Waking Up to You Overexposed

6



FUNNY. NICK HAD once thought that having absolutely mind-blowing sex with a woman would make her friendlier. At least more approachable.

No. Uh-uh. Not Izzie Natale. Because within minutes of their incredible lovemaking in the back of the delivery van, she was back to freezing him out, trying to act like nothing had changed between them.

After sex like that, he’d kind of expected to be invited in for a cup of coffee...if not dessert. Oh, man, he was never going to look at a cannoli the same way again.

But she hadn’t invited him in. Hadn’t answered him when he’d asked if she wanted to go get a bite to eat somewhere. And over the next couple of days, hadn’t returned his calls. Hadn’t even met his eye in the past couple of days.

The woman was killing him, she really was.

When he’d finally confronted her on the sidewalk in front of the bakery Friday afternoon, she’d erupted. “It was a one-time thing, Nick. It was fabulous, I loved it, but it’s not going to happen again. Because if it does, then you’re going to be more of a pain about wanting me to go get a pizza with you, or go visit the folks, and then the whole neighborhood will be congratulating poor little Izzie for finally landing her man.”

She’d stalked inside without saying another word. She hadn’t needed to. He got the message, loud and clear. She’d loved the sex, she just didn’t want all the stuff that went with having a sexual relationship. Or any relationship whatsoever.

He thought about proposing that they just set up a weekly sex-buddy meeting in the parked van behind her shop, suspecting he could have her on those terms if he wanted her.

He didn’t want her on those terms.

“Hell, admit it, you want her on any terms,” he muttered aloud as he walked out the back door of Santori’s that night. He hadn’t even realized anyone else was there until he saw his brother Joe, who’d just parked his pickup in one of the empty spots in the alley. Fortunately, Joe hadn’t heard Nick talking to himself and so wasn’t dialing for the rubber-walled wagon.

“Hey, where you off to?” Joe asked as he hopped out and pocketed his keys. “I was going to take you up on that pitcher you owe me.”

“I’m not very good company right now,” he admitted.

Joe, who was the best-natured of all of the Santori kids, threw his arm around Nick’s shoulders. “Then what better time to share a beer with your brother?”

He had a point.

“Okay. But not here,” he said, looking back at the closed door to the kitchen. “I really need someplace quiet.”

Joe’s smile faded and he immediately appeared concerned. “Everything okay? Is there a problem?”

“No problem. Just a case of family overdose.”

“I hear ya. Come on, let’s go across the street.”

Following Joe into a neighborhood bar on the corner, Nick ordered a couple of beers and paid the tab. If Mark had been sitting across from him, Nick knew he’d be getting one-liners aimed at making him say what was on his mind. Lucas would be doing his prosecutor inquisition. Tony would throw his oldest-brother weight around and try to browbeat him into talking. Lottie would jabber so much Nick would say anything to get her to shut up.

Joe just watched. Listened. Waited.

“Thanks again for pointing me toward the job,” Nick finally said, filling the silence. The bar was pretty empty—it was too early for the weekend regulars, who’d be drifting in for a long night of drinking and darts before too long.

“How’s that going?”

“Pretty well. I’ve only worked the past two weekends but the money’s good.”

“You still haven’t told the rest of the family?”

Nick shook his head. “Just Mark.”

Joe nodded. “Probably just as well. I know Pop and Tony are talking nonstop about you coming in on the business.”

Yeah, they had been to him, too. Nick couldn’t prevent a quick frown. Because managing a pizzeria was not the way he saw himself spending the next six months, much less the rest of his life.

“It’s okay, Nick. Nobody can force you to do anything you don’t want to do.”

“Guilt goes a long way,” he muttered.

“Don’t I know it. But guilt didn’t stop you from enlisting. It didn’t stop me from picking up a hammer and learning construction. Didn’t stop Mark from strapping on a gun or Lottie from...well, from doing whatever it is Lottie does.”

“Like marrying a man who killed someone?” Nick asked drily, still not having gotten used to the idea that his new brother-in-law, Simon, had killed a woman, even if in self-defense.

“Let’s not go there,” Joe said with a sigh. “She’s happy, and he’s crazy about her.”

True. Lottie and Simon’s recent marriage had contributed to the 95 percent marital success rate in the Santori family.

