Wanted

twelve

I ended up dressing in a sheer, white short-sleeved blouse over a blood-red bra. I paired it with a black circle skirt that hit mid-thigh, sexy and flirty and—if I do say so myself—totally hot.

I finished the outfit with strappy black sandals with four inch heels and a small red purse to tie the whole thing together. I’d spent more time than I liked to admit debating about my wild, thick hair—always my nemesis—and ended up piling it on top of my head and letting a few tendrils hang down in what I hoped was a provocative manner.

Finally, I’d kept my makeup simple, highlighting my lips in red and my eyes in a smoky gray.

I stood in front of the full-length mirror and assessed the result of my efforts. I needed to be prepared. Confident. Sexy.

I wanted him to look at me and get hard. I wanted him to look at me and regret walking away.

Most of all, I wanted him to look at me like he didn’t even see the clothes I was wearing, and then I wanted this outfit that I’d so carefully selected to be wrinkled on the floor, tossed negligently there as Evan pulled me down into his bed.

I drew in a breath, struck a pose, and decided that if this outfit didn’t do the trick, nothing would.

I considered having Peterson ring for Jahn’s driver—as hard as it was for me to remember, those services were mine now—but decided that I needed to be more confident. A driver would wait for me, after all, but I didn’t want to have any way home other than in Evan’s car.

I took a taxi, then settled back for the ride toward Midway airport and the club. I stayed lost in my thoughts for most of the trip, but when we turned off the Stevenson Expressway, I tuned in. We headed down the tollway for a while, passing various neighborhoods, before turning off into a light industrial area.

I’m not sure what I was expecting—gaudy neon signs and naked women, maybe?—but when the driver finally stopped in front of the massive building, I had to admit I was impressed. It was the size of a large warehouse. There were no windows facing the street, and the entire building was surrounded by ample parking. Even at just past three on a Saturday, most of the parking slots were full.

The sign was low-key and classy. A black monolith with the name—Destiny—written boldly in red so that it stood out against the black. Though the sign looked like stone, I could see immediately that it was not, because the lower portion was an LED screen flashing the various specials throughout the week. Today, I saw, was “Six Dollar Saturday,” which I presumed referred to the cover charge.

On the whole, the place looked low-key and fit in just fine with the area, which boasted a few office complexes, a delivery company, a fire station, and a convenience store.

The driver pulled up in front of the door, then turned in his seat to face me. “This the place?”

“Hell, yes,” I said.

I paid him, slid out of the car, and marched myself to the front door. I didn’t pause, because that would be like showing weakness. Instead I just reached out for the brass handle and tugged the door open. And then, despite the fact that it was bright and sunny outside, I stepped into the dim, casino-like interior with the same awe as one might experience crossing over into a whole new dimension.

It took a moment for my eyes to adjust to the change in lighting. All I could see was the dark entry area and the bright lights filtering in through frosted glass doors, along with the twisting cords of colored neon that curved upon the black walls, subtly hinting at the lushness of the female form. To my right, there was a polished reception desk that looked almost like what you might see at a classy hotel. A woman with glistening blond hair stood behind it wearing a tight T-shirt that emphasized her braless breasts as well as the word plastered across her chest: Destiny.

Two video cameras were displayed prominently in the area, their red lights glowing steadily as if to underscore the message printed neatly on a sign that hung on the door that led from this reception area to the main part of the club: For the safety of our employees, these premises are under 24-hour video surveillance.

Muffled music filtered in from the main area, but for the most part, this little room served as a transition between the mundane world outside and the promise of what lay beyond those frosted doors.

“Six dollar cover,” the blonde said. “Unless you’d like to enter the wet T-shirt contest.” She glanced at the clock. “It’ll be in the champagne room in just under an hour.”

I glanced down at my barely B-cup boobs. “What’s the champagne room?”

“It’s totally awesome. There’s an additional cover, but you get all the champagne you want while you’re in there. And, of course, for the wet T-shirt contest, we can’t just spray the girls with water. Where’s the fun in that?” She laughed, obviously delighted with the idea. I grinned, too, sucked in by her infectious attitude.

