Secrets to Hide 3: Just a Little More (3 page)

Right there. There was that hard center she’d wondered so much about. The firm length of his erection nestled directly against her mound thanks to the high-heeled boots she wore. He rocked against her, and a mewling sound escaped at the zing of sensation reverberating through her core. He rocked again, the base of his shaft grazing her clit. Afraid her legs might give out, Angel dug her nails into Brad’s wide shoulders and clung for dear life. She wasn’t sure if moments or hours passed; everything disappeared but Brad’s mouth, his body, and the love flowing between them. It had to be love. Nothing else could feel this good.

It took some time, but desperation finally forced them to stop for air.

“God, Angel.” He groaned, his lips brushing hers. “Do you have any idea how long I’ve waited for this?”

She shook her head, not because she didn’t know but because words were beyond her. Brad didn’t wait—he took her lips again. This time when he opened hers, he delved inside.

His tongue took her over, took her breath. He pulled back and pushed in, the smooth glide mimicking the rhythm of his hips. Every hard advance caught her throbbing clit, teasing, tempting, driving her higher until she held her breath, certain the next slight touch would send her off like a rocket. Brad’s head fell back, and she marveled at the agony in his expression as he pushed against her once more.

The sound of the door opening startled them both.

“I’m sorry,” Ryan drawled. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

Brad cursed, curbing the last syllables with a quick glance at Angel. The final stream of words was a fairly accurate impression of Joe Pesci’s character in that old movie
Home Alone.

“Of course you’re interrupting—and you know it,” he managed eventually, the words strangled with cutoff need and frustration. “Who’d you leave up front?”

“Malik.” Was that glee lacing Ryan’s voice? Yes, wicked glee. Despite the protests of her body, Angel found herself choking back her own amusement.

“I hate you,” Brad said, though the words lacked heat. He shook his head, but Angel could see the reluctant laughter in his eyes—and the beginnings of calculation. She had a feeling Ryan would be paying for this, and when he least expected it. “Come on, Angel.”

He led her out. As they crossed the threshold, Ryan gave her a courtly bow. “Again, I apologize, Angel.”

For all his supposed chivalry, there was smug satisfaction in his eyes when they landed on Brad. “Shut up,” Brad grumbled. He tucked an arm securely around her waist as he drew her into the hall, and the look he threw over his shoulder at Ryan was triumphant, the kind of but-I-got-the-girl look meant to rub in his success. Angel hid her grin and the absolutely giddy feeling that surged inside her at that look. He certainly had got the girl. For always.

They made their way to the emptyish entry area of the club. Off to one side was a small alcove, where Brad stopped in the relative quiet and pulled her against him once more. Like a sponge Angel soaked up his heat, the feel of his hard muscles contrasting with her feminine softness in all the right places. She didn’t want to stop, go home, wait for him. She’d waited long enough, and so had he.

But right now, he needed to get back to work; she knew that. She’d taken enough of his time.
It’s only for now. We won’t have to wait much longer.

Brad glanced down. Angel watched him watch her, saw the hungry spark in his eyes as he skimmed the contours of her face, down to her almost bare shoulders and the upper curves of her breasts. That part of her anatomy swelled at his attention, but she didn’t look away. She wasn’t embarrassed or scared anymore. Brad wanted her, just as she was. He knew her inside and out. The secret they’d danced around for so long was finally out in the open.

She knew him too, knew when something was bothering him. The hesitant rhythm of his thumb rubbing along her hip bone sharpened her attention. “What’s wrong?”

The outside noise filled the silence while she waited for him to gather his thoughts. “Does it bother you?” he finally asked.

“What?” With that single word she realized what he was asking, and that she might like to turn the question on him. They’d been friends for so long; this new state of being felt at once perfectly right and just…weird.

“This.” She barely felt the nudge of his crotch against her again. She swallowed hard, trying without success to figure out what to say. Did it bother her? Yes, but only because she wished he was harder, that they were alone, that she wasn’t worried about how this would affect their relationship. He hadn’t said the words yet. Did that mean this was just sex, not love?

Brad dipped low, his mouth brushing her earlobe. “I hope it doesn’t, because you have to know, seeing you in that sweater affects me that way every time.”

Now it was Angel’s turn to squirm. No, that didn’t bother her. It was the not knowing that concerned her. Could she gather enough words and courage to say that to him? The intensity in his gaze forced her to close her eyes.

“Don’t tease me” was what she finally said. “Not— If you don’t mean it, don’t.”

Brad’s arms came fully around her, his big hands spreading to cover each side of her spine. “I’m definitely not teasing.” His palms slid up the ridges of her ribs, his thumbs coming to rest at the outer edges of her aching breasts. “I’ve been waiting for years to do more than tease, beautiful. A lot more.”

