Brent didn’t come around for the next two days, leaving the security at the Highlands Club to his men. So much for not letting anything happen to me. Couldn’t really protect me if he didn’t bother to show up.

I sat at my locker at the club, digging through my costumes, not really in the mood to put one on today. I was so close to my goal; I could probably quit today and still be able to make things happen. But then I remembered this connection I had to Rachel, this last part of her that was still alive and well, that was still Rachel and not just some stranger lying in a hospital bed.

I heard the other girls leave the room, one by one. When I was alone, I sighed heavily, then stood and slowly began to undress. Maybe it would be an easy night. Maybe I wouldn’t have but a couple of clients, and maybe they would be the kind who wouldn’t require a lot of attention. Maybe they wouldn’t notice my distraction.

I pulled on a white corset with pink trim and a ballet style skirt that flowed in uneven layers down my thighs. Underneath was a pair of tight pink panties that were visible through the thin material of the skirt. I swept my dark curls up into a messy knot and applied a heavy hand with my makeup, covering the dark circle under my eyes that came with an inability to sleep. Pink heels finished the ensemble and a forced smile that felt fake, even to me.

I couldn’t stop thinking about Brent. More to the point, I couldn’t stop thinking about the kiss we’d shared. I could still feel his hands in my hair, on my ass, could feel the heat of his breath on my throat. I imagined I could still smell his cologne on my skin for days afterward, could feel his thumb brushing over my bottom lip. The need he’d awakened deep in my belly never really went away. It was like an ache that I couldn’t quite soothe, an itch that couldn’t be scratched.

And when I walked into the bar and saw him sitting there in my corner, that ache seemed to stand up and take notice, causing me to stumble just slightly.

“Evening, Scarlett,” Jensen said as he set my customary ginger ale in front of my stool.

“Scarlett,” Brent said, lifting his own drink slightly.

I climbed onto the tall stool with my back to him, pretending I didn’t notice the shake in my hands. The room was crowded, early arrivals mingling with the newly-costumed girls. I glanced across the bar, always expecting to see Rachel in her usual spot on the couch by the small television that was always silently showing some sporting event or another. But she wasn’t there.

“Long time no see.”

Brent grunted. “Been busy.”

“I guess things loosened up today?”

“Not really.” He lifted his glass again, sipping silently from it before setting it down again. “It was a difficult day, so I thought I’d come have a drink.”

“You should have one of the girls take you into the back and give you a massage.”

I could feel the tension roll off of him at the suggestion, even before he said, “Not my thing.”

“Having a beautiful, half-naked woman rub the tension out of your muscles isn’t your thing?” I snorted. “I thought that was every man’s fantasy.”

“There’s only one girl I’d like to have rub the tension from my muscles.”

“Yeah? Maybe you should be having your drink with her, then.”

“Are you angry with me?”

I wanted to laugh, thinking the answer to that was incredibly obvious. I turned to look him in the eye for the first time since I came into the room, but then my anger melted away as I spotted a poorly doctored cut near his eye. I reached over to touch it and he hissed, but there was a smile on his lips as he snatched my wrist and pulled my hand away.

“What happened?”

“A couple of bikers weren’t too keen to tell me where their vice president was.”

I frowned even as he pulled my hand into his, holding it against his thigh under the bar. “This has to do with our case?”

“Of course. It’s my priority right now.”

“That’s why you haven’t been around?”

“That and this friend of my brother’s who’s determined to destroy my carefully chaotic organization system in my office.”

“What friend?”

He waved his free hand. “It’s a long story.”

I studied his face a moment longer, wanting to fix the cut on his face, but also wanting him to suffer in pain for skipping out on me with no word the last few days. Would serve him right if it scarred.

“Are you married?”

His eyebrows rose and one of the thin butterfly bandages he had on his cut popped loose. “No.”

“Got a girlfriend hiding somewhere? Or a fiancée?”

“No.”

“Were you married?”

That dark cloud that was growing familiar came into his eyes. He reached up to smooth the bandage back into place before lifting his glass and taking a much larger drink than the sips he’d been content with before. When he looked at me again, it was a quick, tortured glance that barely lasted a second.

