Heated

Chapter Six

What the fuck? I mean, seriously. What the goddamn fuck just happened?

I leaned back, frustrated, against the soft black leather and glared daggers at the back of the head of the man who drove me.

Red. Tyler had said the guy’s name was Red, which presumably meant he was on Tyler’s payroll and not a random car company driver.

I considered letting Red do exactly what Tyler had instructed—take me home. But then I’d just have to get a taxi back to the Drake in the morning, since my car was still with the hotel valet.

More than that, though, I didn’t want to go home. I was antsy and edgy and even though I knew damn well that I was feeling the effects of Tyler tossing cold water all over my raging libido, I told myself that my frustration stemmed from the fact that he had completely fucked up my plan: Get in, get close, get the story on Amy.

I drew in a deep breath, the kind that was intended to remind myself why I’d come to this party in the first place. Not because I wanted in Tyler’s bed—although that was most definitely a significant perk—but because of Amy.

Just because Tyler slammed the door on me didn’t mean I had to slam the door on my goal.

I had a Plan B—and, although it was risky, in the grand scheme of things it wasn’t any more risky than getting naked with a man who the entire law enforcement community of the Midwest believed was a criminal. With a little luck, it might even work.

We were on Lake Shore Drive, so I leaned forward and told Red to circle back to Michigan Avenue. “I’m in the mood to walk,” I said. “You can just let me off anywhere.”

He looked dubious, but he didn’t argue, and I told myself that was a good sign. He dropped me off in front of Water Tower Place and I made a show of entering the mall. It wasn’t quite nine on a Saturday, so the center was still open and busy, and I loitered for a good ten minutes before exiting and returning to the street. I held out my hand and got lucky hailing a taxi.

And then I went to Destiny.

I’d been twice before, of course. The first time to scope the place out. To get a feel for it and, I’d hoped, to chat up the girls. But the staff hadn’t been open to gossiping about former employees, and I’d been just as unsuccessful when I’d tried to strike up a conversation in the parking lot.

The second time, I’d gone in and applied for a job. If the girls wouldn’t talk to strangers, they might talk to one of their own. That plan, however, had crashed and burned.

Now, though, I could play the Tyler card. And the beauty of it was that even if the whole thing backfired, I was still covered—all because Tyler left me high and dry in front of The Drake.

Still, my plan didn’t entirely still my nerves, and my heart was pounding when I paid the driver and exited the cab in front of Destiny’s unassuming entrance. I went inside, learned that women had no cover on Saturdays, and continued through the door that separated the alcove from the actual club.

I paused just inside the door to look around, pretending to be checking something on my phone. Since I’d been here before, I knew what to expect—the tables, each with a large, raised stage in the center. The girls dancing with poles. The men watching and drinking and tipping. And then tipping some more when the girls slid closer, giving them an up-close and personal view of either tits or ass, all in exchange for a few extra bills.

I bit back a smile, remembering how well Candy did on a good night back in her dancing days. Exhausting, but in the right club, dancing could be downright lucrative.

Right then, though, I wasn’t interested in the dancers, the men, or what was going on in the dark, secluded corners. Instead, all I wanted was to get to Tyler’s office.

I saw a door with a single window on the far side of the cavernous room, just to the right of the bar. It had a plaque on it, and though I couldn’t read it from where I stood, I guessed that it announced that what was beyond that door was limited to employees only.

I headed that way, put my hand on the knob, and pushed.

As I expected, the bartender called out to me. “Ladies’ room is over there,” he said, pointing back the direction from which I’d come.

“Thanks,” I said sweetly. “But I don’t need it. I’m just going to go wait for Tyler in his office.”

“Is that a fact?”

“Mmm-hmm,” I said, running my fingertips lightly over my collar bone. I hoped I looked just a little bit drunk and very sexed up. I hoped I looked like someone Tyler would take to the back room.

The bartender hesitated long enough to make me worry, and so I soldiered on. “I just left him at The Drake. He had to finish something up with Cole, but he told me to meet him here.” I upped the wattage on my smile. “He gave me pretty explicit instructions on where he wanted me to wait for him—and how he wanted me, um, dressed,” I added. Then I shrugged. “Call him if you want, but he should be here in thirty minutes at the latest.”

And then, with my heart pounding, I pushed through the door and into the hall.

I was guessing that the bartender wouldn’t call to confirm—at least not for another thirty minutes. By that time, I’d have already had the chance to search Destiny’s employee files. I hoped the files were in Tyler’s private office—I was assuming he had one—but if not I figured the main business office was down this hall, too.

I’d get in the files, see what information—notes, address, forwarding information—that Destiny had on Amy, and then escape through the back entrance. I’d undoubtedly have to deal with the fallout tomorrow, but at least I’d have the information.

