Waking Up to You Overexposed

7



LEATHER AND LACE employed a few burly bouncers to watch the doors and to stand in the back of the crowd during the show. Their presence was mainly to inspire intimidation to keep the audience on its best behavior. And they did their job well, especially the tallest one, Bernie, whose beefy build concealed a guy with a deep belly laugh and a good sense of humor.

Nick, however, wasn’t technically one of them. His job involved more than rousting out rowdy drinkers or breaking up any fights. He was there to make sure nobody touched the dancers. Especially Rose. And the bouncers were his backup.

He typically moved around during the performances—sometimes in the audience, sometimes backstage, sometimes downstairs. He kept a low profile, his eyes always scanning the crowd, looking for the first sign of trouble.

Tonight, he was standing close to the dance floor, in a shadowy corner just left of the stage. He couldn’t say why. It wasn’t as if he expected anyone in the front row to leap up and try to grab Rose or one of the others. Yes, it’d happened. But usually not until at least the second set, late in the night, when the patrons had consumed more than a few fifteen-dollar shots of top-shelf whiskey. And when they’d forgotten how big the bouncers were or how stupid they were going to feel having to call their wives to get bailed out of jail.

Tonight, Nick was close to the stage because he wanted to watch her.

Something had happened earlier, something that was still driving him crazy. Oh, she drove him crazy in any number of ways, already—mainly because of that blatant sexuality oozing off the woman. But this didn’t have anything to do with her attractiveness, or Nick’s reaction to it.

It was something else. Something he couldn’t define. Ever since he and Rose had exchanged words outside her dressing room, a voice had been whispering in his head that there was something he wasn’t seeing. Some truth he had overlooked.

He had replayed their entire conversation, thinking about every word, wondering what had seemed so off with it. Aside from her being such a smart-ass about the self-protection tips he’d asked her to follow, they hadn’t been confrontational. Hadn’t been unpleasant in any way, other than when he’d accidentally almost ripped her eyelid off.

So why are you so tense?

Good question. He was wound as tight as a ball of rubber bands, his jaw flexing, his hands clenching. His heart wasn’t maintaining its usual pace, it was rushed, as if adrenaline had flooded his body.

When they introduced her, something did flood his body. Heated awareness. Maybe adrenaline, too.

She didn’t spot him when she started, and from here Nick had a perfect view of every move she made. She was using the pole tonight, taking advantage of it to showcase her strength and flexibility. Not to mention inviting every man in the audience to imagine being the one she was writhing against, the one cupped between her incredibly long legs.

He tensed, then thrust away the flash of jealousy. It was none of his business what Rose did—in her professional life or in her personal one.

She’d begun removing her petals now, they fluttered onto the stage, one even wafting so close it was only about a foot away from Nick’s corner position. Something made him step closer, to reach for it. Whether to give it back to her, or to save it as a souvenir, he couldn’t say. Fingering it lightly, he stuck it in his pocket and kept watching.

When this close, he had a very good view of the Crimson Rose...a view of a trim waist made for his hands. Of supple legs he could almost feel wrapped around his hips. Of slender fingers that had tangled easily in his hair. A delicate throat for nibbling. Lush round breasts for cupping. And when she removed the petals covering those breasts, his mouth flooded at the image of sucking on those dark, pebbled nipples.

Every bit of her was familiar...to his eyes, and to the rest of his body. He knew what it would be like to taste her, to touch her, to hear her soft little moans of pleasure.

To hear her...

Her voice. That voice. That body.

“Oh, my God,” he whispered, certain he’d lost his mind but unable to chase the thought away. Because as he watched the performer disappear behind the curtain after her dance, he saw a face behind that mask. A face he saw in his dreams every night.

Izzie’s face.

“It can’t be,” he mumbled, staggering back into the shadow. He hit the wall in the corner and slid down it, bending over so his hands landed on his knees. Sucking in a few deep breaths, he kept his head down, thinking over everything he knew about Izzie Natale. And about the Crimson Rose.

