Chapter 10
10
Shanna
W ith a shaking hand, I shove the door open and enter the cool, air-conditioned space of Sneak Peek. At night, the club still has that golden shimmer. But instead of the homey warmth it conveyed during the day, a shimmering glow now illuminates the club. It sparkles and glitters like old Hollywood, except this classic glamour provides the backdrop for today's beautiful people to have dazzling sex.
Del and Alejandro have created a perfect ambiance.
Just past the club’s front door, wall-to-wall bodies gyrate to a suggestive techno beat. Couples grind, imitating sex vertically. In fact, one couple against the wall, shielded by the man’s long leather duster, probably is having sex. They’ve got a few onlookers, and no one seems to be complaining.
The bar beyond is crowded with people drinking their liquid fortification. Several men crowd around a woman who’s downing a shot as if they're waiting for her to give one—or several—of them a sign that she's ready for more personal action.
The whole place oozes sex.
I so don’t belong here. Sex has never been my thing. I’ve had it, of course. A college boyfriend was my first, but he didn’t have much experience. Nor did he understand my dancing. We spent the relationship fighting because he assumed I was sleeping with my partner at the time, which I wasn’t.
A few years later, I had a one-night stand after a wedding. Stupid—and awful. Downright bad sex.
Jonathan…utter disaster—right on the dance floor we practiced on for years. I clung to him out of desperation. He took my body as if he was exorcising some demon. The whole episode lasted less than ten minutes. And created twelve months of pure havoc.
By tonight’s end, if I'm not careful, I’ll be adding Alejandro to my short body count. I said I wouldn’t have sex with him. But…will refusing to let loose in a club like this rouse my blackmailer’s suspicion? I can’t let this opportunity slip past me without making the most of it. I have to ferret out this asshole before the California Dance Star.
But if I’m honest with myself, that's not the only reason I’m contemplating surrendering to Alejandro. He lights me up in a way I've never experienced. Maybe I can enjoy him—and myself—just this once.
Then again, do I really have the will to resist such a sinfully sexy man, especially when he lures me with an offer to fulfill my secret exhibitionism fantasy? He makes me feel desired and understood, accepted even. Admitting that is uncomfortable, but even when Alejandro annoys me, he turns me on. Maybe the chemistry between us is worth exploring.
And maybe I’m out of my mind.
Crossing the room, I'm conscious of male eyes following me. God, why did Alejandro send me this sheer halter top, held in place by nothing more than two little bows, and a matching wrap-around skirt? Why did he insist I wear a skimpy outfit in shades of soft creamy-gold that blends with my skin?
“Hi,” a voice whispers in my ear. I turn to find a guy with dimples and incredible blue eyes visually eating me up. “Want to dance?”
He’s attractive. Who am I kidding? He’s gorgeous. And the way he stares makes me hyperaware of my body—and his desire for it. But to dance with him? Touch him?
The thought of getting physical with this guy—with most any guy—isn’t quite as tempting. For me, that’s typical. Something inside me always shies away.
Except with Alejandro.
“I—I…”
“She’s spoken for tonight.”
Alejandro. I recognize that deep, slightly accented voice caressing the back of my neck. And the tingle that shimmies up my spine when he wraps his arm around my bare midriff in a gesture meant to lay his claim.
Dimples shoots me a brief look of regret. “Sure, Mr. Diaz.”
“She’ll be around later, in the chrome room.”
That information perks Dimples up. He rakes me with a lingering glance. “Sweet. I’ll definitely be watching.”
Before I can protest, Alejandro urges me forward, to an employees-only entrance, and shuts the door behind us. The decibel level goes down about a thousand percent.
I whirl to face him “You invited him to watch us?”
I’m glad I’ve managed to parlay my shock into actual words quickly. Because once I see his casual black shirt unbuttoned all the way down the front, exposing a healthy glimpse of steel-hard pecs and smooth bronze skin, I lose my train of thought.
“Of course. He is one of the newer regulars, and he was here last week. Think of him as a potential suspect.”
His reply has my gaze bouncing back up to his face, where a hint of a smile plays. The bastard knows I’ve been staring at his chest.
I need dispassion, not lust. Focus. “He had no idea who I was. No concept that I’m Kristoff's partner.”
“Not that he let on. But if he was guilty, why would he tip his hand?”
Good question. One for which I have no answer.
“You’re not required to play this scene. Do you want to change your mind?”
He’s wrong; I’m absolutely required to play this scene, at least if I want to win the competition and hold that trophy in my hand after two decades of hard work. But that’s not the only reason. If I want to know what it feels like to have people truly watch me, I have to go through with this. And if I want to feel pleasure in this man’s arms… Well, I can’t chicken out.
“Lead the way.”