“The point is, you can live your life the way you want to live it, and nobody will try to stop you.” As if realizing he’d left Nick with one major argument, he added, “Except for Mama’s crying. Which we’re all used to and you can get past. You just need to figure out what you want to do, and go after it.”

Good idea. And lately, Nick had been figuring out what he wanted to do, especially since he’d been working at the club. “An old buddy of mine from the service is putting something together with a couple of the other guys. They’re talking about opening up a protection business.”

“Professional bodyguard?” Joe asked, looking surprised.

“I have the military background for it and I like what I’m doing at the club.”

Joe smiled. “Especially when the people you’re guarding are very easy on the eyes.”

“Like you’d ever look at another woman.”

The twinkle in his brother’s eyes confirmed that. “Hey, I’m not you. You’re the single one. Have you met anybody, uh...interesting?”

Nick felt heat rise up his neck. Because that was a loaded question. He had definitely felt interest in the Crimson Rose. But now that he’d had Izzie—tasted her, consumed her, made love to her—he knew he didn’t want any other woman. But he couldn’t very well explain that to Joe...without hinting about what had happened with Izzie. She’d never forgive him if that little tidbit became common knowledge. “I guess.”

“Their star performer?” Joe sipped his beer. “I hear she’s one of a kind.”

Clearing his throat, Nick sprawled back in the booth. “She is that.”

“Have there been any more problems with her?” Joe sounded only casually interested, but Nick’s guard immediately went up.

“Problems?”

“Threats, freaks trying to grab her?”

Nick sat up straight. “No. What are you talking about?”

“Didn’t Harry even tell you why he hired you?”

He had, but only in the most general terms. Nick didn’t realize Rose had actually been threatened. “What do you know?”

“Just what the guys were whispering about when we were working at the club. That there had been a few incidents that had disturbed Harry and scared the dancers. Especially the featured one.”

Harry Black had said almost nothing about any specific threats. Rose had said even less. Why would they hire him and then tie his hands by not giving him all the information he needed to do his job? He just didn’t understand it. “Maybe whoever was causing the problems got caught and the threat has been eliminated,” he murmured, speculating out loud. “Because I haven’t gotten any kind of specific heads-up.”

Joe kept his eyes on his beer, for some reason not looking Nick in the eye. Which made him wonder about his brother’s interest in the stripper.

He immediately discounted any suspicion that Joe was interested in the woman for himself. He was married to the sexiest kindergarten teacher ever born, and he adored her and their baby daughter. Besides, of all the Santoris—who’d been raised to equate cheating with a mortal sin—Joe was the very last one who’d ever stray.

“Well, if I were you, I’d stick close to the featured attraction at Leather and Lace. I think she might be more of a target than she or Harry would like to admit.” Shaking his head, Joe added, “There are some really sick guys out there who like stalking vulnerable women.”

Suddenly feeling on edge, Nick nodded, anxious to get to the club and question Harry Black. He didn’t particularly want to confront Rose—not alone, anyway—but one thing was sure. He had been hired to do a job: protect her. It was about time he stop letting his physical response to the woman interfere with doing that job.

And it was well past time for him to stop letting his feelings for Izzie Natale consume so much of his attention that he didn’t even realize a stalker might be threatening someone he’d been hired to protect.

That had to end. Starting right now.

So it looked like Izzie was finally going to get what she wanted. Him...out of her life.

* * *

“HEY, SOMEBODY SENT you flowers.”

Izzie hesitated, her hand on the doorknob of her dressing room. One of the other dancers, a young blonde with a sweet smile and a killer body, approached her. “They were waiting on the stoop at the back entrance when I got here. Had your name on the envelope. I put them in your dressing room.”

Izzie’s first reaction was a tiny little thrill as the image of Nick’s handsome face filled her mind. But it quickly dissipated. Nick had no idea she worked with him every Saturday and Sunday night.

Damn good thing. Because if he found out now, after she’d had such incredible sex with him, he was going to be mad. More than mad—irate. Especially because of how insistent she’d been that it was a one-shot deal.

Boy did she wish it didn’t have to be a one-shot deal. She still got shaky and shivery and weak and wet thinking of that amazing interlude in the van. It had been the most intensely sensual experience of her life.

But not to be repeated. Never.