She’d taken dance lessons throughout her childhood, he remembered that. She’d gone to New York to become a performer. On the stage. She hadn’t exactly said she’d been an actress.

My God, had she been a stripper at some high-end Manhattan club? And when she’d been forced to return to Chicago after her father’s stroke, had she taken up the same profession here—wearing a mask so she wouldn’t possibly be recognized?

Their bodies were so alike—how could he not have seen it before? Then again, he had never seen Izzie naked before, until two nights ago, so he couldn’t possibly have known that her legs were as long and supple as a dancer’s. That her hips were full enough to make a man hard just at the thought of getting his hands on them. That her breasts were big, high and inviting.

She’d hidden a lot behind the apron. So much that he hadn’t registered that Izzie and Rose were the same height, had the same builds. Or that their hair was close in color—the length of Rose’s obviously caused by some kind of hairpiece or wig.

Now it registered. But it still seemed impossible. Absolutely unbelievable that cute little Izzie, Gloria’s baby sister...the girl who’d crushed the cookies for God’s sake...was the woman driving men all over Chicago insane with lust.

Including him. Especially him.

At that moment, he knew it was true. He’d been reacting to Rose and to Izzie the very same way from the moment he’d seen each of them. With pure, undiluted want based on absolutely nothing but instinct and chemistry.

They were the same. His body had known that immediately. His brain had finally caught up.

Somehow, he managed to stay on the sidelines and finish doing his job throughout the long night until the club closed at 2:00 a.m. He stayed upstairs, sending one of the other guys down every so often to do a sweep outside the dressing rooms. He didn’t trust himself to go down there and confront her yet.

If he did, it might get loud. And neither one of them might be ready to go back to work after they had the blowout fight Nick suspected they were going to have.

It was definitely going to be a blowout, and probably not for the reasons Izzie would suspect. Yeah, it bothered him that his sister-in-law’s kid sister was working as a stripper. But he was no prude, nor was he judgmental. He’d seen her act...she was not only good, she was damn good.

As someone who was—and might again be—Izzie’s lover, he was not happy. Couldn’t deny that. But again, not so much because of other men looking at her, but more because she was working in a very risky field. Putting herself in danger.

The real reason he was fuming was because she’d lied to him. She’d been deceitful, letting him chase after Izzie by day while Rose pursued him by night. The woman had nearly sent him out of his mind—for what? Some twisted game? A power trip?

He didn’t know. He just knew he wanted answers. And when the club finally shut down and everyone began to drift away, he walked downstairs, determined to get them.

Nick knew she hadn’t left yet, he’d been watching her car in the parking lot, which was emptying as everyone departed for the night. She usually left much earlier—since her last number took place around midnight. And it didn’t take her long to get ready since she didn’t bother taking her mask off before getting into her car and roaring away. Obviously for his benefit.

But she was still here. So he could only assume one thing: she was waiting in her dressing room, either hiding in the hopes that he’d leave first, or preparing herself for his arrival.

Because she had to know he’d figured her out. All she’d have had to do was look out at him in the audience during her second set and see the steam pouring out of his head. And the fire burning out of his eyeballs.

Reaching her closed door, he remembering she’d said it had no lock. He gave her a one-knock warning, then entered without waiting for an invitation. It wasn’t like she had anything to hide...he’d seen her body, both as Izzie and as Rose.

“What do you think you’re doing?” she asked, staring at him from across the room, where she’d been slipping a jacket on. She was dressed casually, in a loose, comfortable-looking pair of baggy pants and a tank top. If she hadn’t been wearing the mask, she’d have looked just like the girl next door.

Like Izzie.

God, what a blind idiot he was not to have seen it before. The eyes were the same—though “Rose’s” were shadowed by the mask. Those lips couldn’t be denied. The shape of her jaw, the length of her neck. Everything about the Crimson Rose was Izzie under a sexy microscope. Everything about Izzie was the Crimson Rose in nice-girl trappings.