With a slow nod, Alejandro grabs my hand and gives it a reassuring squeeze, then leads me down the hall. Despite my nerves, I have a hard time ripping my gaze from his tight ass, displayed so mouth-wateringly in black slacks. The view alone makes me want to jump him.
I need to slow down. This sexual fixation isn't like me. Being too into Alejandro isn’t a good idea, either. I’m not interested in flings, and a guy who co-owns a club like Sneak Peek probably doesn't do relationships.
Tearing my gaze from him as we file down the hall, I notice open doors containing offices with computers manned by focused staff members. A wall clock says it’s ten ’til nine.
The butterflies in my stomach are head-banging and have set up a rager. Despite my excitement and curiosity, I’m anxious. Will I throw up before Alejandro and I even start?
He stops in front of a door, peering at me as if he can read my thoughts. “Relax. You’ll be great. We’ll handle this together.”
“Why are you being nice?”
He cocks a brow, the strong angles of his face dusted by shadow and stubble. The frankly sexual stare he sends me makes me suck in my breath.
“Certainly, it hasn’t escaped your notice that I want you.”
How could it when that thrills me so much? I shake my head.
“I’m also determined to catch the scum taking advantage of our members. You need to catch him, too, so Kristoff’s video doesn't fall into the judges’ hands. Tonight will be a win-win for us both.”
“Is that the only reason?”
“I suspect you're not the untouchable ice queen you want me—and everyone else—to believe.” A wolfish grin crawls across his face. “But I intend to find out tonight for sure. Personally, I think we’ll be fire together.”
Before I can slap up the armor he’s verbally stripped away, he stows my purse, pushes the door open, and struts through.
We enter the room I observed yesterday. But things have changed. Someone pushed the chrome bed to the shadowed edge of the stage, nearly out of sight. The rest of the furniture is gone, leaving a large swath of the painted concrete floor well-lit and totally empty.
The bedding is different as well. Luxurious white and silvery linens with fluffy pillows decorate the bed, looking sumptuous on top of the pale downy blanket. A far cry from yesterday’s stark black dungeon vibe.
“What's this?” I ask him.
“I thought you’d be more comfortable if we changed up the room to something softer. Something more…you.”
Normally, I would protest his judgment that I’m soft. But he's right; the look of the room does reflect me. How much of the deep-down me does he see?
Maybe it’s not smart, but I'm touched that he went to the extra effort. “Thank you.”
“You’re very welcome. Come with me.” Alejandro tugs me to the edge of the stage. Deep in gray shadows, I spot a lone, imposing figure.
“Hi, Shanna.”
“Del?”
“Yes. We’re ready to go. How are you?”
I resist the urge to press a hand against my fluttering belly. It would reveal too much, make me look vulnerable. I’m already feeling too stripped to my soul for comfort. “Fine.”
He nods. "The security cameras have been positioned to watch the audience, specifically the corner in which we think the last video was shot. The lighting in the audience is a bit brighter, so the cameras can capture whatever’s going on. None of the cameras will be pointed at the stage, and Alejandro will take care of you if something unexpected happens. Security is through that door." He points to the door without a handle. “Just knock. They’ll let you in immediately.”
They’ve thought of everything. “Thank you.”
“We’ll start slow,” Alejandro assures me. “Right now, it’s just you and me. Del will watch. As you get comfortable, he’ll open the door. Hopefully, your blackmailer will be waiting.”
Del watching us. Other strangers staring. Now comes the hard—and arousing— part. I wish the thought of Alejandro touching me didn’t turn me on so much…almost as much as I wish the thought of a crowd seeing our every move didn’t make my blood race.
But it all does. Unbearably. And Alejandro knows it.
I bite my lip. “O-okay.”
Alejandro smiles, something that both sets me at ease and makes my heart trip. In one look, he manages to both calm my fears and rouse my desire.
I can’t shake the feeling this night will be unlike anything I ever imagined.
Del is a big shadow sitting in the dark corner, head cocked and arms crossed over his wide chest.
“Focus on me, querida, ” Alejandro murmurs. “Only me.”
I give him a shaky nod, and he tugs on the hand he's holding, pulling my body into his.
“Dance with me.”
Did I hear him right? “D-dance?”
He nods. “Just dance.”
After a quick snap of his fingers, music begins to filter through the room, a soft but spicy Latin tune, perfect for a rumba. In fact, I recognize the tune.
Alejandro leads me into a basic, my body brushing his with every step, as my feet move automatically to the beat. His unbuttoned shirt flutters as he moves, offering tantalizing glimpses of hard pectorals, flat, brown nipples, hints of dark hair. My mind whirls with possibilities.
“You recall the exact music we danced to at the charity gala?”
“I've never forgotten a single thing about you.”