop he knew was trustworthy, he heard Lily gasp. “Oh no!” She was peering into the back seat of her car, and looked even more devastated at the destruction of the items there than she had at the destruction of the car itself. “My costumes, my make-up, my dance shoes! I need those for work tomorrow night!” She looked up at him in distress. “Why would someone do that to me?” Rubbing her arms gently, Marc avoided the question and instead asked, “Do you have back-ups at home, or can you maybe borrow from a friend?” “No, those costumes were all hand-tailored for my needs. It took me weeks. Months. And my shoes, I had all my dance shoes in my gym bag, all of them. Hundreds of dollars worth.” He pulled her into a hug and she rested the side of her face against his chest. The driver finished loading her car onto the flatbed. With a sympathetic expression, he handed her a copy of the paperwork and his card before hopping back into the truck. Marc held her as they watched her broken and battered car disappear down the ramp and out of sight. She took a deep breath. “Yeah, all right, okay. I can do something. I'll just have to—well, I'll just have to make it work.” She let out a huff of breath. “Make it work!” she repeated, in a sing-song voice. He pulled back and stared down at her in concern, but she laughed softly in a tired sort of way. “Don't worry, I'm not losing my mind. At least, not yet. It's just a thing from Project Runway. Haven’t you ever seen it? It's a fashion design competition show on TV.” He raised his eyebrows mockingly. 50
Dancing with Danger “Yeah, okay, maybe not your thing. But it's a really good show. You should check it out. Anyway, 'make it work,' is a phrase they use when things aren't going quite right, but they have to make the best of it nonetheless.” She looked so small and beaten down, even as she smiled bravely at him. That strange surge of protectiveness flooded through him again, and this time he didn't fight it. He wrapped her in a fierce hug again and rested his chin on the top of her head. “Well, then, we'll just have to make it work, huh? Let's get you home.” **** The drive to her apartment was a quiet one. Lily spent most of it gazing out the window, but Marc could tell she was not really seeing anything. She gave him directions to her place, but they didn't speak of anything else. She leaned her head against the window and told him she wanted to rest her eyes for a moment. Several minutes later, he glanced at her as he slowed down at the address she had given him before she fell asleep. He found a parking space about a half a block past her apartment building. Her mouth had fallen open and she was breathing steadily, despite the awkward angle of her neck. He gently put the car in park and quietly pulled the key out of the ignition, but she awakened the moment the engine turned off. “I think I fell asleep,” she mumbled adorably. He reached over to brush a strand of hair behind her ear. “Good. You need the rest. Let's get you someplace comfortable, though. I'm sure your pillow is more ergonomic than my window.” As he walked her down the street to her apartment complex, he frowned. This part of the city was pretty rough, and he knew the armed robbery rate was particularly high in this neighborhood. He didn't like the idea of her living here, even without the additional threat from the lowlife who destroyed her car. He scanned the street, looking for the dark blue truck. “You don't think that guy knows where I live, do you?” “Probably not,” he lied. “But it's always better to be safe than sorry.” He looked down and saw she was now anxiously scanning the street as well. He took her hand. “I don't see anything to worry 51
about, do you?” The last thing he wanted was her living in fear. “No. No, I don't see anything either,” she said, appearing slightly more relaxed as they reached her building. She unlocked the outer door and led him into a dingy lobby. There was a long row of mailboxes along the wall, and the floor was littered with bits of discarded mail and trash. With a scowl, he noticed the inner door leading to the individual apartments had a broken lock. “How long has the door been like that?” he gestured toward the mangled lock. “Since forever. They replace it every three months or so, but someone always breaks it within a few days anyway. I'm surprised the outer door lock is still intact. That's usually the first to go.” He scowled again when they reached her apartment door, which was on the ground floor. “Allow me,” he said after she’d unlocked the door. He stepped into the apartment before her and turned on the light. It was a bachelor layout, one room with an attached bathroom. The “kitchen” was a small counter along the back wall with a sink, hotplate, microwave, and mini-fridge. There was a closet, but it had no doors and he could see it was jammed with so much stuff there wasn't enough room for anyone to be hiding inside of it. He strode briskly to the bathroom and then checked under her bed. Looking up, he saw that Lily was still standing in the doorway, clutching her keys. “It's fine, you can come in. There's nothing to worry about.” She looked at him skeptically. “Yeah, right. I'm sure you always behave like that whenever you walk into someone's house. I'm surprised you didn't draw your gun or call for back up,” she teased nervously as she stepped inside and shut the door behind her. He involuntarily touched the gun he had tucked under his jacket and heard her gasp. “You're wearing a gun?! I was joking! When did you put that on?” She stepped back against the door, looking at his holster in shock. “Lily, it's okay. I put it on at the garage when we were waiting for the squad car to arrive. It was only a precaution, and it's nothing to worry about.” “Yeah, okay. I know, I'm sorry.” She dropped her keys onto a 52
Dancing with Danger small table near the door and rubbed her face with her hands. “I'm fine. I just hadn't noticed you were wearing a gun, and those things make me nervous.” “That's understandable. You've had a rough night. But I promise, I know how to safely handle a firearm. I'm a cop, remember?” “Yeah, I remember.” She smiled slightly and stepped away from the door. He watched her lips quirk up and felt heat rushing through his body again. He took a deep breath. “Look, everything seems fine here, and you need to get some rest. I'm going to ask the patrol in the area to make a few extra passes by your place tonight, just in case, but I don't want you to worry about anything. Keep your doors and windows locked and call me if you need anything.” He wrote his cell phone number on the back of his business card and set it by the phone on her nightstand. “Thanks, Marc. I really appreciate it. And I appreciate everything else you've done for me tonight.” She looked into his eyes for a moment and then glanced around her apartment. “Um, I hate to ask you for more, but I really need to take a shower, and I know you've had a really long night too, but could you do me one last favor and stay until I get out of the shower? I'll be very quick.” Marc found himself stepping closer to her and brushing the back of his fingers down her cheek. “No problem.” “Thanks. I think I've seen Psycho one too many times, so it freaks me out to shower alone when I'm scared. I always think I hear someone in the house, or the phone ringing or something, but when I turn off the water, I don't hear anything. Anyway….” She trailed off and shook her head as if to refocus her thoughts. Grabbing a towel, tee-shirt, and shorts from the overstuffed closet, she headed to the bathroom. She waved the towel around vaguely, gesturing to the room in general. “I apologize for the mess. I'm not very tidy and this place is so small. But feel free to sit anywhere, and I'll be done in a jiff.” “I'll be here when you come out.” She pulled the bathroom door closed behind her and he heard the water turn on a few moments later. Glancing around her apartment, he had to agree with Lily's 53
earlier assessment. The tiny space was cluttered with clothes, shoes, and knickknacks, and there were books everywhere. It was messy, but surprisingly comfy at the same time. Aside from the dresser and a small side table, the only other pieces of furniture in the room were the bed and a black armchair. He purposefully avoided the bed and all its connotations and instead headed to the chair. He reached out to move aside a small black pillow from the seat when the pillow suddenly opened its bright golden eyes. “Jesus Christ!” Lily screamed from inside the bathroom and he heard her frantically struggling with the shower curtain. “It's OK! It's OK, Lily!” he called out, rushing to the bathroom door. “It was your cat, that's all. I didn't know you had a cat and she scared the bejeezus out of me when I almost sat on her.” There was a short silence from the other side of the door, followed by a nervous titter of relieved laughter. “Him. It's a boy. His name is Sneak, and you've just discovered one of the reasons why I call him that. He's a sneaky little bugger. He hardly makes a sound, ever, and I constantly have to check where I'm walking or sitting to make sure I don't accidentally squash him.” “I didn't mean to scare you,” he said, resting a hand against the door. “It's my fault. I should have warned you.” There was a short silence. “I'm, uh, I'm going to get back in the shower now. It's freezing out here.” He listened as she stepped back under the stream of water and pulled the curtain shut behind her. He closed his eyes and imagined what she must look like with her long, wet hair clinging to her back and the water pouring down her breasts. Her nipples would be erect little nubs from the cold air outside the shower, he reflected. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw Sneak staring at him. Glad the cat couldn't read his mind and discover what he'd just been thinking about its owner, he stepped away from the bathroom door and tentatively approached the animal. Sneak was now sitting majestically upright on his black throne, looking like one of those cats the ancient Egyptians had worshipped as gods. The deep black 54
Dancing with Danger of his fur blended seamlessly with the black velvet of the chair beneath him. Marc had never owned a cat, only dogs, and he wasn't sure how to behave around the animal. So he did what he would normally do when he approached a new dog. He squatted down and stuck out his hand, palm down, to be sniffed. Sneak jerked his head back slightly at his thrust hand, but then sniffed it cautiously when Marc held still. After a moment or two of the cat's continued stare, Marc figured the ball was back in his court. He turned his hand up to pet the cat under his chin. But the sudden movement was too much for Sneak. He streaked off the chair so fast Marc wasn't sure where he went. “Living up to your name, I see,” he murmured, scanning the room for any sign of movement. But he couldn't see the cat anywhere, even with hardly anyplace for him to hide in the tiny apartment. He sighed and took a seat on the chair, still warm from its previous occupant. He could hear the swish of water as she continued to bathe. Does she wash her hair first or sponge down her body first? Abruptly he stood back up, banishing that thought from his mind in a vain attempt to keep some semblance of control over his loins. He wasn't going to seduce her tonight, not after all she’d been through, so he’d better get hold of his willpower or it was going to be a very long night. Or a very long morning, he thought, seeing a small shaft of early-morning light streaming in from a crack in the curtains covering the only window in the room. He went over to the window and pulled back the curtain completely. Frowning, he saw her window faced the brick wall of a neighboring building, and a large bush concealed the small alley from anyone passing on the street. This was exactly the type of window loved by burglars. And stalkers, he thought grimly. Ground level, no bars, poorly lit, hidden from view. And leading into the apartment of a young, attractive woman who lived all alone. He jerked the curtains closed and turned to see Lily emerging from the bathroom. She was wearing a big T-shirt that hung down to mid-thigh. She was probably also wearing the shorts she had brought into the 55
bathroom with her, but the shirt was so long, she looked as though she was naked underneath it. She’d wrapped her head in the towel, one of those ridiculous turbans women always insisted tying around their hair when coming out of the shower. Nonetheless, she looked incredible, her skin flushed slightly from the warm water and looking softer than silk. She removed the towel from her around her head when she saw him staring at it, and now her wet hair was soaking the front of her shirt. Don’t do it. Don’t do it. But he couldn’t help it. His gaze dropped for a split second, just long enough to see the peaks of her nipples pressing against the thin, wet fabric. He ran a hand through his hair and eyed the front door desperately. **** Lily's breath caught in her throat as she looked up and saw Marc's tall, muscular body outlined by the faint glow of morning seeping through the curtains behind him. With his legs set apart in a stance of masculinity, he looked like some ancient warrior of the past, too large to fit in her tiny place. Always on the smaller side, she was used to being dwarfed by others. But there was something about Marc’s size that didn’t make her feel insignificant. More like… delicate. It was an odd feeling. She was usually comfortable in her own skin, confident in her ability to handle most situations and remain cool, calm, and collected, even if she did blush more than she liked to admit. But with Marc, she seemed to constantly find herself flushed and flustered and giddy and nervous and distractible and feminine and…. Marc’s gaze flicked toward the front door. Well, maybe not feminine. She knew she had no make-up on, and her hair was limp and damp. She probably looked like a wreck. “Thanks for staying. I know it was stupid, but I really appreciate it.” “No problem. I, uh, tried to make nice with your cat, but he wasn't having any of it.” “He's really sweet, but a bit skittish with strangers. Do you have any pets?” “No, not now. When I was a kid we had a couple of dogs, 56
Dancing with Danger though.” “I love dogs too, but no way would one survive in this tiny place.” She gestured vaguely around her apartment and draped the towel over the back of the chair. “But let me give you some advice about cats. It's all about the eyes and sloooow movements.” She drew out the word, and noticed his gaze lock onto her mouth as she made the “o” with her lips. She commanded herself not to blush. Cool, calm, collected. “Cats use staring to establish dominance or display aggression. So, if you want to make a cat feel more at ease, blink very slowly at him.” She demonstrated with a slow lowering and raising of her lashes. “Then he won't think you're a threat. And if you use soft, gentle movements,” she stepped toward him gracefully, “he won't get startled. And before you know it, you have a best friend for life.” She realized she’d moved very close to him. He smelled faintly of ice cream and some sort of woodsy scent that reminded her of the lumber department in Home Depot. He seemed even taller than he usually did, probably because she was barefoot and he still had his shoes on. As well as the rest of his clothes, she thought, suddenly aware of how very little she was wearing. Once again, she was sorely underdressed in his presence. Her face heated, and she knew she had lost the battle against her annoying tendency to blush at the slightest provocation. She was about to take a step back when he reached forward and grasped her hips. He tugged her body up against his and she sucked in a startled gasp. All thoughts of blushing fled her mind as he looked at her for a hot, extended moment. And then his mouth covered hers greedily, his tongue filling her mouth and taking her by surprise. She released a soft moan as their lips joined and he pulled her body more firmly against his in response. Abandoning rational thought, she flung her arms around him and slanted her mouth against his, meeting his tongue with hers. He pressed himself against her more fiercely and they stumbled back toward her bed. His hands skimmed down her back and brushed along the rise of her bottom as he slid a hand underneath her tee-shirt and up her back. Without thinking, she pulled up the front of his shirt in return. 57
She slid her palms along the taut muscles of his abdomen and chest. He groaned and kissed her more recklessly, bringing a hand to the front of her body to cup one of her breasts. He let the weight of it rest in his palm as he captured her nipple between two fingers and gently rubbed it. Her head fell back in pleasure, and then his lips were on her exposed neck, suckling on a sensitive spot near her collarbone. A shiver of pure ecstasy rolled through her, and her knees quite literally went weak. She heard a deep, throaty moan, and refused to blush when she recognized it as her own. He continued to push her backward until they finally reached the bed and fell onto the mattress together. Then there was a sudden streak of black as Sneak leapt out at them from behind a pillow, causing them to jerk away from each other. “What the—?” Marc sputtered. The cat quickly disappeared again, but the spell was broken. He laughed quietly and rested his forehead against hers, his strong arms propping up his body so she wasn't completely crushed beneath his weight. Lily tried to remember where she was, but her brain was too clouded with arousal. Never in her life had she been so enormously turned on. Not ever. She’d had a few boyfriends back in D.C. when she was in high school and during the few years after graduation, but none of them had made her feel this reckless, this out of control. And of the few men she’d dated after moving to L.A., only one had gotten to third base, and, boy, had that not been worth it. But Marc, on the other hand… well, he got her going just by looking at her. He tasted delicious, and his kisses were intoxicating. She was moist and throbbing desperately between her legs, her entire body tingling with excitement. My God, they’d only known each other for twenty-four hours, and here they were, practically having sex on her bed! She closed her eyes and tried to pull herself together, to regain control. Her heart was thumping erratically and her breath was coming in small gasps. Get it together. Calm, cool, collected. 58
Dancing with Danger When she opened her eyes again, she saw Marc was studying her carefully. There was a slight change in his expression, and he suddenly pushed himself away from her, pulling his hand out from under her shirt. He knelt back and watched her as she blushed slightly and straightened her shirt before lifting her body up on her elbows. “Lily, are you…?” He hesitated. “How old are you?” What the hell? “Twenty-two. Why? How old are you?” “Twenty-five.” “Well, that's good, then.” She wasn't sure what he was getting at, but the atmosphere had certainly changed all of a sudden. He was rubbing a hand along his jaw, the stubble on his face making a rasping sound as his fingers scraped across it. “Is everything OK?” she asked. “Yeah, everything's fine.” He coughed nervously. “I was just wondering about something.” “What?” She sat up a bit more and searched his face, her suspicions raised. “What were you wondering?” “Lily, are you… Have you ever, ah… have you ever been with a man before?” Her stomach dropped. Oh crap, is it that obvious? She thought back to how artlessly she must have just been kissing him, and how she must have fumbled like an idiot or something. That he could tell she was still technically a virgin just from kissing her was horrifying. Don’t blush, dammit. Calm, cool, collected. But she felt her cheeks blaze with heat, and he must have seen it because he suddenly stood up with a groan. “Wait, I've been with men before! I mean, yes, okay, I haven't gone 'all the way,' but I've dated several men, and I've, you know, done other things and fooled around.” Ignoring the growing heat in her face, she angrily scrambled to her feet. “Look, I'm not some naive little girl or anything. I just never dated a man I liked enough to give up my virginity for!” Marc rubbed his hand back and forth along the top of his head before stepping back from her and turning away. Her chest hurt. That he could tell she was a virgin because her 59
kisses were so amateur was terribly embarrassing, but his rejection was even worse. “I can kiss, damn it. I'm a good kisser!” She sounded like a twelve-year-old, and she was losing the battle against her tears. So she did what she always did when faced with something embarrassing. She got the hell out of there. Fleeing into the bathroom, she slammed the door behind her and leaned back against it, not bothering to turn on the lights. “What does kissing have to do with it?” she heard him ask through the closed door. There was a pause and then he was knocking, the vibrations pounding through the thin door and into her as she rested against it, trying to get herself together before having to face him again. “Lily. Lily, open up. I don't know what you're talking about with the kissing thing. I just didn't realize you were a, well, I just needed to take a breather, okay?” She remained silent, at a complete loss of what to say, worried her voice would tremble if she spoke. He knocked louder. “Open the door, Lily. Look, it had nothing to do with the way you kiss. You're a great kisser, all right?” Oh right, I’m sure you ask all the women you kiss if they’re virgins. “I mean it, your kisses make me want to, well, they get me… that's why I… damn it Lily, open this damned door!” He yanked on the door and it swung open unexpectedly, taking her with it. She tumbled out backward with an embarrassing squeal. She mentally cursed the landlord who was too cheap to provide locking mechanisms for the bathroom doors as Marc caught her awkwardly. There she was, tangled in his embrace once again. She struggled to stand upright, but he held her close and captured her wrists in his hands. He wrapped his arms over her belly, forcing her arms to cross in front of her. She stopped struggling, however, when she heard his rich voice in her ear and felt his warm breath on her neck. Just like that, she felt her bones turn to jelly and her body tingle in anticipation, begging for more. 60
Dancing with Danger Oh man, she had it bad. **** Marc held her gently, but firmly, worried she would struggle out of his embrace before he had a chance to explain. “Wait, please. I have no idea what you thought I was thinking, but I'm sorry if you thought I wasn't… if you thought I didn't think you were good in bed, or good at kissing, or whatever.” He huffed out a breath of frustration and felt her shiver slightly in his arms. “That wasn't it at all. Believe me, you're… you're a very responsive kisser, and very…” He was distracted by the feel of her behind pressed up against him, and the soft, heavy weight of her breasts on his arms. He closed his eyes and tried to get his thoughts back on track, but was interrupted when she spoke. “Then why did you turn away? Are you not interested anymore?” Her voice was very soft. He relaxed his grip on her wrists, pressed his cheek against her temple and whispered, “Ah, Lily.” She spun around in his arms and kissed him before he could say anything more. Her lips pressed against his mouth delicately but deliberately, and her tongue gently brushed across his lips before she withdrew and looked up at him. He reminded himself to breathe. “Lily, I am interested. Too interested. And that's the problem.” He started to push away from her, but she stopped him. “There is no problem. I'm not some fragile flower you have to worry about crushing, Marc. Just because I haven't slept with anyone before doesn't mean I can't sleep with you. It's my body and I can decide to give it to whoever I want, whenever I want.” He cupped her face in his hands and looked solemnly into her eyes. He saw a strong woman looking back at him. A mature, sensual, but vulnerable and—yes, innocent woman. He wanted her anyway. Jesus, what are you thinking? She was still looking up at him with those soulful hazel eyes. Her guard was completely down, she was as vulnerable as he’d ever seen her, and that made him want her all the more. But it also made him want to protect her. Damn, he was so screwed. 61
He kissed the tip of her nose. “We don't have to do this all in one night. Let's just take it slow.” Clasping her hand, he walked her over to the bed. He sat her down on the mattress and then pushed her onto her back. “What… what are you doing?” she stuttered as he lifted her legs and pushed them under the sheets. “You are going to bed, and I am tucking you in.” He grabbed the comforter from the foot of the bed and covered her with it. “Marc!” She sat up on her elbows in protest. “I’m not a baby!” “Believe me, I am well aware of that fact.” He leaned forward and showed her exactly how aware he was, his mouth dominating hers in a long, deeply seductive kiss as he steadily pushed her head back until it rested again on her pillow. He had intended to stop there, but he couldn't help lifting a hand to her breast once more, massaging it gently through the covers. He finally wrenched his mouth from hers, but left his hand on her breast for a moment longer before managing to pull it away. “You need to sleep. Trust me,” he whispered, slightly breathless. He brushed the back of his hand along her cheekbone and watched as her eyelids blinked heavily. She looked at him silently for several long moments before sighing and closing her eyes. “Sleep tight, Lily. And call me when you wake up.” She mumbled something, her traitorous body at last succumbing to the comfort of her bed. “Do you have a set of spare keys?” he asked her quietly, not wanting her to have to get up and lock the door behind him. “Mmhmm. On the table, with the pointe shoe key chain.” “Point shoe?” She smiled without opening her eyes. “It's a ballet shoe. You know, pink.” “Ah, I see it. Thanks. I’ll lock up behind myself and give them back to you tomorrow.” He waited for her response, but there wasn’t one. He went again to the bed and saw she’d already fallen asleep. Without thinking, he leaned over and kissed her on the forehead. He watched her sleep for a moment, strangely reluctant to leave. 62
Dancing with Danger Inhaling deeply, he took in her scent once more before returning to the front door. He turned off the light and stepped into the dim hallway. “Sweet dreams, Lily.” He saw a small black shape next to her tiny body and realized Sneak had managed to jump onto the bed while his back was turned. “Watch over her, buddy, and keep her warm for me.” The cat met his gaze and stared. Remembering Lily’s lesson, Marc blinked slowly at him. Sneak returned the slow blink and then snuggled up against Lily’s sleeping form. Good boy. He gently shut the door and locked it up securely. On the way back to his car he checked the alleyway beneath her window, and then called the station to request that patrol cars keep an eye on her apartment for the rest of the morning. He scanned the street one more time to make sure there were no dark blue trucks. Then he hopped into his Jeep and drove home, Lily's spare keys tucked safely in his pocket and the image of her hazel eyes burrowing their way into his heart.
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Chapter Seven Lily woke a few hours later, feeling almost as exhausted as she had before falling asleep. Sneak was practically sitting on her head, kneading his claws into her scalp. She shooed him off her pillow and was about to roll over and go back to sleep when she bolted upright with a gasp. The audition! She frantically reached for her alarm clock, knowing she’d forgotten to set the alarm the night before. Her breathing settled slightly when she realized she’d only slept in about 30 minutes. She could get on schedule if she hurried. She flung the sheets aside and leapt out of bed. Sneak bounded out with her, winding in and out of her legs as she rushed to the closet. Growling in frustration, she scanned her limited selection of clothing, cursing herself for not doing the laundry. The outfit she had planned for today's audition was still in her car and therefore probably ruined, and she was left with scant options. I don’t have time for this! At random, she grabbed a red scoop-necked top and a pair of three-quarter length pants and quickly dressed. She almost tripped on Sneak as she dashed toward the bathroom. “Sorry, baby! I totally forgot.” She detoured to the kitchen counter and ripped the pull-top off of a can of cat food. “You get a whole can this morning for getting me out of bed on time,” she told him as she hunted frantically for his cat dish. Sneak had probably managed once again to push it under a chair or something as he licked it dry. Giving up the search, she grabbed one of her own bowls and dumped the cat food into it. Sneak pounced on the bowl before it hit the floor. She dashed to the bathroom and washed up as quickly as she could. She was still patting her face dry as she started pulling out the cabinet drawers, scrounging desperately for a hair brush and make-up items to replace those she had lost. Her entire beauty 64
Dancing with Danger regimen had been in her car and the options left to her were severely limited. When she emptied the final drawer, she found nothing but miniature bottles of shampoo and conditioner and a small, travel-sized sewing kit. Looking at the pathetically small pile of beauty aids she had managed to scavenge, she took stock. One comb, an old bottle of mascara that had probably dried up, a bottle of concealer that had also most likely gone dry, a tiny stub of lip liner, a tube of Chapstick, and a set of black-and-green eye shadow she’d purchased for Halloween several years earlier. She took a deep breath and looked hard at herself in the mirror. “OK, girl. Let's make this work.” She poured a miniscule amount of water in both the tube of mascara and the bottle of concealer and shook them vigorously while thinking up a game plan. She had to be in the car in the next ten minutes to be sure she wasn't late for her audition, so she definitely didn't have time to buy new make-up, even if she had the money to do so in the first place. The dark circles under her eyes needed addressing, so she was relieved when a bit of concealer was salvageable from the small container. Then she took the eye shadow brush and, using extremely careful strokes, she outlined the tops and edges of her eyes, hoping the results left her eyes framed with a subtle smoky color instead of making her look like a raccoon. The mascara came next, and it went smoothly onto her right eyelashes but clumped the lashes of her left eye. She didn't have time to wash it off and start over, so she used the needle from the sewing kit to carefully separate the clumped lashes. She glanced at the clock by her bed and saw she only had three minutes left before she had to be on her way. She quickly outlined her lips with lip liner and added a layer of Chapstick, which helped soften the edges and spread the color to the rest of her lips. Finally, she squeezed her cheeks a few times to add some color and with one last, half-satisfied glance in the mirror, grabbed the comb and ran back into the main room. Since she wouldn't have time to come back before her shift at the coffee shop, she shooed Sneak off her backpack and stuffed a pair of jeans, a shirt, and an extra bra into it. She didn't have any of her dance shoes—they were all in her car— 65
but she put on a pair of tennis shoes that would make do, knowing she might have to go barefoot for the audition. She was already out the door and reaching for her keys when she remembered to go back and get a copy of her headshot and resume. Rifling through the pile of papers by the closet, she noticed she only had two copies of her headshot left. Oh well, she thought. If she made this audition, they'd pay for a whole new photo session with a Five Star photographer. She was so used to doing multiple things at the same time that combing her long hair while juggling her bag, headshot, resume, and keys as she locked her door and ran outside didn't even slow her down. She was still combing out the tangles in her hair while she scanned the street, trying to remember where she had parked her car, when it finally occurred to her. “Oh no, my car!” She’d been so preoccupied with the loss of her clothes and makeup that she’d completely forgotten about the loss of her only means of transportation. **** “So I heard from some of the guys at the station that your coffeeshop girl got her car broken into last night. Her name's Lily, right? But how the hell did you get there? We all assumed you were headed home after your private rendezvous with Miss M, not on some late-night tryst with coffee-shop girl.” Pete was writing on a clipboard he’d balanced on one knee as he sat in the passenger's seat of the squad car, finishing up some paperwork from the domestic disturbance call they had just responded to. Marc glanced over at him briefly before shifting his gaze back to the road. He didn't want to lie to his partner and best friend, but neither did he want to breach Lily's confidence. He trusted Pete with his life and knew he would keep anything he said confidential, but it wasn't his secret to tell. “It's sort of a long story, but her car wasn't just broken into, Pete. It, and everything in it, was systematically decimated. I think she's being stalked.” Pete looked up from his paperwork and frowned at him. 66
Dancing with Danger “Seriously?” “Yeah. I saw a suspicious vehicle, a dark blue pick-up truck, parked nearby before the incident, and it was gone when we returned from our… date. The car was a mess. It didn't look like anything was stolen, but all her belongings had been rifled through and meticulously ripped to shreds, the clothing, even her shoes. Each one of her tires had been slashed, each bulb was crushed. I mean the guy was real thorough. He even took the time to break each of her eyeliner and lipliner pencils, one by one. It definitely wasn't a smash-and-grab. It was way too deliberate and way too personal to be random vandalism.” Marc took a deep breath, realizing he was angrily gripping the steering wheel. “And then there was the note.” “A note?” “Yeah. Written in her own lipstick.” He told him word for word what the message said. “Jesus. That's some creepy shit. Is she okay?” “She was pretty shaken up at first, but she pulled it together. Honestly, she was so exhausted I don't think it's all sunk in yet. I'm curious to see how she feels when she gets up.” He glanced at his watch and frowned. “I've been dying to call her, but she really needs to sleep. She's been working herself pretty hard.” Marc looked over at him and saw his raised eyebrows. Pete was his best friend and he knew his usual M.O. Yeah, he dated fairly frequently, but never seriously. And he wasn’t the type to talk about the women he dated either, especially ones he had just met. He didn’t want Pete to think things were more serious than they were, but he couldn’t help venting some of the anger he felt. He’d thought of almost nothing other than Lily all morning, and now that the subject had been broached, he wasn’t ready to let it drop. “The thing that gets me, though, is the way he phrased the third line. ’You do not hide from me.' Something about it doesn't seem right. It reads like he's been watching her for a while.” “I think the second line is weirder. ‘I know who you are.' What the hell does that mean? And why would she be ‘hiding’ from anyone in the first place?” Marc shifted in his seat a bit and looked at him. “That makes 67
more sense once you get to know Lily better.” “You hardly know her yourself, man. Unless I'm missing something, you've only seen her twice, well, three times if you count the time we pulled her over. How well do you think you know her?” “Well enough to know that if I find the fucker who's stalking her, you better hope I don't have my gun on me.” Pete set down his pen and stared at him until Marc made eye contact again. “Don't worry. I'm mostly exaggerating. I won't do anything stupid.” “Well, that's good to know,” Pete drawled. “It's just that, I mean, she's so small. She's living all alone and she's so young and she doesn't have much experience— Pete cleared his throat. “Ah, experience with what now?” “What?” He chuckled. “Yup. That's what I thought.” “What? What?” Pete roared with laughter at his scowl. “Oh man, you've got it bad! First Miss M, and now coffee-shop-girl. What are you, twitterpated or something?” “Shut the fuck up,” he grumbled. “Twitterpated? Jesus, Pete.” Pete just laughed again. “Look, you're the one quoting Bambi at me.” “Love is in the air…” Pete crooned. Marc grunted and rolled his eyes, but the corner of his mouth twitched. “So, how old is she?” “What? Oh, twenty-two.” “So what's the big deal, then? That's only three years younger than you. Is it a maturity thing?” “No, no, it's not that. Lily's really amazing. She's been living on her own for a while now and she knows what she wants and works hard to get it. We had a great conversation before the car incident, and she's funny and smart and capable. It's just she's not very experienced, that's all. You know. With men.” Marc kept his eyes firmly on the road as he guided the squad car into a turn lane. “Ahh. So again I ask, what's the big deal? That can be kind of 68
Dancing with Danger hot.” “Look, I don't even know how we got onto this topic. It's really none of your damned business.” “Hey, don't get pissed at me, Bambi, you're the one who brought it up.” Pete shrugged and went back to working on his report. Marc was silent for a moment before murmuring, “I know.” “This really bothers you, doesn't it?” “It's not that. I just don't want to fuck it up, okay? I can't just sleep with her. It's more than that. I mean, her first time should be more than that.” “All right, man, okay. You're a good guy, and she seems like a great girl.” “Yeah, she is,” Marc murmured to himself. “Well then, take it slow and see how things go.” “That's just it. I'm not sure they should 'go' anywhere, at any speed.” “Now hold on a second. Don't go holding her virginity against her.” Marc shook his head, but Pete didn’t let him talk. “And don't put her on a fucking pedestal either. It's not like she'll be 'damaged goods' or something if she sleeps with you. Or with anyone else, for that matter.” Marc gripped the steering wheel again at the thought. “Seriously, Marc. Would you like her more if she wasn't a virgin?” “I'd like her just the same.” “Then stop over-thinking it, man. Whatever happens, will happen.” **** “What the hell happened?!” cried Judy when she saw Lily hobble into the coffee shop for her afternoon shift later that day. Lily was still wearing her audition outfit, but the front of her shirt was splattered with what looked like rice pudding and her entire right side, from head to toe, was soaking wet with purple liquid. Her hair was tangled and she was carrying her backpack on one shoulder, because the other strap had broken. Her hair was a mess, and she was sweaty, exhausted, and pale. 69
“It's a really long story.” “Well, good thing we've got a long shift together chica, because you're going to tell me all about it.” Judy crossed her arms and then frowned as Lily closed her eyes in exhaustion. “But go get cleaned up first, and take your time. You look like you need a break. I'll cover out here till you get back.” “Thanks, Judes.” Lily trudged to the back room, limping slightly. “Por Dios! Is your knee OK?” Judy asked frantically as she saw the limp. “No, no, it's fine, don't worry,” she reassured her quickly. “It's not my knee, it's my feet. I've got some serious blisters.” “From what?” “Judy, it's a really–” “Long story, right?” Lily smiled wearily. “Yeah. I'll be back in a few.” When she re-emerged about twenty minutes later, Judy was juggling several customers and a line had formed at the cash register. Feeling slightly guilty for taking so long in the break room, she jumped in and went to work. It was almost an hour before things calmed down enough for her to tell Judy about Marc visiting the strip club and recognizing her. Since Judy was the only person besides the club owner, and now Marc, who knew she worked there, she was the only person Lily could confide in. She filled her in on the events at the parking garage later that night, and what had happened to her car. “Thank goodness Marc was there. Imagine what might have happened if you'd been alone!” Judy had poured herself a cup of coffee, but it had remained untouched as she listened to her tale. Realizing it was getting cold, she took a quick sip. Lily was eating a banana muffin, the first thing she had eaten all day, but at this thought she slowly lowered the muffin and swallowed disconcertedly. “I hadn't even thought about that.” “Well, don't. I'm sorry I mentioned it, you have enough to worry about.” She put down her coffee and patted Lily on the arm sympathetically. “And you're coming over to my place after today's shift to get stocked up on make-up and clothing. I still have tons of stuff from before Maribel was born that I'll never fit into again, so 70
Dancing with Danger it's all yours. And we can probably borrow some make-up from my sister if you need anything I don't have, God knows that woman has enough to go around.” “Thanks, Judes, you're a life-saver. I don't know what I'd do without you.” Hating how her voice cracked at the end of that admission, she quickly opened her reusable water bottle and took a gulp. Judy looked up from her coffee. “What's wrong, sweetheart?” “I'm just so tired, that's all.” Lily rubbed her eyes vigorously and gave her friend a small smile. “I'm OK, really I am. It's just today was absolutely insane too.” “Oh man, you had your Five Star audition today, didn't you? And no make-up or clothes or car! Why didn't you call me?!” “Wow, you put that together so much faster than I did,” Lily admitted. “Honestly, I had forgotten about the audition until this morning, and had forgotten about my car until I was trying to remember where it was parked.” “Lily. You are working yourself too hard. Your brain's not working properly because you're exhausted. You need to take a break. Maybe I should cut back your shifts here—” “No! Judy, please, I need the money. I have to get out of debt, and I really need all the hours I can get right now.” “I know, chica, but you can't keep going like this.” “If I get signed with Five Star, I can cut back my hours here and stop working at Vixens altogether. Just one or two professional gigs and I'm back on track. I can hold it together until then. I promise.” Judy sighed, but nodded agreement. “All right, okay, so, tell me how the audition went. Do you think you got it?” “Truthfully? I have no clue,” Lily confessed frankly. “Normally at the end of an audition you kind of have a feeling, you know? Like if you did really well, there's a sort of energy, you can feel it in your gut. And when things don't go well, you can feel that, too. There's a lack of interest from the other side of the table, and you can tell it simply isn't going to happen. But today? I really don't know. Everything went wrong this morning. I mean, everything.” She leaned back against the counter and took another swig from her water bottle. 71
“I didn't have the right clothes or make-up, I didn't even have a hair brush! And then when I finally remembered about the car, I had to run to the nearest bus stop, which was about half a mile away, where I had to beg some poor woman for change because I only had half the fare. The bus ride took forever and I was stuck standing the whole time, squeezed between two creepy guys, one who wanted to engage me in an argument about why English should be declared the national language and the other who kept trying to peek down my shirt. When I finally got off the bus I missed my transfer by about fifteen seconds, so I had to run the last eighteen blocks on foot, hence the broken backpack and all the blisters.” She gestured to her tortured feet and then took a bite of her muffin before continuing. “I got to the audition with only two minutes to spare, which is horrible because you have to fill out about fifteen minutes of paperwork before you can dance. At least I didn't have to worry about warming up because of all that running.” She shook her head. “But my hair was a mess, my make-up practically non-existent, and I didn't even have real dance shoes. At least I wasn't dressed in allblack like half the other dancers, though. I think the red really helped me stand out.” “Besides,” interjected Judy, “I always said red brings out the natural blush of your lips and cheeks.” “True, but after all that running I didn't really need any help to make me look flushed.” Lily laughed half-heartedly. Then, leaning forward eagerly, she confessed, “But the dancing, oh Judy, it was amazing. The choreography was unbelievable, and it felt so good! I was on. It all clicked, you know? The music, my dancing, everything worked when I performed. It was like that piece was choreographed just for me.” She closed her eyes, hearing the beautiful music in her mind and remembering the glorious feeling of the movement. “Well, that's great, then! If you did so well, they'd be loco not to take you.” She opened her eyes and looked at Judy seriously. “Unfortunately, it doesn't always work that way. And even though my dancing felt great, I have no idea how it looked. Or how I 72
Dancing with Danger looked, for that matter.” Lily frowned slightly. “One of the auditors had his nose wrinkled in disdain from the second he laid eyes on me, as if I had tracked mud all over his white carpet or something. I can't really blame him, I'm sure I looked a mess, but I just hope he didn't judge me on that rather than my dancing. But he seemed really anal, you know? Like the type who irons his pillow cases?” “Ugh. I know exactly the type. My ex-mother-in-law.” “Exactly, except this guy was one of the four people deciding my future career.” “Nightmare. What about the other judges? What do you think they thought?” “One of them I really connected to. I could feel her getting swept up in the moment with me. But I don't know about the other two. I think one of them might have liked me, but the other guy was taking notes the whole time, so I have no idea if he even saw me perform.” “Well, there's no use worrying about it now. When do you find out?” “They said we should all find out by the end of the week. And some of the other girls were saying that people who don't get picked up by the agency usually find out within the first day or two. So, here's hoping I don't hear anything soon!” She raised her water bottle and tapped it against Judy's coffee. “Amen to that! So now tell me about the, ah, additions to your wardrobe.” She gestured vaguely to the back office, where Lily's soiled clothing was. “I assume the purple stuff was Kool-Aid, no? But was that stuff on your shirt rice pudding or baby barf?” “Ugh! Unfortunately it was the latter. So yeah, after the audition I asked one of the dancers I had worked with on the New Year's Eve show last year if she could give me a ride here. Little did I know that meant I'd be squeezed into a tiny car with her sister, brother-in-law, two nieces and a nephew. The baby barf came from niece number 2, who either got car sick or thought my outfit needed a little extra something, and the Kool-Aid came from the nephew, who was helpfully trying to wash off the baby barf by 'giving me a bath.'” “Ha! Welcome to my world. Jess somehow got into the spice cabinet this morning and sprinkled the contents of at least a dozen 73
bottles onto the carpet before I caught her. She said it was 'fairy dust.' And let me tell you, vacuuming cinnamon does not work. All it does is aerosolize it. My whole place smells like a cinnamon roll.” Lily giggled as Judy went to take a customer's order. As Lily prepared the woman's Earl Grey tea, she thought about how much she still had to do that night. She would ask Judy to give her a ride home, where she could get her stuff for her shift at Vixens. Luckily, a few of her costumes weren't in her car last night, so she could perform her Mardi Gras and Cat Woman numbers tonight. Judy would let her borrow enough make-up if she needed it, but she was hoping there would be a voice mail on her home answering machine from the L.A.P.D. telling her that her own stuff was salvageable. She also hoped her insurance company had called back, so she could get started on fixing her car. And, of course, she hoped there was a message from Marc, although it was ridiculous to think he'd called her already, considering it had only been about twelve hours since she last saw him. “Oh! I just remembered.” Lily gave the woman her tea and turned to Judy. “Marc wanted me to call him when I woke up.” “Go ahead and call him now. My cell's in my purse in the back room.” “I don't have his number. I left it by my phone at home.” She frowned in annoyance. “I hope he's not worried.” There was a gust of wind from the entranceway as the front door was flung open. Marc strode in and walked directly to the counter, scowling fiercely. “Speak of the devil,” murmured Judy. “Where the hell have you been? Why didn't you call me? I've been trying to reach you for the past three hours!” Marc threw up his arms in exasperation as he approached Lily's end of the counter. The woman with the tea slowly backed away, her wide eyes darting from the police officer to Lily and back again. Pete caught the front door as it swung back toward him and then stepped calmly into the coffee shop. “Take a breath, Officer Sloan. It's not like she violated her parole or anything.” He strolled over to the counter with a smile and nodded to Judy and then Lily. “Good evening, Ma'am. Nice to see you again, Ms. Brookstone.” 74
Dancing with Danger Marc lowered his gaze and took a deep breath before looking up and addressing Lily again. “Sorry. I was worried about you. You were supposed to call me when you woke up. I was worried that… that something had happened to you.” “I'm so sorry. I completely forgot until just a few moments ago. My morning was absolutely insane, and my mind wasn't really in working order for the first few hours. I had an audition this morning, and then my shift here, and—” “Audition? Today? How much sleep did you get?” Lily frowned and glanced warily at Judy, knowing that if her friend overheard she would probably jump on board with him and start arguing with her about how she needed to work less. But Judy was busy giving Pete change for the coffee he had ordered and didn't seem to be listening to their conversation. “I think I got about four hours. But I'll be okay. Tomorrow I only have a short afternoon shift here, and then an early evening shift at….” She trailed off and glanced at Pete. “Um, I get off my other job early, around 11 p.m. So, I'll be able to catch up on sleep tomorrow night.” Marc shook his head, his eyes concerned. “I think you work too much.” She rolled her eyes. “Where have I heard that before?” “From me!” Judy interjected. “Ugh, stop it you two, I'm doing fine. Did you want a coffee, Marc?” She stepped back and took a large cup from the shelf. She didn’t think he would fall for her pathetic attempt to change the subject, but after a moment he gave in. “Yeah. That would be great.” She and Judy prepared the officers' drinks and handed them over. “Thanks, ma'am.” Pete nodded politely to Judy. “We should be going soon, Marc.” He headed to the door, sipping his coffee as he went. “I'll meet you back at the car in a few minutes. Judy, can I steal Lily for a moment?” “Sure, no problem.” She stepped from behind the counter and he walked her over to 75
the condiment table, where he quickly put two sugars into his cup and then looked up at her seriously. “I think you should take a leave of absence from Vixens for a while.” She let out an exasperated breath. “Marc, I'm fine. I've gone with less sleep than this before.” “It's not that.” “Then what's the problem?” He seemed about to say something, but then closed his mouth and reconsidered. Shaking his head, he finally said, “I’m almost positive you have a stalker, Lily, and I am fairly certain he knows where you perform.” He put a hand on her arm and stepped closer to her. “And until we figure out who this guy is, I think it would be safer for you not to work there.” “But I don't understand how he could know who I am. I've been incredibly careful. I’ve done everything right.” “I don’t doubt it, but we have to assume the worst. The note on your car made it pretty clear that he knows you're trying to hide your identity. It would be hard, but not impossible, for him to have figured out who you are. We already know he was familiar with your car, so it's likely he has followed you while you're driving it. He probably knows where you live, too.” He started to lead her to a chair, as if he thought she would be too weak to stand as they discussed this. Instead, she broke away from him and stalked angrily to the corner of the table, gripping the edge in frustration. “This isn't fair. Some nut job can't do this to me. I can't just take a leave of absence, Marc. The owner would fire me and hire some other girl in my place. I can't afford to quit.” She grunted in aggravation and slammed both hands on the countertop. “This asshole has already destroyed my car and my clothes, and might have made me miss the biggest break of my career because I was so damned unprepared for my audition this morning. I'm not going to let him make me lose my job too!” She realized she was practically shouting and glanced around the coffee shop, noting that the woman with the Earl Grey was staring at her again. She turned her back on the woman and took a deep breath before meeting his gaze, speaking softly but firmly. “I'm not 76
Dancing with Danger quitting my job, Marc. I can't. I won't.” He clenched his jaw, but nodded slightly. “All right. I can respect that. But how about this. No private showings unless the bouncer is in the room with you.” “The owner's not going to go for that.” “Then can you skip the private showings altogether?” She frowned, considering. “Just for a few days, to give us a chance to find out who this guy is,” he added hastily. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes before nodding in acquiescence. It was going to be a huge blow to her budget, especially considering how much it would cost to repair her car. She’d probably be set back at least a month, but she didn’t want him to know how much this would affect her. “Yeah, okay, I can do that. I don't think I'd be comfortable enough to do private showings anyway, not right now. Not until this guy is caught.” His face broke into a grin and she felt the edge of her mouth quirk up in return. She leaned back against the table and crossed her arms, eying him speculatively. “You wouldn't happen to have an ulterior motive on this particular issue, would you?” He laughed and brought his body directly in front of hers, leaning forward to place his hands against the counter on either side of her. His face was even with hers as he growled softly, “You bet your ass I do.” Her heart started beating erratically as his lips came within inches from hers. She could feel his breath on her face as he whispered, “And keeping you from giving private dances is the least I'll do to keep you safe.” He froze, holding her gaze, standing over her, completely still. She held her breath, her pulse going wild and her mind going even wilder. Oh, God. She hoped her breath didn’t stink. He was so close he could probably smell what she had for dinner last week. Did he just admit to being jealous? Why did that turn her on? Why was he just staring at her? Lordy, those eyes, and that heat, and those beautiful lips. What is he thinking right now? Should she— Then his mouth was on hers. 77
Mamma Mia. It was over too soon. He stepped back with a cocky half-smile on his entirely too-gorgeous face. “I gotta go. Do you have a way to get to the club tonight?” She fought to appear equally as calm. “Judy is going to give me a ride.” “Good. When is your shift over? I'll come pick you up.” “Don't sweat it. I don't get off until 2:30 a.m. again. I'm just going to take the bus.” “The bus? Not gonna happen.” He grabbed his coffee and headed to the door. “No, really, it's fine. I’ve done it before.” But he just shook his head as he opened the front door and stepped out. “See you at 2:30,” he called over his shoulder as the door swung shut behind him. Normally that kind of controlling behavior would irk the hell out of her, but for some reason it didn’t bother her so much at the moment. Hmm, I wonder why? “Mmm, me gusta,” Judy purred from behind the counter, breaking into her thoughts. Lily laughed. “Yeah, me too.” She walked back to her station, her lips still tingling with pleasure. “And I think it’s about time for me to do something about it.”