“What do you want, Nick?”

“You’re here late,” he murmured, stepping inside and shutting the door behind him.

“Um, yes, I guess so,” she replied.

“You don’t usually stay until closing time.”

She tilted her head back, her chin up, displaying outright bravado. She was going to try to bluff her way through this, since she couldn’t be certain she’d been busted. “One of the other dancers got sick and had to leave. I wasn’t sure if Harry would need me to cover for her.”

He hadn’t. Nick knew that much. If he’d had to watch “Rose” in a third performance on the stage, he would have lost it. He didn’t know that he’d have been able to keep himself from going up there and confronting her right in front of the audience.

She fell silent, just watching him. Waiting. Nick said nothing, not giving himself away yet. He wanted to see what she’d do. How far Izzie would go to maintain her secret.

God, it killed him that she didn’t trust him. He had no illusions about why she’d put that mask on her face in the beginning. Her parents would be upset if they found out. He could even see why she’d kept quiet the first couple of times he’d worked here—before she knew she could trust him.

But now he was her lover. She’d trusted him with her body. She should have trusted him with her secret.

“Well,” she said, “I guess it’s time to go.”

“So soon?” he murmured, leaning back against the closed door, blocking her escape. He crossed his arms and stared. “But this is the first time we’ve been alone in quite a while.”

She licked her lips nervously. Nick almost felt that moist tongue on his own mouth and had to force himself to stay cool.

“It’s late.”

“I know. It’s also nearly deserted. You and I might be the very last ones here,” he said. Watching her closely, he saw the way she gulped as that truth dawned on her. They were practically alone in this big building. No one would hear if she decided to shout for help.

As if Nick would ever hurt her. He’d sooner cut off his own arm. That didn’t mean, however, that he didn’t intend to torment her just as much as he possibly could.

She was nervous, quivering, her whole body in miniscule motion. And he knew why. He could just put her out of her misery and confront her on her deception, but something made him string her along a little more. Maybe it was the way she’d been stringing him along. Maybe it was just because he liked seeing the wild flutter of her pulse in her neck. Plus hearing the choppy, audible breaths she couldn’t contain.

He liked having her at a disadvantage for once. He also knew how to put her at more of one.

“So, Rose,” he said, finally straightening and stepping closer, “about our very first conversation?”

She slid back, trying to increase the space between them again, but couldn’t go far before hitting the folding screen. Nick pressed closer, relentless in his silent, stalking approach. “I’ve been giving it a lot of thought.”

“You have?” she whispered. “I haven’t been, not at all.”

What a liar. “Really? Because I think by the way you watch me, you’ve been thinking about it a lot.” Lifting an arm, he put it on the top of the screen, blocking her with his body. They were close enough for him to feel the brush of her pants.

“I need to go.”

“I need you to stay.” Tracing the soft line of her neck with the tip of one finger, he added, “I’ve changed my mind about your invitation.”

Her mouth opened. “You don’t mean...”

He tipped her mouth closed, sliding his thumb across her bottom lip. That juicy, full lip he had tasted the other night and wanted to lightly bite now. “You’re very attractive, Rose.”

“But...”

“I can’t take my eyes off you.”

Though she sighed at his touch, her soft body also stiffened. Her fists curled. She obviously didn’t know whether to melt or erupt. It was all he could do not to laugh.

“You were so dead-set against it,” she said in that hot whisper. “Why now?”

“Men can change their minds, too. You’re all I’ve been thinking about for weeks.”

The fists rose to her hips. The sultriness disappeared. She looked indignant, verging on angry. “Oh, yeah?”

“Most definitely.” He dropped a hand onto her shoulder, feeling the flexing of her muscles. He kneaded it softly, easing away the angry tension, knowing he was only going to build it back up again. “I want to touch you, everywhere.”

