"Yes," he moaned. "But not at Destiny."
I stared at him. And then--though my body was hot and prickly with desire, though all I wanted in that moment was to feel that gorgeous cock inside me--I laughed.
"Bastard," I said.
"Christ," he said, his voice tight with control. "This isn't how I planned it, but I have to have you. Now"
"Planned it?"
"You came out of nowhere and knocked me off kilter," he said, as he reached into the drawer of a small table beside the couch and pulled out a condom. "I will have you properly in my bed, Sloane, make no mistake. But I'm going to fuck you now."
"I--"
"No. Don't say a word," he said as he rolled the condom on. "Just lift your dress, take off your panties, and come here."
"I should go," I said, even as my sex clenched in anticipation and my nipples tightened painfully. "I should just turn around and leave."
"But you won't."
I hesitated, and part of me wanted to leave simply to keep him on edge. But that wasn't happening. I wanted this too much. Wanted Tyler too much.
"No," I whispered as I reached up under my dress and slid my panties off. "I won't go." I left the panties on the floor and walked slowly to him.
"That's it," he said, as I climbed onto the couch, my dress spread out wide around us. I was on my knees, my shoes still on, my sex slick and wet. I reached down and found his cock, then positioned myself right over it so that the tip was barely inside me. He locked eyes with me, and then, before I could react, he grabbed my hips and thrust me down, impaling me on him.
I cried out even as he did, his body arching up as he buried himself inside me and I arched back, taking him deeper.
He moved one hand from my hip to my clit, then stroked me even as I rode him, sparks of pleasure building inside me, spiraling up, faster and faster.
"Christ, you're beautiful," he said, as he stroked and teased me. I reached out, my hands to his chest. Even under the shirt, I could feel the beat of his heart.
His eyes were open, locked firmly on mine, and I could see the storm rising inside him.
"Tyler," I murmured as one of his hands reached up and found my breast, stroking and teasing my curves before lightly pinching my nipple and sending shocks of pleasure shooting through me.
"That's it, baby," he said as my body clenched around him. His fingers continued their dance on my clit, teasing and tormenting as I soared higher and higher.
"Hands on my shoulders," he said. "That's it. I want to watch you ride me," he demanded as I did as he said, impaling myself on him, feeling him go deep, so deep, and with every thrust I could see the explosion building in him, and feel the matching rise in me.
"Come on," he said, his voice tight and on the edge. "Explode with me. I want to watch you come."
As if his words were an incantation, I shattered into a million pieces, my body clenching tight around him as if he were the only thing holding me to this earth.
"Yes," he said, his clever fingers keeping me aloft even as he thrust into me again and again before finally reaching release himself, and then collapsing against the back of the couch, his arms going around me to pull me down on top of him.
"Wow," I said. I lay limp on top of him. When I found the strength, I lifted my head. "All that and you still won't let me work at Destiny."
He flashed a lazy grin. "That's not the job for you. I'll help you find something, though. But I'm curious, of all the strip joints in all the towns in all the world, why do you want so desperately to work at mine?"
I had to grin at the bastardization of the Bogart quote, but I also knew I had to give him an answer. Another lie. And though that reality hadn't bothered me at all just a short while ago, now it made my stomach twist.
"A friend told me that Destiny's a good place to wait tables. Good tips. Good management. Decent customers."
"And?" he asked as I moved off him to curl up on the couch beside him.
"And when I arrived in Chicago, it turns out she doesn't work here anymore. I tried to track her down, but nobody's heard from her. I'm worried." And that, at least, was the truth.
"What's her name?"
"Amy. Amy Dawson, but she may not have used her real name."
He nodded pensively. "Early twenties? Blond? Tattoo of a daisy?"
A ribbon of jealousy curled through me. "On her ass. Yes."
"She turned in her costume and moved on."
"Costume?"
"School girl uniform," he said. "A bit cliched, I'll grant you. But very popular with the clientele."
"I'll bet. So she got a new job. Where?"