“I think I’ll pass,” I said, even though it was a little tempting. “The truth is, I’m looking for someone.”

“Oh.”

The room seemed suddenly chilly and I hurried to explain. “No, no. I’m not an angry girlfriend trying to track down my guy. Nothing like that. I’m looking for Evan Black.”

She leaned down and pulled a sheath of papers from somewhere behind the counter. “Job application?”

I laughed. “No.”

“Oh.” Her brows lifted and she did a quick up-and-down scan, her eyes covering me from head to toe, and I could see the curiosity in her eyes. “Is he expecting you?” Her corporate-polite voice now held a hint of ice.

“No,” I said. “I just thought I’d drop by.” I almost blurted out that I was a friend, but at the last second I clamped my mouth shut. Hadn’t I come here with the intent of becoming exactly what she imagined me to be?

I cleared my throat. “So, um, is he around?”

Her plastic smile was so tight I thought her cheeks might crack. “He’s not on the premises at the moment, but—”

The frosted glass door burst open, cutting off her words, and Cole strode through, all power and poise, fire and energy. “You want to tell me what the hell you’re doing here?”

I bristled. “Excuse me?”

He glanced sideways toward the blonde. “Take a break.”

She nodded, eyes wide, and slipped out through a door that was camouflaged in the velvety blackness of the wall behind her.

“This isn’t the place for you,” Cole said, all of his attention on me.

“No?” I crossed my arms over my chest and mentally dug in my heels. “Because I’m feeling right at home.”

He moved closer to me, emotions storming across his face. “Dammit, Angelina.”

I forced myself not to cower as he approached. Instead, I held my ground, telling myself that I knew this man well. That even though he’d grown up around gangs—that even though he could snap me in two without breaking a sweat—that he absolutely did not intimidate me. On the contrary, I knew that Cole would always watch out for me.

“I mean it,” I said. “I’m not leaving until I get some answers.”

“Answers?” He cocked his head, his eyes narrowing as he examined me. “And what exactly is the question?”

“Evan,” I said simply.

“What about him?”

I sighed in exasperation. This felt a little bit too much like junior high. “I want to know how to find him for one thing. And since I don’t have another address, this was my best option.”

“And why exactly do you want to find him?”

I almost told him it was none of his damn business, but I was tired of being contentious. “Come on, Cole,” I said wearily. “He owes me something. And I don’t think that Evan’s the kind of guy who squelches on his debts.”

“Something?” Cole said, and I was grateful for the dim light that kept my blush from showing.

After a moment, I nodded and his grin grew wide. I had the feeling he knew exactly what kind of debt Evan owed me. “Well, look at little Dragonbait, all grown up. You win. Come on in.” He cocked his head toward the frosted glass doors.

I exhaled in relief and followed. Considering the understated entry, I’d expected the main room to be nice, but I wasn’t expecting it to be so big or so shiny. The room was huge, with the same cavernous feel of the casinos I’d visited with college friends on jaunts to both Vegas and Atlantic City. Instead of blackjack tables, there were individually lit raised dance floors—I counted six—scattered around the room. Each featured a pole, and each pole featured a girl. There was a bar around the edge of the platform, and men lined the barstools, some standing long enough to tuck a bill into the sequined nothingness that the dancers wore. And nothingness was pretty much it. Though some wore bikinis and some wore G-strings, some were entirely naked but for a garter belt around a thigh, the purpose of which was clearly to serve as a tip collection device.

For those guests who didn’t want such an up close and personal view, there were round tables surrounded by four comfy chairs scattered throughout the room. A long bar with three scantily clad waitresses took up the far side of the room, and I saw the doors to private rooms as well. One must be the champagne room, and I couldn’t help but wonder what the theme was for the others.

The main area was primarily illuminated by the glow of the dancers’ spotlights, which meant that the corners were much dimmer. I’m pretty sure that if I’d stood there peering into the dark, I would have seen one of those lap dances that I was so curious about.

Honestly, I was tempted to do just that.