She shook under his hand.

“Want to taste you.” Knowing how to make the top of her head blow off, both with lust and with fury, he leaned close. Moving his mouth to the side of her neck, he placed an openmouthed kiss at her nape, licking lightly at her skin, flavored the tiniest bit with salt from her energetic dancing. “Aww, Rose, do you know what I want to do to you?”

She just whimpered, not saying a word.

“I’d like to smear something luscious and sticky all over you, then lick it from every sweet crevice of your body.”

That did it. Izzie/Rose shook off her half hungry, half worried daze and reacted with gut fury. She lifted one of those fists and whammed it toward his face. If Nick hadn’t been prepared for it, he might have been caught in the jaw. As it was, he deflected the blow by grabbing her hand in midair.

He didn’t let go, holding her tightly as she struggled to pull away. “Damn you, Nick Santori,” she spat out, completely forgetting her sultry whisper.

“What’s the matter, sweetheart,” he snapped back, “you afraid to get a little oral?” Sliding an arm around her shoulders, still gripping her first, he added, “Or do you just like to give it rather than get it?”

“Put anything in my mouth and I’ll bite it off.”

“Oooh, rough. I like it.” Tracing the opening in the velvety fabric with his finger, he added, “I couldn’t fit anything in your mouth with that thing on your face. Especially not my cock, as you well know.” He pressed hard against her, pushing her back against the wall, grinding into her. Because while her actions and her continued deceptions drove him crazy with anger, her nearness was driving him crazy with lust.

He was rock hard for her, raging with need.

She whimpered and stopped wriggling for a second, her hips bucking toward his in response—once, then again. She lifted one leg slightly, tilting her pelvis so his bulge hit her in the spot she most needed it to. “Oh, God,” she mumbled, “I get the point, you’ve got a lot to offer.”

She’d whispered that, calming herself down, and Nick almost groaned at her determination.

She still hadn’t quite let herself believe it had already gone too far, that her masquerade was over. Izzie had lost her temper at the thought that he’d play the same sexy, wicked games with another woman that he’d played with her the other night in the van. And she’d reacted with honest—if momentary—fury.

Now, having realized it, she was almost desperate to convince herself she could salvage the situation. She was hoping he hadn’t been talking to Izzie, who knew firsthand what he had to give her since she’d taken him into her body the other night. And that he was instead talking to Rose, who was right now feeling the size of his cock as it pressed against her.

Bending to the side, he grasped her bent leg, gripping her thigh to tug her up for a better fit. She groaned as their bodies came together more intimately. He could feel the heat of her—her moisture—through her thin pants and his own. She was wet and aroused, flushed and ready.

Yet still too damn stubborn to whip off the mask and take him on open, honest terms.

“So you ready to play those kinds of games?” he muttered as he rocked against her, inhaling her little cries of pleasure.

“I don’t like to be manhandled,” she muttered through hoarse breaths. The excited pulse in her throat and the desperate tone in her voice made a lie of that statement. She liked it. A lot.

He bit lightly on her bottom lip. “Yes, you do.”

She started to shake her head, but he kissed her, thrusting his tongue against hers, loving the silky feel of her mouth almost as much as he hated the scrape of the mask against his cheek. That mask was what finally brought him back to his senses. He didn’t want the masked woman, he wanted the real one. The one who trusted him and exhibited honesty. And guts.

He’d had enough. Enough of the lying, enough of the deception. Even enough of tormenting her.

So he dropped her leg. “I think we’re done.”

She sagged back against the wall. Even with the mask he could see the way her eyes widened with shock. And hurt. “What?”

It wasn’t easy to stay back, keep his hands off her, ignore the heat in the small room and the overwhelming smell of sexual want filling his head. But he did it. “I changed my mind.”

Turning his back to her, he took one step toward the door. Then he heard her whisper, “You son of a bitch, you do know.”

