скачать книгу бесплатно
Forcing herself to turn slowly, she wasn’t entirely surprised to find a waiter clad in tuxedo pants, a bow tie and shirt cuffs. She was surprised to find him maintaining eye contact despite the cleavage she was sporting.
He winked at her with an air of innocent flirtation. “Maybe a margarita? Or are you more a white-wine kind of lady?”
“I’m actually more a shot of Patrón with a beer chaser kind of woman.” The honesty of her answer surprised her. Not that she would have lied, but had she thought about it, she would have simply ordered a sparkling water and been done with it.
“Shot of Patrón it is. What kind of beer, beautiful?”
She smiled slowly, watching the man’s eyes soften as he stared at her mouth. “How about a Michelob Ultra in the bottle.”
“First drink’s on me,” he murmured. “My name’s Donovan. You need anything tonight, you find me or shout out. I’m your man.”
Uh-huh. Me and anyone else with a decent figure and a generous tipping habit. “Sure. I’ll buy my drinks, though I appreciate the offer.”
“You want a table?”
“Table?”
“Near the stage.” He tucked his serving tray under his arm as he angled his head toward the front of the club. “Those are the best seats in the house. We always keep a few available for favored patrons.”
She met his gaze, steady and confident he was doing her a favor. “I’ve never been here before.”
“All the more reason to sit near the stage. C’mon.” He reached for her hand.
Stepping away, she took a deep breath. “I’d prefer to just hang out here and see what’s what first.” She reached out and rubbed his arm, trying to soften her rejection. “I can always find you if I want a seat at the front, right?”
“The offer stands, particularly for you.” He gave a little bow. “Shot of Patrón and Michelob Ultra in the bottle on the way.”
“Thanks.” She shifted her attention to the buzz around the club, taking in the women’s excitement, the swift business the bar was doing and the orderliness with which everything ran. The first was understandable. The latter two were surprises. Given what she’d seen of the offices earlier, she hadn’t expected any sense of organization during the more chaotic regular business hours. She wasn’t entirely sure what to make of it. Unexpected aspects of any investigation were always worth a second look, though.
Donovan returned with her drink order. She downed the Patrón, relishing the burn even as she placed the shot glass on the serving tray. The Michelob she sipped before digging a twenty out of her pocket and dropping it on the tray. “Keep the change.”
He grinned, placing a hand over his heart. “She looks like a goddess, drinks Patrón and tips like she’s waited tables before. You might just be the perfect woman.”
“No woman’s perfect.” She patted his cheek. “Sweet sentiment, though.”
“Shout if you want anything at all. I’ll check in on you in a bit.” Pocketing the twenty, he headed to the next table of women.
It bothered her on a very fundamental level that she hadn’t been able to just take his compliment without feeling the need to dissuade him from the belief she was perfect. And that he’d mentioned her looks first really irritated her. She’d have to get over the hang-up if she hoped to win when she sparred with Levi tonight. And she always played to win.
The lights dimmed. She leaned against the wall, a small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth as the women in the club went wild.
* * *
TOWEL WRAPPED AROUND his hips, Levi stepped into the locker room. The guys were giving each other shit in typical fashion. He loved this part of the night, when his nerves were strung tight enough to make the muffled buzz from the crowd skate across his skin with a slightly abrasive touch. It thrilled him and, if he was honest, kept him nervous—scared?—enough to ensure he forced himself to seize his alter ego by the balls, get onstage and dance his ass off. Otherwise? The urge to just settle into the background and play with his day trades was almost overwhelming.
“Levi!” Several of the men shouted greetings. Only two walked up to him and shoulder bumped him, though.
Eric and Justin, his two best friends, were winding up their dancing careers after finding success in the nine-to-five world. Part of him was jealous, but it had nothing to do with their financial accomplishments. The envy that ate at him and made him feel like a total ass was based on the relationships the two men had found.
Eric and Cass had been together long enough that Eric was starting to talk about rings and lifetimes and houses.
Justin and Grace were already engaged, having loved each other far longer than the few months they’d been together.
Every time they all went out, Levi was the fifth wheel. That he was envying his boys was one thing That he was letting himself slip into feel-sorry-for-himself territory was another. Disgusted, he drove a fist into the locker.
Eric opened his adjoining locker. He didn’t turn around when he asked, “Feeling a little violent tonight, Einstein?”
Levi snorted. “Seriously? You guys need to let the nickname go. I’m not the one with the doctorate.” He completely ignored the questionable violence call. It was too close to the truth.
Justin popped Eric with his towel, dropping trou without blinking an eye. “I might have the doctorate, but you’re the one with your own company set to make millions.”