“I was married. I’m not anymore.”

“Is that whose name is tattooed to your chest?”

“You’re damned observant, aren’t you?” He swallowed the last of whatever dark liquid had been in his glass, tapping it on the bar to alert Jensen that he was ready for more. “Madeline.”

“Classy.”

“She was.”

Jensen came over and set a fresh glass in front of Brent, the look he shot me one of warning. Rhonda was standing just inside the door of the bar watching us. She didn’t like her girls avoiding clients when they were on the clock. I held a finger up to her and she hesitated, but then she offered her consent with a slight movement of her head before leaving.

“What about you?” Brent was playing with his glass, running his finger over the rim over and over again. “Who’s the prince who leaves his mark on you?”

I tilted my head, considering telling him once again that it was none of his business. Jealousy danced in my chest at the idea that he had a woman in his life whom he’d made promises of commitment to, a woman he’d intended to live the rest of his life with. I knew I had no right to be jealous, but I couldn’t quite help myself. He’d drawn me in with his kiss. He couldn’t keep me at arm’s length now.

When I didn’t answer right away, he touched the inside of my wrist where there had been bruises the first time we met. They were mostly healed now, barely visible, but he still remembered where each had been. His finger traced the outline of each as he waited for my answer.

“His name is Curtis. I met him at my high school graduation, if you can believe that. He was there to talk to our class about our prospects—how we had our futures laid out in front of us and all that crap they always say at graduations. He was beautiful and charming and everything my eighteen-year-old brain thought it wanted. I ran off with him six days after meeting him.”

“Must be a real character.”

I tilted my head and studied the cut by Brent’s eye. “Or I was just a real stupid girl. I’m still not quite sure which it was.”

He stroked my jaw lightly. “How long were you with him?”

“Far too long.” I sat up a little straighter, lifting my own glass between both hands. “For the first six months or so, things were perfect. He treated me like a queen and he was incredibly generous. I was happier than I thought was possible during that time, giving my parents crap over the phone every time they called. After a while, they stopped calling. And then my generous, kind boyfriend turned into a jealous monster.” I took a sip of the ginger ale, trying not to choke on the sweetness. “I stayed at first because I thought he would stop if I was simply good enough. And then I stayed because I thought I deserved it. And then…well, then I knew I would need money when I left or he’d just drag me back.”

“How long?”

“Just short of four years.”

I waited for the judgment, for the condemnation. But it never came.

“How long ago was that?”

“Just over a year. I got a job at a diner and lived at a women’s shelter. I met Rachel and she moved me in with her, then got me a job here. I’m on my own now, saving up money to prove to my parents that I’m not a complete idiot. Another few months and I’ll be out of here.”

He turned toward me on his stool just as Rhonda stepped through the door of the bar again. She held up a single finger and made a rotating motion with it. Get on with it, she was saying. I sighed even as his hand moved over my knee, sliding under my skirt.

“I’ve got to get to work.”

“Take me back there.”

I looked at him, looked him hard in the eye. “Rhonda wouldn’t—”

“She’ll be okay with it.”

“What makes you think that?”

“She’s an old friend of the family. Why do you think we took this job?”

I glanced back at Rhonda and she was still watching, but there was something more than impatience on her face now. Surprise seemed to be the leading emotion with curiosity and wonder following quickly behind. She inclined her head slightly as our eyes met, then she left the room a second time.

I slipped my hand into Brent’s and stood, leading him toward the back of the bar to the door that led to the private rooms in the back. My heart was pounding like it had the first time I’d done this, but it wasn’t just fear that was making it jump out of control. There was an intense sense of anticipation that I’d never felt in this place before.

I punched in the code on my door and pushed it open, moving aside for him to go first. I watched as he stepped over the threshold, moving around the room slowly in order to take it all in. I followed, closing the door tight behind me, trying to see this room through his eyes. It was a mistake. I knew what he must be thinking and it made me feel dirty. It made me feel like the woman he’d accused me of being when we first met.