Not as Izzie. Not even as the Crimson Rose. Because now that he’d had her naked in his arms, it was all too possible that he’d recognize her as Rose. Dancing and interacting with him at work was going to be difficult enough. If she let him get close—the way she’d invited him to that night in her dressing room—there was no way she’d be able to keep her secret.

So tell him the truth.

The idea had merit and Izzie knew it. Part of her truly wanted to—it wasn’t easy maintaining a double life with no one to talk to about it. He’d listen—she knew he would. And she even suspected he wouldn’t judge her about what she was doing. Given the things he’d said about feeling so hemmed in by his own family and their expectations, she thought he might even understand. A little.

But telling him—bringing him in to her alternate life—would mean involving him deeper in her real one. Each secret shared would be another rope tied to her body, holding her down, dragging her back into the world she’d fought so hard to escape.

If he knew she was Rose, there would be no reason they couldn’t get more involved, at least at work. That, however—a secret, sordid affair conducted in dressing rooms and closets at Leather and Lace—wouldn’t be enough for him. She knew it down to her very soul. He’d insinuate himself in her daily life, start tangling her in the ropes of a relationship, make her fall for him even harder...so he would be even harder to leave.

No. She could not tell him.

“Rose? Didja hear me?”

Realizing the other dancer was waiting expectantly for her reaction to the flowers, Izzie nodded. “Yes, thanks, Leah.”

“Not a problem. It was pick ’em up or trip over ’em,” she said with a cheery smile. Without the stage makeup and the sequins, the young woman looked so fresh-faced and wholesome an average set of parents would have asked her to babysit.

She’d been the first of the dancers to befriend Izzie when she’d first taken the job at Leather and Lace. The others had been slower to warm up, especially Harry’s wife, Delilah, who’d been the featured dancer up until a couple of years ago when she married her boss. Now she served as a sort of warden to the others...and hadn’t liked that Izzie wasn’t interested in her rules and regulations. She especially hadn’t liked that she couldn’t get her husband to order Izzie to listen to her...and that the Crimson Rose had become hugely popular.

The rest of them had all come around, though, especially since they had all started bringing home more money every weekend that she performed.

“How did you get into this, Leah?” she asked.

The girl shrugged. “Typical story. My parents divorced, father split out West somewhere. Mom remarried an a*shole who tried to touch me after she’d passed out on their wedding night.”

Izzie instinctively reached out and put her hand on the other woman’s shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

“Hey, I survived. Stabbed him in the wrist with a fork and took off. Never looked back.”

“Do you...” She didn’t know how to proceed without seeming judgmental. It just seemed so sad to think of this young woman making this, dancing at Leather and Lace, her only career goal. For Izzie, it was a part-time thrill to stay in shape and save her sanity. Some of the women here, however, saw no other future for themselves.

“What?”

“Do you think you’ll do something else when you get tired of this?”

Leah nodded, her blond curls bouncing around her pretty heart-shaped face. “I got my GED last year and I’m taking college classes. I’m planning to be a nurse.”

“Good for you.”

Hearing footsteps upstairs, Izzie glanced at her watch. It was only six—a couple of hours before her first number. Usually Nick showed up later than this. But hearing the deep male voice from upstairs, she immediately stiffened.

“That’s our sex-on-a-stick bodyguard I hear up there.”

“Damn,” Izzie muttered, immediately whirling around. “Stall him if he comes down the stairs, okay?”

“You still playing the ‘nobody can see me’ game with him?”

Izzie nodded. “I don’t want him to see me. Please help me.”

The woman offered her a big smile. “You got it...in exchange for one of those flowers your secret admirer sent you.”

“I’ll do you one better,” Izzie said as she pushed open her dressing-room door. She grabbed the vase and thrust the bouquet at the young woman. “You can have all of them. Just don’t let him near my door.”

Either Leah was true to her word, or else Nick hadn’t yet ventured downstairs. Whatever the case Izzie had privacy for the next twenty minutes. Long enough to get her hair extensions clipped in place and put her mask on. Only after she’d yanked it into position did she realize she’d forgotten her false eyelashes.

“Damn Harry for not giving me a lock,” she muttered, glancing at the closed door. If she took the mask off to put her lashes on, she risked Nick walking in on her. No, he hadn’t exactly gone out of his way to be alone with her as the Crimson Rose, but she couldn’t count on her luck lasting forever.

