Wicked Games (McCade Brothers 1.50)

G.I. Joe arrived next, complete with biceps-revealing cammies that couldn’t possibly be military issue, and worked his way between her and Lee Ann. “I’m not just a job, ladies…I’m an adventure.”

She laughed and spun away. Ginger danced over and handed her a drink. The lemon drop, heavy on the vodka, went down smooth as ice. She gave the empty glass to G.I. Joe. “Here’s your next mission, soldier.” He saluted dutifully and danced away.

The vacant spot he left behind offered her a view of the club. She spotted Kylie and Trevor cuddled up together by the bar. The sight of Trevor brought unwanted thoughts of Ian flooding back. Was he here too? She scanned the room for one ridiculously painful heartbeat. No sign of him. A heavy sensation sank through her chest to settle in her stomach. She labeled it relief and turned back to the stage.

The second drink kicked in, giving her a nice buzz. She raised her arms over her head and looked up to watch the shadows they cast in the purple lights shining down from the ceiling rig. Someone behind her chose that moment to give her a hip bump, and toppled her off balance. She stumbled forward and might have fallen, but two strong arms caught her and pulled her up against a hard, male chest.

Her breath clogged her lungs for a moment, then burst out in a rush. “Thanks,” she managed and looked up at her rescuer. A black ski mask obscured his face. A soft, black, long-sleeved shirt covered what felt like a carved-from-granite upper body. Dark jeans hugged his lean hips and molded his thighs.

A low, almost gravelly voice reached her ears. “You okay, Angel?”

…

Ian didn’t miss Stacy’s quick inhale, or the way her eyes took a leisurely tour of his body. Then she smiled up at him. A slow, sexy smile that grabbed him by the balls even as he fought the impulse to give her hell for unleashing it on someone who, for all she knew, was an ax murderer.

“I’m way better than okay,” she replied, still working the naughty-girl smile.

He didn’t trust himself to reply. His temper already hovered at the top of the red zone from watching her flirt, flaunt her traffic-stopping body in the scrap of a costume, and command the attention of every guy in the club. When they’d first met, she’d been a stripper, yet strangely, the fact that she’d earned her living dancing next to naked had never bothered him. Why? He’d known she wanted him, and only him. But now, irrationally, he felt jealous of himself, because she stood there sending him an open invitation while assuming he was a stranger.

Apparently she wasn’t looking for the strong, silent type tonight. She took a step back, and reluctantly, he dropped his arms.

“Thanks for the save, Mystery Man.”

“My pleasure, Angel.”

She tipped her head to the side and stared at him. “It could be. We’ll see.” Then she frowned a little. “What the hell are you supposed to be, anyway?”

He closed the distance between them and brought his mouth down next to her ear. Her familiar scent immediately teased his nose. Even the ski mask couldn’t protect him. “Cat burglar.”

“Mmm. A bad boy.” Her lips moved provocatively to form the words. He imagined lifting his mask, pressing his lips to hers, and sucking her breath right into his lungs. “Guess I’d better keep an eye on you, so you don’t run off with anything I don’t want you to have.”

“You can try, but I’ve got very”—he ran his fingers up her bare arm, over her shoulder and along her collarbone to the sensitive spot where it dipped into the hollow of her throat—“quick hands.”

His touch provoked a small, involuntary shiver. Maybe her reaction unsettled her, because she danced a few steps away. “Sometimes I prefer slow hands,” she said, and shot him another lethal smile.

Some jerkoff in a caveman costume danced up behind her. She turned. As she did, her skirt flared out and offered anybody with sharp eyes a glimpse of the most luscious ass he’d ever had the pleasure of sinking his teeth into. He looked around and discovered that practically every man in the vicinity had sharp eyes. Then she did a fascinating swishing move with her hips. His attention zoomed in on that mesmerizing ass again. He narrowed his eyes. Could he…? Was that her thong he could see through the gauzy skirt of her outfit?

Caveman ran his meaty paws over her hips and around to rest at the small of her back, his fingers riding the swell of her backside. Fuck it. He was going to arrest this guy…

Before he could stalk over and break up the grope-fest, Stacy went low, ducked out of Caveman’s hold, and swiveled up to dance with Old Spice. Old Spice actually had some real dance moves—moves that didn’t involve running his hands all over his partner. Ian experienced another flare of jealously as he watched them fit their bodies together and execute a fluid groin-to-groin dirty dance, even as he recognized they connected on an artistic level—one dancer to another. He wasn’t exactly hip-locked, but he couldn’t compete with Old Spice’s talent.

Suddenly, he deeply regretted the “wait her out” plan he’d subscribed to for the last six weeks. He’d wanted to take their relationship to the next level. What if she’d been testing his commitment by breaking up with him? A very possible scenario, considering her upbringing had taught her to question everyone’s motives. Instead of going after her balls-out, he’d responded by diving headfirst down the exit chute she’d opened…at least as far as she could see. And what, exactly, had she been up to in the meantime? Had she found other playmates to keep her occupied? The thought twisted his guts like an invisible fist.

G.I. Joe reappeared with another drink. She trailed her fingers along the edge of Old Spice’s towel, and then turned and smiled at G.I. Joe. He handed her the drink. Everyone watched as she tipped her head back and indulged in a long sip. Her cammie-clad lackey wrapped an arm around her waist and tried to pull her close. Stacy kissed his cheek and slithered out of his grasp. She hooked her arm around Ian’s neck and swayed into him.

“Hello again, Mystery Man.”

“Hello, Angel.” He brought his arm up and splayed his hand across the base of her spine, just below her wings. His touch remained light, but he knew damn well the gesture looked proprietary to their audience of hopefuls dancing nearby. He felt proprietary, and protective, and possessive as all get-out. But she was enjoying the dance and all the attention. If he got too territorial she’d shake him off and move on to the next guy.

Keeping her arm around his neck, she turned so her wings pressed against his torso and his hand spanned her waist. Her head brushed his chest as she finished her drink. G.I. Joe hustled over, hips leading, and attempted to draw her away under the guise of taking her empty glass. Stacy relinquished her glass but stayed where she was. He couldn’t help smiling beneath his increasingly hot, itchy ski mask. Take a hike, Joe.

“What do you think, MM? Spotted anything you’d like to get your quick hands on?”

Was she all talk, or was she seriously looking to hook up with a complete stranger tonight? He fought the urge to rip off his mask and ask what the hell she thought she was doing. Instead, he flattened his hand against her stomach, spreading his fingers so his thumb brushed the swell of her breast and his little finger rested south of the subtle indentation of her belly button. “Something might have caught my eye.” He swept his thumb over her breast, as far as he could reach, coming dangerously close to her nipple.

She sucked in a fast, shallow breath as her nipples tightened to stiff little points beneath the flimsy fabric of her costume. The swift, involuntary sign of arousal pleased him to no end, even as he wondered how she could allow a random guy on a dance floor to put his hands all over her.

Then she returned the favor. She rocked her hips back into the cradle of his, humming with satisfaction when the hard ridge of his deliriously happy cock nestled against her ass. She tipped her head back and looked up at him. “Might? You don’t sound too sure.”