“What is this?”

He was standing beside a piece of furniture that looked kind of like a chaise lounge, but it was shaped a little differently with a hump on one side and a flare on the other. I walked over and lifted the restraints that hung from either end.

“It’s for clients who like light BDSM. The client can be tied in a prone position, usually on their stomachs, and I can use any number of paddles and floggers we have here.” I walked over to a long, wide drawer and pulled it open for him to see. “Sometimes they like me to talk to them while I do it, say things…” I hesitated because it made me uncomfortable when I did it. I wasn’t sure I wanted to talk about it with him.

“And the bed?”

I looked over at the huge queen sized bed with its expensive sheets. I hesitated again, then sighed. I walked over to the table beside it and picked up the restraints that were kept in a drawer there.

“Some clients want to be snuggled. I tie their hands and feet with this in order to limit their range of movement. And then we lie together in whatever position they like. Sometimes they’ll go to sleep. Sometimes they’ll talk to me. Sometimes we just lie there.”

“What if that’s not enough? What if you finish flogging some guy,” he said, gesturing to the chaise lounge looking thing, “and untie him and he’s desperately aroused?”

“Most aren’t. But for the few who are, they go into the changing room and handle it themselves.”

“What if they don’t want to? What if they want you?”

I walked back over and lifted a loose piece of cloth on the side of the lounger that revealed a small, red button.

“There’s one of these under almost every piece of furniture in here. I just push it and security is here within seconds.”

“No one has ever tried to force you to do more than just snuggle in here?”

The disbelief dripped from his every word. It was starting to really piss me off.

“Of course, they have. But security deals with them.”

“Why would you put yourself in that sort of position? What could be so important that you would want to work in a place like this?”

“Be careful, Brent,” I said, my tone like ice, “you’re beginning to show your privilege.”

He crossed his arms over his chest. “You think I don’t understand what it’s like to be poor? I was a cop for ten years.”

“Seeing it and living it are two very different things.”

He inclined his head slightly, a little smile lightening the color of his eyes. “Okay. Maybe I don’t fully understand why a woman would put herself in this position.”

“It’s not a bad job, really,” I said, walking over to the massage table and taking out a clean sheet to cover it with. “I’m a certified masseuse now, so if my future plans don’t work out, I have something to fall back on. And my clients are generally very nice people who tip really well.”

“I’m sure.”

I shot a dirty look at him. “Some of the girls are willing to break the rules to get bigger tips, but I’m not one of them. I do things by the book.”

He turned away, moving around the room some more. I watched as he opened drawers here and there, like an impatient patient checking out the contents of an exam room. When he came to the door of the changing room, he gestured.

“I guess I can shed my clothes in here?”

“Be my guest.”

He went inside without another comment. My hands were shaking as I turned to routine to keep my mind off of him and what he was doing in that room. I prepared the massage table and took out a selection of oils I could use on him. I scrubbed my hands and slipped out of my ballet skirt, not anxious to stain the thin material. By the time I was prepared, he’d come back out of the changing room covered in just a heavy bathrobe like the ones my regular clients wore. Only this robe was ill fitting, too short for his long, wide body. It would have been comical if it didn’t expose the ropy muscles of his thighs or the heavy scar across his ribs.

“Where do you want me?”

I gestured to the massage table, not really trusting my voice in that moment. He sat on the edge, maneuvering the bathrobe so that he could remove it once I secured the sheet I was holding around his waist. I saw a slight shake in his hands as he did, wondering if it was me that had caused that or if it was something else. Once he was lying down I adjusted the sheet over his roundly sculpted ass, my own hands shaking in anticipation of touching him.

“Do you have any allergies I should be aware of?”

“No,” he said, his voice muffled by the table’s design.

I studied his back for a long moment, enjoying the tan that spoke of a love of the outdoors. I’d seen spray tans and tans that came from chemicals in lotion. This was not one of those. More proof of that was the tan line just above the crack of his ass that suggested he wasn’t a sunbather. His tan came from actual outdoor activity.