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Chapter Eight It was after midnight when Marc finally pulled into a parking lot across from Vixens and walked over to the club. He had been watching the area for the past hour, but hadn't seen the blue truck anywhere. If Lily's stalker was smart, he wouldn't come to the club tonight, but he had a feeling the man wouldn't be able to resist. It was also possible the man was smart enough to change his mode of transportation, although it was unlikely he suspected that Marc had recognized his vehicle. While watching the parking lot Marc had seen three taxis pull up to the club, and any one of the men who had arrived that way could have been her stalker. But he had decided to abandon the stake-out for the night in order to check out the club itself and talk to some of the staff. After paying the cover charge, he approached the front door bouncer, a huge man whose chest and shoulders were so muscular he probably couldn't lift his arms over his head. Marc had seen him arrive about an hour ago, driving a red Isuzu Rodeo. The bouncer told him his name was Jay after Marc flashed his badge at him. He was a street cop, not a detective, and therefore didn't have any place conducting an investigation. But most civilians didn't know the difference, and Jay was no exception. Marc gave him a description of the truck, but it didn't ring any bells for Jay. “I haven't been lookin' at the cars, just the people. I gotta remember which guys are trouble, you know? Some of 'em are fine till they get drunk, but others are always causing trouble for the girls, so we gotta know who to keep an eye on and who we don't even let in the door.” “Has Li-, ah, has little Miss M ever had trouble with any of the clients?” “Miss M? Nah, I don't think so. Most of the trouble happens with the lap dances, and she's the one who doesn't do that, right? But she's real popular anyway. Everybody likes her.” 79
Marc grunted noncommittally. “What about the staff? The other bouncers, the bartenders, the DJs? She have any problems with them?” “They all like her, too. She's a sweet little thing.” Marc's teeth snapped shut. “Always shares her tips with the crew, you know? One of the busboys, Henry I think, was braggin' about how she gave him an extra fiver last week when she found out his car had popped a tire. The kid was so excited, he was waving it around to all the other guys until Jose stole the fiver right outta his hand.” The bouncer gave a harsh snort. “Stupid fucker. He prolly wouldna spent it anyway, though. Prolly woulda got it framed!” Jay roared with laughter at his own joke. “Huh. So does Henry have a thing for Miss M?” “Sure, and half the other girls too. Fool goes for anything with a tight ass and a nice pair of tits.” Marc concentrated on unclenching his jaw and forced himself to smile. “Yeah. Thanks for your time.” He almost walked away at that but thought better of it. He handed over his card, with his cell phone written on it, along with a twenty dollar bill. “Here's my card. Give me a call if you see a dark blue truck pull in here anytime this week, would you?” The bouncer eyed the card suspiciously. “Why should I?” Marc considered a moment before answering. He didn't want to give too many details, but he also needed the security at the club to take him seriously. Having an extra pair of eyes at the club would be invaluable. “I think the driver of this truck is a nutcase who's stalking some of your girls.” “No shit?” Marc nodded. “You'd be doing the right thing by helping me keep an eye open for this fucker. It'll protect the dancers, and you'll be doing your job. “All right, man. No promises, but I'll let you know if I see anythin'.” “That's all I need.” He thanked Jay with another nod and went into the club. It took his eyes a moment to adjust to the dim lighting. A quick glance at the stage confirmed that Lily was not 80
Dancing with Danger currently performing. He got a beer from the bar and tried to blend in. He headed to an especially dark corner of the club where he could watch both the front door and the faces of most of the men near the stage. He scanned the crowd surreptitiously, looking for anyone who stuck out or seemed familiar. It was a busy Saturday night. There were about 35 men and a handful of women in the club, plus two bartenders, a busboy, a DJ in the booth, and three bouncers, not counting Jay outside. Marc spotted five dancers, one on stage and four on the floor offering lap dances and private showings in the curtained areas at the edges of the club floor. The club was packed with groups of men, some celebrating birthdays or commemorating the end of school exams, others partying on their last nights as bachelors. There were also dozens of solitary men, most of whom appeared to be more reserved. These men seemed more likely to purchase a lap dance than to crowd the stage. Two of the dancers and a few staff members, including the bus boy, were familiar from last night, but Marc didn't recognize any of the patrons. Hip-hop music was throbbing loudly from a nearby speaker. The dancer on stage was the same blonde from the night before, but Marc's attention was pulled to the bar when he heard the bartender holler, “Henry! Table eight, man, get on it!” His eyes focused on the bus boy again. Henry was skinny but tall, with greasy dark blond hair that he kept brushing out of his eyes. He tried to picture him driving that blue truck, stalking Lily. It was possible, but his gut told him it was unlikely, and he always listened to his gut. During his short time on the force, he’d already gained a reputation for his uncanny ability to read people, and to pick up on the fact when someone was hiding something. One of the drill instructors at the Academy called his talent psychic. His mother called it a special gift. Pete called it freaky. But Marc was convinced it was simply a matter of paying attention to body language and nonverbal cues, and not denying your gut instincts. Whatever it was, this Henry fellow didn't ring any alarm bells. The way he kept sneaking peeks at the women gave Marc a good 81
idea why he worked at the club, but the boy didn't seem obsessed with any particular dancer. Still, he kept him on his list of potential suspects. One of the dancers, who had unnaturally red hair, approached Marc's table and asked loudly over the music if he wanted a lap dance. He politely refused and returned his gaze to the front door as she moved on to the next table. A group of about six or seven young men was pouring in the entrance. Several of them looked as though they'd already had a drink or two too many. They ordered a round of shots at the bar and then stumbled to an empty table on the far side of the room. He knew his vigilance was probably a waste of time. What was he looking for anyway? But he needed to do something. He didn’t want to be taken off-guard like they had been last night. He continued to scan the room as the dancer on stage finished her routine and the music faded away. The red-headed woman who had approached him was now teasing a birthday boy at a nearby table, and the cheers and drunken shouts from the rest of the birthday party almost drowned out the DJ as he introduced the next dancer. But his attention snapped to the stage as he heard the DJ purr the words “Miss M.” Moments later, Lily appeared on stage dressed in a white button-up shirt, tied in a knot above her belly button, and a very, very tiny pair of cut-off jean shorts. The only vibrant color in her costume came from the three dozen multi-colored beaded necklaces and elaborate green-and pink-feathered Mardi Gras mask she was wearing. The music kicked in as she bounded forward playfully, twirling one of the necklaces casually in her long-fingered hand and making it spin in a wide-arced circle. The music was an upbeat jazzy number, evoking images of New Orleans and Louie Armstrong, and the contrast to the throbbing rhythm of the previous hip-hop song was jolting. As she skipped across the stage, he noticed she was barefoot. He wondered briefly if this was because her shoes had been in her car during in last night's attack, and felt a stab of guilt. He had picked up what was left of her stuff before coming to the club, and it was all currently in the back of his car. Most of it wasn't 82
Dancing with Danger salvageable, but it hadn’t occurred to him to get it to her sooner, in case she needed it tonight. But whether intentional or not, the site of her delicate bare feet was unexpectedly mouthwatering. She radiated sensuality, but tempered it with a sort of playful innocence as she teasingly bent over and dangled the Mardi Gras beads in front of one of the groups of men crowding the stage. They shouted at her to take off her shirt and she pretended to mistake their meaning by taking off another necklace. She danced back toward the center of the stage and twirled around one of the poles, putting the two removed necklaces in her mouth for safekeeping as she casually wrapped a leg around the pole and spiraled seductively. He managed to wrest his gaze from the stage and forced himself to take a deep breath and get back to his job, which was scanning the crowd for anyone who looked suspicious. The problem, he grunted in frustration, was that he had no idea what he was looking for. He figured her stalker was most likely a staff member or a regular who came to the club alone. He knew that his suspect was obsessed with Lily in particular, so he paid particular attention to the single men in the club to see if any of them seemed to be especially focused on Miss M. Unfortunately, almost every gaze in the club was glued to the stage at the moment, and each of them seemed equally enchanted by the naughty little dancer who was now throwing Mardi Gras beads into the audience. Glancing briefly back to the stage, he noticed that most of the buttons on her shirt were now undone, allowing the edges of a purple satin bra to peek out. The top button of her jean shorts was also open, and he thought he saw a gleam of hot pink from her panties underneath. The crowd was getting rowdier now, and as he watched, Lily lifted the multitude of necklaces that still hung around her neck up to her mouth and bit down on them, leaving her chest, and what was left of the shirt, exposed. She trailed her fingers down her neck and breasts and finally released the last button on her shirt. With a quick flip of her wrists she untied the knot, revealing the rest of her bra and allowing her round, perky breasts to bounce free from the constraints of the shirt. The crowd roared. She fanned one of her shapely legs in a high arc over her head as 83
she slid the shirt down her shoulders and let it dangle from the edge of her fingers. She gripped the white fabric in both hands as she bent forward with an arched back, lifting her arms up behind her as her face almost touched the ground. Letting go of one end of the shirt, she placed a hand on the floor and kicked one leg, and then the other, over her head in sultry gymnastic maneuver that left her somehow standing on both feet again. One by one, she let the necklaces fall out from between her lips as her hips swayed seductively and her hands caressed her body. She kept the last necklace in her mouth, naughtily twirling it around with her tongue as she continued to dance. Damn. He was now painfully hard, despite his promise to himself that he would watch the audience and not her. He once again yanked his gaze away from the stage, forcing the sight of her sensual dancing, teasing mouth, and delicious body out of his mind. He took a deep breath while he scanned the crowd once more and noticed a few men who must have entered the club while he’d been distracted. There was a Hispanic man with a dark mustache who was wearing cowboy boots and a hat. Closer to the right side of the bar was a middle-aged business-type man, slightly balding, whose shortsleeved button-up shirt hung on his wiry frame. A few feet away stood a larger man with thick, tattoo-covered arms and bushy darkbrown hair. Another man walked in as Marc studied the men at the bar, a tall black man wearing a long basketball jersey. The crowd erupted in cheers and he assumed that Lily had removed her bra, or maybe her shorts. Refusing to move his gaze from the front door, he gripped his beer and took a determinedly nonchalant sip. He wasn't sure if he was trying to keep his focus or if he had another reason not to watch. Part of him didn't want to see her half-naked body displayed like this, he admitted to himself. He wanted to see her bared body, oh hell yes he did, but not necessarily on stage. He wanted Lily to share herself with him when they were alone, where he could reach out and cup her breasts, and slide his own bared body along hers, feeling the silky softness of her skin. He was thankful that she only danced topless, rather than 84
Dancing with Danger completely nude. It was ridiculous, but he was secretly pleased by the notion that he might one day get to explore a part of her that none of these other men would ever see. He squeezed his eyes shut and forced that thought out of his mind as well. Double damn on a stick. It wasn't usually this hard to concentrate on doing his job. The music ended and there was another roar from the crowd. Unable to help himself, he peeked at the stage. She was clutching her discarded clothes to her chest and cheerfully throwing the last few necklaces out to the crowd as she gathered tips. He smiled reluctantly, shaking his head. Her confidence on stage was tantalizing. No wonder the crowd loved her. It was obvious to anyone watching that she truly loved performing. With a sigh, he returned his gaze to the door, resigned to several more hours of fruitless people-watching. He watched as a handful of club patrons left, only to have about a dozen more stream through the door. Entering were two small parties of four or five men each, and three more single men. A small Asian man with round glasses sat at a table near him, a dark-haired man with heavy eyebrows immediately requested a private showing and followed the girl into one of the curtained rooms, and a burly construction-worker type with a mop of shoulder-length dirty blonde hair eyed the stage for a minute or so before meandering over to the bar. It was almost 1:00 a.m., and the club showed no sign of slowing down. Despite his training, he was having a hard time keeping track of all the men coming and going. He was also frustrated by the knowledge that his vigilance was unlikely to produce any leads. It wasn't as if Lily's stalker would be wearing a sign declaring himself to be a creepy psychopath. Trying to listen to his gut instincts didn't help much either, since so many of the patrons rang alarm bells for him. About twenty minutes passed as he watched more people both enter and exit the club. The Hispanic Cowboy left, along with Tattoo-Arms. And as soon as Eyebrow-Man emerged from the curtained room, he too left. Several minutes later, Lily was on stage again, this time dressed 85
as cat woman in skin-tight black vinyl, spiky heels, and a whiskered mask. But a few moments after her performance started, Marc felt his cell phone vibrate briefly. He pulled the phone out of his pocket and saw that he had missed a call about fifteen minutes earlier. It was from a phone number in the local 323 area code, but he didn't recognize it. He stepped away from the speakers and dialed into his voicemail, pressing the phone hard against his ear so he could hear the message over the noise of the club. He heard a deep voice that he recognized at once to be Jay, the doorman. “Fuck!” he swore as he ran to the front. He reached the entrance before he’d finished listening to the message. Jay saw him and ambled over. “I noticed a dark blue truck in the lot about fifteen minutes ago, but I have no idea when it got there. It was already parked when I saw it and I have no idea who the driver was. I called you, but you didn't answer.” “I must not have heard it ring, the music is so loud in there. Where's the truck now?” He scanned the crowded parking lot with a frown. “It's gone, man.” Marc's gaze snapped back to the bouncer. “What? Did you see it leave?” “Nah, man, I was checking I.D.'s and the next thing I knew, it wasn't there anymore.” “Are you sure you saw it? What did it look like?” “It was a truck, man. Dark blue. Looked like fuckin' radio station with all those antennas.” Marc remembered that the truck he'd seen at the parking garage had three antennas, meaning that it probably had a CB radio or a police scanner inside. “Damn.” This was probably the truck he had seen. “Well, did you at least get a license plate number?” “Look man, it was busy here. I saw the truck, called you, then had to do my job, all right? The next thing I know, it was gone.” “Okay, okay. You did the right thing.” He stepped back and took a deep breath, running a hand along the top of his head. “I just wish I’d heard my goddamn phone.” “Not my fuckin' fault,” Jay muttered. 86
Dancing with Danger Marc scowled at the empty parking spot that Jay had gestured to. The stalker had apparently been in the club only a short period of time. Could he have recognized him and bolted? He realized the stalker must have seen him with Lily in the parking garage, which had triggered his angry tirade against her car. So it only made sense he would recognize Marc on sight. Mentally kicking himself for not at least attempting to disguise himself before coming here, he began to pace angrily. He glared at the empty parking space as he wandered back and forth, and then suddenly turned back to Jay. “Whoever was driving that truck had to have left in the last 15 minutes, right?” “Yeahhh.” Jay drawled out the word with a raised eyebrow. “So let's see if we can remember who left in the last 15 minutes.” “Look, dude, I check I.D.'s, but I don't memorize the names or anythin'.” “That's fine. I'd settle for a physical description at this point.” Marc stopped pacing and rubbed the back of his neck as he thought. “OK, I remember seeing the Hispanic man with the cowboy hat leaving, and the dark-haired guy with thick eyebrows. And also the guy with tattoos on his arms and curly dark hair. Right?” “Sure.” Marc gritted his teeth. “Do you remember seeing anyone else leaving?” “Nope.” He closed his eyes, forcing himself not to lose his cool. “But now that you describe the guys, I think I might actually know two of 'em.” He bit back the smart-ass remark he was about to make regarding Jay's amazing powers of observation. “Wait, really?” “Yeah, they're regulars here. The guy with the sick Grim Reaper tattoos on his arm is Dylan and the guy who looks like he's got giant caterpillars on his forehead is Buster.” “Do you know their last names?” Jay gave him a look that had him backtracking quickly. “No big deal. Don't sweat it. So, you say they're regulars?” “Yeah, I've seen Dylan almost every shift since I started here. 87
Man must have no life, although his ink is fuckin' sick. He's a tattoo artist somewhere near Hollywood and Highland, and said he'd give me a freebie if I ever wanted to get another tat. They say he's a bad drunk, but he hasn't done anythin' outta line on my shifts. Buster I've seen prolly four, maybe five times. He always smells like tar, so I think he's in construction or something. Doesn't talk much, but they say he tips well. That's about all I know.” “Thanks, man. This is a helluva lot more info than I had earlier today. Keep my card and call me if you think of anything else. And if you see the truck, Dylan, Buster, or the Hispanic man again, call me. This time,” he gave him another twenty, “I'll answer my damn phone.” **** Lily was tremendously relieved to finish her last performance of the night. Breathing heavily, she trudged back into the dressing room and started stuffing her borrowed make-up and other personal items into her bag. But as she leaned over to slip off her heels, she felt a wave of dizziness wash over her. She sat down on her chair awkwardly, waiting for the room to stop spinning. Sucking in a deep breath, she closed her eyes briefly before taking a gulp of water. She realized that she hadn't eaten anything all day other than that muffin at the coffee shop, and an apple she had snagged from her apartment when she and Judy stopped by to pick up her stuff. Mentally chiding herself for being so careless about her health, she took another sip of water before packing up the reusable bottle with the rest of her stuff and sneaking into the storage area to change into her disguise. She hastily removed most of her make-up using a few baby wipes and then made her way through the DJ booth and out into the parking lot. She wasn't sure where to meet Marc, but before she could give it much thought, his Jeep pulled up. Leaning over, he opened the passenger side door and gestured her inside. She smiled and quickly hopped in. “Boy, am I glad to see you.” She tossed her bag onto the back seat and then sighed in exhausted relief as she reclined her seat. “Taking the bus seems like such a bad idea in comparison to this. I don't know why I even considered it.” 88
Dancing with Danger “You must be pretty beat, huh?” He guided the Jeep out of the lot and pulled onto Hollywood Blvd. Barely opening her eyes, she smiled at him wearily. “Yeah, today was a little more tiring than usual. And the lack of food didn't help either.” He looked at her and frowned. “You didn't eat today? Why?” “Honestly? I forgot. I know it sounds weird, but I was running around so much, I never got around to it. I ate a little, but not enough.” When he continued to frown, she sat up and quickly assured him, “It wasn't intentional. I'm not anorexic or anything. Don't worry. It literally slipped my mind. But I had a muffin and an apple and plenty of water.” “Dang, Lily, you need a lot more than that doing the kind of work you do. No wonder you're so tiny!” “My figure has nothing to do with not eating. I've always been small. I'm not even that skinny, I'm just short,” she retorted defensively. “I usually eat like a horse. You saw me last night with the ice cream.” He considered that for a moment before she added gruffly, “And no, I didn't throw up afterward.” “I wasn't insinuating that you have an eating disorder.” She raised an eyebrow at him. “All right, the thought did briefly cross my mind. I know it's not uncommon for dancers….” She huffed and crossed her arms. “But it was just a thought. I didn't mean to hurt your feelings.” He pulled to a stop at a red light and waited until she glanced over at him. “I'm just worried about you, that's all. You're already working too hard and not sleeping enough, so it's frustrating for me to hear you're also not eating enough.” Her annoyance melted away, and she pulled off her hat to run her fingers through her hair. “The thing is, you're right, it's careless of me not to eat properly when I'm working my body so hard. I was thinking exactly that back in the dressing room.” She gave him a wry half-smile. “And it's actually kind of sweet that you care so much about my eating and sleeping habits already, 89
considering you've only known me, what, three days?” “It doesn't feel like only three days, does it?” He grinned back at her. “No, it doesn't.” They were looking at each other already, but suddenly Marc’s gaze seemed to lock more firmly onto hers. She felt a familiar tingle zoom through her body as he watched her. His eyes were the most fascinating shade of green she’d ever seen, a pale minty color mixed with brighter streaks of emerald. Eventually his gaze dropped to her lips and held there. In fact, he was still staring at her mouth as she noticed the light changing. She waited a moment, but he was still staring at her mouth. “Green light.” “What?” She lowered her head a little so that his gaze would return to her eyes, and then gestured to the traffic light with an arch of her eyebrows. “Oh!” He jerked his attention back to the road and put the car in gear. She chuckled. “You're pretty adorable, did you know that?” “Yeah, I hear things.” She laughed again. “And so modest!” He gave her a half-smile that had her heart pounding unsteadily in her chest. She watched as he turned the steering wheel, admiring the tightening of his forearm muscles as he manipulated the gear shift. Whenever he looked at her, she got lost in his eyes, but now that his gaze was focused on the road, she took the opportunity to explore the rest of his face. He had a strong, square jaw currently dusted with dark stubble. She admired the pronounced angles of his face in profile, the sharp curve from his lower lip to his chin, and the little dip from his forehead to the slope of his nose. “You're pretty damn adorable yourself, you know,” he said, looking over at her briefly. Taken by surprise, she wanted to say something witty or flirtatious, but her mind was blank with pleasure. 90
Dancing with Danger He shifted gears again and cleared his throat. “So, I was thinking maybe you should stay over at my place tonight. You said you don't have to be at the coffee shop until tomorrow afternoon, right?” “Oh!” Was he asking her to sleep over at his place? In a why-don't-youcome-up-to-my-place kind of way? Visions of their passionate kissing session on her bed last night flooded into her mind. Hadn't he told her that he wanted to take things slow? Did this mean he'd changed his mind? Was she going to lose her virginity? Tonight? Adrenaline pumped into her bloodstream as both excitement and nervousness flushed away all traces of exhaustion from her system. She couldn’t help but admit the thought of him making love to her was exhilarating, and she felt her heart rate quicken in anticipation. She wasn’t used to feeling like this. She tended to react to every situation using logic, not passion, but she was having a hard time doing that with Marc. Maybe it was because circumstances had forced her to trust him, to rely on him, something completely foreign to her. Maybe it was because she’d been holding back her true emotions for so long they were finally bursting free. Or maybe it was just because of him. Simply being around him made her feel all sorts of emotions she normally allowed herself to succumb to only when performing. She was just about to accept his invitation when he spoke again. “Because I'm not comfortable with the idea of you staying alone at your place right now, not until we catch this guy. I did some investigating tonight and got a few leads on who this guy might be. Hopefully we'll be able to catch him soon, and then you can go back to your apartment.” “Oh.” Her heart plummeted. He wasn't interested in sleeping with her. He was thinking about her stalker! A small part of her brain realized she ought to be worried about the idea of someone stalking her at her home. But all she could feel was embarrassment at misinterpreting Marc's intentions, and a sting of rejection from his apparent disinterest. She’d gotten completely carried away. This is what happens when you let your emotions take over. 91
Marc looked over to her and frowned when she didn’t respond right away. “You could stay at a friend's if you'd rather not stay with me. Maybe Judy?” “Um, it's a bit late for me to call Judy to ask about staying at her place tonight.” There. That was a logical, practical response. There was no emotional motivation for her to have shot down his suggestion. “That's true.” Did he sound relieved just then? Maybe he did want her to come over for more than safety reasons. “I've got a sofa bed I sleep on whenever my sister comes to visit, so if you want, you can have the bedroom all to yourself.” His sister! He hadn’t been making a pass at her. He was trying to protect her like a big brother. His earlier comment about how “adorable” she was took on a whole different meaning now. And there came her blush, right on cue. She quickly looked out the window to her right, hoping the move was as nonchalant as she intended it to appear. How could she stay in the same place as him when her passionate attraction to him was matched, at best, by his mild attraction to her? Or worse, his mere brotherly affection? “I wouldn't want to be a burden. I've already made you drive me home in the middle of the night. Maybe I should stay at my place after all, or get a motel or something if you really think it's too dangerous. I'll have to figure out what to do with Sneak—” “What? No, just stay with me, what's the big deal?” He paused. “You can bring the cat.” She sighed. She hated taking charity. It went against everything her father had taught her. But was this charity? Was he giving her a handout, or was it more? With Marc, it felt like more, but maybe that was her emotions talking again. Besides, she already owed him so much. She looked at him and noticed his odd expression. He appeared confused, and slightly hurt. Aw, jeez. Now she was coming across as ungrateful. She should say yes. It was the polite thing to do. Knowing she was kidding herself, and that her real reason was 92
Dancing with Danger far from polite, she took a deep breath and accepted his offer. “Thank you, Marc. That’s very sweet of you.” Besides, she reasoned, maybe she could use this opportunity to change his mind about sleeping with her. She could always try to seduce him or something once they got to his place, maybe time her shower so that he just happened to see her wearing only a towel. “And you can have the master bath all to yourself. I can use the guest bathroom,” he assured her. She sighed again. “Great.” **** It was all wrong. He had wanted to teach Lily a lesson. He wanted her to realize what a terrible mistake she had made by letting that man touch her. She needed to remember who she was and what she was supposed to be doing. But nothing was going according to plan! He regretted destroying her clothes, and had decided to give her a chance to make it up to him. She was supposed to have danced for him tonight, to show him how sorry she was for letting that disgusting man near her. He had planned to buy a whole thirty minutes in the private room so that she could work and dance and sweat for him. She was going to show him that she had learned her lesson. He had it all planned out. But when he went to the club, he was there. The sight of the tall, muscular man sitting in the corner of the dark club floor was revolting. No! This was his territory. How dare he show up there again? It had taken all his willpower to ignore the man and pretend nothing was wrong. There was no way the tall man knew who he was. He had been far too careful for that. But it would have been foolish to leave right away and call attention to himself. So he had bided his time until he could leave without appearing suspicious. Then he drove directly to Lily's place to watch her come home. He had parked his truck almost a mile away from her apartment. He was always careful to never park too close, not wanting anyone 93
to notice his truck in the neighborhood. Earlier in the month he had looked Lily up on the internet and discovered she was the daughter of some big politician on the east coast. So he knew they had to keep their relationship hidden from the public eye, and he was always very careful. It was their little secret. Their dirty little secret. But his feet had started to ache from standing in the dim lobby of the apartment complex across the street while he waited for her to come home. He ignored the pain, knowing that the sight of his little Lily would ease it all away. But when she finally walked up the steps to unlock her lobby door, he saw she wasn't alone. She was with him again! A low, keening sound escaped from his throat and seeped through his clenched teeth as he tried to keep a rein on his fury. No! She would have to be punished, and this time he couldn't settle for destroying her belongings. He would have to hurt her, to make her see reason! But then he remembered that her car was destroyed. Maybe she had no choice but to accept a ride home from this man? Yes, yes, that was it. His Lily wouldn't have wanted to go with that man. She must have accepted a ride from him because she had no other choice. If only he had stayed at the club, then he could have driven her home! His Lily would have given him her secret smile and maybe he could have reached over and touched her, ever so gently. Only a little touch, maybe on her knee, or on her shoulder…. He took several deep breaths and forced his mind to clear. He would have to kill the man now, that was certain. Then she would return to him, and he would take good care of her. It was much too risky for her to continue performing at Vixens, he realized. He understood that she would never be happy unless she could dance, but she could dance for him. Yes, she would be happy dancing only for him. And he had just the place for it. 94
Dancing with Danger He had been building her room for several weeks now, and it was almost ready. It had a small stage on one end, and a bed on the other, everything she could need. He had even installed a sink and a toilet in the room so she could take care of all her feminine needs without ever having to leave. The room had several peepholes, as well as a two-way mirror and four cameras, so that he could watch her all the time, from any angle, and make sure she was safe and sound. His breathing came more evenly as he thought about his Lily in her new room. Lily's Room. His Lily's Room. She wouldn't have to work at that coffee shop or teach those snotty kids anymore, either. He made enough money to buy her all the costumes she could ever want, and he’d already stocked the room with everything else she needed—nightgowns, make-up, hair brushes, even her favorite foods he always saw her buying at the store. Yes, she would have everything she needed inside her room, and he could spend all day and all night watching over her and protecting her, just the way she liked it. He calmed himself down with these thoughts, and almost had his rage under control when he saw them come out again. The tall man carried a suitcase and two bags, and she was holding a cat carrier. Was she leaving her apartment? NO! This wasn’t supposed to happen! The words screeched in his head. He was rapidly losing control again, but then he saw her terrified expression. She was breathing heavily and her eyes were filled with fear. She kept looking around, and he realized that she must be searching for him. His poor Lily. She was waiting for him to rescue her! Yes, that was it. This man must be forcing her to leave, and his little Lily had no choice but to follow. He knew he couldn't rescue her now. He had no chance of overpowering that man with only his knife. No, first he would have to find out where she was being taken, and then he would do whatever it took to bring her to her new room and keep her safe. “Don't worry, my Lily,” he whispered. “I'm watching you. I'll come for you. I promise.” 95
Chapter Nine The fist that had been clamped around Lily's heart finally loosened its grip when they returned to Marc's Jeep. Last night she had felt fairly safe, but tonight the air felt thick with nauseating malice. She could feel it closing in around her. She was certain it wasn't a case of paranoia. Yesterday's events had heightened her sense of awareness, and what she sensed now terrified her. She was practically panting in fear by the time Marc let her into the Jeep and closed the door behind her. He hopped in the driver's seat moments later and looked at her with concern. “Are you okay?” She swallowed and nodded. “Yeah, I'm okay.” She clutched Sneak's carrier closer to her. “But I think… It feels like someone is watching me.” She twisted around in her seat to look over her shoulder. “I want to go now. I need to get out of here. Can we go? Now?” He had the engine roaring to life before she’d finished her request and quickly guided the Jeep away from the curb and onto the road. She watched as his eyes scanned the passing buildings and vehicles with intensity, and she followed suit. But she couldn't spot anything out of place. No dark blue trucks, no people. Yet someone was there, she was sure of it. They both breathed sighs of relief as they progressed into a welllit commercial district and put some distance between them and her apartment. He kept a firm eye on the rearview mirror, but the streets were mostly deserted this time of night. He slowed down after a few blocks and looked over to her. She realized she was still clutching the cat carrier so tightly that her fingers ached. “It's okay, Lily, there's no one there now. We're okay.” “That was”—she swallowed—“truly creepy. I know this sounds crazy, but I'm positive someone was watching me just now.” “I know. I felt it too.” 96
Dancing with Danger She was relieved he didn't think she was crazy, but the relief was tempered with a surge of nausea at having her fears confirmed. Someone was following her. Stalking her. “My God.” The events of the past few days came rushing back. Her car, her belongings, that message on the window. Knowing that man was in her neighborhood, at her apartment. “Marc, how long has he been following me? How did he know where I live? Has he— could he see my inside my apartment?” She felt a nudge against her hand and looked down to see Sneak rubbing his head against her fingers from inside his crate, trying to comfort her. Marc seemed to know what was going to happen before she did, because he was already steering the car off the road when she tried to take a breath and failed. Her chest was too tight. She couldn’t get in enough air. Gasping, she made an involuntary choking sound. Pulling the car to a stop, he reached over and scooped Sneak's carrier off her lap. Unbuckling her seat belt, he pulled her into his arms just as her composure finally cracked. She was shaking all over, her hands, her heartbeat, her breath. He positioned her more tightly against him and smoothed her hair, whispering soothing words into her ear as her emotional control fell apart. “It's okay, Lily. You're safe. It's going to be okay. We're going to catch this guy, I promise. Everything's going to be fine. I got you. Nothing’s gonna happen.” Hot tears poured down her cheeks and she let them fall, trying to ease the tightness in her chest as she gasped for air. He rocked her gently back and forth until she got her breathing under control. She focused on the warmth of his embrace and the soft timbre of his voice as she finally sucked in several deep, calming breaths. When her breathing eventually settled and the shaking ceased, she felt him kiss the top of her head before he pulled back to look at her. “Better?” She was, but she also felt weak, and not in a good way. She was embarrassed at her loss of control. She wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her shirt. “I'm sorry for freaking out on you. That’s not usually my style.” 97