Frowning at her reflection, she did a quick evaluation, wondering if she really needed the lashes. Her eyes had disappeared. She looked like the Marquis de Sade.

“Need the lashes,” she muttered.

She’d been putting false lashes on her eyelids for years, she could probably do it...well, not blindfolded, but masked.

“Sure,” she whispered as she bent toward the mirror. Grabbing one lash, she dabbed special glue on it, then carefully reached into the eyehole of her mask and applied it.

“One down,” she said as she blinked rapidly, pretty proud of herself.

The second one was a little trickier, mainly because it was hard to see out of the first heavily lashed eye. But she managed it. And a moment later, when she heard voices in the hall, she was very glad she hadn’t taken the chance and removed the mask.

“Hey, Nick, how’s it shakin’, baby?” a woman’s voice said. Loudly.

Bless you, Leah.

“I need to talk to Rose.” He cleared his throat. “I mean, I need to talk to all of you, and Rose.”

Huh. Still too chicken to see her alone.

She quickly squelched the thought. That man had the most incredible, powerful body she’d ever seen in her life. He was afraid of nothing.

Besides, refusing to see her alone was exactly what she needed him to do. Even if it wasn’t what she wanted him to do.

Tightening the sash on her robe, she reached for the doorknob and opened the door. Nick’s immediately looked over, stiffening when he saw her there.

He so didn’t want to be attracted to her, his expression said it all. Knowing he didn’t want anyone else made Izzie, the baker he’d made such incredible love to a few days ago, amazingly happy.

“I need to talk to you, and all the other girls, in the greenroom for a few minutes,” he said. Without waiting to see if she was coming, he spun around and walked toward it.

Shrugging, Leah followed. So did Izzie. Once they were inside, Izzie realized all the other dancers—nine or ten of them—were already present, including Delilah with her two-foot-tall pile of red hair on top of her head and three inches of makeup on her face.

In varying states of undress, all the other dancers practically licked their lips when Nick walked into the room. She couldn’t blame them. In his tough/bodyguard mode, he looked incredibly hot. Gone was any trace of the sweetheart who’d helped her deliver baked goods. Or the sensual lover who’d given her more orgasms in one lovemaking session than she’d had in entire previous relationships.

In their place was a frowning—scowling almost—man, dressed all in black, looking not only menacing but dangerous. And absolutely delicious.

“I asked you all in here to discuss your security.”

“Let’s discuss your ass,” one of the dancers cracked.

“I’d rather talk about his shoulders.”

“I vote for his co...”

“Ladies,” another voice said as Harry entered the room. Rolling his eyes, he gave Nick an apologetic look. “Please go ahead, Nick.”

Nick got right back on track, hitting them all over the head with the need for tighter security around the place. Though he was talking to everyone, he looked at Izzie so often, she knew she was the one on his mind.

There wasn’t any reason to single her out. Well, not much reason. Yes, she’d had a few persistent customers. One guy had lunged at her on the stage a few weeks back. Another had burst into her dressing room. And there’d been a few parking-lot lurkers who’d been chased away by one of the bouncers, Bernie, who’d been watching out for her since her first night. Long before Nick had come on the scene.

In this job, she’d expect nothing else. But Nick was relentless in his lecturing. He kept on about how they all needed to look out for one another, report anything suspicious. Yadda yadda. Izzie zoned out somewhere between “drive a different route home from work every night” and “have a buddy when you go to the restroom.”

That one did spark an “I’ll be your bathroom buddy, Nick” from one of the girls, a glare from Delilah and another long-suffering sigh from Harry.

Finally, though, the meeting broke up and the other dancers raced to finish getting ready. Izzie quickly ducked out of the room, hoping Nick wouldn’t see her. She’d gotten about ten steps from her dressing room when she realized he’d followed.

“Rose, wait a minute.”

She froze, but didn’t turn around.

“I’m particularly concerned about you. The ‘who’s behind the mask’ element puts you at higher risk. Some whack job might decide to try to find out for himself.”

She glanced over her shoulder. “Thanks for the warning.” Now go away.

Before she could look away again, she saw a dark frown pull at Nick’s handsome face. “What in the hell?” he muttered, staring at her face.

Fearing he’d recognized her, she quickly lifted her hands to ensure her mask was still in place. It felt okay—but Nick was still staring at her, blinking in confusion.