Best case, I got outside clean and clear, then snagged a taxi at the nearby convenience store.

Worst case, the bartender called the cops on me, and I waited until they had me in the patrol car to tell them who I really was and beg them to give me a break for professional courtesy.

Frankly, I could live with either result. And the truth? I was looking forward to doing a little off-the-books snooping around. I wasn’t on the job, and the Fourth Amendment be damned. I wasn’t sure if it was because of the moment or because my blood was still humming with the memory of Tyler’s touch. All I knew was that I hadn’t been this revved in a long time.

I liked it.

Tyler’s office was on the left, and I breathed a sigh of relief when I found it unlocked. I entered, then turned the lock behind me. Just in case.

It was decorated simply. A wall of filing cabinets. A large, serviceable desk. Two guest chairs. And a small, but comfortable-looking sofa. One wall was dominated by a dry erase board covered with what looked like a rough schedule of employee shift times.

The rest of the walls were decorated with framed photos of buildings. Odd angles. Interesting arches. Skyscrapers straining towards the sky. They were all done in black-and-white, and each seemed to focus on some different architectural element. They were lovely, and though I never would have expected artwork like that in a place like Destiny, having met Tyler, I couldn’t deny that the photos seemed to fit.

Honestly, I would have liked to have spent some time looking at them. But duty called, and I headed to the filing cabinets. They were vertical metal cabinets, each with four drawers, so that each unit was almost as tall as me. The drawers were labeled simply with alphabetical notations, and I said a silent prayer that these were for Destiny and not his personal files.

I tugged on the drawer for D-F, figuring that it was my best bet since Amy could be filed under D for Dawson or E for employee.

The drawer, however, didn’t budge, and I noticed the locking mechanism near the top.

Damn.

I hurried back to the desk, and had just started to search for the key or something to pick the lock with when I heard the doorknob rattle.

I glanced at the clock—not even five minutes had passed—then shoved the desk drawer shut and ran around the desk, moving on my tip toes so that my heels wouldn’t click on the wooden floor. I heard the rattle of a key, then saw the deadbolt turn. The door started to move inward just as I leaped onto the desk, leaning back a bit to accentuate my breasts and then plastering on a smile that I hoped would convince the bartender I’d come here only to get down and dirty with Tyler.

Except it wasn’t the bartender.

It was Tyler himself.

“Well,” he said, stepping into the office, then locking the door behind him. “Isn’t this interesting?”

I crossed my legs, trying to ignore the cold wash of panic that had settled over me.

I reminded myself to be calm. That this scenario was covered by one of my contingency plans. But plans never felt quite the same in reality, and I was having to work hard to control my breathing.

“You pissed me off,” I said, with a husky edge to my voice. “I thought I’d come here and try to change your mind.”

“Did you?”

I cocked my head. “Greg called you, didn’t he? Told you I was here.”

“No.”

“No,” I repeated thoughtfully. Greg may have called, but that wasn’t why Tyler was at Destiny. No way he could have made the drive in barely five minutes. “No,” I said again. “You followed me.”

He took two steps closer, and my pulse increased exponentially. “I told you, Sloane,” he said. “I intend to find out what you want. Why you came after me. Why you told me that you want to play.”

“I told you that already,” I said. “Is it so hard to believe that I want you? That you pissed me off? And so I came here to make sure I would have you?”

He smiled easily. “As stories go, it has some heart. But I’m not buying it.” There were only a few feet between us now, and he closed the distance easily until he was standing right in front of where I sat on the edge of his desk. He reached out and uncrossed my legs, then gently spread them.

He stepped between my knees, then cupped the back of my head, easing me toward him even as he leaned in and kissed me hard, biting my lower lip before pulling away.

“Try again,” he said. His voice was light, but he was watching me intently, and I used the short span of time before I answered to remind myself that Tyler Sharp was a brilliant man who hadn’t gotten where he was—in either legitimate or illegitimate enterprises—by being foolish or blind or reckless. On the contrary, he was clever and careful and ruthless. And that meant that I had to be even more so.

“Did you know I applied at Destiny?” I asked him. “Got turned down flat.”

“Did you?”

“I thought it was strange, because I’ve done waitressing before.”

“There’s not a lot of turnover at Destiny,” he said. “Our employees are very loyal. But I’m beginning to understand.” He eased my dress up until his fingers found bare thigh.

I shivered, his touch making me feel a little drunk.

And then he slowly, so slowly, slid his fingers toward my sex.

“What were you planning, Ms. O’Dell?” he murmured as his fingers found the edge of my panties. He slipped under, and I drew in a sharp breath, then released a groan of pure, sensual pleasure. “Were you hoping to use your feminine wiles to convince me to give you a job?”

“I—yes—oh, god, Tyler.” I placed my hands behind me on the desk as I arched my back, glorying in the delight of his touch.