“Nothing to be sorry about. I was wondering when it was going to hit you. In fact, you're holding up remarkably well. So don't sweat it. You're going to be fine.” He was so matter-of-fact about it, as if untroubled that she’d had a complete meltdown and slobbered all over him. He ran his thumb along her forehead and down the side of her face, and she couldn’t help herself from briefly leaning her head into his touch. “Here, I think Sneak wants a chance to comfort you too.” The cat was rubbing up against the side of the carrier closest to her, almost tipping the crate off its precarious position on the dashboard. He put the carrier back on her lap. She opened the door to the carrier a few inches so she could squeeze her hand inside, and Sneak immediately bonked his head into her palm, purring loudly. Marc gave her a few more moments as she crooned softly to Sneak. Then he put the Jeep in gear and pulled back onto the road, merging onto the 10 freeway a few minutes later. She felt more relaxed as they sped down the freeway, quickly putting miles between them and whoever had been watching her. Her mind started to wander unpleasantly toward thoughts of what her stalker might be doing right now, but she quickly shook her head, refusing to obsess about the details of his activities. Instead, she forced herself to think about everything they were doing to stop him. She was safe. She could relax. Marc was a cop and was working on tracking this man down and stopping him for good. And now that she knew she was being stalked, she would be more careful. She was going to be okay. Everything was going to be all right. Marc exited the freeway near Santa Monica and navigated down a palm-tree lined street. They passed by a drive-through coffee shop and an organic food store, both closed for the night, and then Marc turned down a more residential street. The difference between this neighborhood and her own was palpable. The sidewalks were cleaner and well-lit, and even the air seemed fresher. As she took a deep breath she thought she could smell a hint of the ocean. There were modest but well-kept houses on both sides of the street. Lily 98
Dancing with Danger was both impressed and intimidated. She knew real estate in Los Angeles was a luxury very few could afford. Even tiny homes in sketchy neighborhoods could cost over half a million dollars. “Do you own a house?” She couldn't resist asking. “I wish. I tried to buy one last year, but everything was way out of my price range. Then I heard about a condominium complex that had been severely damaged in a fire. One of the unit owners was overwhelmed by the idea of having to rebuild everything, so he sold his unit to me for a great price. I've been fixing it up for about eight months. Some of it's still under construction,” he admitted apologetically. “It sounds great,” she assured him. “That was the smartest decision I ever made.” His eyes shone as he described his condo. “It's two stories, with two bedrooms and three baths. No formal dining room, but it's got a cozy breakfast nook. But my favorite part is the private rooftop patio. You're gonna love it.” He gave her an adorable grin and successfully infected her with his enthusiasm. “I can’t wait!” she said. He turned left onto a somewhat more crowded avenue lined with stylized street lamps and bottlebrush trees. “Here we are. That's my building, there.” He pointed to a charming little two-story building, pale yellow with dark trim, snuggled between a larger four-story condo building and a smaller single family home. They parked in the underground garage and Lily hopped out to help him with her luggage. “Hey, my dance bag! And my briefcase!” The dance bag had a huge slash along one side, which had been taped back together with duct tape, and the handle of her briefcase had been broken off. Refusing to think about the man who’d caused the damage, she eagerly grabbed them from the back of the Jeep, shuffling Sneak's carrier so she could carry all three. “Yeah, I took the liberty of picking up your stuff from the mechanic where they towed your car. Hope you don't mind. Some of it’s gone for good, but I think a few things might be useable.” He took his own bag and the rest of the luggage from her apartment and led her up the stairs. 99
“Thank you so much. I'm not even sure which shop my car is in, and I'd have no way of getting there anyway, so I really appreciate it.” She shifted the bags in her arms, dying to see what was salvageable. He transferred all the luggage he was carrying to one hand as he fished in his pocket for the house keys, and Lily took the opportunity to admire his strong arms again. Her arms were already protesting from carrying the two bags and Sneak's carrier up the short flight of stairs, but he didn't seemed fazed as he strode into his condo and lifted the rest of her luggage one-handed onto his kitchen counter. She felt her stomach tighten nervously when she stepped into his home and looked around. Immediately to her left was a set of stairs heading up to the second floor, and to her right was a sparsely but comfortably furnished living room with a cozy L-shaped couch and arm chair. Straight ahead was the kitchen, with a long counter that separated it from a small breakfast nook snuggled in the far right corner. The walls were painted in warm shades of brown, soft creams, and gentle blues. It was an open and inviting layout, and despite the fact there were still signs of construction, it was very charming. “Marc, it's beautiful.” He beamed like a proud father as he walked over to relieve her of the cat carrier and bags. “You like it?” “Yes, it's….” She was at a loss for words as she shut the front door behind her and walked farther into his home, admiring his handiwork. “Wow. You really built all this yourself?” He set down the rest of her luggage and crossed his arms modestly as he looked around. “Well, not everything was destroyed in the fire, but yeah, I did the renovations myself.” He ran a hand lovingly along the kitchen counter. “I had to replace a lot of the drywall and cabinets and install new appliances, although some were salvageable. The carpet was destroyed, so I took that out and put in this instead.” He gestured to the warm-toned hardwood floors and shrugged negligently. “Wow.” She said again. “You did an amazing job.” “Thanks. I still have a lot to do. The guest bath isn't finished and 100
Dancing with Danger the second bedroom has barely been touched. I'm sort of using it as a workspace until I get the rest of the place set up. But I guess it is finally starting to feel like a home, rather than an impersonal condo.” He glanced over at her suddenly, contemplating. “You match.” “What?” “Your clothes. They match the walls.” She looked down and realized that, indeed, her cream pants and grey-blue men's shirt matched Marc’s chosen color scheme almost exactly. “Here, let me show you to your room.” With a quick scoop of his arms he picked up all her luggage, including the cat carrier, and headed up the stairs. “Oh, but really, I would be perfectly fine on the couch,” she called uselessly at his retreating figure as he ascended the steps, ignoring her. She sighed and followed him. The smell of wood was stronger on the upper floor. She found herself in a small hallway with two doors and another set of stairs leading up to the roof. She peeked into one of the rooms and saw a mountain of wood and paint buckets, with a table saw and other construction supplies nearby. Hearing Marc in the adjacent room, she headed in that direction, her heart tripping in her chest as she wondered what his bedroom looked like. The beige carpet was soft and shaggy, begging her to take her shoes off and burrow her bare toes into it. There was a large walk-in closet straight ahead, and a door to the master bath on her left. Looking to her right, she saw that he had set her luggage at the foot of a huge bed and was now standing there watching her. She could feel the tempo of her heart quicken. A pair of wall lamps lit the curtained window behind him, but didn't do much to illuminate the rest of the room or the dark figure standing in front of them. She had been so curious to see this man's bedroom, but now that she was here, all she could see was the man himself. His hands were tucked nonchalantly into the front pockets of his jeans, but the illusion of casualness was shattered by the wide stance of his legs and the intimidating silhouette of his shoulder muscles and biceps. The contours of his face were outlined in sharp shadows, but 101
his eyes glowed with emerald fire. Powerful masculinity radiated from him, and it made Lily feel deliciously feminine. She never considered herself to be a damselin-distress sort of woman, but the thought of him sweeping her into his arms suddenly made her feel weak in the knees. A harsh scraping sound jarred her from her fantasy. Sneak! She had almost forgotten about him. He was clearly annoyed with his confinement and agitated by the unfamiliarity of Marc's place. “We should let him out of his cage,” she said, “and let him have a look around. First let me get his stuff set up, while he gets used to the smell.” “Does my place smell?” “Oh no! I mean, it smells great, I love the smell of wood and—” She didn't know how to describe Marc's tantalizing scent. “Ah, I just meant that Sneak needs a little time to get used to your place, you know, get familiar with the sounds and scents and stuff. It'll be easier for him if he has some familiar things around, though.” She scurried to her luggage and pulled out Sneak's water dish, some toys, a litter box, and his favorite pillow. “Can I help?” “Here, fill this water bowl and set it up by the window. And would you mind closing the door to the hall? He should start out in one room so he's not overwhelmed.” She put the litter box in the bathroom and filled it with fresh litter. Marc helped her set up the rest of the cat supplies before they finally opened the carrier. The black cat zoomed out of his cage and promptly disappeared into the closet. She followed him to the closet door, crooning words of encouragement and comfort. Sitting cross-legged just outside the closet, she motioned Marc to follow suit. “Aren't you going to go after him?” “Nah, he's looking for a safe place. Somewhere dark and confined where he can hide and get his bearings. I don't want to barge in and ruin his secret hiding place. I just want him to know that I'm nearby until he's comfortable enough to venture out.” “You know, dogs aren't nearly so high-maintenance.” Marc sat down awkwardly and glanced into the closet. “I think I now 102
Dancing with Danger understand where the term 'pussy' comes from.” She choked back her laughter and mock-frowned at him in reprimand. She fought to keep her voice soft and soothing for Sneak's sake. “They may be high maintenance, but the fact that cats are so tentative to trust makes it so much more extraordinary when they finally do bestow that hard-earned trust on you. I love the open, unfailing love most dogs have for people, but you have no idea how magical it can be when a cat finally lets you 'in.' When a cat who is so finicky that he won't eat one-hour-old dry food decides that you are worthy of his love, well, you can't beat that. Being loved by and being able to comfort a creature who is so independent, so discerning, is quite wonderful.” “I never thought of it that way. The way you describe it, it sounds very special.” There was a rustle of fabric from the closet, and suddenly Sneak was climbing onto her lap. “Yes.” She gently smoothed Sneak's sleek black fur and smiled at Marc. “It is.” She could feel Marc’s eyes on her as she continued to comfort Sneak, who was still wary of his new digs but getting less scared and more curious by the second. Eventually he ventured off her lap to explore the bathroom. Marc leaned a bit so he could watch as the cat prowled around the tiled floor, inspecting his litter box and rubbing up against the vanity. With amazing agility, Sneak leapt onto the counter and started sniffing the sink intently. “Huh. I had a St. Bernard when I was a kid, and he would do the same thing. He was fascinated by the sink, and eventually figured out how to turn on the water when we weren't around.” He smiled at her. “I guess cats aren't that different from dogs after all.” With a soft thud, Sneak jumped off the counter and haughtily sauntered past them into the main bedroom. “I think he heard you,” she said with a giggle. “Come on. I think he's good to go now. Let's give him some space.” She stood up and suddenly the room was spinning. She started to tilt and then felt Marc's arms around her. “Are you okay?” “Woah, stood up too fast.” 103
“You need to eat. C'mon.” Without warning, he swept an arm behind her knees and scooped her off the ground. “Eek!” She almost swallowed her tongue in surprise. “Marc, I can walk!” “It's just till we get down the stairs. I don't want you to fall.” She felt slightly ridiculous. She wasn't an invalid, after all. It was just a dizzy spell. But a small voice in her head told her to shut up and enjoy the ride. Besides, she had to admit being held in his arms felt more delicious than she had imagined. She was conscious of every inch of her body that came in contact with his, the warm chest against her side, his hand on the back of her thighs, the other hand wrapped around her ribcage, fingers perilously close to her breast. He didn’t seem to struggle at all with her weight, even as he turned sideways to go down the stairs. Giving in, she let herself relax into his protective embrace. **** A part of Marc realized he was showing off, but he didn't care. Besides wanting to flex his muscles at her, he was also fighting a strange possessive urge that made it difficult for him to put her down once they reached the kitchen. But he eventually set her on her feet and headed behind the counter. “Sit,” he commanded, pointing at a barstool on the other side. Realizing he sounded like a drill sergeant, he softened his tone and said, “What are you in the mood for? I don't really cook, but I can do the basics. You want eggs, cereal, peanut butter and jelly, pasta, mac-and-cheese...?” “PB and J sounds great, but can we put one of those bananas in there too?” She nodded to the bunch hanging from a hook next to the toaster. “Sure thing. Did you want anything to drink?” “Water's fine.” She sat down as he got to work. Having Lily in his home felt surprisingly comfortable. Sure, he’d had dates over to his place in the past, but it had never felt so homey before, so easy, so natural. He looked up from the plate as saw that Lily was getting down 104
Dancing with Danger from her stool. “Actually, I can grab my water bottle from my bag instead. And here, let me help you—” She cut off as he pointed the banana at her like a gun and gestured her back into her seat. “Uh-uh, no you don't. You aren't allowed to work any more tonight. Just sit there and take it.” She hesitated, and he thought for a moment she wasn’t going to give in. But then she put her hands up in acquiescence. “Okay, officer, don't shoot.” He enjoyed a tiny surge of victory and resumed his sandwichmaking. Her gaze seemed fixed on his hands and forearms as he worked. He wasn’t a good cook by any stretch of the imagination, but he could cut bananas like a pro, and the speed of his peanut butter smearing probably made it clear this was a well-practiced skill. She was still staring at his arms. What was she thinking about? Finally her gaze lifted to his face. “So.” Her feet swung back and forth as she sat on the tall bar stool. “Do you like being a cop?” “Yeah, I do actually. It's a lot more paperwork than I had bargained for, but overall, I like it. Pete's a great partner, and as cheesy as it sounds, I feel like I'm doing something to make this world a better place, you know?” “It's a very honorable job. Keeping order and fighting bad guys…” Her voice faded away for a moment. “That’s got to be stressful.” “Well, it's not like we're getting into gun fights every day or anything. It's more a matter of constantly making sure you are prepared for the worst. Even if nothing particularly nasty happens that day, it can be exhausting being on guard during each confrontation just in case the shit does hit the fan.” “Yes, I can imagine.” Her brow furrowed as she gazed absently over his shoulder. “It's a tough job, and it can be a dangerous one. Some people don't understand why I chose such a difficult career, but it's what I love, and I wouldn't give it up for anything.” He hadn't meant to add to her worries, but it was a sensitive topic for him. He almost didn't want to know what she felt about 105
the subject, knowing it could make or break their future chances for a relationship. But before he could change the subject, she spoke. “Yes. That I can understand. You have a passion for what you do, and you're good at it. No one should stand in the way of someone pursuing their dreams. No matter what they are.” He paused, the knife held motionless over the sandwich as they looked at each other with understanding. She could have no idea how much that simple affirmation meant to him. He nodded slowly and felt the bond between them tighten. A scoop of jelly slid off his knife and he quickly caught it with a slice of bread, focusing again on the task at hand. “How about you? What's it like being a professional dancer?” “It's like a dream come true. Stupid, I know, but I've wanted to be a dancer since I was seven years old, even though my dad kept saying it was a phase I'd grow out of. But now, here I am, living the dream. I'm in Hollywood, and I dance for a living, just like I had fantasized as a kid.” “What do you love about it?” “Almost everything. I most love performing to a live audience. There's a special energy with them there that doesn't exist when I perform for TV or film. Although that can be a wonderful experience, too. Mostly I love the way I feel when I dance, not just physically, although that's amazing too, but emotionally. It's a high I can't explain. When I'm sick, dancing makes me feel better. When I'm sad, dancing cheers me up. I'd do it for free, if I didn't have bills to pay, and it still amazes me I can make a living doing what I love. Well, at least I used to be able to make a living. But I'll get there again. Even if I don't get a Five Star agent, I'm going to get back into the business. I just know it.” Her brow was furrowed again, but this time with determination. “Here.” He put the plate down in front of her. “You seemed like a triangle kind of girl.” He’d cut the sandwich diagonally, like his mother used to do for him. Her eyes lit up when she saw it. “Aw, Marc. It's perfect!” “You haven't even tasted it yet,” he scoffed. Surprisingly, he felt his cheeks go hot and quickly turned to put 106
Dancing with Danger away the supplies. She took a big bite and said with a full mouth, “Mmmm, dawihuh!” He laughed and set a glass of water in front of her. She took a gulp. “I said, 'mmm, delicious.’” “That's what I figured.” “It's your turn to talk. I'm going to eat this amazingly fabulous sandwich, and you're going to tell me everything about you.” She took another big bite. “What do you want to know?” “Ewryfing.” They both laughed and she took a quick gulp of water. “C'mon! It's your turn, I'm trying to eat here. Tell me about your childhood, your family, hobbies, friends, whatever!” He poured himself a glass of water and acquiesced. “All right. Childhood. I have a big sister and a little brother, and we were hellions when we were kids. Always breaking rules, getting into crazy situations, and generally wreaking havoc. Family. My dad is a homicide detective back home and my mom is an elementary school teacher. They got divorced when I was seventeen, but neither of them remarried. She didn't want him to continue his career as a cop after he got injured in the line of duty, but my father didn't want to give up the career he loved, and neither of them could get past it.” She seemed about to express her sympathies, so he quickly continued, not wanting to open that can of worms. “My little brother Aaron is the brainiac of the family. He's getting a Ph.D. in Informatics, whatever the hell that is. My sister Janice had a baby girl about ten months ago, and little Annabelle already has the whole family wrapped around her tiny finger, including her Uncle Marc.” He gestured to his chest with the cup of water before taking a gulp and joining Lily on her side of the counter. He was rambling, he knew, but she seemed genuinely interested, so he forged on. “Hobbies. I like fixing things up, as you can see.” He gestured around the condo. “Carpentry, cars, motorcycles, whatever. I like camping and kayaking, and I play on the squad's softball team. Third base. Friends. I have a few childhood friends back home, but most of my LA buddies are cops. Pete's the one cross-over. I've 107
known him since 4th grade, and we both moved to L.A. right after high school. He's been on the force for a few years, but I graduated from the Academy a little less than a year ago. I didn't think they'd let us partner up on the force, but I’m pretty sure my dad pulled a few strings. He was always telling me how important a good partner is, and Pete and I work really well together. Did you know he’s getting married next weekend? Not my dad, Pete. We were at his bachelor's party last night, which is how I ended up at Vixens.” God, he sounded like a thirteen-year-old boy who’d never talked to a pretty girl before. He was trying to follow Pete’s advice and take it slow, get to know her before he did anything stupid. He didn’t want to rush her. But everything he did seemed to throw him further out of control and made him want to pick up the pace even more. She finished the last bite of her sandwich and smiled at him. Slow. Steady. Don’t rush her. “Yeah, I was wondering about that. You don't seem like a strip club kind of guy. Although believe me, it takes all kinds.” She looked at him with those soulfully hazel eyes. Lord, help me. He cleared his throat before speaking, but his voice still sounded husky as he spoke. “I'm glad I was there last night.” “Me too.” She guzzled the last of her water and he watched her throat as she swallowed. She wiped a bit of water from her lips. Fuck me. “Very glad,” she whispered as her eyes met his again. Damn the torpedoes, full speed ahead. **** Lily felt captured within his gaze. She was afraid to move, to breathe, for fear of breaking the moment. Despite the few feet of space between them, despite the fact they were not even touching, it was the most erotically intimate moment of her life. Up to that moment, at least. “Would you like to see the rooftop patio?” he finally asked, still watching her. “Yes,” she managed to reply breathlessly. He held out his hand and she took it. They didn't speak as he led 108
Dancing with Danger her up the two flights of stairs, but it was a comfortable silence. There was a hushed energy sizzling between them. She involuntarily squeezed his hand tighter as the tension built, and was reassured when he gripped her hand back in return. When they reached the top, he paused and turned on a switch near the door. He exchanged a smile with her and opened the door. A swift, salty breeze flowed around them as they stepped out onto the rooftop patio. The night wind lifted her hair and swirled it around her face as she took in her surroundings. “Oh, Marc.” She had been genuinely impressed with the interior of the condo, but it was nothing compared to how amazed she was now. “Oh, Marc,” she said again as she progressed farther onto the deck, at a loss for words. Japanese lanterns shed a warm glow on the multi-hued planks of wood arranged in soothing geometric patterns across the entire patio floor. Comfortable benches lined the nearest wall, interspersed with tall stalks of leafy bamboo. In the exact center of the patio was a Japanese cherry tree in full bloom, its pink blossoms swaying cheerfully in the breeze, shedding its colorful petals like confetti against the dark night sky. She heard the soft tinkle of water and wandered farther out. A section of the wall had been covered with a beautiful rock formation, inlaid with several small alcoves where tiny bonsai trees were perched. Water trickled down the gray rocks into a small pool below. A pair of comfortably padded garden chairs was snuggled nearby. “Oh, Marc,” she murmured for the third time. A pink blossom silently floated down into the gently swirling waterfall pool. “It's beautiful.” “I know something even more beautiful,” he whispered in her ear. Having followed her onto the deck, he was now standing right behind her, his cheek nudging her ear. His hands caressed her shoulders and slid tenderly down her arms, barely touching her. Shivering, she wanted more. More of his tantalizing caresses, more of his warm hands on her skin, of his body pressed against hers, his lips kissing hers. She whimpered, a sound she had never heard herself make before. Then his mouth was on her neck and all conscious thought fled. 109
Her only awareness was of the pleasure he was giving her as his lips and tongue caressed the sensitive skin of her neck. She was immediately infused with such a rush of passion that she had no room for anything else. Her knees went weak. She simply couldn't worry about trying to stand when his mouth was doing that thing behind her ear. When her knees buckled, he gripped her hips and pulled her up against him, his tongue continuing its relentless assault on her senses. She moaned throatily and felt her hips, of their own volition, grind back against his groin. He growled into her neck and retaliated with a light nip, making her gasp. He spun her around and before she could open her eyes, he had lifted her off the ground and pressed her up against the nearest wall. The coldness of the rocks behind her made her gasp, but he captured the sound with his lips and his tongue demanded entry. She opened her mouth in welcome and wrapped her legs around him, anchoring her body to his, relishing his warmth and strength. “Lily,” he murmured. “God, Lily, I need you.” Yes. “Then take me.” He gripped her bottom and steadied her as she frantically unbuttoned her shirt. As soon as the fabric fell away he slipped a hand behind her back and deftly released the clasp of her bra. He practically tore the thing off and then his mouth was latched to her breast, his tongue making small circles around her tightened nipple and driving her wild with need. His hips ground against hers, thrusting with such force she could feel the hardness of his manhood through his jeans. But it still wasn't enough. She met his thrusts, rotating her hips desperately, needing more pressure, more contact to meet her desire. She scrambled to remove his shirt, and he reluctantly released her nipple so she could lift the offending fabric over his head. He had somehow managed to unbutton her pants, but she couldn't reach his buckle to return the favor. “Please,” she breathed. “I need you now.” She felt a cool breeze against her bare back as he pulled her away from the wall. Her legs remained locked around his hips and her lips locked to his mouth as he carried her to the nearest cushioned 110
Dancing with Danger bench. As he sat down, he untangled her legs and swung them around so that she was cradled on his lap, removing her shoes and loosened slacks in the process. He continued to kiss her as he slid a hand down the front of her lacy boy-short panties. His fingers gently swirled against the sensitive area above her mound, and she felt her legs open in response. Delving deeper, his fingers rubbed across the length of her, and she gasped and thrust her hips up in response. “More,” she begged, breathless. He kissed her again and she felt his lips curl into a smile as he obliged, caressing her with more pressure. She rocked her hips against his hand, matching him stroke for stroke, and then his finger was suddenly inside her. She froze. Her breath caught. “It's okay, baby,” he promised. She felt herself throb pleasurably around the intrusion, a sensation that increased ten-fold when he pulled his finger away ever so slightly and thrust it back inside her. Soon, a second finger joined the first. “Oh, yes, Marc, yes please.” She wasn't aware of what she was saying. She knew only that she wanted, she needed more. “So tight,” he murmured as he slid a third finger into her, making her moan deeply. His thumb rubbed in tiny circles above his thrusting fingers. His body shifted slightly beneath her, but he kept a steady pressure and rhythm with his fingers as they danced between her legs. “That's it, baby, that's it,” he whispered in her ear. “You like that, don't you?” It was so naughty, and yet so delicious. “Oh, yes, Marc—oh!” All thought fled her mind as she succumbed to his seduction and felt an overwhelming wave of pleasure flush through her body, cresting between her legs where his fingers relentlessly tormented her. Her body shivered and she tightened around his fingers as wave after wave pulsed through her. She had experienced orgasms before, but only by her own hands, and never as intense as this. She could no longer form words, but instead made an incoherent cry of release as she came. He kissed her as the waves subsided, and shifted so that her body 111
slid off his lap and onto the cushioned bench. He pulled off her now-moist panties and quickly removed his own jeans. He looked down at her and she felt her skin flush as his gaze raked her naked body. She was limp with satisfaction, but still thrumming with arousal, and his gaze made her writhe against his leg, silently begging for more. Her breath was still coming fast, and the combination of the cool night breeze and his burning hot gaze made her nipples tighten. She felt exposed, but deliciously so. The soft lantern light bathed his muscular body as he looked down at her. She reached up to touch his bared skin and wrapped her hands around his shoulders, pulling him to her. He negotiated his body between her legs, forcing her knees to fall open to accommodate his size. Leaning forward, he braced his hands on either side of her and lowered his head to kiss her. She ran her hands down his arms, and then up again over the mounds of muscle at his biceps, shoulders, and neck. She slid her fingers into his short hair, pulling his head closer to hers as their lips pressed together fiercely. She arched her back, rubbing her hyper-sensitive breasts against his hard chest. He pressed down in return, and she felt the tip of his erection nudge against her stillthrobbing mound, making her gasp in expectation. This is it, she thought. Once I do this, there's no going back. With a smile, she realized she wasn't nervous at all. This was right. This is what she wanted, what she had been waiting for. Grasping his head in her hands, she pulled his face away from hers and looked into his eyes as she thrust her hips up and forward. He grunted at the unexpected motion as she impaled herself onto him. He shuddered as she throbbed around him, and with a groan he pressed her back onto the bench, driving himself all the way in. She gasped as she felt him thrust. He was farther inside her than she thought possible and although the sensation of being so stretched, so filled, was foreign to her, it wasn't as painful as she’d feared. There was no ripping sensation, only a slightly uncomfortable fullness. But as he slowly pulled back, she felt herself throb pleasurably in anticipation of his next stroke and she knew this was right, this was meant to be. 112
Dancing with Danger She closed her eyes in surrender, but he suddenly pulled out of her completely. She groaned in surprise and disappointment, her body rebelling against the loss of his touch. He smiled reassuringly, and somewhat smugly, at her sound of protest. “It's okay, baby, I just need to put on some protection.” “Oh. I completely forgot!” She sat up urgently. He pulled a condom from the pocket of his discarded jeans and rolled it on. “I almost did too,” he admitted, grinning devilishly. “But better late than never.” He leaned forward and kissed her again, his tongue making promises of what was to come. As his lips moved down to her jaw, then to her neck, she sighed and slowly lay back in surrender. He kissed, licked, and sucked his way over her shoulders, across her collar bone, and stopped for an extended moment at her breasts before moving down her belly and then nuzzling between her legs. He grunted softly when he found her still wet and swollen with desire. He kissed his way back up her body and then slowly entered her again. She stiffened at first, surprised again at the sheer size of him as he stretched and filled her, but relaxed as he continued to kiss her, murmuring soothing words against her breasts and throat. He pulled back, and as he pushed inside her again, she lifted her hips to meet him. They both gasped in pleasure, and he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her body against him as he drove into her again. She hooked her legs around his hips and cried out in pleasure when his next thrust touched some sensitive place deep inside her. “Come for me again, Lily. I want you to come for me again,” he growled as he nipped her neck softly and continued to drive into her. The deep timbre of his voice and his seductive words were all she needed. She felt another overwhelming wave of ecstasy ripple through her body, making her contract around him as he continued to pump inside her. This time the unbearable pleasure didn't subside as quickly as before, and she rode the waves of devastating sensation for what seemed like hours, letting her body tighten and tremble and release in turn as his rhythm increased in tempo. Then 113
he pressed his lips to hers and groaned into her mouth. His body tightened and he jerked inside her, the pulsation bringing her another aftershock of pleasure. He stayed inside her as their bodies went limp with exhausted contentment. They were both breathing hard, and he laid his head on her chest. She wrapped her arms around him, running her hands through his short hair, feeling decadently satisfied and utterly relaxed. She had just lost her virginity, but she sure didn't feel like she had lost anything. The experience wasn't nearly as painful as she’d thought it would be. In fact, it had been immeasurably satisfying once the initial discomfort passed. She had made love for the first time, and now her lover was cradled in her arms, both of them completely satisfied. My lover, she thought, enjoying the sound of the word. She kissed the top of his head and found herself giggling in absolute delight. **** Marc felt Lily's chest vibrate and he looked up, worried she was crying. Was she having regrets? Had he gone too fast? “You're laughing! What's so damned funny? I just had the most amazing sexual experience of my life, leaving me so spent that I can barely lift my head, and you're laughing.” Her breath seemed to catch in her throat, and her eyes filled with tears. “Oh god, and now you're crying!” He hastily pulled out of her and sat back, lifting her upright with him. “What did I say?” “Was that really the most amazing sexual experience of your life?” she asked with an incredulous smile. “You crazy woman.” He hauled her into his arms with relief and nuzzled her hair, unable to get enough of her scent, her softness, her unbridled passion. “Yes, yes it was. Nothing even comes close. You're amazing.” She started laughing again and he couldn't help but join in. “You really are crazy, you know that? How can someone so small be so insane? First laughing, then crying, then laughing again, not to mention how wild and crazy you are in the sack–oomph!” 114
Dancing with Danger She punched him playfully in his side and then shrieked as he yanked her forward. They tumbled off the bench and he twisted his body to take the brunt of the fall as they hit the ground. Conveniently, she landed on top of him, her breasts pressed against his bare chest. “Oooh, so it's like that, is it?” She struggled out of his embrace to straddle him. “You want me on top, do you?” Grinding her hips against his, she reached forward to tweak his nipple. But he saw it coming and grabbed her wrist before she got there, and then snatched her other hand as it tried to follow suit. “Oh no you don't, you little vixen.” He tugged both arms behind her back and held them there, enjoying how her back arched, causing her breasts to thrust forward. “What's wrong, Officer Sloan? Aren't you up for Round Two?” She continued to move her hips against him. For someone who claimed to be a control freak, she seemed utterly comfortable under his control as he trapped her arms behind her. Who was he kidding? He snorted to himself as her hips continued their assault, driving him mad. Did he really think he was the one in control here? “What are you trying to do, kill me?” His voice sounded husky as his gaze wandered from her plump, tantalizing lips down to her bouncing breasts and then up again to her sparkling eyes. “I don't think I can handle any more tonight, baby.” “Oh, really? That's not what it feels like to me.” She was right, he realized, as he felt himself impossibly harden again. He quickly lifted her off him and stood up. Seizing her hand, he dragged her to the stairwell with him. “Where are we going?” “We're going to need more condoms!”
