“We can critique your performance,” Pax added, waggling his brows.
Oh, God. The heat of embarrassment crept up her neck.
“I don’t think so,” Grange said. “She doesn’t need an audience of guys she already knows watching her strip.”
Thank you, Grange.
“Just Spence will go with her.”
Oh, shit. “Really, General, I think it would be best if I just did this one on my own.”
“I can’t advise that. If you’re going to be out there with this alias in New Orleans as a headliner, you might as well get started going with your bodyguard now. Spence will accompany you.”
She cast a desperate gaze to Spencer, who just shrugged and looked her up and down. “I guess I’ll see you tonight. All of you.”
FOUR
SPENCE MUSCLED HIS WAY PAST THE PACKED CROWD OF MOSTLY men at the Angel’s Gate strip club. After ten P.M. on a Saturday night, it was standing room only, especially with a headlining act like Maria’s in town.
Beer was flowing, served by the three bartenders manning the long black bar. Half-naked women were everywhere offering lap dances, and dancers occupied two cages adjacent to the dance floor, topless and gyrating to the loud, heart-thumping beat the deejay had set for the night.
Eye candy everywhere, though Spence had his eye on only one woman, and that woman was nowhere to be seen. She’d headed out before him tonight, claiming she had to meet with Maria early to get some last-minute advice and she didn’t need him to tag along.
Whatever. Fine with him. He didn’t even want to be here tonight. This wasn’t part of the assignment, and the assignment was all he was interested in.
Though hanging out at the club had its advantages, namely beer and women—two of his favorite things. He bought a beer and moved his way to the front row of the stage where Steve, his friend and favorite bouncer, had left him a seat. The girls were in between acts right now, and the warm-up girls—basically the new girls—were still performing, which meant the more experienced girls—the ones everyone really came to see—hadn’t been out yet.
Most of the action at a strip club never really started before ten or eleven at night. He got comfortable, easy enough with a table to himself, and nursed his beer, watching the girls in the cages on either side of the stage. Pretty things, though kind of young. Then again, it wasn’t his place to judge anyone for their choice of profession. He of all people knew that circumstance could put anyone in a predicament. He’d also dated a lot of strippers, and many of them were hardly down on their luck, instead choosing to strip because it paid well and the hours were good. A lot of them were college students, some post-graduate, and very smart women who knew how to make money and get ahead, especially in a nice club like Angel’s Gate. The seedier clubs in some of the bad parts of town—now that was a different story. He stayed away from those, preferring the clientele at a place like this. Beautiful women with a decent level of intelligence where he could watch them dance, he could drink his beer, and the criminal element stayed out, mainly due to the four beefy bouncers Jack Renshaw, the owner of Angel’s Gate, kept on hand at all times.
That was why Angel’s Gate stayed so popular.
The lights went down on stage, and the music kicked up. The deejay’s voice came on strong, announcing a few of the Angel’s Gate featured dancers—a triplet act called the Oreos—two black girls, one white.
Spence smiled. He’d seen Candy, Veronica, and Jane dance before. They were good. They lined up side by side and came down the long walkway, strutting their stuff in their stilettos like they owned the place, then drove the guys wild by sandwiching up together and rubbing oil all over their bodies. Every man’s fantasy, girl on girl on girl action, though it was all simulated entertainment. All the girls had boyfriends; in fact, Spence spotted two of them in the audience tonight, cheering their girls on and waving money, trying to get the other customers to do the same.
He grinned and shook his head. It was all a gimmick, but it worked well. Money flew onto the stage and by the time the girls were down to their G-strings and slithering across the floor, money littered the stage. They raked it up, waved to the crowd, and blew kisses on their way backstage.
As soon as those girls went off, another girl came on, and so it went. Had to keep the customers happy by keeping girls on stage at all times. And in between their acts the strippers wandered around the crowd, offering up lap dances or just spending time with the customers.
About an hour later, it was time for the headliner—Maria. Spence had refilled his beer and had his feet propped up on a nearby chair, much to the irritation of the standing-room-only crowd.
Like he cared.