“I do like your feminine wiles,” he said as he slid two fingers deep inside me, then withdrew them slowly.

“So will you?” I barely managed to croak out the words. I wanted his fingers back. His touch. I looked up at him. “Please,” I said, and in that moment I’m not sure if I was asking for his touch or a job.

He brushed a kiss over my lips. “Convince me,” he said as he crossed the room to sit on the couch, leaving me on the desk, alone, turned on, and more than a little frustrated.

I looked at him. At that gorgeous face, that wide, kissable mouth. I let my gaze travel down to where his erection strained against the folds of his slacks. I knew what he wanted—and damned if I didn’t want it, too.

For just a fraction of an instant I thought about what I was doing. About what I was. About lines that couldn’t be crossed and rules that shouldn’t be broken.

If this were anything other than an off-book operation, I’d be sanctioned six ways to Sunday. And if I tried to use anything I learned in court, the defense attorney would try to get the evidence tossed by arguing a due process violation and backing it up with buzzwords like “outrageous conduct” and “shocks the conscience.”

But this was my own private op, and I wasn’t on duty.

Tonight, I wasn’t even a cop. I had no authority, no rank. My badge wasn’t worth shit in Chicago.

This wasn’t about the law. It was about bargaining and desire. And the bottom line was that I wanted him. Wanted the man—and I wanted the information he could give me.

I slid off the desk and crossed to him. Slowly—deliberately—I knelt in front of him, positioning myself between his legs just as he’d positioned me. Then I reached for the buckle of his belt and began to unfasten it. “I can be very persuasive,” I said, then flipped open the button of his trousers.

Slowly, I eased the zipper down. “Very,” I repeated, as I slipped my hand inside his pants and freed his hard, perfect cock. I lifted my head, just for a fraction of an instant, and saw the heat in his eyes.

Then I closed my hand around him and guided the tip of his cock into my mouth, then felt the strong tug of desire and power cut through me as he drew in a low, shuddering breath.

He tasted of salt and musk and male, and I teased him with my tongue, relishing the sounds of pleasure he made, the low groans of satisfaction. I drew him in deeper and his body stiffened beneath me. All that power and passion, and it was bottled up tight, right there at my command, just waiting for me to release it.

I sucked, taking him in long, deep thrusts, desperate to take him farther, to pull him right up to the edge, and when I felt the first shudders—when I knew he was so very close—I slowly withdrew and peered at him through my lashes, my mouth slick with him as I whispered, “Will you give me a job?”

“Yes,” he moaned. “But not at Destiny.”

I stared at him. And then—though my body was hot and prickly with desire, though all I wanted in that moment was to feel that gorgeous cock inside me—I laughed.

“Bastard,” I said.

“Christ,” he said, his voice tight with control. “This isn’t how I planned it, but I have to have you. Now”

“Planned it?”

“You came out of nowhere and knocked me off kilter,” he said, as he reached into the drawer of a small table beside the couch and pulled out a condom. “I will have you properly in my bed, Sloane, make no mistake. But I’m going to fuck you now.”

“I—“

“No. Don’t say a word,” he said as he rolled the condom on. “Just lift your dress, take off your panties, and come here.”

“I should go,” I said, even as my sex clenched in anticipation and my nipples tightened painfully. “I should just turn around and leave.”

“But you won’t.”

I hesitated, and part of me wanted to leave simply to keep him on edge. But that wasn’t happening. I wanted this too much. Wanted Tyler too much.

“No,” I whispered as I reached up under my dress and slid my panties off. “I won’t go.” I left the panties on the floor and walked slowly to him.

“That’s it,” he said, as I climbed onto the couch, my dress spread out wide around us. I was on my knees, my shoes still on, my sex slick and wet. I reached down and found his cock, then positioned myself right over it so that the tip was barely inside me. He locked eyes with me, and then, before I could react, he grabbed my hips and thrust me down, impaling me on him.

I cried out even as he did, his body arching up as he buried himself inside me and I arched back, taking him deeper.

He moved one hand from my hip to my clit, then stroked me even as I rode him, sparks of pleasure building inside me, spiraling up, faster and faster.

“Christ, you’re beautiful,” he said, as he stroked and teased me. I reached out, my hands to his chest. Even under the shirt, I could feel the beat of his heart.

His eyes were open, locked firmly on mine, and I could see the storm rising inside him.

“Tyler,” I murmured as one of his hands reached up and found my breast, stroking and teasing my curves before lightly pinching my nipple and sending shocks of pleasure shooting through me.

“That’s it, baby,” he said as my body clenched around him. His fingers continued their dance on my clit, teasing and tormenting as I soared higher and higher.