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Chapter Ten Lily woke up when a shaft of midday sun poked through Marc's bedroom curtains and fell across her pillow. She was groggy and sore, and her mouth was so dry she would have done almost anything for a glass of water. Anything, that is, except move. Because as she opened her eyes and realized where she was, she couldn't think of any place on earth she'd rather be. She was in Marc's bed, and she was currently flanked by her two favorite males in the world. Sneak was curled up in the small space between her bent knees and her chest, and Marc was spooning her, his warm body pressed against her back and one arm draped across her waist. Sneak's chin was resting on top of Marc's hand, and they were both deeply asleep. She kept still, practically holding her breath so as not to break the beautiful tableau. Her heart swelled with happiness and she felt herself grinning like an idiot as she watched them. I lost my virginity last night, she suddenly remembered. She giggled softly and nuzzled her face into her pillow to muffle the sound. It had been even more wonderful than she had fantasized about, and she didn't regret it for a moment. It had felt exhilarating to let go of her control and open up so completely to someone else. The only times she had ever let go of her control had been when she performed. But even then, she was always aware that it wasn't Lily letting go, it was the character she was pretending to be. But with Marc she didn't feel like she was putting on a show or pretending to be someone she wasn't. With him, she felt like herself. In fact, she felt like a new self. Someone who trusted other people, someone open to love and affection. Well, maybe not love. Not yet. Or, well, maybe…. Again she giggled softly, waking Sneak. He opened an eye at her, and promptly rolled onto his back for a belly rub. She accommodated him, and he purred in satisfaction. “I know exactly how you feel,” she murmured to the cat. “Me too,” Marc said. “Can I get one of those?” 116
Dancing with Danger “You're awake.” She looked over her shoulder at him. He nodded and rolled onto his back, languorously stretching his arms above his head. She appraised him admiringly as the sheet slid off, revealing his magnificent body. He was very muscular, but not in that narrow-waist, washboard-abs kind of way. He was thicker, with a strong chest and big, muscled shoulders. A light dusting of dark hair formed a T on his chest and stomach. She rubbed her palm along that fuzzy trail and received an appreciative rumble from him in response. Her hair was tangled and frizzy, but he didn’t seem to mind as he brushed a wild strand out of her eyes. “Hungry?” he asked. “Thirsty. And then maybe hungry.” Sneak, annoyed that her attention was now focused on Marc, climbed over her and glared balefully at him. He eyed her hand, which was giving Marc the belly rub that should rightfully be his. “Don't be jealous, my little prince,” she crooned. She tickled the cat under his chin with her free hand. His eyes closed in contentment, only to open again when Marc spoke. “He's not going to claw me or anything, is he?” he asked warily, pulling the sheet over his more tender parts. “Nah, I wouldn't worry about that.” Sneak leapt silently from the bed and disappeared. “But he might pee on your shoes.” “What?!” Marc bolted upright. Laughing, she rose from the bed and stretched gracefully. “I'm just kidding.” She went into the bathroom. “Mostly,” she amended, shutting the door behind her. **** The phone rang while Marc was pouring two bowls of cereal. He leaned over to check the caller ID before picking up the handset and cradling it between his ear and shoulder. “Hey Pete, what's up?” “Not much, man. Lindsay wanted me to call and make sure you reserved your tux for next weekend.” There was a muffled shout in the background. “And she says not to forget about the rehearsal dinner on Tuesday night.” There was another pause. “And she wants to confirm that it's still just you, or should it be you plus 117
one?” He paused again and Marc could hear Lindsay's muffled voice. “Because if it's just you, she says one of her bridesmaids is going stag too, so—” “No, no, don't let her set me up.” He put spoons into each bowl and looked up as Lily came down the stairs, wearing one of his undershirts and drying her wet hair with one of his towels. With a smile he added, “Tell her I don't need a date.” Her eyebrows rose inquiringly. As Pete relayed this information to his fiancée, Marc covered the phone with one hand and whispered, “What are you doing Tuesday night?” With a frown, she mouthed soundlessly, “Work.” “Can you get off?” he whispered. She thought for a moment and shrugged. “I can try.” “Who are you whispering to?” Lindsay's voice suddenly queried in his ear. “Ah, what? Where did Pete go?” “I figured this was easier than having him serve as proxy. Mr. Sloan”—he could hear the smile in Lindsay's voice as she asked— ”do you have a woman over there?” In the background Pete was shouting at her to give him back the phone. “Ah...” He looked at Lily, who had just pulled her water bottle out of the fridge and flipped open the lid. There was a brief struggle on the other end and then Pete's voice was back on the line. “Is it coffee-shop-girl?” he demanded, loudly enough for Lily to hear through the receiver. Lily almost choked on her water as she giggled. “None of your damned business.” “Ha! I knew it,” Pete declared. In the background he heard Lindsay shout, “He better bring her on Tuesday! Tell him to bring her on Tuesday!” “Look, I gotta go,” he interrupted before Pete could relay Lindsay's command. “Tell Lindsay to put me down as a 'maybe plus one' for now, okay?” “No problem, Bambi. Don't forget to let her up for air—” Pete shouted as Marc set down the handset. “Bambi?” Lily teased. 118
Dancing with Danger “Inside joke.” He shrugged and cleared his throat. “I made cereal. And I've got some fruit if you want any.” He gestured to a bowl of apples and oranges on the breakfast table, set down their cereal and pulled out a chair for her. “Mmm, a meal fit for a queen.” She laid the damp towel over the back of her chair and regally took her place. “At your service, your majesty.” He gave a mocking bow and deftly dodged her jabbing elbow. “So who was that on the phone?” “That was Pete and his fiancée, Lindsay. The wedding is next weekend, and Tuesday is the rehearsal dinner. I was hoping you could be my date.” “Aww, I would love to. But what time is the dinner?” “Seven. What's your schedule on Tuesdays?” “I take class in the morning, and then I have an afternoon shift at the coffee shop. My shift at Vixens starts at 6:30pm, but I can ask one of the day girls if they’ll stay a few extra hours so I can go to the dinner and then come late to work. No promises, though. I'm not real popular at the club.” He could see it was a sensitive subject, but he couldn't resist. “Why not? You seem pretty likable to me.” He scooped a spoonful of cereal into his mouth, giving her a wink. She smiled slightly and helped herself to the cereal while she thought about her response. “Well, in their defense, I haven't made myself particularly approachable. For the sake of secrecy, I've kept mostly to myself. I don't take off the mask, even when I'm backstage. I also don't give lap dances, and I guess that pisses off some of the other girls. Roger has never let anyone else do that, not that I think anyone has asked to.” “Who's Roger?” “He's the manager. When I auditioned for him, I told him I didn't want to do lap dances and I didn't want anyone to know my name besides him. The name thing didn't seem to faze him, but he thought the lap dancing thing was weird because it's an easy way to make a lot of money, but he didn't press me about it. It didn't occur to me at the time that the other dancers would care. I don't think any of them have a problem giving lap dances, but if they did, they 119
should just tell Roger. I don't see what the big deal is.” She shrugged and reached for an orange. The fresh, citrusy scent of the fruit filled the air as she peeled it. “What do you know about Roger? If he's the only one who knows your true identity, it would be easiest for him to have learned where you live.” “Geez, I didn't think about that.” She stopped peeling for a moment. “But no, I can't imagine him as my stalker. He's always been very professional, bordering almost on indifference. He views the whole club as a business. I can't see him getting worked up over any of his dancers like that, especially me. Besides, he drives a black BMW, not a blue truck. He also closes the club every night, so he would have still been at Vixens on Friday night when that whole thing happened at the garage.” “Have any of the other girls had issues with stalkers? Or issues with the staff?” “Not that I know of. The staff is pretty laid back and hands-off. I think a few of the women do more than dancing, if you know what I mean, but they keep it on the down-low. Roger has a no-tolerance policy for that sort of thing. And there are a few regulars who might be a bit obsessed with their favorite dancers, but none have ever really crossed the line. At least, not that I've heard of.” “Speaking of regulars, there were a couple of suspicious guys at the club last night.” He described the three men he thought might be the driver of the blue truck. “Well, the tattooed guy sounds like Dylan, and he's a regular. Buster is probably the man you saw with the big eyebrows, and he's also a regular. The only regular Hispanic guy I can think of is Luis, but he's shorter than I am, so that doesn't sound like the guy you saw last night.” “That matches what the doorman said. How many regulars do you have?” “Five or six, I guess, but I don't know all of their names.” He tried not to be distracted by her lips as he watched her pop an orange wedge into her mouth. He cleared his throat again and stood up, taking his empty cereal bowl back to the kitchen. “I'd like you to write down all their names, descriptions of what they look like, and 120
Dancing with Danger any information you have about them, no matter how trivial. And concentrate on Dylan and Buster.” “You think one of my regs is the stalker?” “Makes sense, don't you think? He probably became obsessed with you at Vixens, so chances are he watches you perform there as often as he can.” He noticed the furrow between her eyebrows was back again, but there was nothing for it. “All right, get me a pen and something to write on. I've got about half an hour before my shift at the coffee shop. I'll write down what I know.” **** Lily’s short swing shift at the coffee shop seemed to fly by. Judy took Sundays off to spend with her daughter, and without her best friend to chat with, Lily found her mind wandering to the list she had made for Marc. She didn't have much to offer him in terms of details. She’d only been working at Vixens for a few months and never had conversations with her clients. The staff didn't seem that interested in her. Other than the occasional teasing comment about revealing her identity, they treated her like the rest of the dancers. She’d recalled that Dylan once wrote his name and phone number on a ten-dollar bill he had given her, and that's how she found out his name. But she never called and had long since spent that cash without writing down the number. She’d also heard he had been “warned” by the bouncers a few times about getting too close to the dancers, but he never made any moves on her. She only knew Buster's name because he had apparently asked the bartender about her after a private showing, and the bartender told Lily about it later. Although she never actually talked to the guy herself, she wrote everything down for Marc, just in case. She’d also included information about Roger and the two DJ's at Vixens. The DJ's didn't know her identity, but they knew about the men's disguise she wore to sneak in and out of the club, which she figured was worth mentioning. Each name she’d listed made her feel slightly guilty. She felt as if she was accusing them by writing down their names, and it made her uncomfortable to think any of these men could be her stalker. 121
The concept of being stalked was terrifying enough, but it seriously disturbed her that the stalker could be someone she knew, someone she had smiled at or talked to, not realizing he was some psycho creep. Before she knew it, her shift was over and Marc was walking her to his Jeep to drive her to Vixens. She was already tired again, not surprisingly since she hadn't gotten much sleep the night before. She wasn’t looking forward to dancing for the next several hours. With a sigh, she slid into the back seat and changed into her disguise, wishing it weren’t Sunday. Sundays were notoriously slow at the club, which made the night seem monumentally longer. She had the early evening shift, even slower than the late night shift, and she knew it would be hard to keep up her energy without a vigorous crowd. She slipped her arms into the sports jacket and stuffed her day clothes in a duffel bag that Marc had let her borrow. Her own bags were too damaged to be functional anymore. Using the bag as a makeshift pillow, she lay down on the backseat as Marc navigated the car through the busy L.A. streets towards Hollywood. “We're here.” Her eyes snapped open. “Huh?” It felt like she had just closed them. “You fell asleep again.” His arm was draped over the passenger's seat, and he was looking over his shoulder at her with a carefully blank expression. “Lily—” “I know, I know.” She grumbled as she sat up and straightened her hat. She looked around and saw they were parked at the bagel shop across from Vixens. “It's my last shift of the day. I'll be fine.” He sighed. “You know, most people only have one shift per day. When's your next day off?” “Tomorrow,” she replied promptly. “I usually take a dance class on Monday mornings, and then teach two classes in the early afternoon, and that's it. No coffee shop, no club.” He rubbed the bridge of his nose. “You don't have a day off, do you? That's as close as you get to a weekend?” “Hey, I'll skip the class in the morning, how about that? I'll just teach tomorrow, so I can sleep in. So we're talking about three hours of work, tops. What do you think of that?” 122
Dancing with Danger She reached out and pulled his hand away from his face. “I'll be fine, I swear.” She looked at him pleadingly. “I don't want you to worry, OK?” “Lily, don't worry about me. The only thing that's bothering me is that you aren't worrying enough about yourself.” She slumped back against the seat and huffed in exasperation. “Look, I'm not trying to tell you what to do.” He swiveled in his seat to glower at her. “I just don't want you to think you've got to work yourself to the bone like this.” “Marc, I have bills I have to pay. I've got to get myself out of debt, pay my rent, feed myself—” “Which you forget to do half the time.” “I do not!” She sat forward and slapped her hands against her thighs indignantly. How dare he? “If you would let someone help you, you wouldn't have to work so hard.” “I don't see….” She stopped in mid tirade. “Wait, what?” He softened his voice. “Let me help. You don't have to do this all on your own.” “What do you mean? You're already driving me around and letting me crash at your place for the week. I am letting you help.” What more could he possibly do? She already owed him too much. “Move in with me. Get rid of that awful apartment. You won't have to pay rent or utilities, and we can split the cost of food. It doesn't have to be permanent, but at least until you get back on your feet. And definitely until we catch this guy.” Wha—? How—? She couldn’t form a complete thought, let alone a complete sentence. He took a deep breath and plowed on through her silence. “And while we're at it, I bought you a cell phone. It's a cheap plan, just 60 minutes a month, no texting or anything fancy, but this way, you know, you'll have it in case of an emergency.” He took the phone out of his pocket and handed it to her, suddenly seeming nervous. She stared wordlessly at the phone in her hand before looking back at him. He must be out of his mind. “Marc.” She took a deep breath. “This is too much. I honestly don't know what to say.” “You don't have to say anything now. Just think about it. I'll be 123
back to pick you up after your shift. Here.” He handed her a brown paper bag. “It's got some fruit, a sandwich, and a granola bar in there. In case you forget to eat again.” She scowled at him, wishing she had some handy retort about him treating her like a child, but the truth was, aside from the cereal and the orange earlier today, she had forgotten to eat. And from his smug expression, he knew it. Damn him. Snatching the bag ungraciously, she stuffed it into her borrowed duffel bag, along with the cell phone. “Look, I appreciate it, but I'm a grown woman and I can handle myself. I've been doing it for years.” She shoved the passenger seat forward and scrambled out of the Jeep. She wanted to slam the door behind her, but saw his expression and couldn't do it. Guilt immediately flushed through her. This man had taken her in when she had nowhere safe to go, he was driving her around like a personal chauffeur, had bought her a cell phone, and even packed her a lunch. Jesus, I'm an idiot. “Thank you for the ride. And the phone. And the lunch.” She rested her head against the side of the open door. “Marc, I am already so indebted to you. I can't let you give me anything more. I want to be in your life, really I do, but not as a charity case.” He stormed out of the Jeep faster than she thought possible. “You're not a charity case! My god, what did you think last night was?” He slammed the door and stomped over to her. “Lily, I didn't take you home with me because I felt sorry for you. And I didn't ask you to move in with me because I want you to be indebted to me! I want to help you because I….” He choked on the rest of the sentence, looking at her in surprised consternation. Instead of speaking, he grabbed her waist and pulled her into a kiss. He let her up for air a few moments later, and then tucked a strand of hair into her cap. “You're one of the most capable women I've ever met. I'm not offering to help because I think you can't handle yourself. I'm offering because I want to help you. I can't stand idly by when I can do something that might make things 124
Dancing with Danger easier for you. Yes, circumstances have rushed things, but the truth is, I've become very fond of you.” She swallowed, her brain swimming with the rush of emotions this man churned up. She felt a surge of gratitude toward him, and a rush of something more. She closed her eyes and remembered the pure joy she’d felt this morning when she awoke in his embrace. Looking earnestly into his eyes, she cupped her hands around his beautifully sculpted face. “And I've become very fond of you, too.” She kissed him tenderly. “I can't tell you how much your offer means to me. Just… let me think about it, okay?” He gave her the sexy half-smile that made her heart trip in her chest. “No problem. Since it might be considered unfair coercion, I won't mention I'd be willing to stock the freezer with Chubby Hubby to sweeten the deal.” “Definitely unfair coercion.” She heaved the duffle bag onto her shoulder and adjusted her hat. “Hey, no matter what you decide, I'll be here to pick you up, okay? You can crash with me for as long as you need, no pressure to make it more permanent than that.” “Thanks. And thanks for the lunch.” She looked around quickly to make sure no one was watching and then kissed him again briefly before taking a deep breath and heading toward the club. **** Marc heard her whistling “Hi ho, hi ho, it's off to work we go,” as she dashed across the street. He scanned the Vixens parking lot for suspicious persons and vehicles before getting back in his jeep. He sighed deeply, trying to release a tension in his chest he hadn’t realized was there. He’d had no idea how she would react to his offer, and in fact, part of him still couldn't believe he’d asked her to move in with him. He’d seen his parents' marriage fall apart horribly despite the love and attraction between them, and he’d vowed never to get involved with someone until he was one hundred percent sure that it would last. And yet, here he was, offering his home to a woman he hadn't even known for a week. Despite the short amount of time, though, he already felt like she was a kindred spirit, someone who could understand his 125
commitment to his career. She wouldn’t be like his mother, who tried to force his father to choose between her and the career he loved. No, Lily had become estranged from her own father to pursue her dreams. She understood. Anyway, he couldn't let Lily go back to that apartment. He’d never let a friend go back to that place. He snorted. Don’t kid yourself. She was already far more than a friend, and that was the way he wanted it. He wanted her in his life, despite the risk to his heart. As he drove away, he glanced back at the club and made a silent wish that her last shift of the day would be a quick and easy one. He couldn't have been more wrong.
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Chapter Eleven “And why would I do that?” Nikki didn't look up from her mirror as she applied her eye shadow. “Well, for one, I'd be really, really grateful. And if you ever needed me to cover for you, I would be happy to return the favor.” Nikki re-dipped her brush into the powder and started painting her other eyelid. Lily cleared her throat and forged ahead. “And I'll give you fifteen percent of whatever tips I make tonight.” “Look, I'll think about it. I need to get ready.” “All right. Thanks. Just, you know, let me know what you decide.” Lily went back to her station and unpacked and re-packed her duffle bag. Without the private showings to keep her busy, the wait between her dances felt like an eternity. She had already asked two other girls who worked on Tuesday if they could cover the first hour of her shift, but they weren't able. Or maybe they just weren't willing. She thought Tamara might’ve been nice enough to help her out, but she wasn't working at the club tonight, and Lily didn't have her phone number. Nikki was her last resort, and she didn't have high hopes that Mega Bitch would help her out. Before long, the DJ announced Nikki, and she headed for the stage without looking at her. With a sigh, Lily sat down and pulled out her new phone, trying to familiarize herself with its features. She saw that Marc had already programmed his home, cell phone, and work numbers into her contacts, and she smiled at his thoroughness. She programmed in Judy's phone number, as well as the coffee shop. She was about to enter the dance studio's number when Nikki came back into the room and the DJ announced Miss M. Lily tried to make eye contact with Nikki as they passed each other, but she was busy fixing her hair and didn't look her way. 127
With a sigh, she accepted that it was going to be a very long night. **** His Lily looked tired, her energy wasn't as high as it should be, and she didn't do the more intricate pole moves that she usually preferred for this song. He, of course, knew what the problem was. It was that damned tall man. He was distracting her. It wasn't healthy. He needed to take her away from him, someplace where she could rest and be safe. He banged the table with his fist. He had to find out who that man was! How could he rescue her if he didn't even know who she was staying with? But he refused to think about the man while he watched his Lily dance. Despite her weak performance, she was still better than any of the other dancers in the club. He scowled at the crowd, noting that none of them was giving her the attention she deserved, and few were giving her any tips. He wasn't close enough to put cash down on the stage himself, but then, he never did. He only approached her in the private room. But she had stopped accepting those dances, and he fumed at the idea she was only performing for these other men. These pathetic, disgusting boys who had no idea what they were seeing. Although she hid it well, he was certain she hated dancing for other men. She liked dancing for him, and only him. So he always made sure to request a private showing every night he came to the club. Those performances she liked, he could tell. That was the only reason she continued to dance here, and he knew she must be missing him. I'm here, Lily, I'm watching. He stared at her intently, hoping she would see him in the dark corner, make eye contact like she used to do in the private room, and give him her secret smile. But she didn't see him, and she didn't smile. As she gathered the few scattered bits of cash at the end of her number, he saw her make eye contact with one of the girls on the floor. She smiled hopefully at the blonde before heading backstage. But as soon as Lily turned her back, the blonde didn't bother to hide her disdain, rolling her eyes and flipping her hair in disgust. At first he wanted to smash his beer bottle into the bitch's face for disrespecting his Lily like that. 128
Dancing with Danger But then an idea occurred to him. She seemed to trust this blonde woman, but she obviously cared nothing for her in return. Yes. Perhaps this was the break he needed. He was desperate to find out where Lily was staying, but he couldn’t spy on her at the coffee shop or dance studio, worried the tall man would be there again and spot him. And he couldn't risk asking any of her co-workers because he knew none of them would give her personal information to a stranger. He needed someone who was close enough to Lily to get information, but not so close as to want to protect her. Perhaps this blonde woman was exactly what he needed. Of course, he meant no harm to Lily. He just wanted to keep her safe and happy. She belonged to him, no doubt about it, but he knew she didn't want anyone else to know about their secret relationship, which is why he couldn't risk any of her friends knowing about his secret plan to rescue her. But this woman might be perfect. Perhaps Lily had disclosed the identity of the mysterious tall man to her, and perhaps this woman cared so little about Lily that she’d be willing to share the information with him. He felt his pulse quicken. He forced himself to control his breathing and look relaxed as the blonde approached a nearby table, offering lap dances. They refused, but as she turned away he called her over. She raised her eyebrows in surprise, but sauntered over nonetheless. “I see you here all the time, honey, but never seen you take a lap dance before. What's the occasion?” He opened his wallet, purposefully exposing the large wad of cash inside, and pulled out a fifty-dollar bill, handing it to her. “You know lap dances are only $20, right? Or did you want a private showing?” He ignored her question. “It's Nikki, right?” “That's me, big boy. Did you like what you saw up there? You want something a little more intimate?” She put the fifty into her bra and bent over, resting her arms on the back of his chair and bringing her breasts to his eye level. He swallowed his distaste as the tramp pushed her silicone-filled 129
tits toward his face. “Actually, I want information.” Nikki stood up straight. “Information? I don't do information.” She watched as he withdrew another two fifties and held them out for her. “Nothing major, just a little tip. You see, I'm a reporter….” His mind fumbled, his breath coming heavily again as he struggled to remember what he had to say to make his scheme work. “I'm a reporter. For a paper.” She folded her arms and cocked an eyebrow. “I need information on Li-, Miss M,” he blurted out. He shoved the $100 into her hand. She raised both eyebrows, but didn't move away. “You see, I think I know who she is, and it would be quite a story if it came out. Quite a story. It would be very bad for her, you see. She'd probably lose her job here.” He held his breath, hoping he’d judged her correctly. “And what does that have to do with me?” He pulled out three more fifties and showed them to her. “You find out who she's staying with, the name of the guy, or where he lives, or anything like that, and you tell me. You come tell me. You tell me and I'll make sure she never sets foot in this club again.” She narrowed her eyes and stood stoically for a few moments more before snatching the cash. “No promises.” She started to walk away, but then turned around. “If I do find out something good, I want the rest of your cash. All of it.” **** A few hours later, Nikki pretended to re-apply her lipstick as she discretely watched Miss M head for the stage for her last performance of the night. When she heard Miss M's music start, she dashed over to her dressing station and rifled through her duffle bag. With a confused frown, she realized there were men's clothes in the bag. They were small, like boys clothing. Did Miss M have a kid? Shrugging, she kept digging. She found two novels, a half-full reusable water bottle, a packed lunch, the usual make-up and costume stuff, and then BINGO. Cell phone. Nikki froze as the door opened. It was one of the other girls, Paige, and the busboy was behind her. Paige raised her eyebrows when she saw her by Miss M's station, 130
Dancing with Danger but she didn't say anything. “H-hey Nikki!” the bus boy squeaked. He cleared his throat and said, in a falsely deeper voice, “You've got a private request. D'you want it?” She smiled sweetly and palmed the phone as she sauntered over to the door to take the cash from Henry. “Of course, sweetie. When do I ever say no?” “Heh heh, yeah, I know.” He was staring at her breasts and she fought the urge to roll her eyes. Then he looked up at her and scrunched his face. “It's weird though, ’cause usually this guy only asks for Miss M, you know? He's that guy, you know….” He snapped his fingers and looked toward the ceiling, trying to remember the name. “It doesn't matter,” she said a little too loudly, glancing over at Paige. She smiled sweetly again and softened her voice. “Money's money, right? Don't matter where, or who, it comes from, right sweetie?” She tucked a few ones into Henry's palm before squeezing his shoulder and gently steering him back toward the floor. “Tell him I'll be there in a second, okay, honey?” As he left with a ridiculous grin on his pimply face, she went back to her station and scrambled for a pen. Discretely, she copied each name and number from the phone. The first three entries were for someone named Marc. “Gotcha, son of a bitch!” she muttered under her breath as she scribbled down the information. She was viciously amused to see there were only two other numbers in the contacts list. “I guess Little Miss M isn't that popular outside the club, now is she?” she murmured, glancing in the mirror to make sure Paige wasn't paying attention. But Paige was busy changing her costume and soon left for the stage, readying to perform next. As soon as she was gone, Nikki quickly stuffed the phone and the rest of Miss M's things back into the duffle bag. She grabbed her list of numbers and smiled triumphantly as she headed toward the private stage. This was going to be a very lucrative night. **** “What is this shit? You can't even see her face! Bring the blonde 131
back!” The drunk patron was hoarse, but boy did his voice carry, and the taunt hit Lily like a bowling ball to her chest. She was only seconds into her routine, but she suddenly felt like her arms were filled with lead. Her teasing smile felt frozen on her face, fake and plastic, as she tried to ignore the audience and concentrate on her dancing. Her face flushed, but she wasn't sure if it was from fatigue, anger, or shame. Nights like tonight made her hate this gig. It was a struggle to keep moving and work through the routine, and it didn't feel like dancing at all. Nikki had waited until she was just about to go onstage for her last performance of the night to scoff at Lily's measly tips and refuse to help cover Tuesday's shift. Disappointed and frustrated, she’d tried to get in the right frame of mind for her performance, but she had barely started dancing when that asshole on stage right started shouting for “the hot blonde” to come back, effectively shredding the last bit of energy she had left. But she was a performer, a professional. This was her livelihood, and she never half-assed anything. Get it together. She drowned out the sounds of the audience and closed her eyes, letting her body take over. By the end of the number, she had shaken off her self-pity and reclaimed her pride. There were a few bills scattered around the stage, and she held her head high as she gathered them and her discarded costume and headed upstage toward the dressing room. She was tired and sweaty, the mask was starting to itch, and she couldn't wait to get out of her heels. Thank goodness this night is over. Suddenly her left leg felt cold, and looking down she saw the jerk had splashed beer all over her. “What's the matter with your face, sweetheart? Hiding a big nose or something behind that mask? All you gotta do is take off those panties baby, and no one's gonna care what your face looks like!” She wasn't sure whether to burst into tears or kick the asshole in the face, but luckily Parker, one of the bouncers, intervened before she had to make a decision. The big man stepped in front of the customer and told him to return to his seat and keep his beer in the 132
Dancing with Danger cup or leave. She didn't wait to see which option he chose. She stormed back to the dressing room, determined not to lose it. She grabbed the duffle bag and quickly stuffed her costume into it as she headed into the storage area, ready to blow this Popsicle stand. Paige's music was thumping on the other side of the thin backstage wall as she stepped down into the dark, dusty storage room. The beginnings of a headache started to throb near her right temple, off-tempo with the pounding beat of Paige's song. Steadfastly ignoring the pain, she navigated toward the back door and then let her heavy bag fall to the floor. She was pulling out her men's civilian clothes when she heard a door squeak open. Looking up, she saw a shaft of dim light from the dressing room door as Nikki poked her head in, trying to spy on her. She hastily stuffed her disguise back into the bag, but soon realized Nikki's eyes hadn't adjusted to the dark yet. Nikki had stupidly left the door open, so she was silhouetted as she tried to stealthily make her way through the storage area. She was squinting into the darkness, unsuccessfully trying to locate Lily as she unsteadily progressed into the room. Gritting her teeth, Lily quietly approached her, unseen. “Back off!” she barked, when Nikki blindly came within inches of her. Nikki screamed and scrambled backward, tripping on a box of cleaning supplies. She was viciously satisfied to see Nikki jump, but almost immediately regretted it as she saw her fall. Dammit, she hadn’t meant to hurt her. She knew first-hand how devastating an injury could be for those who made their living on the stage. She was about to help her stand up again, but before she could offer a hand, Nikki scrambled to her feet and started shouting obscenities into the darkness. “You fucking bitch! You think you're so special, but you're NOT! You're nothing behind that stupid mask, NOTHING!” She stumbled back toward the dressing room as she shouted. “You're just a goddamn ugly whore who can't even make money stripping because you don't have any tits!” She slammed the door, leaving Lily alone in the darkness once more. Once again, she felt torn between hurt and anger. No, there were 133
far more than those two emotions roiling through her system. She felt sick to her stomach. She was so tired of it all. She sat down where she was, ignoring the cold, dusty concrete against her practically naked body. She took off the mask and rubbed her temples, trying to ease the piercing pain in her head. It doesn't matter, she told herself. Who cares what Nikki thinks, or that asshole drunk out there. This is just a job. Just a job. Too tired to stand, she reached over to her bag and took out the last bit of sandwich that Marc had made for her. She chewed it slowly, leaning her back against a nearby cabinet as she gathered her thoughts and tried to let go of all the tension. The sandwich helped settle her stomach, and she allowed her thoughts to wander to the man who had made it for her. The thought of Marc packing her dinner cheered her up a bit, but also made her pause. What was she going to do about him? He was probably waiting for her in the parking lot right now, worrying about her, wondering where she was. Part of her felt pressured by so much attention, but another part of her felt special and comforted by his concern. When was the last time anyone had cared about her like that? She knew her father cared for her in his own way, but she also knew he had always cared more about his career. Judy certainly cared about her, but the way Marc treated her felt like more than friendship. It was as if she was a priority to him. The concept was foreign to her. Her parents were fairly happily married before her mom died, but even then their relationship had been one of careful planning and navigation through constant obligations. Where quality time had to be marked on the calendar in order to be honored. She’d never felt her mother had been a priority to her father, or vice versa. Meetings, campaigning, and entertaining always took precedence over family time. She could recall only a handful of wonderful moments spent alone with her mother and father. And they’d all been happy accidents, like when a fund-raising dinner had been unexpectedly cancelled and they’d spent the evening playing Uno in their hotel 134
Dancing with Danger room instead, or when Lily fractured her wrist falling off her bike and her parents had to cut their work day short to meet her at the pediatrician's office. The three of them had spent a giggly half hour in the waiting room, making jokes about the positive aspects of training wheels, and then they had taken her for ice cream after the cast was put on. These were the memories of her family she cherished, and each one had only occurred because something “more important” had been canceled or interrupted. Eyes tearing, she knew these memories were precious to her because they had been so rare. Her father had never understood his family deserved as much attention as his career, and it had only gotten worse when her mother died. The sandwich she’d just finished felt stuck in her throat, and she quickly drank some water to wash it down. No use crying over spilled milk, she reminded herself, taking a deep breath and shaking off her sad thoughts. She pulled out a few baby wipes and washed off her make-up as she thought about this wonderful man she now had in her life. He seemed to be the complete opposite of her father when it came to making priorities. She’d only been in Marc’s life a few short days, and yet she already seemed to take precedence over, well, whatever it was he used to do before she came into the picture. He was rearranging his life to make room for her, protecting her, feeding her, sleeping with her, and now he wanted her to live with him. She waited for the stomach clench that surely should accompany the thought of officially moving in with a man she’d just met, but it never came. Apparently the idea seemed perfectly acceptable to her stomach. Her head, on the other hand, seemed to have reservations. Stupid, it said. Only a fool would trust someone she hardly knew. Anything you get for free is a debt that will have to be repaid down the road. With a jolt, she realized the voice in her mind wasn't the voice of reason, it was the voice of her father. How many times had he lectured her about how “trust” was a temporary concept, about how important it was to never indebt yourself? She had been raised to understand the intricacies of 135
politics, trained to avoid situations that would cause her to become too dependent on another, and taught how to control her emotional reactions so she could always maintain a professional face. She was completely ill-equipped to handle a situation like this. “Life is a poker game,” her father had told her. “Keep your hand close, don't be afraid to bluff, and never go all in.” And yet here she was. She had bared almost all her secrets to a man she hardly knew, and was now considering risking it all by accepting his offer to move in with him. It wouldn't just be her living situation stake. She’s also be wagering her heart. She quickly gulped another mouthful of water as the enormity of the situation hit her. But the more she thought about it, the easier her decision seemed. Who was she kidding, anyway? He already knew about her “night job.” She had even given him her virginity. Her cat was already living at his place, for heaven’s sake! What more evidence did she need before she admitted to herself that she’d already bared her hand? She’d followed her gut and her heart so far, and it had only led her closer to Marc. In return, she’d won his care, concern, laughter, and love. This had to be the right direction. For once, the voice in her head had no rebuttal. She could feel her heart rejoice when she came to terms with her decision. She was about to make a huge leap, but instead of being frightened, she was exhilarated. Her headache eased off a bit and her energy picked up. Her hormones might have done a little celebratory dance, too. Reinvigorated by her decision, she threw on her disguise and snatched up her bag. Glancing quickly at the dressing room door, which had thankfully remained closed, she headed out through the DJ booth and into the parking lot, where Marc was indeed waiting for her. “Hey, beautiful,” he smiled as she tossed her bag into the backseat. “Hey, handsome,” she teased back, climbing in. “Did you have a good day?” He watched as she settled into the seat and reached for the safety belt. She laughed half-heartedly, shutting her eyes and shaking her 136
Dancing with Danger head at the question. The only good thing to have happened to her since he’d dropped her off was the decision she’d made just moments ago. But before she could answer his question, the door to the club burst open, letting throbbing dance music pour out into the parking lot, along with a tangle of men. Parker and another bouncer were struggling with the drunk asshole, who was putting up quite a struggle as they hauled him outside. The drunkard was no match for either bouncer, but his inebriated state made his movements erratic, and the two men were having a difficult time avoiding his wild kicking. Marc seemed to sympathize with their predicament, probably having been in similar situations himself, but Lily stopped him just as he was about to get out of the Jeep to assist. “No, don't draw attention to us.” His gaze whipped back to her. “Do you know this guy?” “No, but there was an incident when I was dancing today, and I don't want to risk him recognizing me without my mask.” Marc’s frown was fierce now and his eyes seemed to blaze as he regarded her, but he stayed in the Jeep, which was parked in the corner of the lot closest to the street. “Where’s Jay? Damn, I was counting on him to keep an eye out for your stalker,” he grumbled as he watched the bouncers finally get a solid grip on the man and then quite literally tossed him into the parking lot. The evicted man spent a few minutes yelling and gesturing fiercely at the building before making his way unsteadily down the street. He passed by the Jeep and made another vulgar gesture to Marc when he noticed he was being watched. But he didn't spare her a glance and eventually staggered down the block and into a bar. She breathed a sigh of relief when the door swung shut behind him. “What a creep.” “You sure you don't know that guy? He’s not a regular?” Marc asked as he pulled out of the parking lot. “No, I have no idea who he is. He's just some jerk who doesn't know how to hold his drink.” “What the hell happened tonight?” 137
“What didn't happen? It was a rotten night.” “Lily—” “What do you want me to say? Vixens isn't exactly the nicest dance venue in town. Look, the guy was a jerk. He poured beer on me after my performance and made some asshole comments about my dancing, but the bouncer got the guy back in his seat and that was that.” “He poured beer on you?” His grip on the steering wheel tightened as he glanced furiously into the rearview mirror. He was probably contemplating turning the car around and chasing the jerk down. “I’ll kill him,” he growled, confirming her suspicions. “Or at least beat the living shit out of him.” His vicious indignation was rather sweet. “To be completely honest, his comments about my dancing bothered me more than the beer. How ridiculous is that?” She smiled weakly at him for a moment before her smile faded. She figured it was best to get all the bad news out at once. “Marc, I can't go to dinner with you on Tuesday. None of the girls would cover for me. I'm really, really sorry. I would have loved to meet your friends.” He looked at her and his furious expression evaporated. “Don't sweat it. It's no big deal. Really. You can meet them some other time. Don't even worry about it.” “Thanks. I'm sure you'll have a great time without me. Just make sure Pete's fiancée doesn't try to hook you up with any of her lady friends, all right?” “What about her guy friends? Can she hook me up with those?” “Oh, hooking up with guys is totally fine. I approve of that as long as I get a copy of the tape.” He barked out a laugh as he navigated the Jeep onto the freeway, keeping an eye on the rear-view mirror to make sure they weren't being followed. “So, um… I thought about your offer a bit more. And, um….” She looked down at her hands and gathered the courage she needed. “I think we should go for it. I mean, I don't want to stay at that apartment anymore, and if you're offering your place for me to stay 138
Dancing with Danger for a while, it seems like the smartest option.” She risked a quick glance at him, pleased to see a slow smile spreading across his face. Time to go all in. “I really like you Marc. If I had my choice of anywhere in the world to spend my free time, it would be with you. So, let's do it.” **** “Good afternoon, Ms. Brookstone. This is James from your insurance company. We’ve reviewed your claim and obtained the quote from the mechanic. It looks like the cost of repairs will exceed your deductible, so we will cover all expenses beyond the first $1,500. Please contact the mechanic's shop to arrange your portion of the payment, and instruct them to bill the remaining to us. I've spoken with Stacey at their accounting office….” “Fifteen hundred dollars! Ugh, I forgot I raised my deductible last year.” Lily frantically searched for a pen as the message continued. “Good thing you've recently reduced your living expenses, eh?” Marc teased quietly as he doubled-checked the deadbolt on the door of her apartment and then peeked through the curtains of her window. They had come directly from the club to the apartment to check her messages and pack up a few more belongings now that she’d decided to stay at his place on a permanent basis. “Tell me about it,” she mumbled, scribbling down the contact information for the mechanic shop on the back of an old receipt. The answering machine beeped as she skipped to the next message. “Hey Lil, it's Judes. My sister just called back and she says she has a ton of make-up that she's happy to give you to replace the stuff that pendejo destroyed. She's on this green-organic-naturefroufrou kick and recently replaced her entire stash with this ridiculously expensive chemical-free natural-minerals crap she swears has changed her life. Anyway, she says her old stuff is all yours! And there's tons of it. I'll bring it all to the cafe on Tuesday, okay? Oh, and call me mañana! I need to get all the naughty details about Officer Sexy-Arms, and there's no way in hell I'm going to 139
wait until Tue-” Lily frantically hit the skip button on the machine and avoided Marc’s gaze. Her face was so hot she thought her eyebrows might catch fire. “Officer Sexy-Arms? Would that be me?” He grunted the last word as he struck a ridiculous strong-man pose, flexing his bicep as he thrust his thumb at his chest. She snorted with laughter as he shifted into another absurd pose, now hunched over and flexing his shoulder muscles with a cocky and yet adorable grin on his face. “Well, it was either that or Officer Bambi,” she said as the next message started to play. He laughed, but quieted when she shushed him with a wave of her arms. Frantically, she punched up the volume on the answering machine as the next message played out. “…and we'd like to thank you for your audition yesterday with Five Star.” “Oh, no. It's too soon. It's too soon.” She sank onto the edge of her bed, clutching the side of the mattress. “We receive many applications and only a select few make it to the audition phase, and only the best of those are chosen for our agency. While your dancing was exemplary, there were some concerns regarding your appearance. Our clients expect our dancers to have the 'whole package,' so to speak, to be camera-ready at all times, and to convey the level of professionalism expected from Five-Star performers.” “Oh, God.” She was hardly breathing as Marc sat down next to her. She clutched his hand and he gripped hers in support. “Therefore, we would like you to meet with one of our image consultants to work on your visual presentation and coordinate with our resident photographer to arrange for new head shots. If you accept these conditions, we would be proud to represent you and assign you an agent.” The rest of the message was drowned out as she shot off the bed and screamed with joy, jumping up and down in elation. It took an extra moment for the good news to register for Marc, but then he was cheering with her, sweeping her into his arms and spinning her 140
Dancing with Danger around the cramped quarters. Papers and books went flying in all directions as they twirled and hollered. “I got it! I got it! I got into Five Star!” Tears of relief and happiness streamed down her face. “You sure did, baby! I knew you could.” He wiped away the tears and gave her a quick kiss. “With all your hard work and dedication, never giving up on your dreams despite injuries and bad luck, vandalism and money troubles, you did it. You really did it! You made it work.” He tenderly tucked a wild strand of hair behind her ear and then squeezed her close to his chest. “Oh, I love you.” She breathed the words without thinking as she wrapped her arms around him, and then froze as she realized the significance of what she’d just blurted out. His body tensed and the air tingled with anticipation. A silent eternity seemed to pass by as they held each other, unmoving. But then he pulled back and lowered his head to hers, breaking the tension with a fierce kiss. Her apprehension disappeared as his lips melded to hers. She hadn't meant to throw the L-word at him and certainly didn't expect to hear it in return. But she was immensely relieved that he’d responded with a kiss instead of a mad dash to the door. And what a kiss! It felt desperate, almost violent, as he clutched her body to his. They eventually came up for air and she pressed her face against his chest as they breathed deeply. “I'm so proud of you,” he whispered, squeezing her tightly. He pulled her away from him so that he could see her face. “We should celebrate. What would you like to do? Where should we go?” She smiled up at him. “Let's go home. Take me home.”