He put his hand on the knob. Glancing over his shoulder to meet her stare, he frowned and sighed. “Yeah, Izzie. I do.”

Then he walked out.

* * *

FOR THE FIRST TIME in the nearly three months that she’d worked at Leather and Lace, Izzie called in sick Sunday night. She told herself she was a coward ten times over. But that didn’t change the way she felt.

She couldn’t face him. Not after what had happened in her dressing room Saturday night.

His anger had been undeniable. His revenge understandable.

But it was his hurt—that glimpse of sadness on his face as he’d looked at her over his shoulder before walking out the door—that had been the real punch in the gut.

He’d been pursuing her relentlessly for weeks and had finally caught her that night in the van. He’d been nothing but honest about what he was going through—with his family, his life, his attraction to her.

And she’d been lying to him from the first moment. Lying about her secret job, lying about her feelings for him. Lying about what she really wanted.

Hell, she’d even been lying to herself about those last two. She’d been denying her feelings for him though they had existed for as long as she could remember. And she’d pretended she wasn’t dying for him physically when the thought consumed her every waking moment.

Even her parents had zoned right in on her mood when she’d gone to visit them Sunday. She’d tried so hard to paste on a smile, especially around her father, who was just now starting to seem like his old self. But her mother had immediately noticed something was wrong and had questioned her about it.

She’d covered...promising everything was fine.

One more lie to add to her list. She was becoming quite adept at it. And frankly, she hated herself for that.

“You deserve to feel this way,” she told herself as she sat in the closed bakery a few evenings later. It was her quiet time again, when the café staff had left for the day but the evening kitchen and delivery help hadn’t arrived. She was sipping a big, fattening cappuccino laden not only with whipped cream but a swirl of caramel. Feeling like absolute scum.

“Iz?” a voice called. A female one.

Turning on her stool, she saw her cousin, Bridget, enter through the employees’ entrance in the back.

“Hey,” Izzie mumbled.

“I’ve been calling.”

“I don’t usually answer the phone after hours.”

Bridget frowned. “I mean your cell phone.”

“Turned off.” Izzie blew on the steaming coffee drink. “There’s more if you want to make yourself one.”

Bridget looked longingly at the mug and fresh whipped cream and got to work. She remained quiet as she did it, but Izzie saw the worried sidelong glances her cousin cast her way.

When Bridget had finished—topping her hot drink with a sprinkle of cinnamon—she took a seat on the opposite side of the counter. “You look like hell. You haven’t been sleeping.”

“Thanks. And you’re right. I haven’t been.”

Bridget sighed. “Me, neither.”

Finally looking seriously at her cousin, she saw the dark circles under her pretty eyes and the droop of her normally smiling mouth. It was an unusual combination. Bridget was not the cheerful, constantly giddy sort, but she was always quietly happy. And her face reflected that.

Not today, though. “What’s wrong?”

“I hate men.”

“I hear ya,” Izzie mumbled, though her heart wasn’t in it. She didn’t hate Nick, not at all. She just hated that look of disappointment on his face. Hated how it made her feel.

Low. Rotten.

Yes, she’d had a reason to keep her identity hidden from most of the world. But once she’d let Nick lay her down in the back of that van and do things to her that would cause a real good little Catholic girl to faint of shock, all masks should have been torn away.

“I don’t understand them.”

Sensing her cousin was talking about one man in particular, Izzie set aside her own emotional misery. “What’s going on?”

“It’s that guy at work I mentioned a few weeks ago. Dean.”

“The new salesman?”

Bridget nodded. “I finally met him for coffee one day, kind of figuring it was our first date. But obviously I totally misread him. He made it clear he was just interested in getting to know a coworker. And he hasn’t asked me out again.”

Izzie frowned, disliking the look of unhappiness on Bridget’s face. “Have you made it clear you’re interested?”

“I went out with him, didn’t I?”

