Brutally Beautiful Read online

  “Do you plan to talk to her?” Odell asked him.

  “Hell, yeah.” No coy pickup line either. No point. He knew what she wanted, and he’d shown her what he could offer her.

  “Ask her if she wants a job. If she does for the clients what she’s done for you, she’s got something special. I’ll give her an audition.”

  Strangely, anger simmered deep inside Nick, an emotion that didn’t get much exercise these days. He wanted to protect her. Oh, he knew all about protecting his assets, and sometimes in the past that had included women, but this was far more personal, leaving him oddly vulnerable. Used to brushing his finer feelings aside, Nick ignored the urge and grinned at Odell. “I can ask.”

  Lights flashed across his face from the swinging lamps that sent colors rippling over the club, and as he turned away to put his drink on the bar, he saw it.

  The guy standing next to her, ostensibly waiting for his drink was tipping something into her drink, a clear liquid from a tiny vial. He’d have missed it, but the light glinted on the glass just as Nick turned his head.

  In a movement so efficient that most people in the club wouldn’t notice anything wrong, he left his spot and took a couple of long strides so he could clamp his hand over the bastard’s wrist. The guy jerked his elbow back, trying to slam it into Nick’s stomach. Like he wouldn’t be ready for that one. Nick turned to one side, still with his hand over the wrist, and applied pressure, finding the nerve and pinching it. He felt rather than heard the man’s low cry of pain. Nick gave him another squeeze, just to get his point across.

  The woman stared at him, her shocked eyes dark and wide in the dim lighting. Odell must have had the strafing lights redirected and the bar lights dimmed, or one of his staff did. Good thinking.

  He cursed the necessity of making this move. He’d been so careful to keep a low profile in this place, but now Odell knew for sure that he could take care of himself, and a little more. Couldn’t be helped.

  He turned his attention to the would-be attacker. Picking up the bright blue drink the woman had put on the bar at some point, he shoved it at the bastard. “Drink it.”

  Chapter Two

  Horrified, Gen saw Nick Taylor force her blue lagoon down the unwilling guy’s throat by tilting his head back and pressing his wrist again. He must be hitting a nerve, because the guy cried out. Taylor tipped the whole thing, cherry included, into the open mouth and then waited until he swallowed. With a mirthless grin, her savior pulled out the cherry and dropped it in the glass, which he put carefully back on the bar.

  Freda and Alberto had fascinated her so much that she’d taken her attention away from her drink, the very thing she wasn’t supposed to do in a nightclub, however respectable. Furious with herself for letting her guard down even for a minute, she grabbed her little purse from its resting place in her lap, scrambled off her bar stool—none too gracefully—and headed for the exit. Being at the center of a fight was the last thing she needed, and this situation was showing every indication of becoming just that.

  She didn’t get far. Blocking her path stood a powerful African American male in a white shirt and dark pants, his face wreathed in an urbane smile. “If you would come this way, I’m sure we can clear this up.” He offered his arm in a courteous, almost old-world manner. She had no choice but to take it and let him lead her toward a private door set in a shallow alcove to one side of the bar. Had they made her after all? Would they offer her a bribe, threaten her? If she used her initiative well, it would look good on her record.

  Smooth and attractive though he was, he didn’t engage her attention right now. That belonged to the man in front of them, currently with one arm locked around the neck of the guy who had done—what? Bewildered, she could only guess what had happened.

  The African American man took her to an office with comfortable but not exceptional furniture. He led her to a well-worn leather sofa, and she sank down gratefully into its softness.

  “I’m Odell Prejean, and I own this club. Would you like a drink to replace the one you lost?”

  She began to shake her head but then changed her mind. What the fuck? Alcohol would work for her right now. “Tequila, if you have it.”

  He shot her a crooked smile. “I can mix you a blue lagoon if you want.”

  She shuddered. “I’ll pass on that, thank you.”

  He gave her a tequila on the rocks, and she sipped it gratefully. “So what exactly happened back there?”