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Chapter Twelve Lily slept soundly on her side, her golden brown hair splayed across the pillow. Sneak was curled like a croissant behind the crook of her knees, deeply asleep as well. Afraid of waking her, Marc resisted the urge to touch her and instead quietly stepped out of the room and went downstairs. They both had work that afternoon, but it was still morning. Lord knew she needed the break, so he planned to let her sleep a few more hours while he took care of errands around town. He’d done some internet research yesterday evening while she was at work, but failed to produce anything solid about her stalker. A search for tattoo artists in the Hollywood area with the name Dylan didn't result in any hits. Apparently a lot of tattoo artists got their clients from word-of-mouth, not websites. He also failed to find anything on Buster, which wasn't surprising considering he knew even less about him. Nonetheless, he’d done a general search on the name “Buster” in the Los Angeles area, and also researched construction companies in town, but L.A. was huge and had almost ten million residents. It was like searching for a shadow at midnight. Pete was better at research than he was, and he made a mental note to ask him for help. In the meantime, he decided to concentrate on Dylan and do some old-fashioned legwork. Jay had said that the man was a tattoo artist who worked near Hollywood and Highland. That stretch of road had about a dozen tattoo parlors, but it was as good as any place to start. He left Lily a note and went hunting for a stalker. **** “See anything you like?” Marc looked up from the binder of tattoo samples and patterns he had been browsing through and shrugged. “This is some pretty cool stuff, but I was thinking about something a little darker, like a demon or a grim reaper or something like that. Do you know any 142
Dancing with Danger artists who can do a really sick grim reaper?” It was the same routine he'd gone through at four previous tattoo parlors along Hollywood Blvd., but so far he hadn't gotten any leads. If this woman didn't provide him with useful information, he would have to start asking for Dylan by name. He was reluctant to do that because word might get back to Dylan that someone with Marc's description was looking for him. He didn’t want to arouse the man's suspicions. “Well, I've got some sexy demon girls if that's what you're looking for. Take a look at the Fantasy section toward the back there.” She gestured at the binder with a long-fingered hand. He found the page in question and whistled in appreciation. “You're extremely talented,” he said. He was genuinely impressed with the detailed artistry, but also knew that flattery could go a long way in his search for information. “Thanks. I've been tattooing since I was fourteen, so I ought to be pretty good at it by now.” “Fourteen? Is that even legal?” he asked, and immediately wished he hadn't. Could I sound more like a cop? But she laughed throatily and patted him on the shoulder as she took the binder from him. “It was probably one of the least illegal habits of mine when I was a kid.” She set the binder on the counter and waved as a client came in. “Look, I've got an appointment right now, but here's my card. I'm here every day except Sundays and Wednesdays.” She handed him a brightly colored business card. “And you might want to look into Candy Apple Ink, down past Highland,” she added. “They've got a couple of guys there who do a lot of underworld stuff, devils and skulls and demons and grim reapers. Ask for Vince Petrovsky or Dylan Sanders. They might be more up your alley.” YES! Marc's pulse quickened as he took her card and read her name. “Serena, you have been a great help. You're at the top of my list next time I'm looking for a tattoo artist.” He meant it. She raised an exquisitely manicured and multi-pierced eyebrow at him indulgently, and then shooed him out of her station to make room for her next client. **** 143
Lily jerked awake as an amazingly shrill sound pierced into her brain. She had a few moments of disorientation as she looked around the semi-darkened room and tried to remember where she was. Another shrill ring broke the silence, making her jump again. She shook her head as she recognized Marc's place and stumbled out of bed. It wasn't until the third loud noise that she realized the phone was ringing. She scrambled to the other side of the bed and picked up the handset before it could ring a fourth time and do permanent damage to her eardrums. “Hello?” she croaked. “Marc? Marc, honey, is that you?” asked a soft womanly voice. “Uh….” She realized belatedly that perhaps she should have let the answering machine pick up, or at least checked the Caller ID. “Hello? Are you there? Marc?” Blinking her eyes rapidly in a futile attempt to awaken her fuzzy brain, she finally responded. “Hold on just a moment, let me see if I can find him for you.” She started to put the receiver down when she saw the note lying on Marc's pillow. Lifting a shoulder to hold the phone next to her ear, she reached for the note and briefly read its contents. She cleared her throat. “I'm sorry, but it looks like he has stepped out for a moment. Can I take a message?” “Who is this?” “Um, this is Lily. I'm, ah, Marc's roommate.” “Roommate? I didn't know he had a roommate.” Remembering the woman had called Marc “honey,” Lily desperately hoped this woman was his sister, not some secret girlfriend or ex-wife. Deliberately keeping her voice as polite as possible, she asked, “May I ask who's calling?” “This is Ms. Sloan-Mathers. Marc's mother.” The voice sounded strained, but equally polite. “Oh!” She sat at the edge of the bed, at a loss for what to say. “It's a pleasure to meet you. Or, you know, speak to you.” She preemptively winced. “Marc has spoken highly of you,” she invented desperately. She knew very little of his family, and they obviously had no idea who she was. “He did?” Marc's mother sounded incredulous, and painfully hopeful. 144
Dancing with Danger Oh shit. What have I gotten myself into? “Um, yes, he mentioned you were a teacher and that you had your hands quite full with him and his siblings when they were younger. 'Hellions' was the word I think he used.” There, that's safe enough. And true. There was a pause, and then Ms. Sloan-Mathers laughed quietly. “Well, yes, they were a bit mischievous. Janice was dangerously imaginative with the schemes she'd get her brothers into, and Aaron was so good at spinning the truth, I never was quite sure what they really got into. And Marc! Marc was completely impossible. He was constantly going on some adventure, or attempting some stunt that would have turned a normal mother's hair prematurely gray. Oh wait, he did turn my hair gray!” She laughed again, but Lily thought she detected a hint of melancholy there. “Just like his father. The adventure was always more important than their own self-preservation.” This time, Lily was certain she could hear the sadness. She cleared her throat again but didn't know what to say. “Well… Lily, was it?” “Yes, ma'am.” “No need for the ma'am. Please call me Jeanne.” “It's a pleasure to meet you, Jeanne.” She winced again and mentally slapped herself in the forehead. You already said that, you idiot! “So how long have you been Marc's roommate? I didn't know he had finished construction.” “Oh, I just moved in last night. In fact, I'm not even moved in all the way yet. We're moving my stuff in shifts.” She trailed off, hoping Ms. Sloan-Mathers wouldn't ask her the million-dollar question, which naturally was the next thing out of Jeanne's mouth. “And how long have you two known each other?” She closed her eyes and frantically considered how to respond. After several moments of silence, Jeanne kindly interjected, “I'm sure he's mentioned you, dear. I just have a horrible memory for names.” This made Lily laugh. Knowing Jeanne's occupation as a teacher, it was unlikely she had any difficulty with names, but Lily appreciated her attempt to make sure she didn't feel belittled. 145
“Well, to be honest, we haven't known each other long,” she hedged. “But we hit it off right away, and due to some financial issues and, ah, extenuating circumstances, well, we're just going to try it out for a while and see how things go.” She swallowed, hating how pathetic that explanation made her sound. She probably thinks I'm some sort of hussy, or at least a total mooch. “I see. Well, it was lovely talking to you, dear.” “And you, ma’am.” “Jeanne, dear. Please let him know I called, won't you?” “Yes, of course. Should I take down your number for him to call you back?” Ms. Sloan-Mathers laughed, and the undertone of sorrow was back again. “Oh, I'm sure he has the number somewhere, if he ever wants to call. It was nice talking to you, Lily.” “You too, Ms.—ah, Jeanne.” They hung up and Lily flopped back onto the bed and covered her face with her hands. There was an almost silent whump as Sneak jumped down from a nearby bookcase onto the bed next to her. He padded over to her head and immediately started pawing gently but insistently at her face and hands. “All right, all right already! I'll feed you,” she groaned. She scooped the cat off the bed and carried him downstairs to the kitchen as he purred loudly and rubbed his head against her chin. She set him on the kitchen floor and was about to open a can of cat food when she saw there was already a cat dish with a few remaining morsels of canned food in it sitting next to his water bowl. “You little sneak! Marc already fed you this morning, didn't he?” She put her hands on her hips and scowled down at him. Sneak unabashedly rubbed up against her calf, weaving in and out of her legs as she glared at him. She stood there stoically until he finally sat down and looked up at her. They stared at each other for several long moments until Sneak raised a paw and tentatively placed it on her shin, claws politely retracted. “Oh no, you don't. I know when you've been fed, and you, mister, 146
Dancing with Danger have been fed.” He removed his paw and placed it primly back on the floor. If he had been a normal cat, he would have meowed plaintively at this point, but Sneak was as silent as ever as he gazed up at her with his big golden eyes. “C'mere, you big baby.” She bent over and picked him up again, and Sneak immediately restarted his rumbling purr. He settled himself comfortably in her arms as she grabbed her water bottle from the fridge and went back upstairs. She transferred him to one arm, his two front paws resting on her shoulder as she piled dirty laundry, hers and Marc's, into a basket. When the basket was full, Sneak climbed down to curl up on the clothes as she carried it to the small laundry room downstairs. Stubbornly, he stayed in the basket while she yanked out the clothes from underneath him to load into the washer. She started the machine and looked back into the basket. Sneak looked up at her innocently, sitting at the very bottom of the now-empty container. “You are one crazy cat.” She reached in to pick him up again and he helpfully lifted his front paws to assist in the process. With him snuggled back in her arms, she headed upstairs and packed her bag for the day's dance classes. She made a mental note to leave her new contact information with Crissy at the front desk while she was at the studio, which reminded her that she ought to call Judy back and give her the news as well. But looking at the clock, she realized that Judy would be at work, so instead she called her landlord to give him notice on her month-to-month lease. Then she called her insurance company, bank, credit card company, and utilities to update her contact information and cancel the water and power for her apartment. She knew there was someone else she ought to call about her new contact information, but she avoided dealing with that by instead calling the mechanic's shop and arranging for the payment of her deductible. She was pleased to hear that her car would be ready for pick-up on Wednesday, and she made a note of their address so she could swing by after her shift at the coffee shop. She then called the Five Star agency and officially agreed to have them represent her. They seemed as excited and enthusiastic as she 147
felt, and she gladly set up a meeting with their image consultant and photographer for the following week. Energized about the direction her life was heading, she hung up with a smile and softly petted Sneak, who had fallen asleep on her lap. But as she looked at the phone again, her eagerness faded. She took a few gulps of water from her bottle, eying the handset warily. With a sigh, she realized she could no longer delay the inevitable. But just as she was about to dial the last person on her list, she heard the washing machine buzz. Grateful for the interruption, she gently shooed the snoozing cat off her lap and went downstairs. Now awake, he unhelpfully led the way, stopping frequently in front of her and bouncing off her ankles as she headed into the laundry room to move the clothes to the dryer. That task was over too quickly, however, and she eventually forced herself to trudge into the living room. Deciding to remain standing for this particular conversation, she picked up the phone. Taking a deep breath, she dialed her father. Sneak seemed to sense her mood. He hopped onto the arm of the sofa to watch her and offer his silent support. She swallowed and stood up straighter as it rang. She could envision exactly what was happening on the other end of the line. The large plantation-style home had an ostentatious foyer, with high ceilings and an impressive curving staircase. A housekeeper would be walking briskly toward the front house phone to make sure it was answered within the first four rings. As she had known it would be, the call was picked up after the third ring and a crisp voice recited, “The Brookstone Residence, this is Patricia, good afternoon.” The name took her by surprise. There hadn't been a Patricia working at her father's home when she lived there. Then again, it had been several years since she left, and there were bound to be changes in the house staff since then. “Good morning, Patricia. This is Lillian. Is Gerald available to speak with me?” She would have preferred to leave a message, but knew her father would use it as another example of how her manners had deteriorated since moving to California. “May I ask what this call is regarding?” 148
Dancing with Danger Her brow furrowed. She’d never been required to give a reason for speaking to her father, and she was momentarily at a loss. “It's of a personal nature, ma'am, but I'm sure he'll want to take my call.” She wasn't sure of any such thing, but this woman was getting on her nerves, and she wanted to bring this uncomfortable conversation to an end. “I'm sorry, ma'am, but I need to know what this call is regarding, or at least what office you are calling from, before I can see if Senator Brookstone is available to take your call,” the woman snippily replied. “I'm not calling from an office. This is Lillian Brookstone.” There was silence on the line. “Lily Brookstone. His daughter.” “His daughter?” This woman has no idea who I am. Her irritation dissolved, to be replaced by wary confusion. She must be very new in the household. “I have been employed by Senator Brookstone for over nine months, ma’am, and have never heard anything about a daughter.” The snooty tone was back again. Lily’s stomach churned. Nine months? She had been working there for nine months and not once had her father, or any of the other staff, mentioned her very existence? What about her old room? The family portrait that used to be in the sitting room? Her childhood dance trophies and equestrian ribbons? Had her father wiped the house clean of everything that might have hinted that he once had a daughter? Her silence must have had an impact on the housekeeper, who coughed nervously. “You see, there are only a few people we are allowed to patch through to the Senator without getting further information from them, and you are not on that list. Please hold as I check with my supervisor—” “That won't be necessary. Please tell Senator Brookstone that his daughter has changed her place of residence and her old contact information is no longer valid.” Her voice broke as she realized her father had never called her at her apartment anyway. The last time he’d called her was when she was still living with Judy over a year ago, and he’d only called her once. She remembered with painful 149
clarity his disdain when she’d told him she couldn't return home for his re-election campaign because of her rehearsal schedule. The call hadn't ended well. Swallowing painfully, she refused to allow the threatening tears to fall. But then she envisioned her favorite family photo, the one of her in a pink tutu with her mother hugging her and her father's arms around both of them, smiling proudly at his “two beauties,” as he used to call them. She’d kept that photo framed on the nightstand in her old bedroom. Where was it now? Buried at the bottom of some dusty box in a remote corner of the attic? Thrown away? Anger and hurt burned through her veins, and a few tears slipped past her barricade. The front door opened, but she didn't look behind her. She took a deep breath and gripped the phone tightly with both hands, pressing it painfully against her ear as she fought to keep her voice steady. “If the Senator wants to contact his daughter, please tell him that he can go fuck himself.” She wanted to slam the phone down into its cradle, but it wasn’t her phone. Instead, she slowly pressed the disconnect button with a shaky finger and deliberately set it down, trying to keep herself from completely losing control. Cool, calm, collected. Just like her father had taught her. She knew Marc was behind her even before he spoke. “I'm back,” he said quietly as he approached her. She didn't turn around, but instead pulled her body upright, lifted her chin, and took a deep breath. “That was my father's housekeeper.” Her voice was indeed calm and collected. In fact, it was completely emotionless. He didn't speak. Instead, he put his keys on the coffee table and wrapped his arms around her from behind, lowering his head to rest his cheek against hers. She stiffened at first, knowing that if she opened herself to his comfort, she would also open herself to the despair and anger she was trying so desperately to keep at bay. But she couldn't resist him, didn't want to resist him, especially when he tenderly kissed her cheek and started to rock her back and forth. 150
Dancing with Danger So she gripped his arms and let go. She let go of her control, allowed her anguish to stampede out of her, breaking down any barrier in its way. She sobbed freely, uncaring how she looked, how she sounded, or how her father would disapprove if he saw her like this. She opened her heart and forced the dark, bitter emotions out, welcoming in their place Marc's warm, loving energy. For several long minutes, she both emptied and replenished herself. When she had cried herself dry, she turned in his arms, reached up for his face, and pulled his mouth to hers. She kissed him fiercely, sending up a quick Thank You to The Man Upstairs for bringing this wonderful pillar of strength and love into her life just when she needed him. He returned her kiss, holding her close, supporting her. She felt as though she had been emotionally starving for years, bereft of any sort of passion other than that which she found on stage. But with Marc, it was as if she had her own private buffet of the emotionality, the connectivity, she'd been so desperately missing. Suddenly she wanted more than his embrace. She needed him to make her feel whole again. She pushed her body against his, her arms holding him as tightly as she could. His hands rubbed her back, her neck, her head as their kiss turned even more passionate. Desperately, she rubbed against him as if she could remove any barriers between them through friction alone. “I need you inside me,” she whispered against his mouth. He obligingly lowered her onto the couch, his hands continuing to caress her face, her neck, her shoulders, as if trying to rub warmth back into her soul. But she wanted more. She tugged his pants down his thighs and caressed his shaft, coaxing it to fully stiffen in her grip. His breath quickened and he yanked her shorts and panties down in return. He swiftly licked his fingers and rubbed them against her, sliding between her lips and teasing her clitoris. Yes. She gasped and lifted her hips, releasing her grip on his shaft to grasp his arm. Without pause, he thrust himself into her. 151
They both moaned in shared pleasure and he held himself still, filling her. This was what she wanted, what she needed. Just the two of them. The rest of the world meant nothing. “Look at me, Lily.” **** She opened her eyes and met his gaze. “I love you,” he declared. She had stopped crying, but tears still lingered on her cheeks and he leaned forward to kiss the glistening moisture. “I don't care if we're moving too fast, dammit. I love you,” he repeated, pulling himself out of her and then sliding back inside. “I love you, Lily.” He increased the tempo of his thrusts, pumping into her deeply and repeating his declaration of love with each stroke. Her heart swelled to bursting as she felt her orgasm build. She refused to close her eyes, keeping her gaze locked with his as he filled her, in every sense of the word. “I love you too, Marc, I love you too,” she gasped, and then let her head fall back as her orgasm exploded, spreading waves of tingling, overwhelming pleasure radiating through her body. He stayed inside her as she peaked, slowing his rhythm to a tender caress. When the waves subsided and her body grew limp, he pulled out and gathered her into his arms. They didn't say another word, just held each other and allowed their pulses and breathing to calm. He carried her upstairs, removed their clothing, and brought her into the shower with him. They took turns shampooing each other's hair, exchanging sweet touches and kisses as they bathed silently. When she soaped up his chest and abdomen, she noted he was still hard. She realized belatedly that although he had brought her to peak, he hadn’t come himself. He had made love to her, given her what she needed, but hadn't pressed her for more once she had been satisfied. His fingers tickled around the curve of her breasts as she reached up to the shower nozzle and directed it to rinse the soap off his body. He ran his hands down the sides of her rib cage as she guided the spray away from them and cupped him in her hands. He hummed appreciatively and then opened his eyes as she lowered 152
Dancing with Danger herself to her knees. “You don't have to….” She smiled and smoothed her hands across his hips, her tongue flicking out to lick the tip of him. He sucked in a breath through gritted teeth, involuntarily nudging his pelvis closer to her face. She opened her mouth and took him in, enjoying the feel of his smooth skin as it slid between her lips and rubbed against her tongue. She pushed his hips away as she pulled her head back, and then tilted her head slightly as she pushed her head forward again and pulled him deeply into her mouth. He groaned and flung a steadying hand against the shower wall as her mouth twisted around him. She wiggled her tongue against the sensitive path along the bottom of his shaft as she repeated the torturously slow push-and-pull. “Lily,” he begged. He moved both hands to her head, gripping her hair and pulling her away. “I'm going to come.” “Good.” She gripped his behind with one hand and wrapped the other around his shaft, guiding him back into her mouth. She built a steady rhythm, tilting her head from side to side as she worked her way up and down. She twisted her hand back and forth around him, in the opposite direction of her mouth, milking him. He watched as her lips closed around him and sucked as thrust in and out of her mouth, in and out. When she felt him stiffen and heard his grunt of release, she let her head fall back and continued to pump his shaft with her hand. He came with ferocity, spilling onto her breasts. “Oh, God.” He relaxed his grip on her hair, his body shuddering with release. She stood up and stepped back under the stream of water, smiling mischievously at him. He was hunched over, resting his hands on his knees. “Bet ya really love me now, dontcha?” she teased as she washed her chest. He looked up at her and then lowered his lashes dangerously. “Oh, you'll get yours, believe me.” But she didn't think it was much of a threat as she saw him weakly stand upright and run a shaky hand through his hair. “Yeah, right,” she started to laugh, but it turned into a squeal as he abruptly launched himself at her. She dropped the soap and fell back against the opposite side of the shower, finding herself 153
suddenly caged between his muscular arms. “What was that?” he growled playfully, running his nose along her jaw and down to her collar bone. “You were saying?” She squeaked embarrassingly as he slid a hand between her thighs and coaxed her legs apart. He pressed his chest against hers, pinning her to the wall behind her, and reached up to the extendable shower nozzle with his other hand. “Maybe I didn't hear you right, hmm?” He flicked a switch on the nozzle and the steady spray of water began to pulsate. He slid the head of the nozzle between her now-open thighs and let the highly pressurized water massage her swollen nether lips as his fingers teased her clit. She moaned in pleasure as he licked and sucked on her neck, his fingers eventually coaxing another knee-weakening orgasm from her. “Betcha really love me now, don't you?” he whispered smugly as he returned the nozzle back to its holster and turned off the water. “Oh God, Marc, I do. I really do.” She leaned into his arms and he held her close. “Me too, baby. I mean it.” They kissed each other again and eventually made their way out of the shower, managing to dry each other off and get ready for work with only a few more distracting episodes. When they were in the car and heading out of the garage, she asked where he had been earlier that morning. “I went to Hollywood and tracked down Dylan. He works at a tattoo parlor called Candy Apple Ink, his last name is Sanders, and he drives a brand-spanking-new SUV.” “So that means he probably isn't my stalker, right? Since he doesn't drive a truck?” “Except that the SUV is really new. It still has dealer plates and the window sticker had recently been removed and tossed in the backseat. For all we know, he could have traded in his truck this morning, aware it had been spotted. Or, it could be coincidence and he has nothing to do with your situation. I'm going to run a background check on him today and see if he has a record. I'll also run cursory check on the name 'Buster.' If we're lucky, it'll be unusual enough that I might come up with something. Or, it could 154
Dancing with Danger be his nickname, in which case we might not discover anything.” “Well, I appreciate you doing all this. I wish I could give you more useful information.” “You've done plenty. All you have to do now is stay safe and keep your eyes open. Don't go anywhere alone and keep your phone with you at all times. We'll get this guy, and then you won't have to worry about any of this.” He pulled the Jeep onto the freeway. “And now that you've got into that Agency, you don't need to work at Vixens anymore, right?” “Well, with that deductible, I think the smartest thing to do is continue to work until Five Star actually gets me a gig. They’re a great agency, but nothing is ever certain.” “The smartest thing to do for your safety would be to quit Vixens now, don't you think?” he asked pointedly. “I think that's the pot calling the kettle black, actually.” She smirked, folding her arms. “What?” “Your mother called this morning. She insinuated that you and your father were the cause of her gray hair. Said you two were constantly choosing adventure over self-preservation. And let me assure you, I'm not dancing at Vixens for the adventure. I'm just working wherever I can to make the money I need to keep my life together.” “That was completely different.” His voice was barely raised, but the iciness in his tone made her pause. “My father wasn't looking for adventure. He wasn't some adrenaline-seeking— It's not… It was completely different.” He was so angry he couldn't seem to find the words to explain himself. “My mother left my father. She left him! He never 'chose adventure over her.'” “Hold on a second. That's not what she said. She said he cared more about the adventure than about taking care of himself. She didn't say anything about him not caring about her.” “It's the same thing. She always says that, but the truth is, she was the one who left. She was the one who gave him the ultimatum. 'Quit your job or I'm leaving.' It was his career. He loved it more than anything.” 155
“More than his wife?” she couldn't help but interject. “No! You don't understand. What kind of wife would make her husband give up the career he has been working toward his entire life?” “I understand more than you think. My father always put his career first. His family was never a priority. What kind of father would choose his job over his own child?” “His children had no problem with him being a cop. It was Mom who couldn't handle it. He had just been shot, and she left him. I thought that you, of all people, would understand. Your own father disowned you because of your career. How can you defend my mother, when she did the same thing to my dad?” They had arrived at the dance studio, and her class was just about to start. She took a deep breath. “Look, I don't know what happened between your parents, but I do know what it's like trying to love someone who loves a job more than they love you. All I'm trying to say is that it's a terrible thing, and I wouldn't wish it on anyone.” He was silent for a moment and didn't make eye contact. “You better go. You're going to be late.” “Yeah.” She felt awful. She’d just started to climb out of the hole she’d been stuck in for so long, and now she felt as though the ladder had been yanked out from under her. “Marc, I don't want to leave like this.” “It's fine. We'll talk later. I should be home by nine. You have a ride back to my place after your classes?” “Yeah, Crissy owes me a favor, I'm sure she can give me a lift. Look, Marc—” “Don't. We're both going to be late. Go teach your classes. We'll talk later.” He looked at his watch. With a sigh, she grabbed her bag and hopped out. He waited until she was safely inside the studio, and then drove off without waving goodbye. **** The Glock jabbed uncomfortably into his ribcage as the darkhaired man twisted his body to make sure no one was following 156
Dancing with Danger him. The thug who sold him the gun assured him that this neighborhood was blind and deaf to almost everything, and so far he hadn't seen anything to contradict that assessment. Nonetheless, he shifted the newly purchased handgun in his waistband and adjusted his shirt to better conceal the telltale bulge. He’d paid a small fortune to get the gun illegally. After he researched the names and phone numbers Nikki had given him, he knew he had no choice in the matter. The tall man who had taken his Lily was a police officer. There was no way he could proceed without making sure he was as armed as his opponent. This handgun was simply a necessary precaution to assure his plan would proceed smoothly. In general, he despised guns. Knives were more elegant, easier to control, simpler. That was how he liked things, orderly and beautiful and perfect. It was attention to detail that had made him so successful in his career. Sure, his need to be in control and his occasional loss of temper had lost him a few clients over the years, but those people were fools who didn’t understand. A man on the street corner ahead of him glanced briefly over his shoulder in his direction. Slowing his pace, he was reassured by the familiar weight of his favorite Bowie knife, which was always strapped to his ankle holster. The weight of the gun, on the other hand, just felt awkward and bulky. His hand unconsciously went to the bulge at his waist as he passed the suspicious man. Realizing what was hidden beneath his shirt, the other man quickly averted his gaze and stepped away. With a smile, he decided the gun might have its uses after all. If all went according to plan, he wouldn't actually need to use it. But he had to be prepared, just in case. He knew one could never be too careful, and he prided himself on his meticulousness. For his Lily, nothing short of perfection would be acceptable. Picking up his pace, he trotted down the street and unlocked the door to his truck, knowing there were several more errands to complete before he could set his plan in motion. As he climbed into the driver's seat, he patted the Glock, tracing the outlines of the weapon through his shirt and familiarizing himself with its 157
silhouette. The seller had assured him that this “piece” was reliable, powerful, and that many police officers used it as their chosen firearm. This made him smile. How ironic would it be to kill Officer Marcus Sloan with his own type of gun?
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Chapter Thirteen “Bye, Miss Lily!” “See you next week, Malina. And don't forget to practice your pirouettes on the left side!” Malina nodded vigorously as she and her mother headed out the lobby door. Lily's next class was already noisily making its way into the studio, so she slipped into the teacher's lounge to drink some water and prepare her mind for it. The last hour and a half had gone by thankfully fast. Teaching had allowed her to put the argument with Marc out of her mind for the most part, but whenever class had paused, her thoughts drifted to those last few minutes in the car and she’d feel a fresh wave of guilt sweep over her. Shaking her head, she tried not to dwell on it and instead rifled through her borrowed duffle bag for her water bottle. She was pushing aside her change of clothes, make-up kit, and other miscellaneous items when her fingers brushed something metallic. Pulling it out, she studied her pointe shoe key chain. Marc had given it back to her last night after she accepted his offer to move in with him. In the place of her old spare apartment key, he’d put a copy of the key to his own condo. She looked down at the small trinket with the single key attached to it and her heart ached. Thinking back on what she had said in the car, she realized how superior she must have sounded, and how inappropriate her criticism was. She’d brought her own emotional baggage into a situation that had nothing to do with her or her father. The divorce was obviously an extremely sensitive issue for Marc, but instead of sympathizing, she’d stubbornly spouted off a lecture about how his father should have behaved when she had no idea what had actually happened. Even if she did, she had no right to be making judgments. Idiot, idiot, idiot. “Hey, are you all right?” 159
She looked up and saw that Crissy, the front desk receptionist, had come into the lounge and was eying her worriedly. Smoothing out the pained expression she realized she had adopted, she nodded. “Yeah, I'm fine—” She stopped herself short, realizing she was falling into her old routine of hiding her emotions. Had her experience with Marc taught her nothing? Deciding to try lowering her automatic barriers, she opened up to her friend. “I—I had a fight with my boyfriend and I feel awful about it. It happened right before he dropped me off and it's totally unresolved and, well, I just feel terrible.” “Oh no! That is the absolute worst. You poor thing.” Crissy's curly blonde hair bounced as she rushed over to her side and squeezed her compassionately. “Well, it's not really that big of a deal,” she murmured, embarrassed by the girl's overabundance of sympathy. She looked over her shoulder through the open lounge door to make sure that none of her students were within earshot. “Honey, communication is the most important part of a relationship! Arguing is one thing. But you have to make sure that you both come to a respectful understanding at the end of an argument.” Crissy had just started attending community college and was preparing to transfer to UCLA or USC as a psychology major. She knew Crissy read both Dear Abby and Ann Landers religiously, and apparently this made her quite the expert on advice-giving. “You can't just leave this, this thing, hanging in the air like that. You need to call him right now and straighten things out or your relationship will be permanently scarred!” “I can't. I've got fourteen students waiting for me,” she protested quietly, disengaging herself from Crissy's embrace. “You only have eight students,” she corrected her smartly. “Theresa called in sick, Karen and Kelly are with their dad this week, and Michelle, Susan, and Syrah aren't here yet because class doesn't start for”—she looked up at the lounge clock—”three minutes and forty-five seconds. Call the man. Trust me.” Crissy pushed her into a chair and stuffed her cell phone into her hands before bounding back out to the front desk to check in Susan, 160
Dancing with Danger who had just arrived. She reluctantly admitted to herself that Crissy had a point. She didn't have any idea what she was going to say, but letting the awful situation sit there unresolved wasn't working for her, and she hated to imagine what Marc might be thinking about her in the meantime. She had to clear the air. She had to apologize. She dialed his cell number. It went immediately to voice mail. **** “Okay, Bambi. Spill it. What the hell is wrong with you today?” “Nothing you can fix, Pete, so drop it.” Marc pushed open the office door of the police station with enough force to slam it into the wall behind it. He stormed over to a desk and slapped down his report folder. “No, I'm not going to drop it. Not only is your attitude sucking the life out of my day, but it's also starting to affect your work.” Pete picked up the folder and moved it into its proper bin at the other end of the desk. “Well, I'm so sorry to have ruined your day. Not everyone's life can be as perfect as yours.” He flopped down into a desk chair and ran an agitated hand through his short hair. “My life isn't perfect. No one's is.” Pete took off his jacket and draped it over the back of a chair. “You've got to figure out how to deal with the bad stuff one thing at a time so it doesn't prevent you from getting back to the good stuff.” “Oh, and now you're a relationship counselor, too.” Marc stood up again abruptly and stomped over to the coffee pot on the far wall, but the smell reminded him of Lily. Pete followed him, so he hastily turned left and headed for the bathroom instead. “Relationship? So this about Lily?” Pete kept his voice low so as not to disturb the other officers. Marc snorted as he reached the bathroom door. “How the hell could this be about Lily? We haven't been together long enough for me to know her, apparently, let alone to have fallen….” His sarcastic remark drifted off before he let himself finish the thought. He yanked the bathroom door open and then swung around to face his friend. “God damn it, Pete, just leave it alone, would you? Unless 161
you want to tell me how to take a piss too?” Pete stopped and glared at him for a hurt moment before walking back to his desk, snatching his jacket, and brusquely striding outside. “Fuck!” Marc exploded as the office door slammed shut behind his best friend. A few officers at a nearby desk looked up from their work. Stepping away from their gaze and into the men's room, he vented his anger by punching the hand dryer. It whirred to life, shooting out hot air and filling the room with its loud, white noise. He gripped the edges of the sink and hunched over it. “Get a grip,” he commanded himself. Looking up, he studied his reflection while avoiding his own gaze in the mirror. He looked exactly like his father had at his age, he knew. The same strong jaw line, the same lips, cheekbones, and nose. And the same inability to find a woman who understands me, apparently. But something didn't feel right about that. Before his father was shot in the line of duty, Marc would have laughed at anyone who claimed his mother didn't understand his father. She knew him better than anyone, and they’d been happy. Damn happy. They’d been together almost twenty years and nothing had ever driven them apart. When she moved out, the shock of it had hit him like a physical blow. It was completely unexpected and unfathomable to him, and he still didn’t understand how she could have done it. It wasn't that he’d felt abandoned. His older sister was already off at college, and he and his brother were at the end of their high school years. But he definitely felt that she’d abandoned Dad. Janice and Aaron had never been as close to their father as he was, so they didn't understand. But Marc knew. He saw how the light slowly went out of his father's eyes when it became clear Mom wasn't coming back. And unlike Janice and Aaron, he’d never forgiven her for it. And now here he was, getting involved with a woman who admitted she would have done exactly the same thing. And she’d compared his father to hers! His dad was nothing like Senator Brookstone, and for her to suggest it was beyond offensive. 162
Dancing with Danger How could he have been so naïve, thinking he might be falling in love with her? He barely knew her. But if he didn't love her, why did this hurt so much? If he didn't care about her, why did he care what she thought? His head felt as if it might explode. He finally met his own gaze in the mirror. Green eyes exactly the same shade as his mother's stared back at him. But suddenly it wasn't his own eyes he saw in the mirror. They were Lily's. And they were filled with tears as she wept for the father who didn't love her the way she deserved to be loved. He squeezed his own eyes shut, willing the image away. But the image was replaced by the weeping eyes of another woman. His mom. This image couldn’t be a memory, because he'd never actually seen his mother cry. But had she sobbed like that for Dad? Was Dad the one to blame for the destruction of their marriage? Was Lily right? He didn't know the answer to any of these questions, but he did know Lily had been speaking from a place of deep pain, from her heart and from her horrible experience. And he had swept aside her feelings as though they didn’t matter at all. He’d been so upset with her that he hadn't realized how pissed he was at himself, and at his father. Then he exploded at Pete. He felt like an ass. A First-Class, Grade-A, Top-of-the-Class Asshole. How the hell was he going to fix this? “One thing at a time,” he reminded himself, sounding suspiciously like Pete. He splashed cold water on his face and pulled out his cell phone. It was about three minutes before Lily's second class was supposed to start. If he called her now, he might be able to catch her and apologize. Then he could find Pete and apologize to him too. He quickly dialed her number and took a steadying breath as the phone rang. It went immediately to voice mail.