“Yes, but did you make it clear that you were looking at him as more than just a coworker?”

“How was I supposed to do that?”

“I don’t know—flirting, smiling, brushing up against him. All the typical weapons of the female romantic arsenal.”

“I...don’t suppose I did. We talked mostly about business...at least when I wasn’t griping about my landlord.”

“So, he might not even know you’re interested in him that way. Which means, you need to let him know, then figure out if he gave you the brush or retreated out of self-preservation.”

Bridget blinked. “Self-preservation?”

“Some men won’t make a move on a woman unless they’re sure she’s interested. It takes a lot of self-confidence.”

Self-confidence like Nick’s. It had taken a boatload of it for him to keep pursuing her when she’d kept turning him down.

“Is that what you would do? Make it more obvious?”

“Yeah. I would.”

Her cousin mumbled something, then cleared her throat. “You know, I’d think you’re right. But there’s something about Dean that makes me think he’s not quite as nice and shy as he seems.”

Izzie instantly stiffened. “Has he done anything to you?”

“Done? Oh, goodness, no. He’s barely looked at me since the day we went out. But there have been one or two times when I’ve caught him staring at me—with this, oh, God, it sounds so stupid, but I’d swear he looks almost hungrily at me when he thinks I’m not looking.”

“Hungry’s good. If it’s coming from someone you want to want you.” Not just a roomful of horny men turned on by a naked dancer. Her audience sometimes annoyed the hell out of her. Sometimes it seemed like dancing naked alone would be better than dancing naked in front of a crowd. Of course, she wouldn’t get paid for that. A definite drawback.

“Not if he constantly hides it. And there’s more, he sometimes just comes across so much harder—tougher—than this nice, quiet, soft-spoken salesman. It’s almost like he’s trying really hard to be on his best behavior.”

Izzie didn’t like the sound of that. Guys who tried that hard to be on their best behavior had to be pretty bad during their not-quite-best behavior. She said as much to her cousin, but Bridget waved away her concerns.

Though they talked a little while longer, Izzie couldn’t keep her mind on anything. Her cousin noticed her distraction and tried to get her to talk about it, but she wasn’t ready to.

It wasn’t that she didn’t trust Bridget to keep her secret. Or that she feared her cousin would be shocked by it. But the truth was, it didn’t seem right for Bridget to be the one she talked to about this. Not when Nick was the first one who’d realized what she was doing on Saturday and Sunday nights.

She wanted to talk to him.

She wanted him. Period.

She just didn’t know if it was too late to get him. Judging by the way he’d slammed out of her dressing room Saturday night, she greatly feared it was.

* * *

IT TOOK EVERY OUNCE of willpower Nick possessed to avoid going into Natale’s Bakery that week. Something inside him insisted that he go up there and confront Izzie now that he felt at least moderately calm. Unlike the way he’d felt Saturday night at the club.

Something else demanded that he stay away, let her figure out what the hell it was she wanted from him and clue him in when she was ready. Maybe he’d accommodate her. Maybe he wouldn’t. It depended entirely upon what she wanted: Him in her life, him out of her life? A secret affair, or a public one? A lover...a friend?

There were a lot of different possibilities. He honestly wasn’t sure which he was most hoping for. The only thing he knew he wanted was for Izzie to come clean with him about everything. Then they could figure out the rest.

He assumed it would take a while. Considering she’d called in sick from work Sunday night, he had the feeling she was going to avoid the confrontation for as long as possible. But, unless she quit working at the club, she wasn’t going to be able to avoid him forever.

Quit working at the club. He couldn’t deny that his first reaction had been to want her to.

He didn’t want other men looking at Izzie. He didn’t want other men fantasizing about her. And he most certainly didn’t want anyone getting fixated on her...fixated enough to stalk her, threaten her or hurt her.

Once he’d calmed down, though, he realized he understood exactly why she’d gone to work at Leather and Lace. It was probably for the same reasons he’d gone to work there.