On the whole, it was a nice place. Not the Palm Court, but classy in its own way. And the girls were pretty. Not too skinny or used up. They had curves and moves and they looked like they were genuinely enjoying their work. As I followed Cole to the far side of the main room, I didn’t see any touching that they didn’t somehow consent to. I did see one guy get a little rowdy, but a bouncer who looked like he used to play professional football descended on him like a tick and politely but firmly showed him the door.

Finally, Cole stopped at one of the tables, signaled to a waitress, then pulled out a chair for me. “So what do you think?”

“It’s a nice place,” I said honestly. “Classier than I would have guessed.”

“You thought we’d lean more toward skanky?”

“No, I—” I cut myself off when I saw his shit-eating grin. “Dammit, Cole. Don’t tease me. I’m not exactly in my element here.”

He chuckled. “You sure the hell aren’t, baby girl.”

I sat, still taking it all in—and thinking about my words, and the lie hidden within them. Because even though I’d never been any place like this before, the truth was I found the whole environment rather intoxicating. I looked at the girls doing their moves around the pole, and I could imagine myself up there. All eyes on me. My leg hooked around that hard length of steel, and all the while that I was shimmying against the pole, it was Evan that I imagined I was touching.

I swallowed, looking down at the tabletop until I was certain that my face revealed nothing. I looked up just as the waitress arrived. She wore a top made of gauzy scarves crisscrossed over her breasts. An equally transparent scarf was tied around her waist in what resembled a bathing suit cover with no bathing suit beneath it. She slid a drink in front of Cole and a glass of red wine in front of me. “Shiraz,” she said. “I hope that’s okay?”

“Perfect. How did you—”

“Beth knows everything,” Cole said.

Beth smiled. “I even know that the liquor delivery is here. Since Mr. Sharp already left—”

“Yeah, yeah. Have Frankie check the invoice. Tell him I’ll be there in a minute.”

She nodded and hurried toward the far side of the room.

I leaned back in my chair. “So what’s the deal? You three work out of your downtown office during the week and come here for a little R&R on the weekends?”

“Fuck that,” he said. “Evan’s the one with the hard-on for a high rise. Tyler and me? We go in when we have to, but we work mostly out of the back.”

I cocked my head. “So this isn’t Evan’s kind of place?”

Cole’s eyes narrowed, but I just smiled innocently. “I didn’t say that, baby girl. But our Evan’s a man of many vices—and many virtues. I guess that makes him multifaceted.”

“I guess it does.”

Cole swallowed the rest of his drink, then thrust his legs out as he leaned back in his chair. “You gonna tell me why you’re here? What exactly does Evan owe you?”

“Cole, I love you to death, but you’re completely fucked if you think I’m telling you my personal business.”

He laughed. “You have more of your uncle in you than any of us gave you credit for.”

“I mean it. All I want to do is see Evan. When’s he going to get here?”

“I just wanna help, baby girl. And I get that there’s some shit between you and Evan right now. He told me what happened.”

“About the Da Vinci?” I asked, because I couldn’t imagine that Evan would have told his friend what went down in the alley.

It may have been my imagination, but I thought Cole sat up straighter. “The Da Vinci? You mean the Creature Notebook? What about it?”

I frowned, wondering why Cole was so keyed up about the notebook. Then again, Evan had been in a snit about it, too. “Jahn left it to me, and that didn’t make Evan a happy camper.” I peered at his face. “Or you, either, I’m guessing. But this is all news to you, which means it’s not what Evan told you about. So what did he say?”

For a moment I had the impression that he was going to force us to stay on the topic of ancient manuscripts. But then he seemed to change his mind. He shrugged casually. “The alley.”

I’m not sure what he saw on my face, but it made him laugh. “The Poodle on Wednesday, my fine establishment tonight. You’re certainly expanding your horizons, Dragonbait.”

I’d never until that moment fully understood what it meant to get your feathers ruffled. But mine were very ruffly indeed. “Fine,” I said snippily. “You win. I am expanding my horizons, and I want Evan to expand them even further. I want him to finish what he started. And I came here to convince him that he should.”

