As if diving into the club scene wasn’t bad enough, Vince played Charlie’s bluff like a concert cellist. She’d known before accepting the assignment that being back in town would test her in every way imaginable—and probably a few which he hadn’t yet drummed up. But she’d underestimated her own level of paranoia—paranoia she couldn’t afford to let Vince see, because the second she did, she’d be back on the Alpha jet and headed to headquarters.
No way in bloody hell was she abandoning those missing girls to the circus DHS had been running for the last few months.
Vince’s large hands settled on the bare patch of skin above the curve of her arse—and he began to move. Charlie forgot all about the paranoia. Heat eased through her body as her breasts brushed against his chest with each magical sway.
A body his size wasn’t meant to move this smoothly. Her heart skipped, pounding beneath her breastbone, nearly double-time compared to the slow beat of the music. Vince looked…unaffected. Beneath her sweaty palms, which rested on his chest, his heart thudded, nice and even…and slow.
“Where did you learn to dance?” she asked. At the sight of Vince’s lips sliding into a naughty smirk, her knees went wonky.
“I’m a SEAL.”
Charlie blinked, waiting for more. “Which means what? They teach you how to waltz during Hell Week? Or that you know how to do it all?”
“Not all, but most. And if Hell Week involved waltzing, more soldiers would’ve rung that damn bell and walked the hell home,” Vince joked. “But once a SEAL cares enough about something to put it on our to-do list, we make sure we master it. Life. Job. Hobbies. We don’t do any of this half-ass shit. Once upon a time, I had a wedding to go to, and I didn’t feel like making an ass out of myself.”
Charlie couldn’t wrap her mind around Vince taking dance lessons, maybe surrounded by little girls wearing tights and pink tutus. A coming smart-arse comment died on her lips the moment someone bumped into her from behind.
She gasped, taken by surprise. A couple danced around them without so much as a glance in their direction. Charlie tried reining in her shock, but Vince saw the startle.
His body went on alert despite the fact that he never once broke their rhythmic movement. “What’s up? You see something?”
Yeah, she saw her paranoia roaring back.
“Nope. All good here,” Charlie lied.
Miami Heat might not have been the club she’d visited on her last night in Miami, but it possessed the same meat market feel: a sardine-packed dance floor and nearly palpable sexual haze that had people flocking to it in droves. One difference, other than not needing her expertly made fake I.D. to get through the doors, was that instead of a gang of “friends” watching her back, she had six and a half feet of obnoxious Alpha operative.
It isn’t like last time, Charlie told herself.
And she wasn’t as naively helpless as she’d been at sixteen. If someone came up behind her nowadays, she’d neutralize them first and ask questions later—or not at all, depending on how badly they ticked her off.
“All right, all right, all right, my little club hoppers,” the overexcited DJ’s voice bellowed over the club PA system. He stood on a small corner stage, waving his arms to get the crowd’s attention. “It’s time to turn the heat up in this joint with some sexy tabletop moves. Any and all lovely ladies who’d like to strut their stuff for a chance to win the Golden Fucking Ticket—a year of free admittance into some of Ocean Drive’s hottest clubs—come down to the bar. I’m sure we have a few gentlemen in the crowd who wouldn’t mind giving you a boost.”
Stay or leave. Charlie didn’t like either option, but Vince’s questioning gaze didn’t go away, making the decision for her.
“Looks like that’s my cue,” she murmured, stepping away.
Vince caught her arm, spinning her back. “What the hell are you doing?”
“You were right. There’s too much happening here to get noticed by playing the part of the wallflower. I need to put myself in the limelight.” With a somewhat gentle thumb twist, she effectively loosened his grip and smiled. Rising to her toes, she sandwiched his whiskered cheeks between her palms and tugged him into a hard kiss. “Enjoy the show, love.”
Charlie regretted volunteering for the dance-off before she even made it over to the bar. Two men waited by the counter, easing every contestant onto the high surface. She waited her turn and thanked them for the lift.
Get noticed. She should’ve factored in her penchant for looking like a clumsy clown in anything higher than the heel of her combat boots. It was times she found herself in these kinds of situations that she regretted her big mouth, and judging by Vince’s scowl, he was none too happy about it either.
Lips clamped tight, jaw flexing, he looked like he wanted to throttle someone. Probably her. Maybe the drunken frat boy flashing a wad of ones at her feet. Navy was not a happy camper.
“All right, ladies, it’s time to show us what you’re made of,” the DJ’s voice echoed through the club. “Just remember, we’re a family establishment, so let’s keep it clean.” He chuckled. “Oh wait, we’re not. Which means you can get as dirty as you want! I’m sure our judges won’t have any problems with it, right?”
The DJ gestured to the right, where five men and one woman sat, all decked out with nearly similar matching smirks. People whistled and cheered, getting louder when a sultry, steady beat rumbled from the speakers.
“Move or get off.” The young woman next to Charlie dug a pointy elbow into her side.
Barely of legal drinking age, the brunette swayed her hips, nearly knocking into Charlie a second time. The coed’s grin stoked Charlie’s temper. Since she couldn’t shove the girl off the bar and get away with it, there was only one thing she could do.