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Chapter Fourteen “I still think you should call him back.” “He obviously doesn't want to talk to me. My call went immediately to voicemail, so he must have turned it off.” Lily looked nervously around the parking lot as they made their way to Crissy's car. The sun had only recently fallen behind horizon, but the quickly fading light left the lot uncomfortably dim. There were several parked cars, students and parents coming in for evening classes. Her heart skittered as she spotted a dark blue vehicle a few spaces away, but it was an SUV, not a truck. “But that doesn't necessarily mean he doesn't want to talk to you.” Crissy was still arguing her point as she opened the driver's side door of her red Honda Civic. She slid inside, leaned over to unlock Lily's door, and continued her train of thought. “I mean, there are tons of reasons his phone might be off. Like maybe it ran out of batteries, or he was driving through a tunnel, or he turned it off for some business meeting thingy and then forgot to turn it back on. “ Lily raised her eyebrows indulgently as Crissy adjusted her seatbelt and pulled them out of the lot, still rattling off reasons why Marc's phone was not accepting calls. “Or he could have been calling you at the exact same moment you were trying to call him!” she crowed triumphantly. “Oh my God, that's totally it!” “I highly doubt that.” “C'mon, Lily! Where's your sense of romance?” It was her sense of romance that got her into this situation, she thought. Burning hot passion right out of the gate, moving in with him and saying “I love you” before even knowing his middle name. And now they were flaming out just as fast. What more did she expect from rushing into such a risky situation? But she quickly halted that train of thought, refusing to let her father's voice make her second-guess the decisions she had made. She shook her head 164
Dancing with Danger and tried to steer her thoughts back on track. “Well, I think that's what happened,” Crissy insisted, misinterpreting her head shake. “Maybe,” she conceded. I hope so. “So where am I going again?” Lily gave her directions and then looked behind them. There was a beige sedan immediately behind their car, followed by an old white truck. A silver Mercedes drove in the lane next to them, and there was a red VW Bug behind that. Crissy was watching her and sudden realization hit. “You don't think he's back there, do you?” she asked, eyes wide. She knew about her stalker because Marc had advised her to provide her coworkers with the basics of the situation, so they could be more vigilant about her privacy and safety. “I don't see anything suspicious, but I'm being careful.” “Thank God! I would have, like, totally flipped out.” They eventually pulled onto the freeway, leaving the Mercedes and VW Bug behind. The beige sedan and white truck followed them onto the freeway. “Stay in the right lane,” Lily advised. “Our exit is only a few miles down. Crissy started chatting about the latest Johnny Depp movie. Lily listened politely, nodding and making the appropriate sounds of approval and appreciation as required, but she was distracted by the two cars that remained behind them as they continued on the freeway. She breathed a sigh of relief when the beige sedan changed lanes and passed them by, but the white truck remained in their lane. Eventually a black SUV pulled in between them, its bulkiness and deeply tinted windows blocking her view of the truck. “How about you?” Crissy looked over at her friend. “Lily?” “Huh? Oh, I'm sorry. What did you say?” “I was asking you which Johnny Depp movie was your favorite. Mine is definitely Pirates of the Caribbean. Any of them.” “Oh, maybe Benny and Joon?” “Benny and who?” Lily smiled, amazed at how much difference a few years made between their ages. “Joon, spelled with two O's. You should check it 165
out. It's a sweet movie, one of his earlier films from the 90's. This is our exit here. Make a right at the light.” Crissy navigated the car off the freeway and turned right. The black SUV followed them, still blocking Lily's view. “Well, everyone seems to think Edward Scissorhands is one of his best ones, but I saw it when I was a kid and it kind of freaked me out. He's so much hotter in Chocolat, right? Oh my god, that hair! So sexy.” “Mmhmm,” Lily agreed distractedly. The black SUV finally pulled into a turn lane, revealing a green station wagon behind it. She was about to breathe a sigh of relief when her heart jumped into her throat. Behind the station wagon was the white truck! Was it following them? She couldn't see who was driving the vehicle. Twilight had now fully fallen and both the station wagon and the truck had their headlights on, obscuring her view. “Hey Crissy, do me a favor and turn right at the next light, will you?” “Sure, but I thought his place was still a few blocks west of here?” “Yeah it is, but I'm worried about that white truck. It's been behind us for a while and I want to see if it's following us.” “Oh. My. God.” Her jaw dropped open as she looked in her rearview mirror. “Omigod, do you think that's him? Omigod!” “Stay calm. It's probably only my imagination. Turn right up here and let's see what happens.” Despite the calmness of her voice, Lily's heart was beating like a jackhammer in her chest and her palms were starting to sweat. Crissy's excitability wasn't helping her keep firm control over her nerves. They turned right and both girls held their breath, waiting to see if the truck followed. It did. “Oh my god!” Crissy screeched. “Crissy, stay calm.” Lily shouted, her own fear making her voice sound much harsher than she intended. “Just make another right at the next light. I'm calling Marc.” She frantically rummaged through her dance bag, trying to find her cell phone. As she scrambled through the contents of her bag she reviewed his instructions to her. “If you think you're being followed, don't go to the condo. Make a 166
Dancing with Danger series of right-hand turns, staying on well-lit, major streets. If the vehicle follows you through those turns, call me immediately. Drive to a well-lit place of business and start honking your horn.” Crissy continued to mumble “Oh my god,” over and over to herself as she followed her instructions, gripping the wheel hard enough to make the veins on her hands bulge out as she made another turn. Lily was still fumbling through the items of her bag. Finally, her fingers found the phone and she pulled it out just as she heard Crissy groan in relief. “Oh thank god! He went straight! He didn't turn! Oh thank god!” Lily spun in her seat and watched as the white truck sped north as they headed east. She squinted, trying to identify the driver, but the truck was too far away and all she could see was the vague silhouette of a man wearing a cap. She caught a quick glimpse of the truck before it was out of her sight. She turned around and flopped against the seat. “That was so freaky! Could you imagine if that was actually him? Like, your stalker? How crazy would that have been? Oh my god, I was, like, totally freaking out.” “Yeah, that was pretty intense. I'm sorry I scared you, I just had to be sure.” She was already regretting allowing Crissy to drive her home. Had she just put her life in danger? Maybe she should have just stayed at the studio until Marc finished his shift. But would that have put her students at risk? “Oh, totally! I would be completely paranoid too, if I was in your place. You've got to be super careful, I totally understand. I was just, like 'augh,' you know?” “Yeah, I know.” She smiled despite herself at Crissy's excitability. “Me too.” Looking down, she realized she was still clenching the cell phone in her hands and slowly loosened her grip. An icon on the screen of her phone informed her she had missed a call. Curious, she flipped it open and saw that the call had been from Marc. “Oh!” “What? What is it?!” Crissy squealed, swerving the car slightly as she spun in her seat to look behind them, probably expecting to see 167
the white truck again. “No, no, it's not that,” she assured her, waving Crissy's attention back to the road. “I just saw that I missed a call from Marc.” “Oh!” She squealed again, this time with delight. “When? What time did he call?” Lily wanted to keep her eyes on the road because Crissy's driving was making her nervous, but she finally looked down and scrolled through her call log to determine just that. “Well, I'll be damned.” “What? Tell me!” She smiled at Crissy in disbelief. “You were right.” **** “So you're telling me that in the last, what, forty-eight hours? In the last forty-eight hours, you've managed to fall in love with her, get her to move in with you, and then break up with her? And all because she accused your father of not being a saint?” Pete threw up his arms in exasperation. “Hell, Marc, not even your father would disagree with her on that one.” Marc leaned against the wall of the police station hallway and rubbed his forehead and temples agitatedly. “Well, it wasn't as simple as all that,” he mumbled defensively. “It never is.” Pete studied him intently. He knew Marc had never been a relationship sort of guy. He liked to flirt and he liked to date, but he’d never seen Marc let a woman get close to him. Sure, he'd had a handful of girlfriends over the years, but they never lasted more than a month or two at most, and Marc hardly talked to him about any of them. In fact, he hadn't even met most of them. Marc always kept them at a distance. So the fact that he’d not only opened his home to this woman, but also admitted to being in love with her…. Well, hell. Looked like when Marc fell, he fell fast and hard. “Why don't you just call her and apologize?” “I tried, but she must have her phone turned off. For all I know, she threw the damn thing away. She's probably pissed as hell at me, and I can't blame her. “ Pete was struggling with warring emotions. Half of him felt deliciously smug as he watched his best friend finally struggle with the roller coaster of emotions that came with a serious relationship. 168
Dancing with Danger But his other half felt more sympathetic to Marc's dilemma. After all, he’d cut himself off from emotional ties of significance for so long that he was sorely underprepared to handle this sort of thing. “My call went immediately to voicemail and I had no idea what to say, so I hung up without leaving a message,” he finished dejectedly. “How about, 'I was being a dick. Please forgive my sorry ass?'“ Marc looked up at him and scowled. Then he reluctantly broke into a grin. “I guess I sort of deserved that.” “Yes, you did. Now pull down your pants and let me show you how to piss like a man.” Marc laughed. “Fuck you!” “Am I interrupting something, officers?” They immediately straightened up and faced the newcomer. It was Bonnie Johansson, or Bonnie Jo as everyone called her, an authoritative heavy-set woman in her mid-60's who had run the Records Department since before they were born and never missed an opportunity to remind everyone of that fact. She raised an eyebrow at Marc. “Ah, no, ma'am. Sorry for the, ah, language there.” “I don't give a fuck about the language, boys. I've been working around filthy-mouthed cops since before you were born. What I do care about is officers misusing my Records staff for personal purposes.” She gave Marc a stern look that had him standing even straighter and made Pete glad he wasn’t the one in the spotlight. Marc took a deep breath to respond to the accusation, but she interrupted him before he could begin. “I assume it was you who asked my staff to run a background check on Dylan Sanders?” “Yes, ma'am, but—” “And Buster No-Last-Name?” “I wasn't sure if they could do anything with only a first name, but I thought—” “You thought you'd waste my staff's time?” Marc frowned and his voice deepened and increased in volume. “No, ma'am, that wasn't it at all. I was off-duty when my girlfriend's car, and the contents within it, were viciously vandalized by some psychopath who has most likely been stalking her. The officers who 169
responded to the scene had no problem with me looking into the situation. A detective hasn't been, and probably won't be, assigned to the case. All I've got to go on are the names 'Dylan Sanders' and 'Buster,' and the fact that the guy was probably driving a blue truck.” His eyes blazed with determined energy as he faced off with Bonnie Jo. Damn, I wish I was recording this, Pete thought, watching with interest. “So no, I don't think it's fair to say I was misusing your staff's resources. I was trying to get as much information as I could to solve this crime. I'm flying blind here, and in fact, the only thing I know for sure is that I'm not going to leave any stone unturned when it comes to protecting her!” Bonnie Jo met Marc's fierce scowl with a slight squinting of her eyes. Pete watched as they glared at each other for several long moments before she thrust a manila envelope against Marc’s chest. “Dylan Sanders.” Marc's severe expression faded into one of confused surprise as he looked down at the envelope. By the time he looked back up, Bonnie Jo was already striding away. “But you'll have to give me more than 'Buster' if you want me to find anything on the other guy,” she barked without turning around. As his partner seemed incapable of a response, Pete intervened. “Thanks, Bonnie Jo.” “Just find the mother-fucker, wouldja?” She paused as she reached the stairwell at the end of the hall. “Oh, and Officer Sloan?” “Yes, ma'am?” “Next time you need something from my staff, why don’t ya come to me, eh? Just give me another one of those sexy scowls and I'm sure I can help you find what you need.” Pete roared with laughter as she gave Marc a saucy wink and pushed the door open with her hip, quickly disappearing behind it. “Well, if it doesn't work out with Lily, you can always ask Bonnie Jo to move in with you.” 170
Dancing with Danger “He's got a record,” Marc interrupted. He’d already ripped opened the envelope and was scanning through the report. “In and out of juvie as a kid, and a domestic violence charge six years ago that was dropped before he could be prosecuted.” Pete came to his side and peered over his shoulder. “What about his DMV record?” “Just bought a Nissan Pathfinder last week, but we already knew that. Before that, hmmm…. Looks like he doesn't have any vehicle on record for over a year.” He frowned. “Maybe he was borrowing the truck? Or stole it?” “Yeah, maybe. But if he bought the Nissan last week, why would he be driving a borrowed or stolen truck just a few nights ago?” Marc lowered the report and looked at him. “Maybe the Nissan was in the shop getting a stereo installed. Who knows?” Pete studied Marc's face. “Uh-oh, I've seen that look before.” He’d known Marc long enough to not doubt his gut. Even when they were kids, his instincts had saved their asses more than once. Marc continued to stare at the report, and even Pete began to feel something wasn’t quite right. “Okay, let's see what we can find on Buster,” Pete said with a sigh. “You read my mind.” Pete grinned. “I thought you were the one with the freaky psychic powers.” “Man, how I wish it were that easy. What I wouldn't give to be able to look into a crystal ball and figure all this shit out. Every time I have to leave her alone, my gut twists. The thought of him catching up with her… I'm telling you, it makes my chest hurt.” Pete nodded, understanding what Marc was admitting and how foreign that emotion must feel for him. “Well, first thing's first, then.” “What's that?” “I'll see what I can find on Buster tonight. I'm better at research than you anyway. In the meantime, you need to do some shopping before you go home.” “Shopping?” Marc tilted his head. 171
“You're going to need some flowers. And maybe some chocolate.” He laughed. “And a card that says, 'I was being a dick, please forgive my sorry ass?'” “You got it.” **** A few hours later Marc was juggling a vase of hyacinths, a bag of chocolates, and some Chinese take-out while trying to unlock his front door. “Marc, is that you?” Lily called from the kitchen. “Yeah, it's me.” He finally managed to struggle through the door and kicked it shut behind him. He set the flowers on a nearby table and locked the deadbolt behind him, then pulled his gun out of its holster and placed it in the gun safe. “I brought you some dinner,” he called over his shoulder. “Oh.” Hearing her disappointed response, he swiftly locked the safe and picked up the flowers again. “And I brought you flowers and chocolate too,” he amended, quickly heading toward her voice. This was going to be harder than he thought. He rushed into the kitchen, still carrying the ridiculously large vase of tall purple flowers as well as the chocolate and take-out food. He tilted his head to peer around the flowers to see her watching him with an odd expression on her face. “It's Chinese. I mean, not the bouquet, the dinner.” She snorted. He frowned. That wasn't the response he’d expected. “The flowers are hyacinths. They're purple. The florist said they're the traditional flower for asking forgiveness.” Was it him, or was her face turning red? “The food is Chinese, but there isn't any significance to that. At least I don't think there is.” He was getting more flustered by the second. She bent over and her body started shaking. “Are you okay?” He dropped the grocery bags on the counter and rushed to her side, still holding the vase. He didn't hear the noise until he was leaning over next to her. It was sort of a mix between a snuffle and a cough. “Lily, what's wrong?” 172
Dancing with Danger He patted her back with his free hand. She was wearing a red dress made of soft cotton with a low scooped back. He gently patted her bare skin, soothing her, while leaning over to see her face. She turned her head toward him and he saw that her face was indeed flushed. Her mouth was scrunched together but her eyes were sparkling. Then, with a rush of air, she burst into laughter. “I made dinner!” She laughed, gesturing to the table which was set with spaghetti, dinner salad, and even candles. Well, one candle. It was a fat, squat one from his emergency kit, the type one would use in case of a blackout. “And I got you flowers, too, sort of.” He noticed there was a glass bowl half-filled with water in which several pink cherry blossoms from the tree upstairs were floating. He stood up, a bemused grin slowly spreading on his face. “I felt bad about today, so I made spaghetti, but I don't think Italian goes well with Chinese.” She dissolved into giggles. Then she was in his embrace, laughing as her arms wrapped tightly around his midsection. He shifted the flowers to avoid getting pollen in her hair and squeezed her in return. Now this was the reaction he’d been hoping for. “I'm so sorry,” they said in unison, and then they both laughed. She took a deep breath and wiped tears of laughter from her eyes. She looked up at him seriously, cupping his face in her hands. “I shouldn't have made assumptions about your father. I really don't know anything about what happened between your parents, and it wasn't fair of me to make judgments about who was right or wrong.” “You were just trying to tell me what you had learned from your own horrible experience, and I brushed your feelings and opinions aside. I should have been more supportive,” he returned, gently rubbing her back. They gazed at each other for a long moment before saying “I love you,” in unison. He kissed her nose and then showed her the vase, not really sure what to do with it. “I brought flowers.” “They're beautiful.” She went on tiptoe and kissed him on the cheek. 173
“I also brought chocolate.” He set the vase on the nearby butcher block and started to move away to retrieve the grocery bag, but she wouldn't let him out of her embrace. “What kind?” Deciding he didn't want to move anyway, he wrapped both arms around her more snuggly and nuzzled his hips comfortably against her body. “Milk chocolate Lindt truffles.” “Mmm, good choice.” She kissed him on the other cheek. “I also brought Chinese food.” “Did you, now?” “Yup.” He tucked a wild strand hair behind her ear. “Do I get a kiss for that, too?” She smiled and obligingly kissed him on the mouth. Their tongues twirled around each other’s joyfully. “I got you flowers too, remember,” she noted huskily as his lips traveled along her jaw and behind her ear. “Is that right?” He nuzzled her neck. “Mmhmm.” “Well, then.” He gently guided her backward and lifted her onto the counter. “That deserves something special.” He stroked her thigh and raised her dress until her bellybutton came into view, continuing until her right breast was exposed. Her nipple was bright pink and erect, begging for attention. He lowered his mouth and suckled on it, smoothing his hands along her back as he did so. She moaned in pleasure, gripping his head as he teased her nipple with a flick of his tongue. “I also made a salad,” she whispered breathlessly as he turned his attention to her other nipple, which had puckered in response to its sister’s torment. “I love salad,” he mumbled against her breast. Wanting to hear her moan again, he shifted his kiss to her neck and then to her lips as he pulled her body to the edge of the counter. “And spaghetti.” He pulled down her panties and pressed his hips against her exposed flesh. She moaned again. Yes. 174
Dancing with Danger But she gasped as he ground against her again and he instantly pulled back, realizing the flashlight on his duty belt was jamming into her ribcage. “Sorry, baby,” he whispered against her mouth, swiftly unbuckling the belt and pulling down his slacks. He tried to step out of them, but she wrapped her legs around his waist and pulled him against her again. Only the thin fabric of his underwear separated his body from hers. He he let out a moan of his own, relishing the warmth of her, the intimacy of her sultry legs wrapped tightly around him, holding him close. So when a third leg seemed to rub against his calf, he jerked back in surprise. What the –? Looking down, he saw Sneak's golden eyes staring back at him with an expression of either oblivious expectation or purposeful mischievousness. He suspected the latter. “Not now, little man. I'm busy.” He returned his attention to the beautiful woman in his arms, who was now squirming with desire, legs spread open and waiting for him. All feline-related thoughts flew from his mind as she tugged his undergarments down and rubbed her hips suggestively against his. “Oh, God, yes.” He broke from her embrace for a short moment to pull a condom from the pocket of his pants, which were still wrapped around his ankles. He sheathed himself and in one smooth movement, slid inside her. Home. **** Lily dropped a hand from his shoulder to grip the side of the counter beneath her, giving her more leverage as he pulled back and prepared to push into her again. One thrust and her body was already flushed with pleasure, her erect nipples hardening even further as he glided his hands from her ribcage down to her hips. The cool granite beneath her contrasted delightfully with the warmth of his touch and the heat building between her legs. He bent forward to kiss her neck and she turned her head to accommodate him, only to see they had an audience sitting on the 175
counter with her. “Uh, honey? Sneak is watching us.” “Let him,” he growled as he moved into her again. Another shiver of arousal tingled through her body, and she willingly forgot the cat. She closed her eyes, savoring every sensation, feeling the waves of pleasure building, her body tingling. She grunted with every pump of his hips, desperate to reach that beautiful peak now barely out of reach. Her head fell back and hit something warm and furry. Opening her eyes, she saw Sneak's annoyed glare just before he bonked her on the cheek with his forehead. He rubbed his cheek along hers, and then his body, ending with a flourish as his tail whipped across her face. “Plew!” She sat upright, making sure no cat hair had made it into her mouth. Marc grunted in frustration and pulled out of her. He put a steadying hand behind her back to hold her upright as she batted at her face. “Sneak, I swear to all that is holy, if you don't get your furry ass off the counter this instant, I'm going to feed you to the K-9 unit!” Sneak eyed him for a moment before primly seating himself and nonchalantly licking a paw. Lily couldn’t help but giggle as Marc mumbled something about “little demons.” “It's because we're in the kitchen,” she explained, knowing the cat was probably expecting to be fed. He’d go on being a nuisance if they didn’t comply. Marc groaned pathetically when she wiggled off the counter and pulled her dress down. “C’mon, let’s just feed him and get back to it.” All they needed was another fifteen minutes or so of alone time. She went on tiptoe to open the cupboard, but Marc came up behind her and placed a palm against the cabinet door. “Uh-uh. If we feed the little troublemaker, we'll only encourage his deplorable behavior.” Marc had no idea how persistent Sneak could be, but the rumble of his voice in her ear was distracting, as was the hand he was 176
Dancing with Danger running up her ribcage. She bent over the counter a little bit, arching her back ever so slightly to rub her most sensitive spot against his body, exactly where she needed it. “Well, if you think that's best,” she murmured softly. “We wouldn't want to encourage naughty behavior now, would we?” “Mmmm,” he replied, pushing her dress up and running his hands up the sides of her thighs, beneath the roundness of her ass, and in between her legs. “Unlike naughty boys like you,” she whispered breathlessly, “he doesn't really know what he's doing.” There was a muffled whomp from the other end of the counter, and they turned to see that Sneak had managed to knock the bag of chocolates onto the floor. He stared back at them innocently, the tip of his tail calmly waving. “The hell he doesn’t.” **** Without warning, Marc scooped her into his arms and carried her out of the kitchen. He intended to take her upstairs to their bedroom and close the door with Sneak on the other side, but when she started to kiss his neck he knew he couldn't last that long. Instead, he veered right and carried her into the closest room that had a door on it—the laundry room. Sneak leapt from the counter and bounded after them, but Marc kicked the door shut just in time. The room was dark, with only the light seeping through the cracks of the door to illuminate the space, but he was too distracted by her lips to try to find the light switch. She was now licking his jaw and chastising him half-heartedly for the prickly stubble she found there. Smiling, he obligingly turned his head to offer a smoother surface for her attention and she gladly locked her soft lips onto his. “Now, where were we?” he whispered as he put her on her feet and once again pulled up her dress, eager to feel the smoothness of her skin. She traced her hands along his shoulders and chest as he maneuvered the fabric of her dress to reveal her body once more. “I think we were,” she turned around and rested her elbows on the top of the dryer, “here.” 177
She looked over her shoulder at him with a wicked half-smile. Fuck me. I’m the luckiest son of a bitch alive. He had to remember to breathe as he watched her bend over and widen her legs for him. “Yes, that's….” His voice was so husky he cleared his throat and tried again. “Yes, that's where we must've left off.” He ran his hands up the sides of her thighs, anchored one hand to her hip, and pressed his other into the small of her back as he slid into her. She was still deliciously wet, and they moaned in unison as he entered her. He held himself still for a moment, partly to savor the feeling of being held inside her tight warmth, but also because it felt so impossibly wonderful that he was afraid if he moved, he'd lose control. But then she pressed back against him and whimpered. “I'm going to come, baby, don't stop, I'm almost there. Please.” How could he resist such a request? He began thrusting into her, gritting his teeth, groaning in tortured pleasure. Just as he was about to lose it, he heard her cry out and felt her contract around his shaft. Unable to contain himself any longer, he increased his tempo, ramming into her as he let himself go. She flung her head back, splaying her hair across her shoulders. He tenderly fondled her soft locks even as his hips ground ferociously against her. The dichotomy was so Lily, wild and innocent, sweet and passionate. With a triumphant shout, he finally came, and she reached back to stroke his thigh while he shuddered in release. He stayed inside her for a few moments as they both collapsed onto the dryer, breathing hard and sticky with sweat. He kissed her temple and softly brushed the hair out of her eyes. “God, I love you Lily.” “I love you too, Marc.” “We should get into fights more often,” he whispered into her ear. She jabbed her elbow back and caught him in the ribs. He pulled out of her and stumbled away dramatically, clutching his side. “No, you should bring me chocolate more often!” She poked him in the chest until he was pressed against the door. 178
Dancing with Danger He laughed and grabbed her finger, pulling her forward until she fell into his arms. “What about flowers?” “Yes, those too,” she demanded, her voice muffled against his chest. Just then, Sneak stuck his paw into the gap under the door and swatted at his ankle. “You should probably feed the cat more often, too” she warned, “if you know what's good for you.” He tilted her face up to his so he could see her more clearly in the dim light. “Oh, I think I know what's good for me,” he whispered. **** Later that night, after the slightly-cold spaghetti dinner had been thoroughly enjoyed and the Chinese food safely tucked away in the fridge, Lily lay in Marc's arms as they watched a Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers movie. She leaned against his chest, her legs curled up on the couch. “Ooh, this is my favorite part.” She nudged him, making sure he was still awake. Chuckling, he responded, “You've said that at least eight times since this movie started, you know.” “True, but watch this dance. It's the only real slapstick duet they ever did on film.” He snuggled her closer under his left arm, watching Fred and Ginger dance a vaudeville-esque routine on the deck of a ship, when he felt something sharp dig into his other arm, which was resting on the side of the couch. The ever-silent Sneak was kneading his front paws into his arm. “Hey, troublemaker, watch those claws! Is this retribution for earlier?” He glared at the cat. “’Cause I'm telling you, kid, this is one fight you aren't going to win.” “He’s not attacking you, silly. He likes you. Kneading is a sign of contentment.” She crooned softly to the animal, and although Marc thought he could now hear a soft rumbling from the cat's chest, Sneak continued pressing his claws into his arm. “Well, I'm flattered, but can you get him to retract those claws a bit?” As he said it, the cat stopped his assault and stretched his 179
warm, furry body atop his arm. “Aww, what a cutie,” she murmured. “Yeah, he is pretty cute, isn't he?” Marc admitted, surprised how nice it felt to have the little guy falling asleep on his arm. He could feel the vibrations of his purring and smiled in wonder. “I guess he recognizes who's the alpha male of the house and is trying to make peace.” “Ha! I think it has more to do with the fact that you snuck him some parmesan cheese after dinner.” He flushed, not realizing she’d witnessed his secret bribe to get back on the cat's good side. She laughed. “Before you know it, he'll be following you everywhere and—oh. That reminds me.” She frowned suddenly and sat up. Grabbing the remote, she paused the movie. “When Crissy was driving me home tonight, I thought that someone might have been following us.” He sat up abruptly, dislodging Sneak, who’d just gotten comfortable. “Tonight? Why didn't you call me?” “I was about to, but then he stopped following us, or maybe he was never following us to begin with. I'm not sure. I thought maybe I was overreacting or something. And I didn't know if you were still upset with me, so I didn't want to bother you over nothing.” He took her face in his hands. “You are never a bother, and if you are worried, then it isn't 'nothing.' Your safety takes precedence over any stupid argument we may have had.” He smoothed his thumb along her jaw. “Tell me about the vehicle. I assume it wasn't the dark blue truck?” “No, it was a white pick-up, with a dent on the passenger side door. It was an older model, but besides the dent, it looked pretty well taken-care of. It was behind us when we left the studio and stayed there while we were on the freeway. When it exited onto the same street as us, I started to get worried. I asked Crissy to turn right, and the truck did the same. That's when I decided to call you, but I couldn't get to my phone in time and then we turned right again and it didn't follow. So, I thought maybe I was just being 180
Dancing with Danger paranoid. But now I’m not so sure. Do you think I did the right thing?” “You did fine. Did you see the driver?” “Not enough to identify him. It was definitely a guy, though. He had on a hat. Like a baseball cap, but I couldn’t see his face. It was getting dark.” He nodded. “Do you remember anything else? Did the truck have any bumper stickers, items hanging from the mirror, anything in the bed of the truck?” She closed her eyes. “I think there was a box in the back, like one of those giant tool boxes? But I'm not sure.” She shook her head. “All I can remember is that it seemed like an older truck, but it was clean and shiny, like it had just been washed and polished.” “Well, it's possible the guy was merely traveling in the same direction as you, but we'll put this vehicle on our watch list just in case. If you see it again, call me immediately. While we're on the topic….” He told her the results of Dylan's background check. “He's still a suspect, but Pete’s going to see if he can find anything on Buster in the meantime. Judy is driving you to Vixens tomorrow after your shift at the shop, right?” “Yeah.” “I've got to go to Pete and Lindsay's rehearsal dinner after work, but I'm heading over to Vixens right after. I'll have time to ask around at the club for information about Buster before you finish your shift. Maybe somebody knows his last name or where he works. It's worth a shot. But if you see Dylan or Buster at the club before I get there, call me right away. Pete and Lindsay won't mind if I have to cut out early. In fact, maybe I should just skip the dinner altogether.” “No. I want you to go. You're the best man! Aren't you supposed to give a speech or something?” He waved a negligent hand and almost whacked Sneak, who was trying to cuddle again. Marc distractedly petted him as he continued his argument. “Nah, that's at the actual wedding. They don't really need me at the rehearsal dinner. It's just a formality. I've met most of their family members already. We've all been 181
friends since we were kids, so it won't be anything new.” “No. We're not going to let this stalker force us into hiding. How often is your best friend going to get married? You should be there for the whole shebang.” She looked at him fiercely, with that determined jut of her chin he loved so much. “Besides, I'm sure Lindsay and Pete put a lot more effort into setting up this dinner than you are giving them credit for. You shouldn’t back out at the last moment.” He remembered how Lindsay had spent weeks finding just the right location and designing a menu that took into account everyone's tastes and allergies and preferences. “Fine. But you call me the second you see anything that's not right. If you get even an inkling of a tickle of a suspicion, you will call me. Got it?” “Yes, sir!” She gave him a mock salute. He raised an eyebrow at her. “Marc, I promise.” “Okay, then. At ease, soldier.” He sat back against the couch and opened his arms to her. “C’mon, let’s pick up where we left off.” But before she could settle back in his embrace, Sneak jumped down and settled on his lap instead. He circled around twice, establishing the territory as his, and curled into a furry ball of purring blackness. “Hey, wait a minute.” She giggled. “It’s okay. I’m good at sharing.” She scooted under his arm without disturbing the cat, rested her head against his shoulder and picked up the remote. “So, do you remember where we left off?” “Um, Fred and Ginger were going to put an egg in a basket?” She snorted at his massacre of the song’s name. “They’re putting all their eggs in one basket.” She pointed the remote at the screen and re-started the film. “They’re singing about putting everything they’ve got into this one relationship, about risking it all for this one chance at love with each other.” “Mmm, I like the sound of that,” he murmured as she snuggled closer. “Me too.” 182
Chapter Fifteen “Nikki? Nikki!” Nikki started and looked in the mirror at the woman standing behind her. “The DJ's about to introduce you, girl.” Tamara shook her head. “You're on next!” “Yeah.” she took a deep breath and shook off her dark thoughts. “I know, I was just thinking for a second.” She leaned forward to check her make-up and lifted her boobs to rest higher in her bra. In the reflection she could see Miss M's workstation behind her. What have I just agreed to? She swallowed. She looked down at her bag, where she had stowed away the huge wad of cash she’d just received. It was an advance for a favor she’d promised to do. The favor seemed harmless enough, but now she was having second thoughts. What the fuck am I getting myself into? She rubbed her forehead in agitation. “Nikki, honey, are you alright?” Tamara placed a tentative hand on her shoulder. She must look pretty horrible for Tamara to go all motherly on her. She looked in the mirror and scowled at her reflection. The wrinkles between her brows and the dark circles under her eyes were a grim reminder that her that her days as an exotic dancer were numbered. What the hell did she care about Miss M anyway? What had that bitch ever done for her? She didn't care what sick game Miss M’s regular wanted to use her for. Money was money. She shrugged the Tamara’s hand off her shoulder and stood up. “Of course I'm all right. God, woman, give me some space! Jesus.” Tamara frowned as Nikki flounced out of the dressing room. Looking at Miss M's workstation, she tried to figure out what Nikki had seen there that pissed her off so much. She always tried to stay out of the petty fights between the girls, but there was something about Miss M that made her want to look 183
out for the kid. There was an innocence, a naiveté about her that made her vulnerable, particularly with sharks like Nikki. With a sigh, she decided to stay late and have a little chat with Miss M before the girl's shift started. If Nikki was out to get her, the least she could do was warn the kid. **** “I still can't believe it. I mean, he seems great, but moving in with him? It's loco!” Judy shook her head as she untied her apron and hung it on the rod behind the door of the employee backroom, where she and Lily were changing out of their work clothes. “Where is the girl who used to weigh the pros and cons of different types of shampoo before committing to buy a bottle?” “I know. It’s totally unlike me, but it feels right.” Lily changed her tennis shoes for men's loafers and started buttoning up her men's dress shirt. She rolled her shoulders as she dressed, trying to work out the kinks in her back from standing all day at the coffee shop. “Don't get me wrong, it's not that I think you're making the wrong decision. But I'm in shock. It's so loco! But loco-good, not loco-bad.” She smiled at her best friend. “And you got a Five Star agent too! It's like you got a whole life makeover this weekend. A new man, a new house, a new job. Now all you need is a new car.” She tossed Lily's disguise hat to her. “And a new wardrobe wouldn't hurt either.” “Well, tomorrow I'll be able to pick up my old car, which is good enough for me.” She pulled her hair back and scrunched the hat on her head, tucking in the loose strands. She checked her reflection in the small mirror next to the door leading out to the coffee shop. “But a new wardrobe would sure be nice. I can't wait to not have to sneak around like this anymore.” “Speaking of sneaking around, you ready to make a dash to my car?” Judy was standing next to the backdoor that led into the employee parking lot. Lily grabbed her bag and nodded to Judy, who promptly pushed open the door and bee-lined to her car. Lily rushed after her. Both were on high alert for suspicious vehicles and people, their eyes darting back and forth as they speed-walked to Judy's car, but they didn't see anything out of the ordinary. Lily swung her bag onto her 184
Dancing with Danger lap as she quickly slid inside and locked her door. Judy threw her seatbelt on and started the car. She had parked backward so they could zoom right out of the parking lot, which they did. “Whew, is this what your life has been like this past week?” Judy rubbed her left hand on the thigh of her jeans and let out a shaky breath. “Pretty much. We don't want to take any chances.” She looked over her shoulder as they drove away from the shop. “Being outside is the worst. It's not that bad once I get inside. But I have to admit, the stress is starting to get to me. I can’t tell if I’m becoming irrationally paranoid or being diligent.” “Tell me about it. I was jumping at shadows all day at the shop, worrying about you, chica. I almost had a heart attack when I thought I heard someone in the back room when I went in there to grab my lip balm earlier today.” “What happened?” She looked at her in alarm. “Nothing, other than me almost peeing my pants.” Judy told her about how she’d thought she heard the outside door closing when she went into the room from the lounge door. Her heart had skipped a beat when she saw a man's shoulder peeking out from the closet door. Then she’d realized it was the corner of Lily's disguise blazer hanging inside. “I am so sorry about this.” “Don’t be absurd, I was overreacting. This is not your fault, Lily.” “I know, I know. But I hate that everyone's life is getting so messed up over this.” Judy reached over and patted her on the arm. “Don't you worry about the rest of us. We're doing fine. I'm sure this will be over before you know it.” Lily nodded distractedly. “I have to admit, I'm glad Marc is a cop.” Judy glanced into the rearview mirror and then over at her. “A big, tall, beefy cop.” She rolled her eyes at Judy’s obvious change of tactics, but couldn't halt the blush that heated her cheeks. “With super sexy arms,” Judy added. Lily fought back a smile even as she felt her blush deepen, 185
kicking herself for divulging that particular piece of information. Judy continued to harass her as they made their way to Vixens. Lily good-naturedly ignored her more racy comments as she searched her bag for her bottle of water and her cell phone. “Ugh, I can never find anything in this gigantic bag of Marc's. Haven't men ever heard of pockets?” “What are you looking for?” “My water bottle and cell phone. I want to call him when we get to Vixens—oh! Found it.” She pulled out the phone triumphantly just as they arrived at the back lot of the club. She rooted around in the bag for a few more moments, trying to find her water bottle, but eventually conceded that it wasn't there. Damn. She must’ve left it at the coffee shop. While Judy navigated the car toward the front entrance, Lily called Marc and updated him on her status. “Good.” his voice sounded relieved and slightly harried. “I got delayed at work, so I'm just now heading home. I've got to take a quick shower and get over to the restaurant ASAP. If you need me, call my cell. If for some reason you can't reach me on my cell, I programmed Pete's cell number in your phone this morning, as well as the number for the restaurant.” Such a Boy Scout, always prepared. “I'll be fine. I'll call you if anything bad happens. Enjoy the dinner and I'll see you when you get here.” “I can't wait to see you, beautiful.” “You too, handsome.” “Love you,” his warm voice poured out of the phone and directly into her heart. “I love you too,” she whispered. Judy started making kissing noises. Lily punched her in the shoulder. “Bye.” “Bye.” She hung up the phone and glared at Judy. “Could you be any more immature?” “Oh, definitely. I spend most of my time with a three-year-old. You have no idea how immature I can be.” “Well, I guess you get a free pass this time, then. Thanks for the 186
Dancing with Danger ride, by the way.” “Anytime.” She leaned over and gave her a hug. “Now get going. I'll wait here until you get inside.” Lily scanned the lot again to make sure no one was watching. She saw Tamara standing at the back entrance, but she was distracted and no one else was in the lot. She slipped out of the car and into the front door of the club, waving a quick goodbye. The dim lighting, throbbing music, and smell of stale beer were wearily familiar as she made her way through the DJ booth and into the storage area to change. Normally she was at least nominally excited to perform, even on nights when she was exhausted. But tonight she wished she was at the restaurant with Marc. The roar of the crowd reminded her to stick with business, and she quickly changed out of her disguise. With a sigh, she put on her Miss M mask, both physically and mentally. As she pushed through the door to the dressing room, she was surprised to see Nikki waiting for her. “Hey there!” Nikki smiled at her. What the hell? “Hey,” she returned flatly, heading past her. “I was going to call you, but I didn't have your number.” Nikki followed her to her workstation. “Call me? Why?” She set down her bag and turned to face her, arms crossed. “I feel really bad about last night. I'm sorry. And I wanted to let you know that I'd be happy to cover your shift tonight if you still need it.” “Really?” She was flabbergasted. Of all the girls to suddenly like her, Nikki would have been the last on her list. “Why?” “Look, I—” she stopped talking suddenly and swallowed, avoiding her gaze. “I really need the money, OK?” Lily didn't trust her any farther than she could throw her, but this last admission had the ring of truth to it. Nikki was breathing hard and her fingers were fidgeting nervously, as if she was embarrassed about what she’d just admitted. “I don't know what to say. You've never liked me—” “Just take it, okay? You’re supposed to, I mean, just go home and get cleaned up so you can do whatever it is that you wanted to do 187
tonight. Ugh, go already.” Nikki went back to her station and picked up a tube of lipstick. The old Nikki was back, hard exterior and snappy temper and all. But she was offering Lily a chance to go to the dinner. How could she say no? “Thanks.” She picked her bag up again. “I will.” She backed up toward the storage area, expecting Nikki to change her mind or throw something at the back of her head if she turned around. But she didn't look her way. Lily opened the door and slid through, shutting it behind her. But she didn't close it all the way, leaving a crack large enough to spy on Nikki. The blonde stared at herself in the mirror for a few more moments. Then she turned toward the storage door and opened her mouth as if to call out, but stopped. She closed her mouth in a grim line and flung her hair over her shoulder. She checked herself in the mirror one last time and then headed out to the floor. Lily couldn't believe her good luck. She flipped open her phone and called Judy. “Hey girl, are you still nearby?” “Yeah, I stopped at the gas station on the corner to fill up. Is everything okay?” “Yeah, everything is great actually.” She told her about Nikki's change of heart. “Can you pick me up and take me home? I have to change clothes anyway, and Marc said he was headed there right now to take a shower before the dinner. I want to surprise him.” “Sure, no problem. I'll be right there.” She quickly changed back into her disguise and then stopped in the DJ booth. She wouldn't put it past Nikki to lie about covering her shift and not actually go through with it. But the DJ confirmed that Nikki had already spoken to him and the manager, and that her shift was indeed going to be covered. She felt like a high-schooler ditching class on a beautiful day as she dashed out of the club and into Judy's car. This was going to be the best night ever! **** Marc grunted in frustration as traffic inched along. He knew very well that the evening rush “hour” in L.A. started at 3 p.m. and lasted 188
Dancing with Danger until after 8 p.m., so he didn't know why he was surprised when it took him ten minutes to travel three blocks. Looking at the clock on his dashboard, he knew he was going to be late. To keep his mind off the gridlock, he thought about the progress they'd made in Lily's case that afternoon. Pete had researched the name “Buster” in association with local construction companies and managed to find a small roofing company located in Echo Park that was owned by a Buster Parkinson. They visited the website, but there were no pictures of the owner. A general web search for the name mostly brought up reviews for the roofing company, which had a stellar reputation for being detail-oriented and reliable, but there was no specific information about the owner. This was the only lead they had, so Marc had given the full name and company information to Bonnie Jo, hoping she could find out more. She’d promised to look into it right away and call him if she discovered anything significant. As yet another cycle of the traffic light passed, letting only four or five cars through, he activated the hands-free dialing on his phone. “Hey Pete, I'm trying to get home to shower and change before the dinner, but traffic's a bitch. How pissed do you think Lindsay would be if I was, say, 45 minutes late?” “Hold on, let me check. Hey Lindsay! Would you rather Marc be late or sweaty?” There was a muffled shout from the background. “She says to get your stinky ass to the restaurant at 7 p.m. sharp or she'll seat you next to her father. And trust me, you don't want to sit next to that son of a bitch.” “OK, fine. But if anyone passes out from my stench, I'm blaming her.” He made a U-turn and headed toward the restaurant, wishing he had brought more deodorant with him. **** Lily turned off the lights in the condo and then switched them on again to let Judy know she was safely inside. Looking out the window, she waved as Judy drove away. They had beat Marc home, so Judy insisted on waiting until she was physically in the condo before leaving. She felt a mixture of gratitude and guilt about the trouble 189
everyone had been going through in order to keep her safe. Looking around, she wondered where Sneak was. She refilled his water bowl and then took her own water bottle from the fridge. She still hadn't found the one she'd taken to work with her, so she was dying of thirst. She guzzled the water as she ran upstairs, stripping off her clothes as she went. She started the shower, threw her discarded clothes into the hamper and tossed her bag by the bed. Letting the water heat up, she browsed the closet, trying to find the right outfit for dinner. Better go with classic, she thought, grabbing her always-reliable little black dress and a pair of sexy panties. She found pair of black heels with satin wrap-around ankle laces to go with the outfit and threw everything on the bed. Then she dashed into the now-warm shower and quickly lathered up. She was shampooing her hair when she was struck by a sudden wave of dizziness. Dammit. She probably hadn’t eaten enough again today. Losing my water bottle probably didn't help either. She added dehydration to the list of culprits. Good thing she was going to a dinner instead of performing tonight. She rinsed the shampoo out of her hair but froze as she reached for the bottle of conditioner. What was that noise? She could’ve sworn she just heard a door squeak open. “Marc?” She called out and then held her breath, waiting to hear his rich voice assuring her it was him. But there was no response. She stood still for several more moments, but she could only hear the rush of water. She swallowed and shivered, trying to shake out the willies as she conditioned her hair. She’d definitely seen Psycho one too many times. Still, she wished she had called Marc to let her know where she was. All of a sudden her little “surprise” for him seemed like a bad idea. A chill went up her spine again. She quickly rinsed and snapped the water off, standing silently and straining her ears for any sound that was out of place. She heard nothing. The condo was completely silent. Chill out, she told herself. It’s just my imagination gone wild. She stepped out of the shower and grabbed a towel, swiftly 190
Dancing with Danger drying herself off. But as she leaned over to dry her feet, another wave of dizziness overtook her and she stumbled against the vanity. “I definitely need more water,” she mumbled. She made her way into the bedroom and grabbed the bottle she’d taken upstairs with her. She took several deep swallows and sat down heavily on the edge of the bed, waiting for her head to clear. After a few minutes, she started to feel more relaxed. She looked at the clock on the bedside table. What was taking Marc so long? Thinking he may have called her when she was in the shower, she leaned over to get her cell phone out of her bag. Bad idea, she thought, as the move caused the floor to shift beneath her. She tipped over and found herself sitting on the carpet. She giggled, thinking about what a ridiculous situation she was in, naked on the floor, unable to even get her phone out of her bag. With a sigh, she crawled toward the bag again. God, she was tired. Even rummaging through the bag seemed to take an inordinate amount of energy. She pulled out her make-up kit, some of her dance shoes, the house key, and a novel as she tried to locate her cell phone. All this searching was exhausting her. She laid her head down on the carpet for a moment and closed her eyes. A soft meow made her open them again. There, under the bed, was Sneak. “What are you doing under there, you silly goose?” She mumbled. He meowed again, and that's when it hit her. Sneak meowed. **** “Hey, you made it. And with two minutes to spare!” Pete took Marc's jacket and guided him into the back room of the restaurant that had been reserved for the rehearsal party. “Yeah, un-showered and unshaven, just as your lady likes it, apparently.” Having known Pete most of his life, Marc was already familiar with most of the people there, but he and Lindsay introduced him to the few members of the party he hadn't met before. One of them was Lindsay's cousin, Darcy, an attractive raven-haired woman who 191
held his hand just a moment too long after they were introduced. Pete and Lindsay stepped away to greet a new arrival, leaving him alone with her. “So, I hear you're a cop like Pete, huh?” She took a sip of champagne and then looked up at him from under her lashes. He had a feeling this was the bridesmaid Lindsay had wanted to hook him up with. Apparently Darcy hadn't gotten the memo that he was off the market. “Uh, yeah, I am.” She moved in closer, forcing him to take a step closer to the wall to keep her out of his personal space. “Wow, a real LAPD officer. I've always had a thing for those tight, black uniforms you guys wear.” She was coming on to him at full speed. The effect was more disconcerting than appealing, though, and despite her creamy complexion and pleasing curves, this woman couldn't hold a candle to Lily. “Yeah, my girlfriend thinks they're pretty hot, too.” “You have a girlfriend?” “Yup. She wanted to be here tonight, but she couldn't get off work.” C’mon, lady, take the hint. “Well, then. Since you're all alone tonight, why don’t you sit next to me at dinner?” Or not. With a sigh, he realized he was going to have to pull out all the stops. Stepping closer to her, he rested a hand casually against the wall above her head, bringing his armpit level with her nose. “I don't know. I think Lindsay's got a seating plan arranged.” He struggled not to laugh as she got a healthy whiff of his sweaty underarm. Her flirtatious smile faded and she closed her mouth, taking a discreet step backwards. “Oh, if she's got a seating plan, I wouldn't want to, you know—” She waved a hand in front of her face as she looked around. “Look, my Uncle Alan is here! Please excuse me.” He laughed silently to himself, lowering his arm as she skittered away. Looking around, he spotted Pete across the room, arguing animatedly with his soon-to-be father-in-law, who appeared to already be drunk. He was about to head over to try to calm things 192
Dancing with Danger down when his phone rang. It was from the station. He flipped open his phone. “This is Officer Sloan.” “I got some information on Buster Parkinson that might be of interest to you,” Bonnie Jo replied, skipping the niceties. “Hold on a sec, let me get away from this noise.” He navigated his way outside. “Okay, shoot.” “Age 47, height 5'10, weight 210, lives in Echo Park. I'm looking at his pic right now. Dark-brown hair with the thickest eyebrows I've ever seen. Sound like your guy so far?” “Hell, yeah.” “Then get this: Two peeping tom charges on file, an aggravated assault from a few years back, and one indecent exposure charge for jacking off in a movie theatre. He's also got a history of mental illness, and there was court-ordered psychiatric counseling after the weenie whacking incident. Apparently he's got O.C.D. and anger management issues, amongst other things. But get this. DMV record shows he's the proud owner of four trucks. Three '88 Chevy S10s, white, used for business purposes. The fourth is a Ford F-150 for personal use. Can you guess the color?” “Shit.” “Well, my shit's brown, but maybe you've been eating too many blueberries.” “Bonnie Jo, this is the guy. It's him. I know it.” “I believe you, kid. I'll leave the file on your desk for tomorrow. In the meantime, keep your girl out of Echo Park, you hear?” **** Something wasn't right. Sneak was meowing. He never meowed. With a groan, Lily forced herself to sit upright. Her muscles felt incredibly weak, and the room was still spinning. Something wasn’t right. Why was her brain so fuzzy? She had to call Marc. She grabbed the bag and turned it upside down, scattering the contents on the floor. Her vision blurred as she shifted through her belongings. Where was her phone? A sudden chill reminded her that she was naked. Shakily, she got to her knees and grabbed her panties and dress from the edge of the bed, struggling to get her limbs through the right holes. 193
But her muscles wouldn't respond properly. Her thoughts wouldn’t stay ordered, either. She was having a hard time focusing, and her senses were going wild. Her vision seemed like a series of still images, slightly tilted and flashing from one point of focus to another. She kept hearing noises behind her. And now she smelled tar. This last realization terrified her, but she couldn't figure out why. She knew that smell. Why did she know that smell? And why was Sneak meowing? “What's happening?” she moaned, frightened by how slurred her speech sounded. “I'm rescuing you,” Buster whispered from behind her.