“Hands on my shoulders,” he said. “That’s it. I want to watch you ride me,” he demanded as I did as he said, impaling myself on him, feeling him go deep, so deep, and with every thrust I could see the explosion building in him, and feel the matching rise in me.

“Come on,” he said, his voice tight and on the edge. “Explode with me. I want to watch you come.”

As if his words were an incantation, I shattered into a million pieces, my body clenching tight around him as if he were the only thing holding me to this earth.

“Yes,” he said, his clever fingers keeping me aloft even as he thrust into me again and again before finally reaching release himself, and then collapsing against the back of the couch, his arms going around me to pull me down on top of him.

“Wow,” I said. I lay limp on top of him. When I found the strength, I lifted my head. “All that and you still won’t let me work at Destiny.”

He flashed a lazy grin. “That’s not the job for you. I’ll help you find something, though. But I’m curious, of all the strip joints in all the towns in all the world, why do you want so desperately to work at mine?”

I had to grin at the bastardization of the Bogart quote, but I also knew I had to give him an answer. Another lie. And though that reality hadn’t bothered me at all just a short while ago, now it made my stomach twist.

“A friend told me that Destiny’s a good place to wait tables. Good tips. Good management. Decent customers.”

“And?” he asked as I moved off him to curl up on the couch beside him.

“And when I arrived in Chicago, it turns out she doesn’t work here anymore. I tried to track her down, but nobody’s heard from her. I’m worried.” And that, at least, was the truth.

“What’s her name?”

“Amy. Amy Dawson, but she may not have used her real name.”

He nodded pensively. “Early twenties? Blond? Tattoo of a daisy?”

A ribbon of jealousy curled through me. “On her ass. Yes.”

“She turned in her costume and moved on.”

“Costume?”

“School girl uniform,” he said. “A bit clichéd, I’ll grant you. But very popular with the clientele.”

“I’ll bet. So she got a new job. Where?”

“Vegas, I think. But I don’t know for certain. I was her employer, not her parent.”

“What about lover?” I asked.

He looked at me for a moment, and I swear he could see the jealousy brewing in my eyes. Then he shook his head. “No. She had a bit of a crush. Made a move once, but I deflected it.”

“Blond, pretty, ass nice enough to take a peek at now and then. Why’d you turn her down?”

His brow rose ever so slightly. “For one thing, I don’t date the employees. Did that once, a long time ago, and realized it’s not good for business or my sanity. For another, she was too young. I like my women to have at least a few years of drinking age under their belt. Seasons the palate.” He cast a long, slow look over me. “Makes things more interesting.”

“Oh. All right, then.” I cleared my throat. “Anyway, that’s how I ended up at Destiny. And now I want to find Amy.”

“I believe you.”

“Why wouldn’t you?”

His laugh was low and humorless. “So many reasons. Mostly, I don’t trust easily, and yet despite everything I find myself wanting to trust you. It’s a bit unsettling.”

“Despite everything?”

He reached over and stroked my cheek, effectively deflecting the question. “It’s possible she left a forwarding address when she moved. She would have been paid in full, so we didn’t have to mail a check. But we try to get addresses for tax purposes. In this kind of business we rarely have a current one, but I can check for you.”

“I’d appreciate it,” I said as he adjusted his slacks, then stood and fastened his belt.

As he walked to the filing cabinet, I retrieved my panties and put them on, then followed him. He opened the D-F cabinet, which made me smile, then pulled out a file on Amy Dawson.

He flipped it open, scanned it, then handed it to me.

There wasn’t much. In addition to the usual things like phone number and social security number, the employee form listed Candy’s address in Indiana as her permanent address and a local address that had been crossed out with red pen. In the margin, someone had written, “Vegas” along with a date two weeks prior.

I looked at Tyler. “Guess you were right.”

“But you’re still not satisfied.”

“She’s not here. All that means is I need to keep looking. I need an address,” I continued. “I’ll do an Internet search on Amy Dawsons in the Vegas area and start looking there, but those are going to primarily be Amy Dawsons with traditional phone service, and my Amy wouldn’t bother with anything but her cell phone.”

“Which she isn’t answering.”

“Thus the worry,” I agreed. “She could have lost it. Run out of money to pay for it. Have run off to Mexico with a hot guy and is ignoring it. But …” I trailed off with a shrug.

“Have you talked to her old landlord?”

“No,” I admitted. “Amy is a text and email kind of girl. She never got around to sending her friends an actual mailing address.” I sighed. “And tracking her isn’t easy. She didn’t subscribe to magazines, doesn’t have health insurance. She doesn’t own a car.”

“Easy for a girl like that to fall off the grid.”

“Very,” I said. I started to once again ask for a job at Destiny—I wanted to get to know the girls who had been Amy’s friends—but Tyler spoke first.

“Well, come on, then,” he said. “Let’s go take a look at her old apartment.”