“You okay?”

I shook myself. “Yes. Sorry.”

I poured a generous amount of oil on my hands, my senses immediately flooded with the warm, masculine scent of cedar. I began with his shoulders, digging deep into his shoulders in order to work out the tension that tended to settle deeply there. I worked slowly down his sides, down to his legs and his feet, going back up to work the tension from his hips and the small of his back. He groaned a few times, but otherwise remained silent. After a little bit, I forgot that this was the man who’d kissed me so completely the other day and lost myself in the rhythm of the movements. It was almost hypnotic, giving someone a massage. But there was still that need in my lower belly, whispering to me that it was Brent’s skin against mine, that it was Brent’s body lying prone for me.

That need was just continuing to build. It was never going to go away.

When I finished with his back, I touched his shoulder lightly. “You can roll over now.”

He didn’t move right away. I thought maybe he was embarrassed, so I turned away, wiping my hands on a handy towel as I checked the tray of oils for the one I wanted to use next. I heard him move, heard the creak of the bed underneath him. I glanced at him just in time to catch him adjusting the sheet over his waist. He’d slid both hands underneath it and was trying to adjust the way the sheet lie while holding his hands over his private areas, a little more color in his face than there had been before. I caught to top edge of the sheet just before it fell to the floor.

“It’s okay. I’ve seen just about everything a man’s body has to show in this room.”

“Yeah, but you haven’t seen it on my body.”

I just tilted my head, touched that he was worried about it.

I began this part of the massage by rubbing his temples with my still slightly oily fingers. He closed his eyes at first, but then he opened them and watched me as I worked, his eyes struggling to stay on my face when they wanted to fall to the roundness peeking out of the top of my corset. I bit back a smile as I continued working down his face, rubbing the edge of his jaw, the pressure points in his throat, and then the front edges of his shoulder. I poured more oil on my hands as I progressed, working his upper arms as he continued to hold his erection out of my sight.

The tattoo on his chest was clearly visible now, pushed into an odd angle by his arms, but visible. Madeline and Josie, it said. I brushed a thumb over it as I worked, wondering what had happened to his wife and this Josie—his daughter?—and why he was so reluctant to talk about it. Was it too hard for him? Or was it just me he didn’t want to talk to about it?

There was a significant scar on that side of his chest, just a few inches below the tattoo, that crisscrossed his ribs. A knife wound, maybe. And there were smaller scars dotting his chest, his abdomen, evidence of a dangerous life. He’d been a cop for ten years, he’d said. Was that where he’d gotten these? But then an image of him beating Mr. Wallace played through my mind. There was a certain enthusiasm to his movements that night, a certain excitement that rushed through him as he beat that man. Was that where these had come from? From a certain desire to live a violent life?

I worked my way down to his thighs, proceeding as I had on his back. He lay with his eyes on the ceiling for a while, little moans escaping his lips when I found particularly tense areas. When I slid my hands under his arms to work his hips, he brushed my hands away.

“You can skip that part,” he said.

“Don’t you want the full package, Mr. Stone?”

He turned so that he could see me in all my glory, standing there beside him in nothing but a corset and a pair of panties.

“I think I’m getting that.”

“Are you enjoying yourself?”

“Is this what you do with all your clients?”

“Most of them. Some ask for specific treatments, but you’re getting the gist of it.”

He shook his head, his eyes moving back up to the ceiling. “I don’t know how they do it.”

“Who?”

“Your clients. I don’t know how they can lie still while you’re touching them.”

“Haven’t you ever had a massage before?”

“Not from a beautiful woman wearing what you’re wearing.”

“Well, they hardly ever hide their erections because they seem to think the sight of it will inspire me to break the rules.” I touched his arm as I talked, smiling when I felt his muscles flex under my hand a little. “And they don’t keep their hands to themselves.”

“They don’t?”

He was looking at me now, cold, blue fire dancing in his eyes.

“The rules say they can touch as long as they don’t do more than that.”

“What kind of touching?”

“Usually a hand on my ass, a few caresses on my arms.”