"Vegas, I think. But I don't know for certain. I was her employer, not her parent."
"What about lover?" I asked.
He looked at me for a moment, and I swear he could see the jealousy brewing in my eyes. Then he shook his head. "No. She had a bit of a crush. Made a move once, but I deflected it."
"Blond, pretty, ass nice enough to take a peek at now and then. Why'd you turn her down?"
His brow rose ever so slightly. "For one thing, I don't date the employees. Did that once, a long time ago, and realized it's not good for business or my sanity. For another, she was too young. I like my women to have at least a few years of drinking age under their belt. Seasons the palate." He cast a long, slow look over me. "Makes things more interesting."
"Oh. All right, then." I cleared my throat. "Anyway, that's how I ended up at Destiny. And now I want to find Amy."
"I believe you."
"Why wouldn't you?"
His laugh was low and humorless. "So many reasons. Mostly, I don't trust easily, and yet despite everything I find myself wanting to trust you. It's a bit unsettling."
"Despite everything?"
He reached over and stroked my cheek, effectively deflecting the question. "It's possible she left a forwarding address when she moved. She would have been paid in full, so we didn't have to mail a check. But we try to get addresses for tax purposes. In this kind of business we rarely have a current one, but I can check for you."
"I'd appreciate it," I said as he adjusted his slacks, then stood and fastened his belt.
As he walked to the filing cabinet, I retrieved my panties and put them on, then followed him. He opened the D-F cabinet, which made me smile, then pulled out a file on Amy Dawson.
He flipped it open, scanned it, then handed it to me.
There wasn't much. In addition to the usual things like phone number and social security number, the employee form listed Candy's address in Indiana as her permanent address and a local address that had been crossed out with red pen. In the margin, someone had written, "Vegas" along with a date two weeks prior.
I looked at Tyler. "Guess you were right."
"But you're still not satisfied."
"She's not here. All that means is I need to keep looking. I need an address," I continued. "I'll do an Internet search on Amy Dawsons in the Vegas area and start looking there, but those are going to primarily be Amy Dawsons with traditional phone service, and my Amy wouldn't bother with anything but her cell phone."
"Which she isn't answering."
"Thus the worry," I agreed. "She could have lost it. Run out of money to pay for it. Have run off to Mexico with a hot guy and is ignoring it. But ..." I trailed off with a shrug.
"Have you talked to her old landlord?"
"No," I admitted. "Amy is a text and email kind of girl. She never got around to sending her friends an actual mailing address." I sighed. "And tracking her isn't easy. She didn't subscribe to magazines, doesn't have health insurance. She doesn't own a car."
"Easy for a girl like that to fall off the grid."
"Very," I said. I started to once again ask for a job at Destiny--I wanted to get to know the girls who had been Amy's friends--but Tyler spoke first.
"Well, come on, then," he said. "Let's go take a look at her old apartment."
Chapter Seven
Her apartment was just a fe
w blocks away, and Red--who must have picked Tyler up three seconds after he dropped me off--drove us there.
It was just past eleven at night now, but that didn't give Tyler pause. The apartment was a crappy converted house, in which the original foyer had been converted to a lobby of sorts. At the end of the foyer, a new wall had been installed, and beside the single door was a small, yellow buzzer beside a speaker.
Tyler push the button. Waited. Pushed it again.
"What the fucking hell," crackled a voice. "It's the fucking middle of the fucking night."
"Has Amy Dawson's room been rented?"
"You interested?" The voice was now much more conciliatory.
"Possibly."
The speaker went from static to dead. A moment later, the door opened and an old man with eyebrows that resembled caterpillars opened the door. He wore a ratty flannel bathrobe and gestured us inside.
"First floor. Back here." He led us back, opened the door.
The room was about as depressing as I'd ever seen. Not much more than a converted closet with no windows. "Cheapest unit we got," the old man said.
"Did she tell you she was moving?" I asked. "Leave a forwarding?"
"No forwarding. Just said she'd got a job in Vegas."