I finished my speech, tossed back the rest of my wine, and glared at him, daring him to say anything that might set me off again.

If he was shocked by my words, he didn’t show it. He just leaned back in his seat and studied me. It was an interesting tableau. Cole’s eyes on me, his face carved in question. Half-naked women serving drinks behind him. Even more naked women dancing on platforms all around us.

I’d dropped down into Wonderland, and all I needed was someone to hand me the bottle labeled Drink Me.

About the time that I was certain he wasn’t going to respond at all, he spoke. “It’s a losing battle, sweetheart. No way is Evan going against your uncle’s wishes. Especially since we all know that Jahn was right.”

“I don’t know it.”

For the first time, his expression turned brotherly. “You’d end up getting hurt, Angie. And that’s the last thing any of us want. Shit.” He ran his hand over his buzz-cut hair. “Honestly, it’s a damn good thing that Evan’s the one with the hard-on for you,” he said, as my body started to melt simply from the spoken acknowledgment that not only was Evan attracted to me, but he’d told his friends as much.

“Not that you’re not adorable,” Cole continued with a grin. “But you’re not my type.”

“What do you mean it’s a good thing?” I asked warily.

“Evan has the most self-control of any of us, and the highest capacity for self-deprivation. You’re sweet, Angie, and Evan doesn’t do sweet. And if he thinks that something he’s doing will hurt someone he cares about, then he simply doesn’t do it. And that’s that. Trust me, Angie. Whatever debt you think he owes you from that alley, it’s going to remain unpaid.”

“Sweet,” I repeated. “He thinks I’m sweet?” My head was swimming. After everything he said to me about taking flight. About wanting to tie me down and fuck me silly?

After the way his tongue had teased my clit? After the way he’d made me come?

After all that, he thinks I’m sweet?

“Aren’t you?” Cole asked, and I could hear the laughter in his voice.

Instead of answering, I signaled for Beth, calling for her to bring me a flight of tequila shots. She arrived with three, and I tossed them back while Cole watched.

“Trying to prove something?” he asked.

“Not a damn thing. I just prefer tequila over wine. What?” I asked innocently. “You didn’t know that?” I pressed my finger to my chin. “Hmm. Maybe you three don’t know me as well as you think.”

“Angie—” There was censure in his voice, but I cut him off.

“No. I told you once I wasn’t dragonbait, and I meant it. You haven’t got a clue what will and will not hurt me, so don’t sit there acting all smug and pretend like you really believe that you three are in cahoots with Jahn to keep me safe. Because that’s bullshit.” I glared at him. “And don’t make assumptions about what I want or need.”

Sweet.

The word grated on me, which was ironic since I’d been playing the role for almost eight years. But it wasn’t sweet that I wanted Evan to see. More, I’d believed that he’d seen under my sugary coating to the gooey center inside. Wild and tasty and very high in calories.

Apparently I’d been wrong.

Apparently I’d just have to fix that.

Unfortunately, I wasn’t sure how.

Cole reached over the table and put his hand atop mine. “I’m going to go take care of that liquor delivery, and then I’m going to drive you home. We can talk on the way.”

“I’m not going anywhere. I’m waiting here for Evan, and I don’t particularly feel like talking.”

“Fine. I’m still going to go take care of that delivery. And you may want to wait here, but last I checked, I owned the place and you didn’t. So I’ll be driving you home and you can just bitch about it.”

“Cole—”

“Don’t Cole me. As for the scintillating conversation, we can talk about music. We can talk about movies. Hell, we can talk about that damned Da Vinci notebook. But I’m making sure you get home safe, so you wait for me here, okay?”

I nodded, too defeated to argue. Evan hadn’t yet arrived, and I could hardly dig my heels in if Cole was determined to get me out of there.

In other words, I was screwed. And at the moment, I had no plan B.

He headed toward the back where a guy, presumably Frankie, was holding up a clipboard and some paper.