She was every bit as out of her element in this old-new environment as he was. Fitting in about as well as he did.

Fitting in...hell, what he was doing right now was proof he didn’t fit in. It was Thursday night and he was holding a brown paper bag clutched to his side. Walking to his building, his eyes scanned side to side in the hope that he didn’t bump into his parents or another elderly relative who’d rat him out.

Chinese carry-out was probably grounds for his mother to call for an exorcism. Especially since he’d refused yet another doggy bag full of calzones and Pop’s lasagna tonight. If he bit another piece of pasta, he was going to explode like the giant marshmallow man in Ghostbusters.

“Tough,” he muttered, his mouth watering for the kung pao chicken he could smell from the bag. Not to mention the egg rolls, fried rice...he’d bought enough to feed an army.

Nick knew a little something about clandestine missions. Enough to know that when you were on one, you accomplished as much as you could the first time, in the hopes that you could delay going back. And a big bag of food meant leftovers. Enough to last a week or so, meaning no more dangerous, secret excursions to Mr. Wu’s for a while.

Unless, of course, he had unexpected company for dinner. Female company. Like the female standing right outside his apartment door, her hand lifted to knock.

“Izzie?” he mumbled as soon as he stepped off the elevator, wondering not only how she’d gotten into the building, but also how she’d found out where he lived.

She whirled around, her eyes wide and bright. She hadn’t knocked yet, which meant she hadn’t quite prepared herself to face him. He’d caught her off guard.

Nick tried not to wonder what this meant, tried to remain casual. Tried not to notice how curvy and inviting her body looked in her tight tank top and sexy short skirt.

It would be like not noticing an earthquake shaking your house down around you. She was just too beautiful to ignore.

As they continued to stare, he finally murmured, “Hi.”

“Hi.”

They said nothing else for a moment. Long enough for him to notice the smudges of shadow beneath her pretty brown eyes and the paleness in her cheeks. She was practically biting a hole in her bottom lip as she tried to figure out what to say.

He couldn’t help taking pity on her...at least taking pity on that gorgeous lip before she bit a hole right through it. Shifting his bag to his other hip, he walked to the door and lifted his keys to the lock. “You hungry?”

She glanced at the bag. “No pizza?”

“Nope. I’ve got egg foo young, lo mein, couple of different chicken dishes, you name it.”

“Oh, God, feed me,” she exclaimed, following him into the apartment with a smile on her face.

Once inside, she tossed her purse onto his couch, a large one that dominated the small living area of the very small apartment. He didn’t mind—compared to sharing a barracks with twenty other guys, this was pure luxury. He’d picked the place because it was clean and high, with a great view of the college a few blocks away. And he’d barely started furnishing it, figuring he’d get the most important things first.

Big comfortable reclining leather couch. Big TV for watching football. He could live for a while on that...plus the huge comfortable bed dominating his bedroom.

A flow of warmth washed through him at the thought of that bed. He’d imagined Izzie in it many times. He’d dreamed of her in it many times.

Now, here she was. So close he could smell her perfume and hear her breaths. Like a fantasy come to life.

“Minimalist, huh?” she asked as she stared pointedly at the couch and the big-screen TV.

“I’m working on it.”

He couldn’t believe how normal they sounded. Like two old friends getting together for dinner. Considering the last two times they’d been alone they’d been either fighting or practically ripping each other’s clothes off, he figured that was a pretty good trick.

“I, uh, wanted to...”

“Save it,” he muttered, not wanting to start their discussion yet. “I’m hungry. Let’s eat first.”

Relief washed over her pretty face as she followed him into the kitchen. When she lifted something up onto the counter, he realized she hadn’t come empty-handed.

“Peace offering.” She pointed toward a six-pack of beer.

“Are we at war?” he asked, repeating a question she’d once asked him.

“We’ve been doing a lot of battling.”

Yes, they had. And he, for one, was tired of it.

