Mostly, though, it’s the heat in Wyatt’s eyes. The desire I see on his face. The memory of his touch.
I remember everything—and I’m fantasizing about even more. I don’t want this feeling to end. This exultant thrill. This wild ride.
I look out into the dark of the club, and the men at the nearby tables seem to fade away. I’m seeing only Wyatt now.
I slide my hands over my hips, my waist, my breasts. I do that, and I imagine it’s his touch. His seduction.
I’m dancing for him, and only him.
I’ll get the job, I think. I’m certain of it.
But as I look in his eyes, I can’t help but wonder if that’s really a good thing. Because now I’ll be seeing him every day.
And in the end, that’s just going to hurt all the more . . .
7
She was driving him crazy.
The way she held his eyes while she moved, so bold and flirtatious, as if she was just daring him to pull her into his arms and kiss her senseless.
Daring him? No, strike that. She wasn’t just daring him, she was throwing down a goddamned gauntlet. But was she challenging him to claim her? Or was she goading him that he couldn’t have her?
Damned if he knew. Right then, Wyatt was certain of only one thing—his body was tight, his cock was hard, and he wanted to be somewhere other than here. Someplace without other people.
Someplace with a bed.
It was the dancing that did it. Because Kelsey Draper and her dancing had always been his downfall. After all, that was what had started everything all those years ago. He’d seen her dancing to a bouncy pop song, her interpretation elevating the music and lyrics. He’d seen passion and precision, sensuality and seduction. She’d enchanted him. Cast a spell over him.
He’d seen the magic in her, so much larger than the quiet, subdued girl he’d met before. The Kelsey he’d watched dancing had surprised him. She was vibrant. Alive. Unexpected.
He’d fallen hard, and then she’d broken his heart.
He wouldn’t make the same mistake again.
He might want her—hell, he did want her. For his bed. For his show.
But he damn sure wasn’t going to trust her. He’d already learned that lesson, and he really didn’t need a refresher course.
As he watched, she dropped to the floor, then used one hand to rip open her shirt before letting it fall down her arms. She writhed on stage, her seductive movements making him ache inside, all the more when he imagined taking it further. Her wrists bound not with a tattered blouse, but with silk ropes. And not just her wrists, but her legs as well. Red ropes, the only color in an otherwise black and white image. Her body twisting, and the audience unsure if she was fighting the bonds or reveling in her own rising passion.
She was exactly what he needed for the show. The complete package. Hell, he’d known that from the moment she’d walked into his studio.
So why was he hesitating?
Because he wanted her?
Or was it because he wanted to punish her?
Or maybe it was even more insidious than that. Maybe it came down to how much was riding on this show. It was his shot, after all. The apex of all his work and sacrifice. The chance to escape from under the black cloud his father had left hanging over him.
The chance to prove himself to his family.
To live up to the goddamn Segel name.
But that would only happen if the show was a success.
So maybe that was why he was hesitating. Because the moment he committed was the moment the truth crept toward him on little cat paws, and it would either curl up and purr, or rip his heart out.
On stage, Kelsey rose, then did some sort of pirouette, twirling as she pulled off one of those transparent, colored scarves that served as a barely-there skirt. Wyatt imagined his hands on her waist, the brush of her skin against his palms as she spun. He could imagine her heat. The way she shivered under his touch.
So help him, he wanted that. Wanted to hear her sighs. Those little moans he remembered.
Another scarf went flying, and he straightened so that he was no longer leaning against the pillar. Instead, he shifted his weight from foot to foot as he tried to tamp down the rising lust. The violent need. To not only have her, but to have her in his show.
He wanted her, yes. But she was an indulgence he couldn’t justify. An indulgence and a risk, because he knew damn well that she’d run if things got too intense.
And damn but his show was intense. That was the point, after all.
He couldn’t take a chance on her, no matter how much he might want to. Couldn’t even bring her in only long enough to test her out. Not on such a tight schedule. Not when there was no way to ensure that she wouldn’t bolt.
Kelsey was a risk he simply couldn’t take. He had to get it right. There was too much at stake for him to be wrong about her.
The final scarf fluttered to the ground, and Wyatt’s pulse pounded in his throat as he moved closer, his mouth going dry as she reached for her bra, pulled it over her head, then tossed it aside.
The music faded out, and the dim, colored stage lights made the flesh-colored G-string blend into her pale skin, enhancing the illusion that she now stood before the entire room not just topless, but one hundred percent, birthday-suit naked.
She took a bow as the lights came up, and the men in the audience actually stood to applaud her. She’d blown away the competition, and even though Wyatt wanted to rush the stage and wrap his jacket around her, he couldn’t deny the swell of pride he felt for her victory. There might be two girls still to follow, but everyone in that room knew who deserved to win the kitty.
“Baby doll, you sure can move,” one guy yelled to her.
She crossed her arms over her chest, her eyes darting to the guy, and then immediately away.
He saw the familiar innocence, and he saw a hint of fear.
A fierce protectiveness welled up inside of him, and he took a sideways step toward the guy, who was standing now, a twenty dollar bill waving in his hand.
“Sir?” A waitress stood in front of the prick, one of the contest collection buckets thrust out in front of her. “You’ll want to put that in here. That’s how you vote for your favorite.”
“Screw the contest,” the prick said, as Kelsey hurried to put her shirt back on. “I wanna give this to that little piece of ass personally.”
“What the hell did you call her?” Wyatt asked, taking another step toward the bastard.
But the guy either didn’t hear or chose to ignore. He was drunk—that much was obvious—but he moved with remarkable alacrity as he clambered up onto the stage, then grabbed Kelsey’s wrist and yanked her toward him. He slipped the twenty into her G-string, despite the fact that she was tugging away from him.
He jerked her back, making her cry out as she stumbled toward him.
Then he started to slide his arm around her waist, but he didn’t get that far. Wyatt had already leaped onto the stage, and as the bartender came rushing from the opposite direction, Wyatt grabbed the drunk’s shoulder and pushed him back, forcing him to get his filthy paws off Kelsey.