Eric nodded toward Levi. “And the captain of finance here is going to out-earn all of us with his giant brain and play trades.”
Or dump them all into financial ruin. Levi gently banged his head against the locker, forgetting about his bruised forehead until the first shock of pain registered. “Ow.”
“Man, what happened to your head?” Eric leaned in close. “You look like you met the wrong end of a two-by-four.”
“Actually, it was the office door.”
Eric winced. “What’d you do, trip over your IQ and run headlong into your potential?”
“No, you gossipy wench. I didn’t. I happened to move at the same time—” he paused, looking around before mumbling “—at the same time the investigator from the IRS shoved her way in.”
Eric and Justin both stilled.
Levi leaned against the locker and crossed his arms. “What’s worse, Kevin kept the real ledger from me before I bought into the club.” He glanced around, feeling ridiculously paranoid. The other men moved in closer. “I was going over it today when the agent from hell showed up.”
“And?” Justin quietly pressed.
“Something’s not right.”
“Not right as in ‘Kevin can’t do basic math’ or not right as in ‘We need to pack our stuff and get out before we’re dragged down’?” Eric asked.
“I don’t think we need to get out. Not yet, anyway. And you guys in particular should be fine. I’m part owner, though, which could get a little dicier. I spent the morning with the ledger and trust me when I tell you there’s a good chance we’re going to get tagged, and hard, for something more than a little tax hiccup.”
Justin’s brow creased. “Why?”
“The IRS sends auditors when they want to look into the books. This woman identified herself as an investigator and asked not only for the standard books but also for the personnel and financial files.”
“Shit,” both men said in unison.
“Not a word to anyone else.”
“No way,” Justin muttered.
Eric nodded once. “What he said.”
Levi cocked his head to the side, listening to the music. “Your set just cued, Nick,” he shouted to one of the other dancers.
“On my way, boss man.”
“I’m after Nick, so I should get out there.” Levi opened his locker and pulled out a military uniform. “How obvious is the bruise on my forehead?”
Justin dug around in his locker and pulled out a pen and scrap of paper. “I’ll pass a quick note to the lighting guys and let them know not to run a purple or blue light over your set. Should be fine.”
Thinking about his upcoming performance, he absently touched the bruise again. “Hey. Let me borrow a piece of paper and your pen when you’re done.”
“Sure.” Justin scribbled out his note, retrieved another piece of paper and handed it and the pen over.
Levi quickly jotted down his own note and folded it twice, wrote a name on the outside and returned the pen. “Thanks.” Dropping his towel, he absently stepped into first his black G-string and then his rip-away fatigues. He sat on the bench and pulled on his combat boots and white undershirt. As the marquee dancer, he was onstage longer than most. He had a sexually suggestive song to entertain to, and he’d changed up the routine a little tonight to showcase his physicality. If Harper Banks proved brave enough to show up, he’d give her a show she’d never forget.
The crowd screamed as Nick took the stage.
“Keep this to yourselves, okay? Catch you guys later.”
Traversing the dark hallways, he stepped over cords and cables, the butterflies in his stomach building. He was going to up the heat to cook the crow he intended to serve Harper Banks. She wanted to make snap judgments on his intellect based on his appearance, wanted to believe that his IQ was equivalent to his biceps circumference? Fine. Let her. Until then, she was going to want him. He’d make sure of it. Then he was going to clean up the books and go over them line by line with her, defending every debit and credit with calm aplomb. She could suck it.
A stagehand met him in the wings. He pressed the note into the guy’s hand. “Find Donovan and give this to him as fast as you can. It’s about my set.”
The young man nodded, took the paper and disappeared down the side of the stage and into the crowd.
Rolling his head back and forth and then rotating his shoulders, Levi bounced on his toes and scanned the crowd as the emcee announced his routine.
“Ladies, you’re in luck tonight. Who here has seen Levi work the stage?” Screams. “Sounds like you can’t get enough of him. Well, the feeling’s entirely mutual.” The music started, an electronic beat with a woman’s moans and gasps in the background. “Welcome Levi to the stage!”
The crowd went wild.
4 (#udb388576-4e0c-53d6-891b-57433b887674)
THE ENERGY FROM the crowd filtered through Harper, slowly bringing her away from the wall to stand at one of the few empty tables near the back. She was on her second beer—thank you, Donovan—and beginning to get into the show. The men were spectacular, the athleticism undeniable, the dance moves seriously hot. More than once she’d had to remind herself she was here to observe the club’s business practices, not its men.