I sat and stewed and looked around. Some of the nearby men turned to look at me, but no one approached, and I assumed that was because I’d been sitting with Cole. That was fine; I had no interest in these men. No real interest in what was going on in this room. There was lust, true. Lust and heat and attraction. Not sparks, though. Not electricity. This room was about sex and titillation, and while I didn’t have a problem with that, it wasn’t what I wanted.

What I wanted was Evan. The power. The explosion.

I wanted to experience what I’d felt in his arms, and I wanted him to take me where he’d promised we’d go.

And damn it all, it was pissing me off that I wasn’t able to get what I wanted.

And then—like a dream—there he was. Evan.

I actually blinked twice, in fact, afraid that I was only imagining him. Because how on earth could my fervent wishes have conjured him?

But it was true. He was real and solid and despite the dim light, I could see the hard angles of his face and the dark fire of his eyes. He was staring right at me—and he didn’t look happy.

Well, shit.

I started to stand—then sat down again when he turned away and moved toward one of the darkened corners, crooking his finger at a petite redhead who followed him with the kind of sexual confidence I was trying desperately to conjure.

I knew I shouldn’t, but I couldn’t help myself. I stood up and moved across the room, then settled down at a table closer to that corner.

I was looking at him from an angle, unable to see the expression on his face, but not really needing to. I could see the redhead just fine. The sultry expression as she slowly moved to straddle him. The way she bit her lip when he put his hands on her hips. She dipped down, teasing his crotch, brushing against him with the tiny bit of material that covered her sex. Then she rose and leaned forward, her breasts brushing his chest, her face rapturous.

I watched, and I seethed.

At the same time, though, I was strangely fascinated. I wanted to be that woman. I wanted to writhe upon him, to turn him on, to feel him grow hard beneath me. I wanted to be the one making him crazy. Me, and no one else.

Certainly not that little twit of a redhead.

I stood, not certain what I intended to do, but knowing damn well that I had nothing to lose. I tugged a fifty dollar bill from my wallet, then marched toward them. Evan didn’t even look up when the girl turned to look at me.

I handed her the bill. “Go.”

She glanced at Evan, who nodded just once.

The girl scurried away, and I reveled in my tiny victory.

I circled the chair until I was standing right in front of him. “You shouldn’t be here,” he said, but I only leaned forward and pressed a finger to his lips.

“Don’t,” I said.

“Don’t what?”

But I just shook my head, said a silent thank-you that my circle skirt had enough material to hide a multitude of sins, and settled myself on his lap. Or, more accurately, over his lap, because while my knees were pressed into the soft leather of the overstuffed armchair, there was no actual contact going on except for the slight brushing of my knees against the outside of his thighs.

It didn’t matter. I was already wet, my sex hot, my panties clinging to me. The bit of cool air that sneaked in under the loose folds of material did little to quell the fire inside me.

I leaned forward, using my hand on the back of the chair over his shoulder to balance myself. My eyes were locked on his, and he was looking straight at me, too.

“Don’t what?” he repeated. His voice was low, his eyes never leaving mine.

“Don’t put on a show trying to make me think you don’t want me.”

He didn’t flinch; he didn’t move. “Maybe I don’t.”

I leaned closer. Slowly. Seductively. “Bullshit.”

His face stayed exactly the same. And yet I could see the smile growing inside of him.

And as my own smile bloomed, I lowered myself until there was nothing separating us but the satin of my panties and the cotton of his slacks. I held on to the chair, moving my hips forward and back, letting the friction drive me a little crazy. “Did you think I’d run?” I asked, keeping my voice low. “Did you think I’d be shocked watching that woman do these things to you?” I leaned forward and ran my tongue over the curve of his ear. “I wasn’t. I didn’t even see her. Do you know why?”

“Why?” he asked, the single syllable more of a growl than a word.

“Because as far as I was concerned there was no other woman. It was me on your lap,” I said as I rocked my hips. “Me touching you. Me making you hard.”

I slid my hand down between our bodies and pressed my hand over his erection.

And as I watched the heat flare in his eyes, I reveled in a sense of smug satisfaction. Because I knew that, no matter what, I’d won this round.