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Chapter Sixteen Marc rushed back inside the restaurant and found Pete, who’d apparently left his future father-in-law to his own devices at the bar. He pulled him aside and relayed the information. “Holy shit, man, this has gotta be our guy.” Pete gripped him on the arm, grinning with excitement. “Hell yeah, it is. I'm going to call Lily and let her know.” He slapped Pete on the back. “I couldn't have done this without you, man. Thank you.” “That's what friends are for. Go call her.” He was about to head outside when Lindsay announced that dinner was being served. The guests shuffled to take their seats and he paused for a moment, debating whether to call Lily now or wait until after the meal. With an apologetic shrug to Lindsay, he ignored her dirty look and slipped outside. He impatiently scrolled through his directory to Lily's number as he paced back and forth on the sidewalk. The call from Bonnie Jo must have raised his adrenaline, because he was feeling particularly jumpy. He couldn't wait to talk to her, to hear her voice and be able to tell her that they'd nailed the son of a bitch. He selected her number and pressed “call.” It went immediately to voice mail. **** “No!” Lily screamed, but it sounded like a low moan to her ears. “No, no, no!” She struggled to pull the rest of her dress over her body as she rotated around to see the man standing behind her. “Shh, it's okay. Shh, my little Lily. Everything will be okay now.” He crouched down beside her and stretched his arms to help straighten her dress. She gasped in pure terror as he reached for her. Swinging her arm around, she attempted to punch him as he came toward her, but her slow reflexes and weakened state made the blow shockingly 195
ineffective. Buster snatched her arm and flung it back down. Frantically, she tried to push him aside so she could get up and run for the door, but he seemed as solid as a stone wall and her own limbs felt like spaghetti. “No, no, don't be scared. It's me.” He grabbed her wrists and held them in one hand. He caressed her face with his free hand, trembling as he did so. “It's me.” “Marc,” she whimpered desperately, falling backward onto her overturned bag, trying to pull her arms from his grip. Buster's eyes widened alarmingly under his thick eyebrows and then relaxed just as suddenly. “It's okay, my Lily, Marc can't hurt you anymore. I'm here now. I'll protect you.” She scooted backward, attempting to free her legs so she could kick him, but he wouldn't let go of her arms and the pile of debris underneath her prevented her from getting any purchase on the floor. “No, don't struggle! It must be the sedative. It's muddled your head. I'm sorry I had to drug your water like that, but I know you haven't been sleeping enough, my Lily. The drugs will make you relax. Don't fight.” But she didn't want to relax, she didn't want to stop fighting. Her brain screamed at her to do something, anything, to get away from him. Her limbs flailed wildly, but with no force behind them, and they felt fuzzy and slightly numb. With a choking sob, she realized that the only thing she could feel were the warm tears streaming down her cheeks. **** “Damn it, Lily! Pick up the damn phone!” Marc cursed at his cell phone as his fourth attempt to reach her went immediately to voice mail. Something wasn't right. **** “Oh no, don't cry! I'm sorry it took me so long to rescue you, but I'm here now, I'm here.” Buster reached his trembling hand toward her face again. As it came close, she turned her head and snapped her teeth. But her attempt was too slow, and he pulled back his hand before she could bite him. 196
Dancing with Danger She didn't even see the blow. Suddenly her head was ringing and she tasted blood in her mouth. It took a few moments for the pain in her cheekbone and jaw to register and begin to throb. “No biting, you whore!” he screeched, his voice several octaves higher than it had been seconds before. He shook her violently, making the room spin even faster. She tried to pull out of his grasp, but her vision was starting to darken. No! I can't pass out! “I'm—I'm sorry,” she whimpered. “It's the drugs, I can't think straight,” she mumbled desperately. Her eyes were tearing freely now, from his punch or from her terror, she wasn't sure. He immediately stopped shaking her. “My poor little Lily. I understand.” The change in his voice was frightening. It was the soft crooning he had used before, like he was talking to a baby. “I'm going to take you away from here now, but no struggling, you hear? You have to be good. Do you hear me?” He shook her again, hard enough to make her bite her tongue. “Yes! Yes, I understand!” she assured him desperately. She frantically tried to get her muddled mind to think straight. She had to delay him, or get a message to Marc. Where was her phone? “I'm sorry, I promise I'll be good. I just need to get my things.” She surreptitiously looked around. She tried to free herself from his grasp, but he wouldn't release her wrists. “You don't need to bring anything. I have everything you need in your room.” She stopped her struggles to concentrate on the conversation. “My room?” “Oh yes, your room. I built it for you. You'll love it. It has everything you need. Now roll over.” Oh god, he was going to rape her! She moaned in desperate protest as he forced her to roll over, pressing her face onto the items that had spilled from her bag. Once again, she tried to wriggle out of his grasp, but he was far too strong and her muscles were not responding properly. 197
Anxiously, she scanned through her scattered belongings, trying to find her phone or a weapon of some kind, something. But she couldn't see anything of use, and even if she could, she realized that Buster was now pulling her arms behind her back. She whimpered and kicked feebly as she felt something wrap around her wrists. “Don't fight now. This is temporary until we get you to your room.” He finished tying her hands together and patted her reassuringly on the arm. She tried to breathe, finding a small amount of comfort in the realization that he wasn't going to try to rape her. At least, not right now. She cried out involuntarily again. “Is this too tight? Here, let me loosen it.” She could feel two tight loops around each wrist, and although they didn't loosen, she felt her wrists separate a few inches from each other as he adjusted the knot between them. “There, is that better?” “Yes, but I….” “Then up we go.” He started to lift her off the floor. “No! Wait, please. I—I need shoes.” “Oh, yes. You're right. Let's see here.” He set her facedown on the floor again. She heard his voice drift away as he went to retrieve her heels, which she had left near the foot of the bed. As soon as she thought he was turned away, she wormed her body forward and used her mouth to grab the closest thing she could reach. Her pointe shoe key chain. Then Buster had her feet in his hands. He put both shoes on and tied them, keeping a firm grip on her ankles as he did so. “No kicking, now,” he reprimanded her sternly when her right leg jerked involuntarily in his grip. He rolled her over and then stood up himself. As he did so, her hands grasped the debris behind her. She frantically patted the carpet with her fingers, trying to find something she could use as a weapon. Just as he leaned over to pick her up, her hands touched a small cylinder and she grasped it. Lipstick. He gripped her arm tightly and led her out of the bedroom. Her 198
Dancing with Danger legs were wobbly, especially in the clumsily-tied high heels, but she was determined to stay upright, not wanting him to carry her. She managed to stumble her way downstairs, feeling nauseated as everything seemed to spin around her. Her breath caught in her throat when he opened the front door and led her into the hallway. This was her chance, she realized. Surely someone in the building would hear her if she screamed. They would come out and see she was tied up, and they'd fight Buster and call the police. The police. Marc. She shifted the key in her mouth, took a deep breath, and screamed as loud as she could. **** “Something's not right, Pete. I can't reach Lily. I've got to go, I'm sorry.” He’d pulled his friend away from the dinner table to explain the situation and was now putting on his jacket, preparing to leave. “Where the hell do you think you're going?” Lindsay demanded, having followed the two of them into the hallway. “Lindsay, I'm really sorry to do this to you, but I've got to go.” “Is something wrong?” She softened her tone and stepped closer to them. Seeing the look on his face, she paled. “Marc, what's going on? Is Lily okay?” “I don't know. Her phone is turned off, and she wouldn't have done that on purpose. And I've got this feeling. I've got a very bad feeling about the whole thing.” She exchanged a knowing look with her fiancée. “Go,” the couple said in unison. She pushed him toward the door. “And call Pete if you need anything. He's already put up with my father for almost an hour. I'll let him off the hook early if you need him.” Marc was already running out the door. **** Lily's scream was cut short as she was hit with such force that she almost choked on the key in her mouth. The force of his blow slammed her into the wall and she felt her legs give out. The next thing she knew she was being dragged backwards, a heavy hand over her mouth. She kicked feebly as Buster dragged her out the 199
front gate and down the stairs to the street. How come no one was coming? Didn't they hear? Couldn't they see what was happening? But scanning her eyes around, she saw no one in sight. She felt sick. The hand over her mouth was pressing painfully into her already-bruised cheekbone. She fought back her nausea, worried she would lose the key that she held in her mouth if she vomited. Her feet lost purchase with the ground and she realized she was being lifted into a vehicle. Too late, she noticed that Buster had removed the hand from her mouth. She opened her mouth to scream again but stopped when the barrel of a gun was thrust into her face. “No! No more screaming, you understand me?” Buster shook the Glock at her. He looked around urgently, worried that someone had seen them. “Don't make me use this!” **** It wasn't supposed to have happened this way! He growled in frustration and shoved her face down onto the floor of his truck. Even in his anger, he felt himself becoming aroused as he watched her squirm and struggle, her dress bunching at the waist, revealing those beautiful legs again and the bottom curve of her ass. “Don't struggle, my little Lily.” He softened his voice, feeling himself come under control again. Her presence alone was enough to soothe him. “There's nothing to be scared of anymore. I'm rescuing you. You’re safe now, I promise.” He climbed into the truck with her and scooted behind the wheel, careful not to touch her. She didn't like to be touched, he remembered. Maybe that was why she screamed. “But you like it when I touch you, don't you?” He reached out and patted her hair before starting the truck and pulling away. **** “Where's Lily?” Marc shouted over the music, gripping the Vixens’ busboy by the arm and flashing his badge at him. He had made it to the club in less than ten minutes, thankful that the restaurant Lindsay chose was so close to Hollywood. “Wh—who?” Henry squeaked. 200
Dancing with Danger Marc released his arm. “Dammit, Miss M! Where is she?” “Miss M? She's not working tonight.” Marc’s heart, which had been beating furiously since he first tried to reach Lily, now seemed to stop beating altogether. “Don't lie to me, kid,” he growled, moving closer to Henry. “I know for a fact she was here.” “No, no she wasn't! Nikki took her shift tonight so she could have the night off.” He gestured to a blonde dancer who was leaning over a customer near the bar. Nikki froze when she saw them staring at her. She took one look at his badge and blanched, immediately standing upright and heading toward the back of the room. He reached her in three strides and blocked her path. “Get out of my way!” She shouted indignantly. “Parker! Jay!” she called toward the bouncers by the door. The two men immediately rushed over, but they skidded to a halt when he held out his badge. “LAPD. Jay, you know me. You know this badge is real. Something has happened to Miss M, and right now, Nikki is my prime suspect. I need to speak to her privately. Now.” “What the hell? Get your hands off me!” she demanded as he gripped her arm. Parker looked at Jay, unsure what to do. “You know this guy?” “Yeah, but….” He eyed Marc with a frown. “Jay, trust me. Something's going on. I think that stalker I told you about has done something to Miss M.” He felt the blood rush from his face as he thought about what might be happening to her at that moment. Something in his expression must have convinced him, because Jay looked at the other bouncer and told him to cover the front door. Swinging open a nearby curtain, he ushered them into one of the private showing rooms. “This is about as private as you're gonna get. Now let go of her arm and ask her what you need to ask her. And if I lose my job over this, you're gonna owe me big time.” He released Nikki, who immediately stormed toward the curtain, trying to get out. Jay blocked her way. “Just answer his questions, Nikki. He's a fuckin' cop. You don't wanna mess with that shit.” 201
“Damn right. Don't mess with me, not today.” Marc pulled up to his full height. “I know you know what happened to her. So spill it.” “I don't know anything,” she insisted, eyeing the curtain nervously and then glancing toward the door behind the small stage. She edged closer to the stage, but stopped when Marc gripped her arm again. “Don't even think about it. Answer my question. What happened to her?” “I don't know nothing!” she screamed, wrenching her arm from his grasp. “I can take you down to the station and we can do this the hard way, or you can tell me right now what you fucking know!” His voice started as a low growl but ended in a deafening shout, his face inches from hers. Taken off guard by his ferocity, she stumbled backward into Jay. “Hey now, Officer, take it easy,” he said, looking nervous. “Don't start with me, Jay. She needs to talk right now or I'm arresting her.” It was a bluff. “Miss M is in serious danger. Her life could be on the line, and Nikki knows what happened to her.” “I don't know, I swear,” she whined. “When I told him Miss M wanted me to cover her shift today, he paid me to do it. He just paid me to cover her shift, but that's it. That's all I know!” Her voice was squeaky and rushed. “Who paid you? Who did you tell? Buster?” She looked at him, surprised, and Marc knew he was right before she nodded. “He didn’t say nothing about hurting her, I swear. He said he was a reporter, and he wanted to write a story about her so that she couldn't work here anymore. I didn't know—” “Save it,” he barked. “You wanted the god-damned money. Where is she now? Did you see her? Where did he take her?” “He didn't take her nowhere!” “Bullshit!” He was losing his tenuous grip on his emotions as each precious minute passed. Had Buster already taken her? What was he doing to her right now? “Tell me! Tell me where he took her!” “She left with a girl,” Tamara interjected from the curtained 202
Dancing with Danger doorway behind Jay. Marc moved toward her as she stepped around Jay. He grasped her shoulders desperately, clinging to her as if she were a life jacket thrown to a drowning man. “You saw her leave?” “I think so. I was waiting for her because I had a feeling Nikki was up to something,” Tamara glanced quickly over to the other woman, who was now crying, her mascara streaming down her cheeks. “But I think I missed her going into the club because she was dressed like a man, wasn't she?” “Yes, yes, that was her!” “I saw her leave. There was something about how she moved. I recognized her as she got into the car. But by the time I figured it out, they’d driven off.” “What car? Who was driving? Where did they go?” He had to force himself not to grip Tamara too hard in his urgency. “I don't know where they went, but the woman who picked her up was Hispanic and they looked like they were friends.” Judy. **** Time was getting muddled. How long had she been in the truck? Minutes? Hours? Lily couldn't think straight. Her body felt numb and it was very dark, but she knew the truck was still moving because she could feel every bump in the road beneath her. The thunder of the engine filled her brain. She should try to escape. Why wasn't she trying to escape? The left side of her face felt sticky. The metallic flavor of the key mingled with the tangy taste of blood in her mouth. She tried to shift the key with her tongue, but her jaw screamed in pain when she tried to move it. Struggling feebly against the bonds on her wrists, she realized she had dropped the lipstick somewhere. Despite the desperation of her situation, it was the realization she had lost the tube of lipstick that finally pushed her into despair. Tears poured down her cheeks as she lay on the floor of the truck, bouncing defenselessly as the vehicle sped along. She didn't even know what she could have used the lipstick for, but having it in her hand had felt reassuring. She was overwhelmed with 203
helplessness knowing she’d lost it. She felt utterly helpless. Or had she? She felt something underneath her hip and maneuvered slightly until she could grab it. Yes! She had no idea what she was going to do with the small cylinder, but feeling it in her grasp again reinvigorated her. She gently lifted her tongue to reassure herself that the key was safe as well. She had to focus. She couldn’t afford to lose control. She concentrated on freeing her wrists, but the slightest movement made her dizzy and took a terrifying amount of energy. Choking back her frustration, she understood she was too weak to fight or run. But she had to do something. Marc would be looking for her. Surely he would have realized by now that something was wrong. Wouldn't he? Please God! Marc was her best hope. She had to do something to help him find her. She needed to discover where she was being taken and try to leave some sort of trail. She quietly spit out the key so she could talk, making sure it was close enough to her mouth to pick up again quickly. “Where are we going?” she croaked, trying to lift her voice over the rumble of the engine. “Shh, my Lily. I'm taking you home.” “Home?” “Yes, to your room. Remember?” “Oh. Yes.” “I'm sorry I had to hit you again, but you made me very angry. I told you not to yell. You're not allowed to yell. Do you understand, my Lily? You have to be a good girl.” “Yes. I didn't mean to. I'm sorry.” She fought down the panic Buster's soft voice fired in her. “We're going to my room. I understand. I'll be good.” He seemed to be breathing harder now. “Yes, you're my good girl, aren't you?” “Yes.” She couldn't fight back the tears of panic now. They streamed down her face, stinging as they soaked into the scrapes on her cheek and lip. “But please, can you tell me where my room is?” 204
Dancing with Danger “Somewhere safe. Somewhere I can watch over you all day. You'll never be alone. I'll always be there for you, to take care of you.” **** Marc quickly disconnected the call. Judy had taken her home. She’d assured him that Lily was safely inside his condo before she left. He’d assured Judy he would find her and was now dialing his home phone as he dashed to his Jeep. Please, please let her be there now, safe and sound. The phone rang for what seemed like ages before the answering machine finally picked up. “Lily! Lily, pick up the phone if you're there. Lily, baby, please pick up!” But no one did. He slammed the steering wheel with both hands, gripping it as he fought down the rush of panic. Breathing deeply, he commanded himself to focus. He couldn't afford to fall apart. One thing at a time, he reminded himself. With a shaking hand he called the station and informed the dispatcher of the situation. She put out a BOLO for all of Buster's trucks and sent a unit over to Marc's condo. He told the dispatcher the unit had his permission to break down the front door if they needed to get in. Then he asked to be transferred downstairs and took several more calming breaths as the phone rang. “Records,” a woman declared, picking up the call. “Bonnie Jo, I need Buster's home address, his work address, anything you've got.” He forced himself to take a breath. “I think he has her.” **** “Where is your home?” Lily croaked. “Why?” Buster sounded suspicious. “You—you said we were going home,” she explained desperately, hoping he wouldn't hit her again. “No, no, we're not going to my home. Your new home is your room. But it's very close.” “My room is close to your house? Where is your house?” Her whirling thoughts made it almost impossible to focus on the conversation. 205
“Shh! No more questions.” “I just….” She tried to think, desperate to figure out how to get him to talk. He was crazy, delusional. He thought she wanted him to rescue her. He thought she wanted to be with him. “I’ve always wanted to see your house, that's all.” “You did?” “Yes. I always wondered where you lived, what it looked like.” “It isn't much to look at.” He was silent for a few moments, as if contemplating. “But it's on the way. I can show it to you if you promise to be a good girl. You’ll be a good girl, won’t you?” His breathing ratcheted up, waiting for her to tell him again that she was his good girl. She fought back tears. She had to be strong. She needed to delay him, to give Marc time to find them. “Yes, I'll be a good girl,” she promised, her throat hurting from trying to talk over the engine. She would try to figure out where she was when he showed her his house, or maybe someone in the neighborhood would see her and call the cops. No matter what, she had to keep delaying him as long as possible. A surge of hope streaked through her dark thoughts. Maybe Marc had Buster's home address! Surely he would look for her there. But what if he thought Dylan had her? Or what if he doesn't even know I've been abducted? Oh God, what if Marc doesn't find me? **** Marc gripped the wheel as he swerved through Hollywood traffic on his way to Echo Park. He’d already called Pete, who was also on his way. But their district didn't extend past Normandie Ave., so he’d called the Rampart district to request backup. Unfortunately, while Rampart agreed to keep an eye out for the trucks, they couldn't spare any squad cars for what they considered a wild goose chase. There was no evidence a crime had yet been committed, and not enough evidence to support a warrant against Buster Parkinson. The sergeant had tried to convince Marc to back off. “Just ’cause she's not returning your calls doesn't mean she's been abducted,” he’d reasoned. “Why don't you wait a few days and see if she comes 206
Dancing with Danger out of the woodwork?” It had taken all Marc's control not to swear at the higher-ranking officer. There was no way in hell he was just going to sit back and wait. In fact, he had wanted to rush home to his condo to see for himself if she was there, but Pete convinced him to head toward Echo Park instead. “Our guys are going to your place right now,” Pete said. “They'll let you know if they find anything. If Lily's there, sleeping on the couch or something, then no harm done. If she's not, well, no use having to double back to check out Buster's place. So get your ass over to Echo Park and I'll meet you there.” He was right, but Marc still wished he could have gone to the condo himself. What he wouldn't give to walk in that door and see her sleeping on the couch or cooking him spaghetti, her phone accidentally turned off. And if she wasn't there? He didn't want to think about that. His phone vibrated and he picked it up before it could ring. “Officer Sloan.” “Marc, it's Kathy. Dispatch sent us over to your place and we're there now. The front door was already unlocked.” Marc's chest tightened. Kathy kept talking, spewing out the information as fast as she could, understanding that he was sitting on pins and needles. “The door lock to your rooftop patio was destroyed from the outside. It looks like that was the point of entry.” Of course. Buster owned a roofing company. He would have all the tools he needed to get up there, and no one would have batted an eyelash if they saw him. Marc swore under his breath. “There's an overturned bag near the bed and we found a smashed cell phone in the trash can. And Marc?” “What?” he whispered hoarsely. “It looks like there's some blood on the floor near the bed. Not a lot, mind you. But it's fresh.” **** “No screaming, my little Lily. The drugs are making you do crazy 207
things, but I can't have you screaming. Remember, you promised to be good.” Buster pointed the gun at her again. She nodded, not wanting to speak now that the key was back in her mouth. The movement made her dizzy, though, and she closed her eyes momentarily to stem a sudden wave of nausea. He lifted her to her feet, pulling her quickly along the short cement walkway to his front door. She forced hers eyes to remain open as she looked around desperately, but nothing seemed familiar. It was a typical middle-class neighborhood, poorly lit but not particularly distinguishable. It was hilly, though, and she thought she might be in Silverlake or Echo Park, maybe near Dodger Stadium. But other than a few cars crossing an intersection a few blocks away, the street was devoid of people. There was no one to see her as she was dragged along the path to his house. He pushed her in front of his body as he struggled with the front door, his keys jingling loudly as he tried to unlock it without putting down his gun. She figured this was her best chance to leave a clue for Marc. She tried to spit out the keychain onto the door mat, but the sudden jaw movement made her wince and the key sort of flopped out of her mouth and landed noisily on the concrete sidewalk. She held her breath, certain that he must have heard it, but he merely opened the door and pushed her inside. “We shouldn't be doing this, it wasn't part of the plan,” he mumbled, shutting the door behind them. “This wasn’t part of the plan,” he repeated, sounding increasingly agitated. “I'm sorry, I was just so curious. Thank you, Buster.” She tried to calm him, worried that he would fly into another of his rages. Now that he had the gun in his hand, she was terrified that the next time he lost his temper, he would do more than hit her. Suddenly he pressed up behind her, his hands digging painfully into her shoulders. She heard him breathing heavily on the back of her neck and scalp. He groaned loudly. “Yes. Say it again.” She cried out in surprise and disgust, stumbling from the sudden weight of his body on her, but he didn't release his grip and pulled her back against him. “Say it, Lily.” He shook her. “Say it!” 208
Dancing with Danger “What? What do you want me to say?” “Say my name!” “Buster! Buster! Thank you, Buster!” she repeated desperately as his fingers dug into her arms. Her hands were still tied behind her back, trapped between her body and his, and she felt his arousal against her hand as he rubbed his body against hers. Desperate and sickened, she played the only card her weakened body allowed her to play. She pretended to faint. **** Marc called Pete and relayed Kathy’s disturbing news. “We're going to find her, Marc.” Pete's voice was strong and steady and Marc clung to it. “Yes, okay. Yes.” “Do we go to his home or office first?” He searched his gut. For some reason he’d been drawn to the office location, but the home address was slightly closer and now he felt a sudden urge to go there instead. “Go with your gut, man,” Pete encouraged, waiting for a response. “Home. Then office.” **** “Lily, sweet Lily. Can you hear me?” Buster carried her to his couch and laid her down. She kept her eyes shut, feigning unconsciousness as he knelt next to her and petted her hair. She was exhausted and at a loss for what else to do. But then she felt his hands move down her face to her shoulders. She felt his hot breath on her bare arm. He was panting shallowly as his fingers drifted to her breasts and she couldn't stop herself from squirming away. “You're awake?” His voice sounded abruptly harsher. She fluttered her eyes opened and croaked, “Water. Please, Buster. Can I have some water?” As she said his name, his eyes lost their crazed look and he petted her face again. “You need to sleep. You’ll feel better in your room. I'll carry you back to the truck.” “Please, I need water. I can't—I can't travel more right now.” 209
“Oh, it's not far. It's very close.” “Please, Buster?” He smiled indulgently at her. “All right, my sweet Lily. Stay here.” He stood up and went to the kitchen, which was directly behind the couch where he had laid her. She heard him getting a glass and filling it up at the sink. Knowing she only had a few moments, she frantically tried to pull the cap off of the tube of lipstick in her hand. It was much harder than she thought, with her hands tied behind her back, but it finally came loose and she twisted the base, lengthening it. Looking around desperately, she tried to find some sort of surface to write on. Her frantic eye movements made it hard to focus, though, and soon Buster was turning off the tap and heading back toward her. She sat up and put a few inches between her and the back of the sofa behind her. With shaking fingers, she started to scribble on the couch itself, hoping the green fabric of the slipcover was light enough to show her markings. Then Buster was there, holding the glass of water to her lips. Nervous that he might have drugged her water again, she only took a small sip. He petted her hair as she pretended to drink. “That's it. You're a good girl, my little Lily.” **** Marc and Pete arrived at Buster's home neighborhood almost simultaneously. They parked down the street and came up with a game plan. Despite the new evidence Kathy had relayed to them, the Rampart sergeant still refused to send a squad car. On their own, they kept an open call connected between their cell phones to use as walkie-talkies. At Pete's signal, they both silently approached the house. The blue Ford truck was parked in the driveway, but its engine hood was cold and its cab and bed were empty. Pete hopped the wall into the backyard while Marc jogged up to the front door. Marc quickly peaked through the front window, seeing a darkened living room and the corner of a kitchen, which was also dark. Pulling his cell phone out of his pocket, he whispered into it. 210
Dancing with Danger “Nothing from the front.” “I'm at the back door. All clear from what I can see.” He ground his teeth in frustration. Do we risk our badges by breaking in without a warrant? Something crunched underneath his feet. He crouched down to see what he had stepped on and his heart pounded in his chest as he picked it up. Lily's keychain! It was wet and sticky with what looked like blood and spit. His chest tightening, he gripped it in his palm. “Pete, I found her keychain! It's got blood on it,” he whispered frantically into the phone. “She was here! She might still be here!” He eyed the front door again. “Fuck it,” Pete growled. Simultaneously, both men kicked in the doors.