So far she hadn’t spotted anything illegal happening on this side of the curtain, but the night was young. After the show, she’d make Levi take her backstage so she could see how the dancers were logging their cash tips because, from what she’d observed, the take was damned impressive.
The lights went down and the hum of the crowd built to a static white noise that made the fine hairs on her arms rise. Faint gunfire sounded over the speakers. A very patriotic musical introduction followed. Deep and rhythmic, the DJ’s voice filled the room. “Welcome Levi to the stage!”
The crowd went wild.
“What is this, a freakin’ rock concert?” she asked no one in particular. “If they start moshing, I’m out.”
Looking over the crowd and through the mass of women waving cash, she caught a glimpse of Levi. He wore a pair of military fatigues, a white undershirt, combat boots and a hat. Strapped to his arm was a knife large enough to fillet a moose. She was gaping at him and she didn’t even care. This was not the geeky guy who’d fumbled through her arrival earlier. This was not the same man who’d taken his sweatshirt off in an attempt to distract her. There were flavors of him there, but no. This was not the same man.
The man onstage was a sexual machine. He moved with a type of confident awareness that he was it, and every woman in the place wanted him. There was a sexual...presence to him that made her rub her thighs together. A man like that would be talented in bed. He couldn’t do that thing with his hips onstage if he hadn’t done it with someone in bed.
“Probably a thousand times.” Her words were lost among the sounds of the crowd. But they were a reminder that this was a bad idea. She never should have come to the club when she knew he’d be—
Her eyes bugged when he pulled the giant knife. Her gaze locked onto his torso as he sliced the knife up his shirt halfway and then slowly, slowly worked it into his arm sheath. All the while, he kept moving his lower body—hips thrusting, glutes flexing, thighs straining the tight material of his pants. Every movement gave the smallest glimpse of his abs and a seriously cut six-pack of muscle. Tanned skin revealed a sheen of sweat under the stage lights. He gripped the edges of the now cut shirt in each hand and did a little peep show.
Money rained around him.
Moving to the edge of the stage, he spread his feet and ripped his shirt off. A near brawl broke out when he threw it into the crowd.
“Who is this guy?” she muttered.
A hand touched her elbow and she almost came out of her skin.
Whirling, she found Donovan standing next to her with a third beer in one hand and a glow stick held above his head in the other. “You look like you could use this,” he shouted over the noise.
She silently grabbed the cold beer and downed half of it, ignoring the almost nauseating way it sloshed in her empty stomach. There would be time for regret later. Right now? She had to get herself under control.
In no part of her planning had she considered she might actually want Levi. She was supposed to be controlling the situation and, thus, the case. What she was experiencing at the moment was far closer to taking a sharp corner at high speed—any control she wielded was marginal at best.
The crowd grew louder.
“I’m out,” she shouted at Donovan, digging in her pocket for the bills to cover the drink.
He grinned. “You might have to stick around a few more minutes.”
“Why?”
He jerked his chin at something over his shoulder. “You’ll have to take it up with him.”
She froze, her beer bottle halfway to her lips. “No.”
“Oh, yeah, gorgeous. He’s coming for you.”
* * *
LEVI LEAPED OFF the stage and danced his way through the crowd to Harper. She had her back to him and wasn’t moving. Tall and lean, her waist nipped in before flaring slightly over lush feminine hips. Her shoulders were a touch wide. The way her neck curved made him want to kiss her just there, at the shallow indent at the top of her spine.
Donovan leaned toward her and said something indiscernible.
She shook her head.
The waiter took her beer, looking both amused and uncertain as he moved away and lowered the glow stick. A swift lift of his chin urged her face the stage.
She didn’t.
“Don’t chicken out on me now, sweetheart,” Levi shouted above the crazy noise level.
She turned, driven by the challenge.
Levi’s breath hung in his chest. The words he’d been about to toss out fell flat at his feet. The woman he’d met today appeared absolutely nothing like the woman gazing up at him now through smoky eyes, with no glasses, full lips and sharp cheekbones—she was a complete and total knockout. Breasts that had been full earlier had been magically lifted so they were somehow more. Her shirt was tied at her waist to reveal taut abs. Tight-fitting jeans enhanced her long legs. And she wore the same heels that had knocked him out earlier. She was a pale-skinned beauty he’d totally underestimated.
One corner of her mouth curled up, and her brows slowly rose. “I’m not your sweetheart.”
Gripping every ounce of pride he could muster, he reached out and traced one finger along her jawline. “You could be.”
Her laughter was like the best cigar followed by a sip of expensive whiskey—rich, sultry, cultivated. Seductive. But her voice? It was the way a voice should sound after a good hour of foreplay. “I bet you say that to all the girls.”