“What?” she snapped. Remembering at the last minute that she needed to lower her voice to the sultry whisper he’d grown familiar with, she rephrased. “Is something wrong?”

He reached for her. Izzie immediately lurched back, almost tripping over her own feet. If she hadn’t backed herself up against the wall, she would have.

“Careful,” he muttered, still frowning. “It wouldn’t look good on my résumé if somebody I’m supposed to be guarding trips and breaks her neck.”

Right. He needed to guard her.

Not look at her. Not watch her. Not batter at her defenses with every flex of that body, every whiff of his spicy scent that filled her head whenever he was near.

God, this was hard. So much harder than it had been last weekend, when she hadn’t had him. When she didn’t know what he was capable of.

“You have something on your...it’s...”

Shrugging uncomfortably, he reached for her again. This time, she stayed still. At least until he yanked at her eyelashes hard enough to jerk her eyelid off her face. “Ouch!” she yelped, slapping his hand away.

His hand was still stuck to the lashes so when she smacked him, she only ended up hurting herself more. As his hand flew away, he took the lashes with him, ripping them off her lid.

“I thought it was a bug,” he said with an uncomfortable grimace.

She yanked her false eyelashes out of his fingers. “A bug? You thought I had a bug on my face?”

“It’s not like you’d be able to tell if you did with that stupid mask on. Why do you wear it when you’re not onstage, anyway?”

Oh, boy. A question she definitely couldn’t answer.

“You don’t have to keep up this mysterious-woman act for the staff, do you? So why not take it off and take a deep breath?” Swiping a frustrated hand through his short spiky hair, he added, “Or at least put your damn false eyelashes on more securely?”

She almost growled in annoyance. He was the reason she’d had to put the lashes on through the eyehole in the mask. “I want a lock on my dressing-room door,” she whispered harshly.

He glanced at the knob. “You don’t have one?”

“No.” Thinking quickly, she added, “And that’s one reason I keep the mask on all the time. I have no place to go for complete privacy. A reporter who did an article on the club a few weeks ago came creeping around down here one day, trying to get a picture of the real me.”

Nick moved in close, towering over her, burning her with his heat. Putting his hands on the wall on either side of her, he trapped her in. “Who is he?”

Izzie nibbled her lip, trying with every ounce of her strength not to throw her arms around his shoulders and her legs around his waist. Or to shove him away so he’d stop looking searchingly at her, seeing her eyes...how could he not recognize her eyes? How could he be this close and not know the smell of her body?

It was good that he didn’t, she knew that. But it was also starting to tick her off.

“Just some reporter,” she murmured.

“Have you had any problems with him since?”

“No, he hasn’t been around since the story came out. Would you relax?”

“You tell me if you see him.” Then, staring hard at her, he slowly pulled back, releasing her from the prison of his arms. An odd look appeared on his face, as if he’d suddenly realized just how close they’d been and wasn’t happy at himself for it. Clearing his throat, he added, “I’m sorry I hurt your eye.”

“It’s all right.” Slipping away from him, she headed again to her door, relieved to have escaped his scrutiny. Good thing he’d let her go, because the longer he stayed so close to her, the more angry she was going to get that he didn’t know her.

Especially because a mask would never prevent her from knowing him.

Huh. Men. So painfully unobservant.

“I hope you’re taking me seriously,” he said, that gruff, no-nonsense tone returning to his voice, his apology obviously done.

“I am, I am.” She practically bit the words out from between her clenched teeth, ready to smack him if he didn’t shut up and let her go get herself back under control. And fix her eyelashes.

“No more running out to your car alone to get something you forgot.”

“Yes, your majesty.”

“No more coming back upstairs and mingling close to closing time.”

She seldom did that, anyway. Whirling around, she offered him a sharp salute, and snapped, “Got it, chief.” Then, determined not to listen to another word, she spun on her heel and strode into her dressing room, slamming the door shut behind her.

It was only after she’d shut him out that Izzie realized how stupid she’d just been. Nick had annoyed her so much—both because of his overbearing protective bodyguard schtick and his inability to see what was right in front of his face—that she’d completely forgotten her role in this. The role she played as the Crimson Rose.

Because during those last three words, when anger had overtaken common sense, she’d forgotten to speak in her sexy, husky voice.

She’d been pure, 100 percent Izzie.