I looked around. There was nothing in the place, not even debris. "You clean?"
"Nah, she did. Wanted her deposit back. Gave it to her, too, so don't start giving me shit."
I stared him down. "I wouldn't dream of it." I met Tyler's eyes. "So she packed up, cleaned up, and hit the road. But she didn't tell you where?" I asked the old man. "Did she take a taxi to the bus station? Rent a car?"
"No idea. 'Cept someone was driving her. Saw that much at least."
"Who?"
"Saw the car, not the driver." He glanced into the room. "You're not really interested, are you?"
"Sorry," Tyler said, then handed him a twenty. "Sorry for waking you."
"Someone went to Vegas with her," I said. "Or at least drove her to the bus stop. The girls at Destiny might know who."
"They might," he said as we walked back to where Red stood holding the door open. "But we'll talk about it later. That's enough for one night."
He was right, I thought, as I slid into the back seat beside him. My worry for Amy was fast fading, but as I shifted in my seat to look at Tyler, I couldn't help but think of Kevin's allegations--that these guys were into all sorts of shit. And, for better or for worse, I wanted to know if it was true.
We drove in silence for a while--Tyler received some texts that he needed to answer, and I took the opportunity to email Candy and tell her that it was looking more and more like Amy was alive and well and kicking up her heels in Vegas. Then I used the browser on my phone to start searching for Amy Dawsons in the Vegas area. There weren't many, and I'd start making calls in the morning.
When we finally reached the part of Chicago I recognized--down by the Magnificent Mile--I tucked my phone away and frowned at the scenery. "We're going the wrong direction," I said.
Tyler put his phone down and followed my gaze. "No," he said. "We're not."
"This is the way to Pilson?" I asked, mentioning my neighborhood.
"It's one way," he said. "But we're not going to your apartment."
I raised a brow. "No? What happened to telling Red my address. Me being ready tomorrow. All that big production about putting me in the back of this car?"
"One, it's now past midnight so it is tomorrow. And two, things have changed," he said, glancing meaningfully at me. "And I've changed my mind."
Amused, I leaned back. "So where are we going?" I asked, but I didn't really need to. Red was already maneuvering the Lexus in front of The Drake.
"What if I just want to go home," I asked, as he opened the door for me.
"I'd say no."
"Oh." I considered that. Considered my very visceral reaction to his words. We'd thrown each other off-kilter at Destiny. But now ... now Tyler was most definitely the one in control.
He held out his hand for me. I hesitated only the slightest of instants, then took it and allowed him to lead me inside the hotel and up the stairs toward the lobby.
"I hope your room's close," I said lightly, determined to steady myself. "It'll be nice to kick off these heels."
He glanced down toward the foot I had helpfully extended to show off the seriously uncomfortable strappy sandals and shiny new pedicure. "Lovely. But I might prefer you keep them on," he added, and there was no mistaking the heat in his voice. "Everything else can go."
Oh, my. So much for getting steady. He'd very soundly knocked me off balance again. I licked my lips. "Is that a particular fetish, Mr. Sharp?"
"A rather common one, I believe." We were near the lobby's plush couches, and he gestured for me to sit. When I did, he took a seat next to me, then lifted one of my legs and rested my ankle on his thigh. My hem hit just above my knee, and I wore no stockings. Fingers of cool air crept under the folds of my dress, soothing my already overheated skin.
Not that Tyler was helping to cool me down. Just the opposite. Slowly, he traced a path along my hemline, his fingertip burning a trail along my bare thigh. "It's not, however, one of mine."
"Tyler." I couldn't manage any more. I was surprised I'd managed that much.
"Hmm?"
"You really should stop."
"Perhaps. But I don't want to." His attention turned to the back of my knee, his clever fingers stroking a spot so delicious the sensation pooled between my thighs and I actually moaned. "I've had you," he said. "But I haven't yet savored you." I looked at his face, and the pure, open desire I saw there was as deep and vivid as my own.
"Please," I whispered. I meant to say please stop. At least I think I did. But it didn't come out that way.