Win.
Charlie planted her feet into position and moved. It took a minute, but she eventually got into the music, swaying her hips to the beat. That’s when Brunette Barbie upped the ante with an arse-in-the-air bend Charlie had once seen done in a strip club.
The crowd ate it up. They cheered for more, which the brunette gave without a second thought. Determined not to get shown up by a sorority girl, Charlie slid her hands up her body, and while sifting her hair off her neck, arched her back. Male cheers erupted around her. Charlie gifted a small smirk to the woman next to her and got a scowl in return.
Charlie temporarily forgot she was dancing on top of a bar. Everything faded into the background, even Vince, as she and the brunette tried to outdo one another.
As the song started winding down, Brunette Barbie elbowed her aside and did a walkover backbend that thoroughly displayed her neon pink G-string for a good twenty-second count.
Healthy competition or not, no way was Charlie flashing her bits to every Tom, Dick, and Troll in the place—even if she didn’t have knives strapped to her thighs.
“Come on, baby. Shake it! You can show her a thing or two. Work it. Show us those gorgeous titties!” Standing by her feet, the frat boy wrapped his sweaty fingers around her ankle.
“Back off.” Charlie easily dislodged his hold with a flick of her leg. But the kid was relentless. No sooner had she centered her balance back on her heels than his hands returned. “Let go before I’m forced to hurt you.”
“Oh, I want you to hurt me, baby. Hurt me so damn good.”
She flicked him off again. This time, her heel caught on the lip of the countertop. Instead of falling on her arse, she controlled the tumble by hopping down. Her ankles buckled on impact and a sharp sliver of pain shot up her legs from the jolt.
“Now, that’s what I’m talking about,” the jerk slurred. His hand slid beneath her dress and cupped her arse.
“Remove your hands before I remove them for you,” Charlie ordered firmly.
“Ooh, baby. You’ve got a fucking hot accent. Threaten me again.” His fingers bit painfully into her rear cheek. “Come on. Threaten me like you mean it.”
“I do bloody mean it.” Reaching behind her, Charlie grabbed his elbow and the back of the kid’s shirt, and face-planted him against the bar top.
“What the hell are you doing?” he bellowed, sounding a little more sober. “You’re breaking off my fucking arm!”
“And it would serve you right.” Charlie sharpened the angle at which his arm was pinned behind his back. People around them watched as she leaned close. “Did I give you permission to put your hands on me?”
“Oh, please. You were strutting your—”
“Did. I. Give. It? No, I did not.”
“Let me go,” the frat boy lookalike whined, realizing she meant business.
“Depends. Are you going to touch any more women without their consent? Or are you going to act like a gentleman…or at the very least, a decent human being?”
“Fine. Yes. I’ll behave—just let me the fuck go already!”
They’d built up quite the audience, some people wearing smirks of amusement while others mouths gaped in shock. It wasn’t how she planned to get noticed, but she’d take it.
A split second after releasing the groper’s arm, another hand hauled the drunken guy upright by the scruff of his shirt. Mouth twisted into a snarl, Vince drew his fist back, prepped to make contact with the kid’s nose.
Charlie quickly stepped into the line of fire.
“You don’t need to do that, love. I took care of it.” She dropped her hand over his fist and slowly lowered his arm…and her voice. “Vince. Think, okay? As much as I’d like to see this arse with a broken nose, it’s not worth the assault charge.”
Or the flak they’d get from Stone.
“You didn’t do a good enough job. The bastard’s head is still attached to his fucking body.” Basement-low and ominous, Vince’s tone sounded as if he was about to remedy—and remove—it.
More than once, Charlie had wished for a first-row seat at the uncorking of the usual Man of Cool. Something told her that if she didn’t intervene, she’d get that wish fulfilled tonight. More green than hazel now, Vince’s eyes hardened, his nostrils flaring.
“Hey. Look at me.” Charlie pinched his whiskered chin between her fingers and turned his murderous glare her way. Five seconds elapsed before he shook off whatever the hell spell he was under and released a deep breath. The Vince she knew slowly returned.
“Good,” she said after gaining his full attention. “Now release the arse-hat and let’s finish what we came here to do.”
“We’re done for tonight.” His clipped tone dared her to argue. And she wanted to—boy, did she. But something told her it would be in vain. Pick your battles, Charlotte, a phrase her mother had once favored, fit the moment well. This was one battle she didn’t feel strongly enough about to warrant arguing, so she let Vince have his way—for now.
Vince released his hold on the college kid, and the guy immediately scrambled away.
“Hey there!” The DJ, his thousand-watt smile blaring at Charlie from two feet away, approached, holding out a golden trophy in her direction. “Congratulations, sweetheart. You’re the proud recipient of the Golden Legs Award, and free admission to Miami Heat and eleven of our Ocean Drive colleagues. Would you like to keep the party going and give our guests an encore performance?”
“No, she fucking would not.” Vince ripped the trophy from the DJ’s hand and spun them toward the exit.
As far as first assignments went, things could’ve been worse.