Getting some bowls, plates and silverware, he spread all the food out on his small kitchen table, and they each loaded up, smorgasbord style. “Where...”

“Do you mind the floor?” he asked.

Shrugging, she followed him into the living room, watching as he sat down in front of the sofa, stretching his legs out in front of him, with his plate on his lap. It wasn’t quite as easy for her, since she wore a skirt.

Nick forced himself to focus on his food, not on her long, sexy legs so close to his on the floor. Picking up the TV remote, he flicked the power button, then channeled up to a station playing soft music. It was background noise, filling the silence that grew thicker as they ate...as they drew closer to the conversation they both knew they were about to have.

When they’d finished, he took their plates into the kitchen. She followed, working on putting away the food. Within a few moments, there was nothing left to do—no dinner to eat, no dishes to clean—nothing to do but face each other.

“I don’t want to do this,” he said, surprising them both.

“Do what?”

“Fight with you. Do battle. Whatever you want to call it.”

She shook her head. “I don’t want to, either. But I need to tell you... I need to get this out.”

Crossing his arms, he leaned back against the kitchen counter and waited. “Okay.”

She closed her eyes, then spoke in a rush. “I’m sorry I was dishonest with you about being the Crimson Rose. At first, I didn’t trust you—didn’t trust anyone. I’m sure you know that my parents wouldn’t be happy about what I’m doing, and I don’t want to do anything to add to my father’s health problems.”

“I understand that.” He did. It made perfect sense for her to go incognito at her risqué job. “But once you and I...

“I know.” She raked a hand through her brown hair, which was loose around her shoulders tonight, rather than up in its usual ponytail. “I should have told you immediately. Instead I panicked and pushed you away.”

“Yeah. I gotta say, I felt pretty damn humiliated when I figured it out. I should have known you.”

“I am a performer. I know about portraying someone else.”

“About that...when did you start in this line of work?”

“Stripping’s not my line of work. Dancing is. I was with the Rockettes until a year ago.”

“You were one of those kick-line chicks?”

She glared at him. “It’s harder than it looks.”

“Right. Tough life dancing with giant nutcrackers and Santa Claus.” He quickly put his hand up. “I’m joking. You must have been damn good to make it.”

“I was,” she said with complete confidence. “But I got bored with it and went with a modern-dance company in Manhattan. Then came the injury. Then came Dad’s stroke. Now I’m here.”

Her life in a nutshell.

“And now what?” he asked, knowing that was the question he really wanted answered. Where was she going from here? Where did she see him fitting into that?

“I don’t know. Right now I’m biding time, trying to figure out what I want.” Her jaw tightening, she continued. “But it’s not the bakery, and it’s not the neighborhood. It’s not Gloria’s life—a repeat of my mother’s. And it’s not my sister Mia’s life as a hard-ass lawyer with tons of drive and no happiness.”

“I understand,” he murmured.

Nodding, she said, “I’m sure you do. If anyone would, it’s you.” The tension easing from her shoulders, Izzie walked across the small kitchen, covering the distance between them in a few short steps. Putting her hand on his chest, she looked up at him, her eyes bright. “Which is why I have to repeat this—I am sorry, Nick. Please say you’ll forgive me.”

He hesitated, then offered her a short nod. Appearing relieved, she began to pull her hand away, but he covered it with his, not letting her go. “Where do we go from here?”

She hesitated, so he pressed her. “We can’t be just friends.”

“We can’t be a couple.”

Their eyes locked. They both said the same four words at exactly the same moment. “We can be lovers.”

Nick chuckled as Izzie smiled. Tightening her fingers in his shirt, she scraped the tips of them along the base of his neck. “Where I’d like to go right now is into your bedroom to see if it’s furnished any better than your living room is.”

Lifting her hand to his mouth, he pressed a warm kiss on the inside of her palm. “Oh, it is, angel. You bet it is.”