Maria’s music was more up-tempo—more sax, grinding and hot and sexy. Colorful lights swirled all around the stage, and a spotlight hit the entryway.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” the deejay said in a booming voice, “give it up for the one, the only, the dyn**ite seductress of the night, Vixen!”
Spence let out a laugh. Vixen was Maria’s stage name. It fit her really well as she burst through the doorway, larger than life in a skintight white bra and boy shorts, a matching white jacket and leather hat, and white calf-high boots. She was a vision, with her tanned skin and dark, flowing hair a contrast to all that virginal white, which he supposed was the idea. As Maria moved center stage, she grabbed the pole and swung around, at the same time peeling off her jacket and flinging it to the floor. She had generous br**sts that spilled over the top of a very small bra, and as she worked the pole, she reached behind her and unfastened the bra, letting the back loose but not removing the top.
The crowd went crazy, whistling for her to remove the top. By now she was at the bottom of the pole, riding it between her legs, and tantalizing the crowd by holding on to the cups of her bra. When she let it go, releasing her enormous breasts, the sound of cheering was deafening. She stayed on her knees and undulated around the floor, letting her voluptuous body and long legs do the talking, playing up to the guys at the edge of the stage, crooking her finger to invite them up close and personal to her breasts, and after they paid homage with their money, using her killer shoes to push them away. She had bodyguards to protect her in case anyone got out of hand, but it was all playful fun and the guys knew the rules. They wanted to stay right where they were and unless someone was stone-cold drunk on their ass, they wouldn’t risk getting tossed from the club. Because once you got thrown out of Angel’s Gate, you weren’t allowed back in. Ever.
Besides, Maria had pretty much mesmerized the guys from the front row to the back of the bar with her smooth, sexy moves. Money was flying over Spence’s head and onto the stage, men pushing at his back for a chance to tuck money into her G-string.
Yeah, she knew how to work it, all right.
She was on the stage for about three minutes, and bills covered the floor and her G-string by the time she was done.
The lights came back up and the deejay started spinning dance tunes. Girls climbed into the cages to gyrate and entertain, the next stripper came on to strut her stuff, and customers went to refill beers and stretch their legs.
Maria was good. Damn good. She was going to be a tough act to follow. The only thing that would work in Shadoe’s benefit was that the night was growing later, alcohol flowed, the crowd was fired up and getting hammered, which meant they’d probably be oblivious to any mistakes she made. As long as she got na**d and moved around the stage, they’d be happy. After all, guys came in to see na**d women.
And he’d be there to keep an eye out in case anyone decided to get rowdy. Not that he expected to be needed. There were plenty of bouncers to keep the women safe.
Still, Shadoe was different. She wasn’t an actual employee of the club, had no experience with this slice of life. He’d snuck into Grange’s office today and taken a quick look at Agent Grayson’s file. She was clean-cut middle-class with a by-the-rules military daddy. Parents divorced when Shadoe was twelve, and mother gave up custody. As far as he could tell, she’d never made contact with Shadoe again. What woman would do that?
Then again, Spence shouldn’t be surprised. He knew all about worthless parents.
Shadoe had gone to an all-girls Catholic school from kindergarten through high school. He could well imagine how strict her father had been, how sheltered she’d been at private school. From there she’d attended a small, very exclusive college, got her master’s after that, and entered the academy.
She’d had her entire life mapped out for her, no doubt by her father.
This assignment must be hell for her.
Then again, it was good to step outside your comfort zone. Shadoe had been sheltered too long. She’d never survive in her job with the department living in a cave. Might as well start with a good trial by fire like this assignment. If she survived this one, she could do anything.
Though he did feel kind of sorry for her being thrust into this atmosphere right out of the gate. And surrounded by guys like him as partners. He smiled. Yeah, trial by fire was right.
The lights went down and the deejay came on again.
“Ladies and gentlemen, we have a special treat tonight. A brand-new act, coming to you under the wing of our very own Vixen. Vixen thinks this hot babe has some serious talent, and she wants you all to pay close attention. Now let’s give it up for Desi!”
Desi? Spence snorted. Of course she wouldn’t use her real name. None of the girls ever did.