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Chapter Seventeen Marc hadn't come. Lily's head bounced painfully against the floor of the white truck as the vehicle drove over a large bump. He hadn't come. She’d stalled as long as she could before Buster became impatient and accused her of trying to trick him. He’d dragged her back to the truck, his hand over her mouth to muffle her weak cries. She fought him as hard as she could as he forced her back into the vehicle, and she’d even managed to jab one of her heels into his face. But other than a scratch on his cheek, all she’d managed to accomplish was to make him angrier. In return, he had backhanded her and then bashed her head against the floor of the truck. Now she was struggling to get her bearings again, trying to shake away the fog in her brain and ignore the pounding of blood in her head. Her feet were bound now, and he’d forced a gag into her mouth. It was getting harder to keep her eyes open. Even her breathing felt slowed and laborious. But the most disheartening thing was the fear Marc would never find her. He hadn't come. Marc hadn't come. **** Marc and Pete swept through the house, but found no one. Converging in the living room, they scanned the area for clues, careful not to touch anything. Seeing what he thought was a bloodstain on the sofa, Pete leaned forward and saw the lipstick traces. “I think I've got something.” They studied the markings. “I think that says 'nearby'.” Pete said, pointing at the first word. “And I think that says 'help me'.” Marc finished, his voice breaking. 212
Dancing with Danger Lily, I'm coming. Hold on! **** It was all wrong! This wasn't how it was supposed to happen! Buster parked the truck and screeched incoherently, relentlessly pounding his head back against the seat in his rage. His Lily was fighting him, trying to trick him, trying to escape! “No, no, no, no, NO!” He stormed out of the truck and slammed the door behind him, pacing the empty parking lot. She'd been brainwashed by that man! That man had destroyed her! He pounded the heel of his hand into his forehead repeatedly as he paced away from the truck and back again. His Lily was supposed to be sweet and submissive. His Lily needed him and loved him and wanted him to be near her always. He’d built a room just for her so that he could be there for her all day. Didn't she realize all that he'd done for her? He looked at his building at the back of the lot. Her room. Yes. Once she saw her room, she would understand. She would see how much he loved her and how he could provide her with everything she needed. Yes, yes, that was it. And after she saw her room, if she didn't treat him with respect and deference, then he would make her pay. He would show her how he punished bad girls. He flung open the passenger door and yanked Lily out. Her eyes were barely open and she didn't struggle at all. “There, that's my good girl,” he panted, cradling her to his chest and rocking her back and forth. Her legs wouldn't hold her weight, so he scooped her up and carried her inside. “Here we go, my Lily. See, I’m carrying you over the threshold!” Once inside, he maneuvered his way through the outer office to the left side of the building, into his newly remodeled private office. He laid her on the carpet and checked the security cameras, which fed into the TV monitors on his desk, and made sure the lot was completely empty. Satisfied the building and parking lot were devoid of any people, he set down his Glock. He uncovered the secret door to Lily's room and opened the padlock. She moaned, her voice muffled by the rag he had tied across her 213
mouth, as he carried her inside and laid her on the bed. The comforter was the same color and style as the one from her old apartment, as were the pillows. “Wake up, Lily. Look at your room. This is your new home.” He patted her cheeks and gently shook her shoulders. She finally opened her eyes and looked around. He followed her gaze as she took in her surroundings. There was a black chair nearby, with a stack of novels towered next to it. Against the wall next to the chair were a small sink, toilet, and shower with no curtain. On the other side of the room was a small platform with a stripper pole, a nearly exact miniature replica of the private showing rooms at Vixens. All the walls were covered with sounddampening foam so they could make as much noise as they wanted without ever being disturbed. There were cameras in every corner of the room, and one pointed down from the ceiling toward the bed, so he could always watch her. “I built this all for you, my Lily,” he said proudly. He watched her intently, waiting for her reaction, but none came. He shook her again, demanding she thank him appropriately. But her eyes were vacant and unfocused as they wandered aimlessly around the room. She wouldn't look at him and he couldn't see her mouth because of that rag. Her face was blotchy and there were smears of blood on her chin and neck. Her left cheek was red and starting to swell, as was her right eye. He let her fall backward onto the mattress. “Why did you make me hit you?” He moaned, pounding the heel of his palm against his forehead again. He rocked back and forth, watching her as she turned her head toward the wall and closed her eyes. “Look at me! Look at me!” he screeched, grabbing her chin and forcing her head toward him. “You whore! You were mine! Why did you let him touch you? He's brainwashed you! You were mine!” He shook her violently, but her head just lolled, lifeless. “I did this all for you! For you! Look at me!” But her eyes never opened. **** Pete accompanied Marc in his Jeep as they sped toward the office 214
Dancing with Danger address Bonnie Jo had given them. What if she wasn't there? What if I've lost her? “She's going to be okay,” Pete assured him, reading his thoughts. “We'll find her,” After several minutes that seemed like an eternity, they finally approached the address of Buster's roofing company. “This is it.” Marc turned off the headlights and drove past the lot. They were in an industrial neighborhood, completely vacant this time of evening. Security lights pointed down at the parking lot, creating spotlights of stark whiteness surrounded by a sea of shadows. The building itself was set at the back of the lot, a squat cement structure with a few small windows on either side of a front door. There were a handful of white trucks lined up in front the building, most loaded with ladders and various roofing supplies. He slammed on the brakes and threw the Jeep into park. Pete was already jumping out of the vehicle as it came to a stop. They ran toward the building, crouching low and trying to avoid the brightly lit areas. They approached the row of trucks, spotting one with a dented passenger door. Pete felt the hood and nodded to him. Marc let out a shaky breath, his body tense with coiled energy and barely controlled terror. They circled around the building, but the sides and back were solid, without windows or doors. The only point of entry seemed to through one of the windows or the door. He headed toward the door, but Pete held him back, nodding toward a security camera directly aimed at it. When he tried to shake him off, Pete gripped his shoulder and pushed him against the side of the building. “Think for a second,” he whispered fiercely. “We have to do this by the book. You understand me?” “Fuck the book. He could be in there raping her right now!” Marc struggled against his grip. “He could also have a knife to her neck right now! What would happen to her then, if we barged in with guns blazing?” Pete struggled to keep him against the wall. “If he hurts her, I swear to God—” 215
“We'll get her, Marc. By the book!” Marc took a deep, shaky breath and stopped struggling. Keeping him pressed against the wall, Pete pulled out his phone and called the Rampart station again. In a low voice he gave them their address and requested backup once more. “We've got an abduction, the suspect is mentally unstable and possibly armed. I need a supervisor and additional units to this location immediately. The building is in the Echo Park industrial district, near the corner of—” The call was interrupted when the sergeant from earlier tapped into the call. “Is this Officer Sloan again?” he barked. “No, sir,” Pete replied, keeping his voice low. “This is his partner, Officer Peter Waxman.” “You boys are out of your district and out of line. I told your partner—” “Sir! We have reasonable evidence to support police action at this time. If you contact the Hollywood division they will confirm that our officers found evidence of a break-in and signs of a struggle, and in addition to that we discovered—” He choked off as the window next to their heads shattered with explosive force. “Gun!” They dove away from the wall, scrambling toward the row of trucks. “Shots fired! Shots fired!” Pete shouted into the phone as he and Marc dove for cover behind the engine block of the nearest truck. “LAPD! Come out with your hands up!” Marc yelled, pointing his gun at the now-empty window frame. The interior of the building was dark and he could see nothing inside. Pete was still yelling into the phone, giving Rampart their exact location. Suddenly a muzzle flash burst from the darkness as another shot was fired, ripping into the door of the truck next to Marc. He aimed his gun helplessly at the shooter's location, realizing he couldn't fire back for risk of hitting Lily. “Let the girl go and we can negotiate!” he shouted desperately. 216
Dancing with Danger There was a shuffling from inside and bullets sprayed through the small glass window on the front door, sending shards of glass flying at them. “He must be able to see our position from those security cameras!” Pete called out as they scuttled for better cover from this new angle of attack. There was an unearthly shriek from inside the building as more shots were fired erratically. “You destroyed her! It’s your fault! You killed my Lily!” No. A cold clarity overtook Marc. He vaguely heard Pete yelling at him, but the words meant nothing. He knew what he had to do. Pete reached for him, but he was too slow. Standing up, Marc lifted his pistol and fired. But instead of firing into the building, he aimed for the security camera. It exploded into pieces of plastic and metal, which rained down on him as he charged the front door and shot the lock. Without pausing, he kicked it in, ignoring the bullets that speared past him. Buster scrambled back toward his office, firing wildly at him. “You can't have her! You'll never put your hands on her again!” he shrieked, bullets exploding erratically out of his gun. Seeing his target, Marc crouched over and barreled toward him. Splinters exploded from the wall next to him as Buster fired wildly. Behind him, a computer monitor shattered and a burning stripe of pain streaked along the side of his rib cage, but he didn't slow. He was only a foot away when Buster pointed his gun directly at him and pulled the trigger one last time. But the gun didn’t fire. Buster only had time to widen his eyes before Marc slammed into him, smashing them both into a wall of bookshelves. Buster’s head snapped back, but Marc gripped his shirtfront and yanked him forward again. He slammed Buster facedown onto the floor, and there was a wet crunch as he made contact. “No!” Blood poured from Buster’s broken nose as he shrieked. “I shot you! I shot you!” he cried, bucking his body wildly. Using a knee to pin him to the ground, Marc pressed the barrel of 217
his gun against the back of Buster’s skull. “There are only seventeen rounds in a magazine. You should have chosen your shots more wisely, you son of a bitch.” He shoved his face next to Buster’s ear. “I, on the other hand, still have fifteen rounds ready to fire into your sorry ass.” “Marc, don't!” Pete shouted, stumbling over shattered debris as he ran toward them. “You'll never have her! She's mine! She'll always be mine!” Buster continued to thrash under Marc's weight. He pressed harder into the wild man's back, hearing a crisp “pop” as one of Buster's ribs snapped. “Tell me where she is or I will empty this whole fucking clip into your brain.” Buster shrieked incoherently, contorting his body violently. Too late, Marc saw that the wild flailing had allowed Buster to reach a Bowie knife strapped to his calf. Buster clutched the knife and swung his arm toward him. But then Pete was at his side, grabbing Buster's arm and yanking it upward, wrenching the knife out of his grip. Pete slapped a handcuff on his wrist and grunted as he tried to grasp Buster's other arm, which was thrashing out of control. Marc grasped the back of Buster's head and quickly yanked it up. “You're under arrest,” he whispered in the screaming man's ear, and then he smashed his face into the ground, silencing him. Pete grabbed the now limp wrist and locked the other handcuff as Marc stood up. “He's unconscious,” Pete announced. Marc didn't care. “Lily? Lily, baby, please come out! We got him. It's over. Can you hear me, love?” He scanned the office for any sign of her. Please be alive! Please, God, don't let me be too late. Marc and Pete held their breaths, straining to hear any sound or see any sign of movement. Eventually the faint sound of sirens streamed in from the broken windows at the other end of the building. “Lily?” Pete called out. “Can you hear us?” A row of security monitors lined one side of Buster's desk and Marc leaned over to study the different views in each window. None were dark, even though he knew he’d shot out the front door 218
Dancing with Danger camera. Pete reached forward and flipped a switch on the control box above the monitors and the images refreshed, showing a new set of camera angles, one of which was blank. “Overkill on the security for one building, don't you think?” Pete frowned as he scanned the images for any sign of Lily. He flipped another switch on the box and the display refreshed again. Marc’s gut twisted as he recognized Lily's motionless form. She was lying face-up on a bed somewhere, her eyes half-open and her mouth gagged. “Lily!” he cried, pressing his hand against the screen. Don't be dead. Oh God, don't let her be dead! “I'm here,” he pleaded at her lifeless form. “Lily, love, where are you?” He studied the silent images of the room and saw that it was soundproofed with foam. There were no windows, and only one door in the corner. He and Pete looked up from the monitor, scanning the building for doors, but other than the narrow private office they stood in now, the rest of the building was one wide open space, filled with bullet-riddled office equipment and roofing supplies. The only doors were the shattered front door and the one leading into this office. Sirens wailed loudly as Rampart squad cars squealed to a stop in front of the building. Pete holstered his gun and pulled out his badge, heading toward the front door with his arms raised and shouting at the officers to hold their fire. Lily, baby, I'm here. Just tell me where you are. Cops burst through the door with their guns drawn, shouting at Pete to identify himself, but Marc blocked the noise out. He gripped the side of the desk, shut his eyes and bowed his head. In the background Pete explained the situation. Vaguely, he heard the Rampart officers as they filed into the office, pulling the unconscious Buster upright and dragging him outside. “Marc?” Pete asked softly, touching his shoulder. “She's here. She's got to be.” He stood suddenly and turned around, studying the ceiling-high bookshelves that lined the back 219
wall of the office. Pete followed his gaze and they both caught their breath at the same time. The bookshelf he had slammed Buster into was now angled slightly outward. Heart pounding in his chest, Marc yanked it forward. It was hinged to the wall and swung open smoothly, revealing a hidden padlocked door. Lily! His hand flew to the padlock. “He must have the key on him,” Pete said, turning around to halt the officers who were carrying Buster outside. But Marc couldn't wait. He pulled out his gun and fired at the lock, angling his shot so the bullet wouldn't go through the door. Two shots and the lock was dismantled. Shoving open the door, he rushed into a poorly lit room and spotted Lily immediately. Stumbling to the bed, he dropped to his knees at her side and put down his gun. He removed the gag and put a trembling hand to her throat, searching for a pulse. “Oh, God.” “Get us a medic! We need an ambulance now!” Pete shouted to the Rampart officers as he came to his side. Marc’s chest felt tight. He couldn't breathe. He couldn’t find a pulse. He sucked in shallow gasps of air. “Lily, love, I'm here, baby.” His hands fumbled at her neck, still trying to detect a heartbeat. Pete pushed his trembling hands aside and replaced them with his own slightly steadier fingers. Desperate to help her, Marc untied her feet. “I've found a pulse,” Pete breathed, looking at him with relief. “She's got a pulse! It's slow but steady. I think she's been drugged.” Marc choked out a sob and felt Pete’s shocked gaze fly to him. Uncaring that he was losing his composure in front of his best friend for the first time in his life, he gently lifted Lily upright and cradled her to his chest. “Untie her hands,” he whispered huskily. Pete quickly complied. Her arms flopped forward as they were released and he gently massaged her bruised wrists as he tenderly rocked her back and 220
Dancing with Danger forth. Thank you, God. Oh, thank you, God. Pete laid a hand on his shoulder and gripped it tightly. Marc glanced up briefly and saw that his eyes were not the only ones brimming with tears. He wanted to thank him, but couldn’t speak. Pete nodded briefly and left the room, calling again for the medic. Marc continued to cradle Lily, trying to cushion her broken body as much as he could. “Marc....” With a sharp intake of breath, he gripped her more tightly, holding her small body in his protective embrace. “I'm here, I'm here. I love you, Lily. I love you so much.” “Love...Marc….” she mumbled. “…tired.” “You can sleep now. It's okay. I'm here.” She slept.
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Chapter Eighteen “I don't really remember. And it's a mixed blessing,” Lily told Judy honestly, squeezing Marc's hand in her own. The three of them were settled in Marc's living room drinking cups of coffee, or in Lily's case, hot cocoa with marshmallows. Marc was resting in the corner of the L-shaped sofa, his arms wrapped protectively around her as she leaned back against his chest, her legs laid out in front of her. Sneak was curled up at the other end of the couch, keeping her feet warm. “The doctors think he drugged me with Rohypnol, which causes a lot of the symptoms Marc said I displayed, including memory loss. But we won't know for sure until the blood work comes back. Marc thinks Buster put it in the water bottle I’d stored in the fridge. And he maybe even tried to spike my other bottle while we were at the coffee shop, or maybe he just stole it to be sure that I was thirsty enough to drink the one here at home.” Judy gasped. “So maybe that was him I heard in the backroom at the shop!” “It’s possible, but I don’t know. Everything from that day is a bit muddled for me. The last thing I really remember was getting dizzy in the shower. Almost everything after that is gone, completely gone. Every now and then I think I might remember something, but I don’t know if it’s real or not.” She thought silently for a moment, gripping Marc's hand in hers as a few disturbing images flashed in her brain. But then she shook her head, refusing to let her mind go there again. She sipped her hot cocoa, slurping in a marshmallow, and wiggled her toes to tickle Sneak's belly. “To be perfectly honest, I'm just relieved it's all over. No more hiding, no more looking over my shoulder all the time, or being scared. I feel like I can finally relax now.” In truth, she knew that she wasn’t completely fine. She’d been suffering from night terrors and hadn’t been able to take a shower alone since the attack, but she didn’t want to worry her friend. 222
Dancing with Danger Judy gave a small nod, seeming to avoid Lily’s gaze. She clutched her mug and studied the swirling cream within it. Unexpectedly, Judy burst into tears. “I just feel so horrible,” she blurted out. “I should have come inside with you when I dropped you off!” Tears spilled down her cheeks. “And, dios mio, if he was at the coffee shop, maybe I really did hear him in the back room! And if only I had opened the door quicker, I might have seen him and then we would have known who he was and he never would have taken you….” Her speech became unintelligible as she snuffled miserably. “Oh, Judy.” Lily put down her mug and pulled her friend into a fierce hug. Sneak rose on four paws and trotted to their end of the couch, rubbing up against Judy's back. Marc reached forward and patted Judy’s shoulder. “You didn't do anything wrong,” he told her firmly. “You have nothing to feel guilty about. I know how hard it is to accept that, but it's true.” Lily had caught him second-guessing his own actions, playing the “if only” game over and over. She could tell he was replaying the events of that horrible evening, getting angry at himself for the way things had progressed, upset that he hadn't called Judy right away or tried to reach Lily on the home phone sooner or gone home like he’d originally planned. But whenever she caught him slipping down that path, she would remind him how much she loved him and how their love saved her in the end. And he’d return the favor whenever she started chastising herself for her own actions, for not calling him when her work plans had changed or a half-dozen other stupid mistakes she regretted. They both knew, intellectually at least, that it wasn’t their fault. But it would be a while before they could completely rid themselves of guilt and fear. “Look at me,” Judy mumbled tearily, pulling free the hug and wiping her eyes with a tissue. “I'm supposed to be cheering you up with hot cocoa and a stack of wonderfully cheesy romance novels, but instead you’re the one making me feel better!” She pulled Sneak onto her lap and held him close. “I'm so sorry.” “Well, I'm not sorry,” Lily assured her. “I'm glad you came over, and I'm glad I could cheer you up. It feels good to be doing 223
something.” She settled back in Marc's arms and rested her head against his chest, smiling up at him. “He’s kept me confined to the bed for the past 36 hours!” “Although being in bed all day has its perks, doesn’t it?” he whispered softly in her ear, making her blush. “Well, if it's company you want, you have plenty to choose from,” Judy informed her, taking Sneak with her as she moved back to her chair. “Crissy and about half a dozen other people from the studio called. She wanted to confirm your new address to send you some flowers and she asked me to tell her as soon as you were ready for visitors. The whole coffee shop crew wanted to come today, but I told them to hold off for a bit. And if you're really desperate, I'm sure there are plenty of reporters who would love to chat with you.” “Reporters?” She and Marc sat up in unison. “Didn't you know?” She leaned forward sympathetically. “The press got the story this morning, chica. I think one of the hospital workers tipped them off, after you were discharged.” She looked from her face to Marc's. “I thought that was why you needed the extra support today.” Lily snatched the remote and turned on one of the all-news channels. The anchor was currently reporting on a protest in Israel. Marc put his arm around her and rubbed her arms gently, watching as intently as she. “One of them called the shop this morning,” Judy told them, referring to the reporters. “I told him we were all glad to hear you were doing fine, but then he started firing all sorts of questions at me, so I hung up. I told the evening crew to say 'no comment,' if anyone else called.” She stopped speaking abruptly as the Israel story ended. The news anchor thanked the field reporter and then turned her gaze directly to the camera. “In other news, Senator Gerald Brookstone, Republican from Virginia, has released a statement thanking the public for their outpouring of support and asking the press for privacy as his daughter recovers from her terrible ordeal.” A photograph of a slightly younger Lily and her father, taken at one of his many senatorial campaigns, flashed on the screen as the anchor continued. “Earlier today the story broke that Senator 224
Dancing with Danger Brookstone's 22-year-old daughter, Lillian Brookstone, was reportedly abducted from her Los Angeles home on Tuesday evening. She was recovered a few short hours later by the LAPD.” “Short hours? Those were longest hours of my life.” Judy shook her head at the TV. “Tell me about it,” murmured Marc. Lily looked at him. “I cannot believe my father did this.” She’d asked Marc to call her father yesterday afternoon, after she was released from her short stay at the hospital. He’d made the calls for her, but was unable reach the Senator and was forced to leave messages at his office and home. At the former, a secretary promised she would do whatever she could to get the message to Lily's father immediately. The housekeeper at the Senator's home had taken a message as well, but had spoken with enough skepticism that he’d wondered if the woman even believed him. Lily had spent the rest of the evening trying to distract herself, waiting for her dad to call back. When it was finally time for bed and her father still hadn't called, she’d quietly told Marc that she didn't want to speak to him when or if he did call. Marc admirably tried to hide his fury from her. Lily herself was just disappointed. Not in her father, oh no. She was disappointed in herself for stupidly expecting something different. She knew better. When the phone rang that morning, Marc had tried to answer it before it woke her, but she had silently picked up the other handset to eavesdrop. Hearing her dad’s voice on the other end of the line, Marc had firmly told him that she wasn't available. “Son, do you know who I am?” “Yes sir, I do. You're Lily's father. And you should start acting like it.” “What the hell are you talking about? My relationship with Lillian is none of your damned business!” “Oh, it's most definitely my damned business. I called you over sixteen hours ago to tell you that your daughter had been drugged, abducted, and beaten by a psychotic stalker. Why, then, are you just now calling me back?” “I didn't get the message until a moment ago! I was traveling 225
back from Israel, where there happens to be a lot of political unrest at the moment.” “Don't you dare.” Marc had taken a deep breath before continuing in a low tone. “Don't you dare talk to me about 'political unrest' as if that takes precedence over your daughter's life.” “I'm not—that's not what I meant—” “Lily is the only family you've got, and your family should always have a way to reach you in an emergency, no matter how far away you may be or how important your assignment. Instead, you've got her calling your office and leaving messages with your secretary, or calling your home and speaking to a housekeeper who doesn't even know you have a daughter!” There was a long silence before her father replied. “I want to speak to Lily. Now.” “Tough shit, Senator. Not until she's ready. Not until you stop treating her as if she doesn't exist, only calling her when she becomes a political liability.” “She's my daughter!” “Yes, sir. She is.” “At least tell me how she is.” “She received a minor concussion, a cracked tooth, and has a black eye, amongst other bumps and bruises. She doesn't remember most of it, which we suspect is a side effect of the drugs the stalker poisoned her water with.” There was a shaky sigh, and then Senator Brookstone cleared his throat. “Was she—Did he—” “He didn't rape her.” There’d been another long pause. “She's doing better today,” Marc had added, somewhat more gently. Her father hung up shortly after that, and Marc had gone back into the bedroom to see that she’d been on the other handset the entire time. “Well, at least he asked how I was, right?” And now, only half a day later, her father was giving statements to the press as if everything was fine between them, as if he were intimately involved in her recovery. The news anchor continued her report. “...Lillian Brookstone was released from medical care yesterday and is reportedly recovering 226
Dancing with Danger at home. She has not been reachable for comment. Senator Brookstone arrived in Los Angeles a short while ago, but would not comment further.” “He's here? In L.A.?” Judy asked her in surprise. “First I’ve heard of it.” She frowned at the TV. Suddenly the phone rang. Marc picked up the handset and held it so she could see the caller I.D. It was coming from the condo's front gate call box. “If it's him, do you want to see him?” She thought about it for a long moment, and then jutted out her chin. “Fine.” He nodded and answered the call. “Hello? Yes, we saw that on the news just now…. Yes, she'll see you. Give me a moment and I'll meet you at the front gate.” He hung up. Lily raised a speculative eyebrow. “You could have buzzed him in from here, you know.” “Yeah, I know.” He smiled at her, half-sheepish and half-defiant. “I wanted to have a few words with him before he came in.” He kissed her forehead and headed out. Judy scooted closer to her and took her hand. “Should I go?” “No, I'd like you to stay if you don't mind.” “Sure, chica.” She patted her hand softly. “Maribel's staying with my sister tonight, being thoroughly spoiled I'm sure, so I'm here as long as you want me.” They waited a few minutes, eying the front door expectantly. As if sensing her need, Sneak hopped off Judy's lap and onto Lily's. “Well, they aren't shouting, at least,” Judy noted after several minutes of waiting silently. “What do you think they're talking about?” “Me,” Lily answered without pause as the front door finally rattled and the two men came in. She was taken aback to see her father had come alone. Normally he traveled with at least two aides, and considering how mediavolatile the current situation was, she’d expected that number to have tripled. Maybe they were waiting outside. But her surprise at seeing him on his own was nothing compared to her shock at what he did next. 227
Senator Gerald Brookstone set eyes on his daughter, taking in her swollen and bruised face, the bandage on her forehead, and her determined, wary expression, and burst into tears. Lily's mouth fell open slightly as she watched her father fall apart where he stood. Judy and Marc quietly excused themselves and slipped into the kitchen, mumbling something about making tea. Even Sneak seemed to sense that the two of them needed privacy. He leapt from her lap and followed Marc out of the room. “Dad?” He took a deep, shaky breath. He cleared his throat, started to speak, and then cleared it again. “I'm so sorry. I’m so sorry that I've let you down. When I got your m-message this morning, I—” He took another breath and looked toward the kitchen. He clutched the edges of his jacket as he stammered, and his nervousness was another surprise to her. His nickname in Congress was Golden-Tongue Gerry, and she had never known him to be at a loss for words. Ever. “I don’t know what to say.” He switched his gaze from the kitchen and met her eyes determinedly, with a familiar jut of his chin. “I've been acting like an ass. Please forgive me.” The sight of her father looking vulnerable and humbled had her fighting back tears. But years of neglect and anger could not be erased by one apology, no matter how heartfelt. “Yes, you have, Dad. And you broke my heart. Not only did you make me feel as if I was less important than your work, but you belittled my life choices and practically disowned me when I wouldn't follow the plan you had laid out for me.” He swallowed and nodded, taking a seat in the chair Judy had abandoned. “I couldn't understand— No, let me be honest here. I refused to try to understand why you would want to move to California and pursue a career that has no stability, one that is practically impossible to make a living from, and that would be over in a decade or less.” She scowled, but said nothing as her father took a deep breath before continuing. 228
Dancing with Danger “But I realize now that it wasn't my choice to make. I should have supported you, no matter what your dreams were. By trying to force you to make the right decision, I pushed you away.” “The 'right' decision, dad?” Her dad chuckled quietly and shook his head. “There I go again. I suppose I mean the decision I wanted you to make.” She felt the anger and betrayal she’d focused on her father for so long slowly start to fade. He saw the world so differently than she did, but he was her dad. Maybe they could get past that and try to love each other for who they were. But she refused to let her hopes and expectations rise too high. Not yet. If she had learned nothing else from her father, she’d learned to be reluctant to trust. No, he hadn’t heard the whole story yet. She wouldn’t trust her own hope until she saw how he reacted to the rest. “Well, as impossible as it may seem, I was actually making quite a good living from dancing until I was injured. After that, I had to— ” She stopped and eyed her father intently. “Where's George?” she asked. George Linton was her father's press secretary, his advisor on all things media-related, his damagecontrol specialist. “If he's waiting outside, you might want to bring him in once you hear what I have to say next.” “He's back in Virginia. He wanted to come, but I told him no. I wanted to see you alone.” “I'm glad. But in a moment, you may regret that decision.” She waited to see her father's reaction, and her heart lifted slightly as he shook his head. “No, this isn't about politics. Not now. This is about you. I'm here to be your father. I may be a little late, but I’m here.” She wanted to believe him, but she knew the next minute of conversation would probably determine the future of their relationship, no matter what he’d said so far. She took a deep breath and plunged ahead. “I had a hard time finding enough work after I injured my knee. I was struggling with medical bills, legal bills, and living expenses, and, well, I found a gig that paid enough to pull me out of debt while I got my dancing career back on track.” 229
She studied her father as she spoke, and knew that he’d guessed what she was about to say before she said it. “That 'gig' was performing at Vixens, an exotic dancing club in Hollywood. I was a topless dancer, Dad. A stripper.” He stood up abruptly and started pacing the room. “Why didn't you…? No.” He blinked down at his hands for a few moments and then looked up at her. “I wish you had told me you needed money. I would have sent you money.” “Dad—” “No, wait. I think I understand why you didn't. You probably thought that instead of helping you, I would have used your predicament as an example of why you were wasting your time in California, yes?” “Yes.” He sighed. “Well, you would have been right. More than likely, that is exactly what I would have done. But I still wish….” He walked to the window and stood silently for a moment, looking out on the quiet neighborhood below. He turned around and faced her solemnly. “I wish I had been there for you.” Now she let the tears fall. She tried to play it off, shrugging negligently. “It really wasn't that bad, Dad. It's all just dancing to me. But I knew you would have disapproved. I knew I was putting your career in jeopardy—” “Damn my career!” He rushed back to her and knelt by the couch. “That's my burden to bear. Not yours. Not anymore.” Her lips trembled as she looked into her father's eyes and finally saw what she had been longing to see all these years. Her dad loved her. He really did love her. “I didn't do lap dances, if that makes you feel any better,” she said with a sniffle. “It does, actually,” he said, chuckling softly. “But, sweetheart, I'd still love you no matter what. I know I don’t say it enough, but I love you.” Hearing those words from her father was more than she could bear. There was no stopping the tears from falling now. “May I hug you?” he asked gently, his own eyes tearing up again. 230
Dancing with Danger “Of course you can, daddy.” She reached for him and his arms wrapped around her. That was how Marc and Judy found them a few moments later. “So, who wants tea?” Judy inquired brightly as Sneak jumped back onto the sofa, purring loudly. **** “I look like a raccoon,” Lily sighed as she looked at her reflection in the Jeep's sun visor mirror. Instead of fading over the last few days, her bruises were now at their most colorful, sporting shades of deep purple, dark green, and sickly yellow, just in time for Pete and Lindsay's wedding. They were headed to the reception hall now, having just witnessed the ceremony at the chapel. “You do not. You look beautiful,” Marc assured her. “Well, I think you’re a bit partial, but thanks.” She grinned at him and snapped the sun visor back up against the roof. “At least the swelling has gone down.” “How's your head?” “I haven't been dizzy for days, Dr. Sloan,” she assured him for the fortieth time that day. “I'll be fine for the audition next Wednesday, so stop worrying.” Five Star had called her yesterday and informed her that a casting agent for a major motion picture had seen her reel on the Five Star website and was interested in having her try out for a part in an upcoming film about a ballet company. They had an audition slot open on Wednesday afternoon, and she had jumped at the opportunity. “It's just that the doctor said to take it easy—” “He also said I'd be fine to start dancing again next week. And Wednesday is, last I checked, next week.” She leaned over the gear shift and kissed him on the cheek. “I'll be fine,” she whispered. He looked over at her and smiled. “I know. I'm sure you will be.” “Your little niece is adorable, by the way,” she said, quickly diverting his attention from her state of health, a skill she’d finely honed over the last several days. “I’ve never met a more precocious creature!” Since the only three people at the ceremony Lily had met were in 231
the wedding party, Marc had seated her next to his family in the second row of pews. The entire Sloan family had been invited. Pete and Marc had been friends since childhood and Janice, Marc's sister, had been on the high school swim team with Lindsay. Janice’s husband and their baby girl were also there, and both of Marc's parents had come out for the big event. Aaron, Marc's little brother, was the only Sloan family member who hadn't been able to make it. She sensed a tense energy between Marc's parents, Ms. Jeanne Sloan-Mathers and Mr. Glen Sloan, but it wasn't hostile. Rather, it had been a hurtful tension, as if they’d both broken the other's heart and neither had healed. Jeanne sat at one end of the pew while his dad sat at the other end, with Janice's family and Lily sandwiched in the middle. Lily had held baby Annabelle for most of the ceremony, partly to allow Janice to take pictures, but also because the adorable little girl provided some distraction from all the stares she’d been receiving from the other wedding guests. Someone had recognized her as Senator's Brookstone's daughter, and soon the room was buzzing about her abduction. The whispering had thankfully faded away when the procession music cued in, but she’d kept the insatiably curious Annabelle on her lap throughout the ceremony anyway, occupying the child by letting the ten-month-old explore the contents of her purse. “Yeah, Annabelle has never failed to win over anyone she’s come into contact with,” Marc chuckled. “If her track record keeps up much longer, she's going to be the most spoiled little girl the world has ever seen.” “Oh, she's fine,” Lily scoffed, checking her wallet for tooth marks. Arriving at the reception hall, they filtered into the elegantly decorated ballroom with the rest of the guests and found their assigned table. Janice, her husband Steve, and baby Annabelle were already seated there. Marc pulled out a chair for Lily, but Janice stopped him. “No, no, no, each seat has a name assigned to it. You and Lily are next to Steve.” Marc looked at the table and saw that, indeed, there were small 232
Dancing with Danger cards with their names on them placed next to Steve. “But that means mom and dad will have to sit next to each other,” Marc pointed out, reaching over to switch his dad's card with Lily's so that he and Lily would be seated between his parents. But Janice grabbed his hand. “Don't you dare touch those cards, Marcus Sloan.” Lily looked at the table next to them, and the one next to that, and noticed that all of them were suspiciously missing place cards. She hid a smile and nudged Marc, who was now arguing with his sister. “I think someone's playing matchmaker, honey,” she whispered to him. He stopped arguing. “What? Oh.” Glen Sloan was heading over now, weaving through the elegantly draped tables and chairs. “Jan, do you really think this is a smart idea?” Marc whispered frantically. “Have I ever led you astray?” “Yes,” he deadpanned. “Sit down and shut up. Trust your big sister, would you?” She waved their dad over to the table. Marc shook his head at her and shrugged. He quickly seated himself in his Janice-assigned seat before his dad could take it. Glen kissed his daughter hello and tickled his granddaughter before eying the place cards and realizing his predicament. He tugged at his tie. “Hey, Steve, why don't you sit next to your wife here, and I'll take that seat next to Annabelle.” Steve coughed nervously and looked at his wife before replying. “Ah, no thanks there, dad. I think, uh, I think there's assigned seating, and uh, Annabelle can be quite a handful, so…you know.” Glen nodded distractedly. “Right, right. Well. I guess I'll sit here then.” He paused for a moment longer and then slowly took his seat. He and Marc discussed work as Lily made small talk with Steve. Janice listened intently to Annabelle's animated gibberish, nodding her head knowingly and saying “Oh really?” where 233
appropriate. But soon they all noticed Jeanne heading toward the table, and the various conversations petered out. Except for Annabelle, who continued to blabber happily. “Ah, excuse me,” Glen mumbled, standing up and heading to the bar. Marc gave his sister a dirty look and followed his father, squeezing Lily's hand before he left. Jeanne spotted the place cards as soon as she arrived at the table, but she wasn't as easily fooled as Glen. She immediately folded her arms and looked at her daughter. “Janice? Care to tell me why there are only four place cards in this entire ballroom?” Steve coughed nervously again and quietly excused himself, beelining for the bar. Janice shrugged innocently and turned her attention back to Annabelle. “Look, Baby-Belle, Grandma Jeanne is here! She's going to sit right here next to Mommy and Grandpa Glen. Isn't that exciting?” Annabelle squealed enthusiastically. Grandma Jeanne rolled her eyes, but sportingly took her seat. Turning to Lily, who was seated three seats away, she leaned over and reached out a hand. Lily took it, smiling. “I'm sorry we didn't get to chat much at the ceremony, dear. You look so lovely in that dress.” She squeezed her hand before letting it go. Despite Jeanne's graceful manner, she appeared nervous. “Thank you, Jeanne, and you look stunning in that gown. One can hardly believe you have three adult children and a granddaughter!” She smiled in genuine pleasure at Lily's compliment, but then began to fiddle nervously with the stem of her water goblet. She took a small sip and briefly eyed the men at the bar before returning her focus to Lily. “How are you feeling?” She assured Jeanne she was doing fine. “I'm lucky you raised such a wonderful son. Not only did he rescue me that night, but he's been truly incredible this entire week, taking excellent care of me. I 234
Dancing with Danger don't plan to let him go anytime soon.” Jeanne smiled knowingly, if somewhat wistfully, before her eyes drifted to Marc and Glen at the bar. “They are very alike, aren't they? You could peg them for father and son from a hundred yards away.” She continued to twist her water goblet distractedly as she watched them. “You should see them both in their uniforms. In the right light, they could almost pass for twins.” Lily studied her as she spoke. Just as Jeanne must have seen the love she had for Marc, so too could she see the love Jeanne had for Glen. It was practically pouring out of the woman. “You know, it's funny,” Lily remarked. “With Marc having such a dangerous job, I'd have thought he would be the one injured at the hands of some crazed criminal, not me. But I suppose everyone is at risk for injury, no matter who we are or what job we have.” Jeanne's expression turned thoughtful, so Lily plunged on. “But I sometimes wonder if Marc had it harder than I did. Having to watch the one you love get hurt, and not being able to do anything about it. It's no small thing.” “No,” Jeanne replied softly. “No, it isn't.” **** “Dad, you can't stay at the bar all night long,” Marc pointed out. “Your mother doesn't want to be seated next me any more than I want to be next to her. I can't believe Pete and Lindsay would put us right next to each other like that,” Glen huffed. “I'm going out for a cigarette.” “You don't smoke.” “So what? I'll bum one off someone—” “Dad! Man up, would you?” Marc slammed his beer onto the bar in exasperation. “What do you want me to do, son?” He banged his own beer down on the bar, just as irritated. “Go back there and sit next to your mother and pretend everything is all right? She doesn’t want that, and neither do I.” “How do you know what she wants? Huh, Dad? Have you ever asked her?” “I don't have to! She's the one who left. She's the one who gave 235
me the ultimatum. She's the one—” “The one who stayed awake at your bedside for fifty-two hours straight while you were in the I.C.U.? The one who spent over two days wondering if you were ever going to wake up after that gunshot wound?” “Listen now, son, this isn't about that.” “The hell it isn't, Dad. You listen to me. I know what it's like to see the love of your life fight to stay alive. I know how much I blame myself for what happened to her. And I know how hard it is to accept that I can't protect her from every tiny little hurt that the world might throw at her in the future. I can't stop her from living her life, in some misguided attempt to save her. I can't forbid her from going out with the girls to a late-night movie because I'm worried about her getting mugged. I can't stop her from dancing for fear some other crazed lunatic will become obsessed with her.” He took a breath and looked over at Lily. “I love her so much, Dad. No matter how much I wish I could protect her from all the bad stuff, I've had to learn to accept that I can't do that. It's impossible. And it would be unfair to her if I even tried. Don't you see? I learned from mom's mistake. I saw how she tried to protect you, and herself, from future harm. But she messed up, Dad. She was trying to protect you, and instead she pushed you away.” He looked back at his father, forcing him to meet his gaze. “You hear me? She made a mistake. But so did you. Can’t you see that? You broke her heart and she broke yours. But instead of coming together to heal, you each retreated to your corners to lick your wounds, and you've both been there for the last eight years. So what I'm telling you now is”—he picked up his beer and took a deep gulp—“man up, Dad.” Glen was silent for a very long time. “What could I possibly say to her after all this time?” he finally whispered. There was a sudden burst of applause as the newlyweds arrived. Glasses immediately started tinkling and the happy couple gladly kissed to the roar of cheers from their friends and family. Marc smiled as Pete finally let his wife up for air and led her to the sweetheart table at the head of the dance floor. He looked back 236
Dancing with Danger at his father. “How about, 'I was being a dick, please forgive my sorry ass?'” **** Later that night, Lily rested her head on Marc's shoulder as they watched Jeanne and Glen on the dance floor. Nodding in her parents' direction, Janice nudged her husband and said, “I told you so.” Steve kissed his wife on the cheek. “Yes, honey, you sure did.” Marc smiled as he pulled Lily closer to him, running a finger tenderly along her arm. She’d kept him busy on the dance floor for most of the night, one of the casualties of having a professional dancer for a girlfriend, but now they were resting their feet and enjoying the people-watching. Pete and Lindsay were still on the dance floor, slowly swaying and looking deeply into each other's eyes. There were several other couples on the floor as well, in various levels of inebriation. Annabelle had fallen asleep under the table, lying on her dad's suit jacket. Jeanne and Glen were dancing their fourth slow-dance together. Janice was still smugly watching her parents and making observations and declarations to Steve, who indulgently agreed with everything she said. And Marc was holding her in his arms, as he’d been doing for most of the night. She closed her eyes in contentment, feeling blessed. The song ended and Jeanne and Glen headed to the bar for refreshments. The DJ waved at Marc. He stood up and held out a hand to her. “Dance with me.” “We don't have to, if you're still tired,” she assured him, tentatively placing her hand in his. “Well, this dance is a special request of mine,” he smiled, leading her out to the floor. “Really?” She looked at him with delight as he pulled her into his arms. “Yup. I had to give the DJ a few days' notice so he could find the song.” She cocked her head at him as the music faded in, intensely curious. 237
An orchestra swelled into a sweet, swaying tune and Marc pulled her close, placing his cheek next to hers. She heard Fred Astaire's debonair voice join the music as Marc spun her around, pressing his body tightly to hers. She closed her eyes and enjoyed the movement until Fred's lyrics filtered through and she realized he was crooning about how, from now on, he was giving all his love to one baby, putting all his eggs in one basket. Our song. Tears in her eyes, she smiled up at Marc as he continued to glide her across the dance floor. She grasped his hand more tightly in her own. “I can't believe how lucky I am. I've managed to fall in love with the most magnificent person in the world.” “I wouldn't be so certain of that.” “Oh, really?” He nodded solemnly as he brushed a tendril of hair behind her ear. “I think the person I've managed to fall in love with might be even more magnificent.” Their dancing slowed to a stop as they gazed into each other's eyes. Then his lips met hers and they didn't part, even long after the last strains of their song had faded away.
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About The Author Laura Sheehan grew up in Las Vegas and has been dancing since she was ten years old. Her ballet mistress was an honest-togoodness Las Vegas showgirl! She currently lives in Los Angeles with her husband, a thoroughly-spoiled cat, and a handful of fish who keep her thoroughly-spoiled cat entertained. When not working at her office day job, she can usually be found in a dance studio, on a softball field, writing at her computer, snuggling with her amazing husband, or eating milk chocolate. Sometimes she can be found doing more than one of these at a time, although when doing so she has to be careful not to get chocolate on the computer keyboard (or on the amazing husband… although now that she thinks about it, that might not be such a bad thing). Laura writes suspense, paranormal, and fantasy romances. She dedicates this book to her aforementioned amazing husband, Matthew, who is her real-life hero and was the inspiration for Marc Sloane’s character. She also thanks her parents, family, and friends for their unflagging support and enthusiasm.
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