His eyes narrowed at that. “No wonder someone’s attacking the girls. You leave a man with blue balls like that and expect him not to respond? That’s fucking naive.”

“Are you suggesting Rachel asked for what happened to her?”

“I’m suggesting that Rhonda and you and all the other girls here are playing at a dangerous game.”

I backed away, snatching up a towel to wipe the oil—and the memory of his skin—from my hands. I was shaking my head hard, giving myself a headache with the intensity behind it.

“Dane—”

“You should go now.”

“I’m not saying it’s all you. I’m just saying—”

“You’re saying that Rachel asked for what she got because she’s trying to make a good living in this godforsaken town! Do you know how much we get paid here?” I spun on my heel and stared at him where he’d sat up, swinging his legs over the edge of the table. “Do you know how much we take home each week? Do you realize that it’s nearly ten times what we’d make working an honest job that a person with just a high school diploma—or someone without any formal education—could get?”

“I realize it’s hard out there, but what did you think would happen when you play a dangerous game like this?”

My palm itched to slap him.

“We’re not prostitutes.”

“No. But you’re as close as a woman can get.”

I did hit him then. I slapped him with all the power I could generate, going in for a second when he grabbed my wrist hard enough to snap it in half.

“Enough!”

“You’re an ass, you know that? I don’t know why I thought I could bring you back here and show you how honest all of this really is. Of course all you see is the filth. A person like you could never possibly see that sometimes a person just needs some simple human contact. You can’t see that my clients are usually people who put their emotional and physical needs so far on the backburner that they forgot what it was like to simply lay in a bed with another person, to feel the gentle caress of another person on their skin. Not everything in this world is about sex!”

“You want to bet?”

He jumped off the table, his sheet sliding to the floor as he pushed me back against the counter, the bottles of oil shaking as our bodies slammed against it. He forced his mouth against mine, smashing my lips hard against my teeth as he forced my jaw to open to him. I fought him for a moment, jerked my arms in an attempt to break free of his hold, twisting my head to try to break the kiss. But his tongue had this secret knowledge of my anatomy now and he knew just where to touch me, just how to entice me into submitting to him.

Almost against my will, my body relaxed and melted against him, molding itself to his wide chest and his narrow hips. He let go of my wrists in favor of slipping over my back, one hand dipping down over my ass and the other moving upward to disturb the messy knot that held my mass of curls out of my face. I wrapped my arms around his neck, pulling myself up to something closer to his height, returning his kiss with as much ferocity as he was offering it. He grabbed me around the waist and lifted me, pushing the oils away as he lifted me onto the edge of the heavy counter. Now we were face to face, now our bodies matched up almost perfectly. I wrapped my legs around his waist, returning to almost an identical position as we’d held the last time we touched, the position we were in when Bo so rudely—or aptly—interrupted.

But this time Brent was naked and his bare erection pressed against me with an urgency that only the thin material of my panties slowed.

The roughness of his kiss softened. He moaned softly against my lips as his touch grew gentle. His hands slid down and cupped my jaw, drawing me closer to him even as he slowly pulled away, pressing his forehead against mine as he fought to catch his breath.

“Don’t you see what you do to me?” His voice was rough, the need dripping from every syllable. “I can’t stand the thought of someone else touching you, of someone else drawing this response out of you. Can you imagine what it would be like for a man who’d been coming to you for months?”

It took me a second to realize he was still trying to make a point. And when it did, my heart sank and my face flushed with shame.

I slapped at his chest. “Let me go!”

“Dane, I just—”

“Let me go!”

I slapped at him over and over again until red handprints dotted the front of his chest. He stepped back and I immediately jumped off the counter, snatching the sheet off the floor and covering myself with it, suddenly not just ashamed of my work, but ashamed of my actions, of my body’s response to him. Ashamed that I still ached for him even as the echo of his words danced around in my head.

“I was only trying to show you why I’d said what I did.”

I shook my head, refusing to look at him. I went to the door and snatched it open.

“Leave the money on the counter.”

I was gone before he could make another comment.