Her Private Dancer. Cami Dalton
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down on the ground and toss her skirt back over her head. Phoebe almost laughed. Tiffany would be so proud.
Trace turned his head toward her, his gaze snaring hers. “Well?”
All thought fled her brain the moment their eyes met. “Well, what?” she asked like a total dolt.
“The party?”
She tried to sound normal, but it took all her concentration just to breathe properly, his lips barely inches from her own. “Yes. I’m going to a party.”
The muscles in his neck and shoulders tensed under her arms. “Did you say you worked with the women at the party? Danced with them?”
“Um, I think so.” Phoebe gave up trying to focus on his questions. His eyebrows were lowered. Funny how she’d never noticed they were a shade lighter than his hair and perfectly arched. Perfectly perfect. A sigh welled in her chest.
“And this friend is getting married?”
Little sparklers flared to life down low in Phoebe’s body every time his lips formed a word, and she nodded. Anything to keep those supple lines of flesh moving.
“Phoebes—earth to Phoebe?” His silky voice speaking her name was an act of God. He shook his head, his fantabulous mouth grinning sinfully.
Sin…Yes. She wanted sinning. Lots of sinning.
He chuckled softly. “You know you’re killing me, don’t you? Here…” He gave her a hard kiss, his lips firm and warm, but he pulled back aeons too soon. “Now, pay attention, kitten, and if you’re good we’ll try that again.” His eyes darkened. “Only longer. Much longer.” Trace stared at her mouth for a moment before he shook his head and lowered his eyebrows determinedly. “I want you to tell me who invited you here.”
The longer version definitely sounded good but she couldn’t remember what she had to do to get it. Something about listening. Or answering. Oh, why hadn’t she just sucked face with him when she’d had the chance?
“Phoebe—” He shook her.
Couldn’t he tell that she was having a major hormonal breakthrough here? Phoebe sounded cross but didn’t care and said, “I told you in the elevator. Some of my new friends at work invited me. If you must have specifics, I think Barbie was the one who officially asked.”
His lips parted and a startled huff of air escaped. She inhaled his sweet breath. She couldn’t take it a second longer, and just when he opened his mouth to say, “Barbie! Good Chr—” Phoebe cupped his face with her hands and yanked him to her, cutting off his words. Blood pounded in her veins. Oceans roared in her ears. Phoebe couldn’t believe it. All on her own she’d reached out and kissed him. She was an animal!
Fortunately, it didn’t take much to refocus him, because as soon as they connected, Trace made a muffled grunt then jumped into the fray. He licked into her mouth, and with the first warm swipe of his tongue she could swear that goose bumps rose on every square inch of her skin. Then he moaned, the sound pained and rough. The noise vibrated her lips and started a quivering sensation arrowing straight to the tips of her breasts.
Unbelievably, he still held her, and she shifted in his arms, tilted her hips until she’d twisted and they were stomach to stomach. It was like rolling over into a fire. Ready to incinerate on the spot, Phoebe began to rub her nipples against the pressure of his chest when, with a jarring return to reality, the apartment door next to them jerked open.
Trace wrenched his mouth free and Phoebe almost wailed. Much slower to recover, she finally followed his line of vision to the doorway. One of the showgirls, Barbie—the hostess for Candy’s party—stood just inside.
“Well, it’s about time,” Barbie said, before turning her head and yelling over her shoulder to the women inside the apartment, “Hey everybody, get your money out. Tiffany’s big sister found the stripper! It’s show time!”
3
TRACE FROZE. He wanted to move, but couldn’t. If only to clap his hand over top of Barbie’s blabbering mouth. It was like watching a car accident he couldn’t prevent. In slow motion.
Phoebe cocked her head, her expression clearly confused. “Stripper?”
Barbie chuckled and shook her head. “As if you didn’t know. And I thought Tiffany was the wild sister.”
Phoebe frowned and looked toward him.
He refused to meet Phoebe’s gaze—not easy since he was still holding her, and her face was only inches from his own. Barbie said, “Come on in.” The buxom showgirl smiled and waved for him to follow, but his feet felt as if they’d been trapped in hardened cement. “Good thing you finally got here. The girls were getting a little rowdy. But I’m sure they’ll be much happier now that the ‘Sea Stud’ is here.” She stopped and ran her gaze over him from head to toe.
Trace cringed and thought, damn Barbie and her big mouth, anyway. Of all the demeaning things he’d been through in the last couple of weeks, the stupid nickname the customers on the ship had come up with had to be the worst. Unfortunately, the Mirage had been only too happy to cash in on the situation and had started hanging posters of him in costume from the neck down all over the ship. And while he was mostly glad they hadn’t used his face, he was also disgusted to realize that some small part of himself balked at the idea of being just a body. As if he were a piece of meat.
“Sea Stud?” Phoebe’s voice came out a squeak. “You mean that guy in all those posters on the Mirage?”
Barbie nodded. “You didn’t know that was Trace?”
Phoebe merely shook her head, though he could feel her body go stiff as a poker in his arms.
Trace’s mind churned. How the hell was he supposed to get himself out of this one? And how much truth should he tell her? That he wasn’t even a male stripper but really a reporter for a tabloid rag because he’d lost his job at the Herald?
He could just picture himself trying to explain that particular fall from grace. You see, Phoebe, it’s like this. I got fired from the Herald because I wouldn’t sleep with the boss’s daughter in the supply closet during the annual work Christmas party. Unfortunately, I’d imbibed a little too much yuletide cheer, and between the alcohol and the shock of being dragged into the dark little room on my way back from the john, Jeanine had my pants open and zipper down before I could wrestle her off me. Now wait, this is the really funny part. Jeanine’s dad, my editor, walked in on us and she blamed the whole thing on me. Not only did he fire me on the spot, he started a smear campaign that pretty much killed any chances of me getting hired by the sort of newspaper a person would read outside of a line at the grocery store. Frankly, Phoebe believing he was a male stripper was less embarrassing.
Phoebe swallowed. “So, that’s your body in those posters.” Her cheeks turned rosy. “Uh, it’s a good shot. Nice abs.”
Those same abs tightened, but for the moment Trace was saved from having to give an explanation when the bride-to-be, Candy, walked into the small foyer. She placed her hands on her hips. “Hey, what’s the holdup?” Candy asked.
“Yeah, you two.” Barbie reached out and grabbed his sleeve, which left him with no choice but to let her pull him inside.
“Wait a minute.” Candy winked at Phoebe. “If anyone should be carried over the threshold it’s me. I’m the one getting married.”
“Candy’s right,” Phoebe said. She pushed against his chest. “You can put me down now.”
Automatically he tightened his hold. “Sorry, ladies. No can do. Phoebe’s hurt.” Hurt and nuts if she thought he’d give her up that easily. Not after that lip lock she’d just given him back in the hallway. For her, that kiss was nothing short of a proposition and it was one he intended to take her up on.
Trace ignored Phoebe’s huffy exhale and shook his