  “Someone tried to drug your drink.” Instead of taking a seat behind his desk, he perched on the side, far enough away for her not to feel threatened, but maybe a little bit intimidated. “I want to apologize and assure you that you’ll be perfectly safe here any time you wish to grace my club with your presence. I will personally see to it.”

  “He wants to offer you a job.”

  Her heart leaped at the dark, amused tones. She hadn’t heard him come in, stealthy and silent like a cat. She jerked her head to look at the big man from out front, the one who’d shamelessly flaunted his cock. Amazing how quietly he could move. Their gazes met for an instant before hers skittered away, turning her attention back to her drink. Ice clinked against the glass as she steadied her hand. He unnerved her like nobody else, as if he could read her soul. She barely believed in souls, but he made her aware that she had one.

  Bad. Very bad, especially considering he was her target tonight, the reason she’d come to Bared. She’d recognized him instantly, even though he looked very different from his ID photo in the files in her office. Different hairstyle for one thing, and no student-y clothes. The air of danger and command he exuded in person made her understand why her boss had his doubts. Nick Taylor seemed bigger than he looked in his photograph, and this time she was talking about more than his cock. Hidden depths. But then a lot of people chose not to put everything up front.

  She glanced up and caught Odell’s glare, but he didn’t aim it at her. When he turned his attention back to her, his dark eyes were soft and friendly. “This is—”

  “Nick. Nick Taylor.” He held out his hand, clearly expecting her to take it. She drew a deep, bracing breath and placed her hand in his.

  Nothing had prepared her for this raw magnetism, a vitality such as she’d never encountered before. Warmth enveloped her, together with an edge of danger. Strange bedfellows, safety and danger. When she raised her eyes to meet his gaze, she saw an unguarded…something. A warning? He couldn’t know why she was here, surely. The dark hair, smoothly and neatly brushed back, the simple, expensive-looking clothes said nothing at all. Only those eyes, those dark blue eyes, revealed hints of humanity. She wet her lips and cursed herself for giving away that little, telling action. “I’m Genevieve—Gen.” No surname, though she didn’t mind giving her first name. She didn’t want either of these powerful males making it their business to research her.

  Nick’s expression sharpened, but his lips relaxed into a smile. “Pleased to meet you, Gen.” Only then did he release her hand, but worse, when she sat, he took a seat next to her. She was sitting between the two men, two gorgeous specimens: Odell perched on his desk, Nick next to her on the sofa. She’d dreamed about situations like this, but not precisely in this way. For a start, in her dreams the men were naked.

  So not the time, but she guessed the return of one of her fantasies meant her shock and anger were dissipating. How could she have let it happen? Self-protection 101 had Keep an eye on your drink at all times its number one precept.

  “Sorry it had to be in these circumstances,” he—Nick—said.

  Fuck, she couldn’t afford this attraction. She’d come here to watch him, report back to her boss, and that would be the end as far as she was concerned. Had to be. “Do you know what the guy put into my drink?”

  Nick shrugged, a movement that sent his muscles rippling in a way that made her want to see the motion again, but with no charcoal-gray shirt between her and his skin. She couldn’t think that way, she reminded herself with a s
hiver.

  He glanced at Odell. “I left the glass with one of your guys. Alejandro. He said he’d bag it and label it.”

  “Just like a cop,” she said. She’d have bagged the glass too. Not that she was a cop, although she worked with them sometimes.

  “In case you need it for evidence,” Odell explained.

  “Evidence?” She did her best to look blank.

  “Don’t you want to prosecute?”

  Tension entered the atmosphere but not from her. “Not if I can help it.” She crossed her legs, aware that the action showed off the sheen of her hose, the sleek muscles, and also aware that both men followed the move. That would make it easier to distract them, get them to forget they’d suggested prosecution. While not exactly Sharon Stone, she could still use what she had when she needed to. She had to get out of here, disentangle herself from this nightmare of a situation. She was supposed to observe Nick Taylor, not engage with him. “It didn’t work, did it? I’m here. Where is he?”