Instead of music, Spence heard a low, throaty rumble that sounded all too familiar, followed by the loud roar of pipes.
Motorcycle.
He smiled at the sound of revving engines. White smoke filled the walkway, and the music of Steppenwolf’s “Born to Be Wild” cranked up loud and heavy, as purple black-light lit up the stage.
Shadoe wasn’t tentative as she stepped through all that smoke, twirled around in a circle, and continued to march forward with all the confidence in the world.
Spence’s tongue nearly dropped to the floor as Shadoe strutted down the walkway dressed in a black fringed vest cut down to her navel, revealing just a hint of cleavage. The vest stopped midway down, revealing her narrow waist and iron-flat stomach, the diamond piercing glittering in all the lights. She was darkly tanned, much more than she had been before. Her legs were covered in black leather chaps. As she turned around to grab the pole and do a quick twirl around it, he realized they were authentic chaps, the kind you wore on a bike. The butt of the chaps was cut out, revealing her nice, tight ass encased in only a G-string.
Holy shit. That was one sexy outfit. A biker’s dream, guaranteed instant hard-on.
To hell with a biker’s dream. Every guy’s dream, evidenced by guys launching to their feet and going crazy, waving money and cheering her on. Shadoe seemed to love every minute of it, her dark eyes sparkling as she threw off attitude while she twirled around on the pole, pulling off the chaps to the rowdy catcalls of the customers, then slowly unzipping the leather vest. She wore knee-high leather boots with a spiky high heel, and walked on them like she knew what the hell she was doing.
Desi, a dream in black leather. A biker babe guaranteed to make every man in the place drool. As she finished unzipping the vest, she teased the crowd, holding the edges of the vest together and walking the stage, giving them just a hint of the inner swells of her breasts. She showed no nervousness at all, acting like she’d done this hundreds of times before. She let the vest slip off her shoulders and turned around, giving them all a glimpse of her gorgeous back. And as the music continued to pound and thrum, she dropped the vest and rocked her h*ps back and forth, showcasing the firmness of her ass, no doubt making every guy itch for a handful.
He’d been to strip clubs thousands of times, had sat back, drank beers, watched na**d women parade before him for hours on end, women who had tons more experience than Shadoe, who knew the tricks of their sexuality and used them to their fullest extent.
Not once had any of them gotten him hard.
Until now.
As Shadoe turned around, her hands covering her breasts, her gaze shot to his and her lips lifted in a knowing smile. She moved toward him, raised her hands over her head, and revealed her breasts, dusky ni**les hard and thrusting out as she bounced around the stage. When she crouched down in front of him, spreading her knees apart in a provocative pose, she gave him a look that shot straight to his balls.
He tried to remain nonchalant, like she wasn’t affecting him, but it was damn hard.
Damn, was it ever hard.
She moved away to work the crowd clamoring near the edge of the stage and the money went flying. Spence gripped the edge of his chair as she scooted her hip to the edge of the stage while she danced, crouching down low enough to give all the guys a close look. No touching was allowed, but when their hair started brushing across her br**sts while they slid money into her G-string, Spence found his fingers clenching into a fist. Especially since Shadoe seemed to be very, very popular. But no sooner would some guy nuzzle close to her br**sts than she’d smile down at him and move away to the other side of the stage to give the guys there some attention.
When her dance was over and she blew kisses to the crowd, they cheered, long after she disappeared through the stage opening.
Spence exhaled.
Shadoe might not be an experienced stripper, but she had a natural, smoldering sexuality that surfaced once she hit the stage. He’d seen a glimpse of it yesterday when she’d danced for him, and she’d blasted it full force tonight. She’d rocked his c**k into full awareness, something not easy to do since he was pretty much jaded to these sorts of events.
Or so he’d thought.
Now he was hard and throbbing and cranky as hell about it. He had to wait a few minutes, down the rest of his beer, and think about anything other than hot, na**d Shadoe in black leather before he could get up from his seat and move around. He stepped outside to get some air, though the hot flash of Dallas humidity didn’t help cool him down.