His hand cupped the back of my leg and stroked down my calf slowly, slowly, so painfully slowly.
"Please," I said, trying again. "People will stare."
"People might. I don't believe you care much. I know I don't."
I closed my eyes. He was right.
Finally, his fingertip brushed lightly over my ankle, then skipped over the leather of my sandal before finding the arch of my foot and gently tracing the edge. On any other day, I might have cringed from being tickled. But right then I wasn't remotely ticklish. I was too damn turned on.
"No," he murmured, as he carefully returned my foot to the floor. "I don't have a foot fetish. But if I was going to develop one, I would surely start with yours."
"So you have no interesting proclivities?" I teased, trying to sound bold so that he wouldn't see how well he'd twisted me up. And, yes, trying to get a sense of what he intended for me once we reached his room. "No fetishes of your own?"
"I didn't say that." He stood, then held out a hand to help me up.
"If not feet, then what?" I asked, appreciating the firm way his fingers closed around mine.
His gaze skimmed slowly over me, the inspection both unnerving and very, very erotic. "You'll know soon enough."
My stomach fluttered as he led me toward the elevator.
The doors snicked open, and Tyler released my hand, only to replace it at the small of my back as he directed me into the well-appointed car. More like a little room, actually. A floor to ceiling mirror dominated the back wall, flanked on either side by wall-mounted light fixtures. At the base of the mirror, and directly in front of us, was a charming little couch.
"A fainting couch," Tyler said as I met his eyes in the mirror, my own brows raised. "A throwback from the days of corsets and minimal air-conditioning, I assume. But it certainly raises some interesting possibilities in our modern world."
"There aren't that many floors in this hotel," I countered, looking over my shoulder at the man rather than his image. "We don't have time for that many possibilities."
"A valid point." He stepped around me and moved to sit. "But it's a sad fact of our society that we don't ever seem to enjoy the time that we do have." He held out his
hand, palm up. "As I mentioned, I believe in never squandering time."
I looked at his outstretched hand, and my mouth went dry, my knees suddenly weak. His lips curved up in the kind of smile that promised long kisses and slow hands, and I think I melted just a little bit right then. My only saving grace was my reflection in the mirror. At least I didn't look as unbalanced as I felt.
Why was I so twisted up? He'd already touched me intimately--already made me come. I'd already fucked him, taking charge of the moment. Riding him, watching pure passion on his face.
So what about now was keeping me so unbalanced?
But it was a foolish question, because I knew the answer. I'd surrendered to this man despite having no idea what was coming, what he wanted. How far he would go.
This was no longer about Amy. No longer about getting inside Destiny or about Kevin's accusations.
Right now, this was about nothing but me.
And that simple fact excited me as much as it scared me.
I still hadn't taken his hand, and now he crooked a finger. "Come here, Sloane," he said, and there was nothing left of the light banter or even the sharp tones of the man who refused to be played. This voice was sensual, commanding. It was a voice designed to make a woman wet, and to ensure that she obeyed.
I did.
One step, then another until I was standing in front of him. I looked down at him, not wanting to catch my own eyes in the mirror. Not wanting to see the anticipation and desire that I knew colored my face.
I felt like a rookie, unsure of what would happen next. And I was acting like a teenager, craving that first brush of his lips over mine.
Slowly--achingly slowly--his eyes roamed over me. He said nothing, but I could almost hear the low thrum of his approval vibrating in the air. He stood, the motion filled with both grace and power. And then, with unfailing gentleness, he reached out and brushed the edge of his thumb over my cheek. "I wonder," he murmured, then trailed off into silence.
"What?" I asked, when I couldn't bear the quiet any longer.
"I still haven't kissed you," he said. "I wonder what you'd do if I didn't try to kiss you at all."
My breath hitched in my throat, and I had to bite my lip to keep from crying out in protest. Instead, I managed to collect my thoughts, then tilt my head as I openly studied him. "So is this your fetish? Tormenting innocent women?"