  “Sleeping it off,” Nick said.

  “I thought that stuff was supposed to make you drowsy and willing, not send you to sleep.”

  Nick said nothing to that. He only shrugged. She realized that he must have helped the guy along in his slumbers. “Alejandro and I found his wallet. No ID. Five hundred dollars, keys, and an address. You could find out who he was if you wanted to.”

  Odell nodded. “I’ll see to it.”

  Probably by using the keys. “I don’t want to prosecute. I just want to go home.”

  “I’ll call you a cab,” Odell said. “Do you want one now?”

  She nodded. “When I’ve finished my drink, that would be good, thank you. Please try to keep me out of this. I don’t want to prosecute.”

  Suspicion sharpened Odell’s eyes. “You seem very keen to keep this quiet. You have something to hide? Who are you?”

  Shit, too eager. She had to tell them something they could buy into. “I just don’t want any fuss.” She shrugged. “This place is safe for women, or so I understood.” The truth, just not all of it.

  “Yeah.” Odell grimaced. “Usually it is safe. I’ve ordered my staff to keep an eye on lone women. I like to see them here, it’s good for business.” He studied her, hand touching his chin. “So that’s why you were watching the act so closely.” A flash of amusement lit his features. “I thought Freda and Alberto were turning you on.”

  One corner of her mouth tilted up. “They’re talented performers.”

  “The best. But Alberto doesn’t take off his thong in the main room.” He shrugged. “Better to stay legal.”

  “When possible.” Although Nick wasn’t saying a whole lot, she sensed he was listening, waiting. For what, she wasn’t sure. This man was the hottest she’d met in a long time, and his blatant display of his erect cock back there in the club had made her lose her concentration for the moment it had taken the other guy to drop the drug in her drink. Now he shifted slightly, making her more aware of his body. Strong, supple, and his easy control made her thighs melt. That British accent had only added to the appeal, even though she’d been expecting it. So sexy.

  “All the time,” Odell said firmly.

  She drained her drink and swirled the ice around the thick-bottomed tumbler.

  “All done,” Nick suggested. He glanced at her. “Ready for that taxi?”

  “Sure.” She put her glass on the table. To her chagrin, it rattled against the hard surface. This wasn’t exactly the first time she’d had a sticky moment in her job. What the fuck was wrong with her? She’d let her attention slip. That was all.

  Odell got to his feet. “I’ll send a bouncer with you. Make sure you get back safely.”

  “No need,” Nick said. “I’ll do it.” He met her eyes again, and she couldn’t look away. “If you don’t mind.” He pulled out his cell and waited, brow crooked. “Or you can leave the club and wave down one of the cabs outside.”

  She swallowed. “Thanks, I’ll get the cab.”

  Ten minutes later, he was helping her into the confines of a yellow cab. The space in the backseat seemed restricted somehow, although there should have been plenty of room. Odell had brought her coat through from the bar, and they’d left by the back door with assurances that she had a free pass for the next six months. Very generous of Odell, but she didn’t need to go back. She’d done her job. Although the thought of watching Freda and Alberto made her wonder if she shouldn’t go just for fun.

  When she gave her address to the driver, Nick frowned. “Flatbush isn’t the safest area.”

  She rolled her eyes. “I’m fine. Only parts of it are bad these days. It’s the nearest I can get to Manhattan without Manhattan prices. Where do you live? On the Lower East Side?” She already knew where he lived, but she wanted to make a point.

  He brushed past her sarcasm. “DUMBO.”

  Close to the river stood some really swanky apartments, but the area wasn’t completely clear of low-end housing yet. She shrugged. “Nowhere’s completely safe. You just have to take care.” Without thinking properly, she patted her breast. “I always keep emergency money handy.” Hastily, she took her hand away, but it was too late. His hot gaze had followed her action and now lingered. Her nipples peaked, tingled against the confines of the lace.

  When he lifted his gaze to her face, he smiled, knowing, slumberously sexy. “So did you like the performance tonight?”

  She swallowed. He didn’t mean Freda and Alberto; he meant his display. That was pretty impressive too, though she didn’t intend to boost his ego by saying so. “They’re very talented. I’ve never seen anything quite like it.” She gripped her purse, tension invading her. They hardly knew each other on a personal level. Sitting next to him, she realized she didn’t know him at all, despite scanning his records. She’d underestimated his power, the sheer impact of his presence. “Not all of us are so acrobatic.”

  “Not all of us want to be.” He took her hand, smoothed his thumb over her knuckles. Gen suppressed a responsive shiver. He lowered his voice to an intimate purr. “Do I have to say how attractive I find you?”

  No harm in playing a little. She tilted her head. “So what would you say if I just want to talk?”

  He grinned, a devastatingly sexy smile that curled around her insides like a wisp of smoke. “I can go with that if you want.” The cab came to a halt. He glanced out of the window, and his lips tightened. “I’ll see you to your door.” He looked up at her building, an old one and not in the best of health.

  She smiled. “It’s not that bad. This district is getting revitalized fast.”

  His voice lowered to a menacing growl. “It doesn’t look good.”

  “It used to be a lot worse.”

  He laughed derisively. “Oh, great, that’s all right then. Come on.”

  Before he could do it, she thrust a bill at the driver and exited the cab. She had no intention of letting him pay, and men could be awkward sometimes. Better to get there first.

  By the time she’d left the car, he was standing by the door of the cab, waiting for her like a gentleman, although his appearance, in the dark pants and butter-soft, worn leather jacket, didn’t look one bit gentlemanly. He took her elbow and guided her to the curb where he waited for her to show him the way.

  His proximity intoxicated her. She could have drunk half a dozen blue lagoons and she wouldn’t have felt this crazy high. By the way he smiled at her, his eyes promising more, she knew he felt the same. Her apartment seemed miles away rather than a few steps. She forced herself to think long enough to locate her keys, something she usually did way in advance. Then she opened the front door of her building and hit the switch for the lights. “We need to hurry,” she said and took the stairs at her usual speed. Full tilt.

  She lived at the back of the hallway on the second floor, so she was better off than the residents on the two floors above her. This house had no elevator, but the public areas were clean. In the old days, residents might have found an addict
or a drunk on the stairs, sleeping or waiting for another fix. Nothing like that now. She hadn’t lived here then, but she’d heard stories from her neighbors after she moved in. She’d been in wholesome Idaho, getting bored to death.

  “Better bored than dead,” her mom had said, but Gen had never agreed with that. Ever.

  Out of breath as always, she stood outside her apartment door. “The timer for that light switch has always been faulty,” she said, and just as if she’d given the cue, the light clicked off. She reached out to the switch by her door, but paused, caught by the intensity of the moment.

  Darkness brought added intimacy. They were standing close to each other, and she had her keys in her hand, but she didn’t use them. Instead, she leaned forward and, going up on her toes, pressed a kiss to the mouth that had been tormenting her all evening. She had to have just one taste.

  Before she could draw back, he’d snaked his arm around her waist and held her close. So close she could feel the strength and heat of his erection, proof his display at the club wasn’t a result of Freda and Alberto’s performance. “Not so fast,” he murmured.

  He traced the center seam of her lips with his tongue, asking entrance, and she gave it, tilting her head sideways to join their lips more securely. He went deeper. He tasted wonderful. He smelled good too. Whatever cologne he used was simple and light, teasing her nose rather than overpowering it and leaving the aroma of aroused male underneath. He held her tightly but didn’t squash the breath out of her. For a goodnight kiss, it was pretty damned perfect.

  He didn’t linger, although he made the kiss thorough, and she was out of breath for other reasons than the run when he drew back and eased his hold on her. He dropped a kiss on her nose. “I told you I was attracted to you. I showed you.” His eyes glowed in the dim light, and she gazed up at him, feeling more helpless than she’d ever felt in her life. Gen didn’t do helpless, but she couldn’t help it with this man.