A lot more. Oh God.

He’d been waiting years. Nobody waited that long because they were horny. He had to feel the same love she did. She believed that with everything inside her.

And so, when his lips touched the skin at the juncture of her neck and shoulder, she sighed and leaned back to give him easier access, opening herself and her protective cocoon to the only man she truly trusted. Letting him in. The tip of his tongue easing gently along her skin told her without words how much that trust was appreciated.

“Tonight, when I get home,” he whispered into her skin, “we’ll celebrate your interview—and everything else—the way it should be celebrated.”

Angel shivered. “I’m looking forward to it,” she said, that siren voice making another husky appearance.

“Good.” He stepped back, taking his heat with him, and ran a thumb across her moist bottom lip before turning toward the bar. The crowd swallowed him whole, but Angel kept watching until even the back of his head was no longer visible.

The same bouncer stood outside as she exited the club. “You have a good evenin’, sweet thing.”

“You too,” she told him. She glanced down the street to the corner and saw a yellow cab waiting for a fare. She hurried toward it, anxious to get home and get things cleaned up before Brad finished his shift. The last song she’d heard before leaving Thrice echoed in her head. There’d been no opportunity for them to dance tonight. Maybe she could come again, or maybe…could she convince Brad to give her a private show? She knew he could dance from the countless nights out and proms they’d been to together, but would he do it just for h—

The sudden scrape of pain across her cheek came out of nowhere. Trying to turn her head, Angel felt instead the clasp of a rough, smelly hand across her mouth, clamping her jaw shut. Her scream muffled against the human gag, she fought the force dragging her toward the dark mouth of an alley nearby. The last thing she saw was the cab’s empty back window, and through it, the cabbie’s head turned toward the street, away from her.

Chapter Two

The tenth ring was the final straw. Brad pulled the phone from his ear, punched the Off button, and slammed the handset down on the bar.

“Whoa, buddy!” Ryan joked, reaching for the phone. He cuddled the handset against his chest as if he could protect it from Brad’s evil glare. Good luck with that, Brad thought. As long as the phone stayed out of his sight, he might be able to resist kicking its plastic ass across the dance floor. If it didn’t start cooperating, even Ryan couldn’t keep it safe.

“Stop!”

The feminine cry echoed across Thrice’s mostly empty expanse. Brad glanced up to see Kelsey, her wrist trapped in a customer’s firm grip. The beads adorning the hundreds of tiny braids in her hair swung around her face as she struggled to back away.

The frustration that had been boiling in his gut all night exploded. “Daryl,” he growled, the menacing sound signaling his intent before he could make it all the way around the bar.

“Shit. Hold up there, buddy,” Ryan warned as he trailed behind Brad. The
click
of a walkie-talkie and Ryan’s low voice were lost beneath the roar of Brad’s, “Hey, dickhead. Let her go.”

The round-eyed look Daryl threw their way said he knew trouble was bearing down on him. The man obviously wasn’t a smart drunk, though, because he only gripped the waitress’s wrist tighter. The white cast to her chocolate skin around Daryl’s fingers made Brad’s anger burn even brighter. Without a word he reached out, his thumb and fingers automatically finding the pressure points to release Daryl’s grip. It didn’t always work on drunks, but this time Daryl’s hand popped open immediately and Kelsey’s wrist dropped free.

Daryl scrambled to his feet but couldn’t get far with Brad’s hold on his hand. “Wa’sa pro’lem?” he whined. “Whadya want, huh?”

“You tell me, Daryl.” Brad eyed the man’s long, lanky frame. His suit coat had been discarded some time ago, now lying half-on, half-off a nearby chair as if Daryl already had beer goggles on when he got here. The man’s button-down and dress slacks didn’t appear to conceal any weapons, but that didn’t mean he didn’t carry any. “I warned you about putting your hands on my waitresses, didn’t I?” He glanced toward Kelsey. Ryan stood, his arm around her back, watching Brad and Daryl warily as Kelsey rubbed her darkened wrist. The radio in Ryan’s hand squawked.

“That cunt? She ain’ nothin’. Won’t gimme my drink. Stupid cun’.”

Brad flexed his wrist, locking Daryl’s hand in an uncomfortable twist. “What did you call her?”

“Hey, hey, heeeey!” Daryl’s knees buckled as he folded around Brad’s grip. “Keep y’r fuckin’ hands off!”

“I will when you will.”

“Brad.”

The sound of his boss’s voice pulled Brad out of his angry haze. He glanced up to see Damien Adams, the owner of Thrice, closing on them quickly, followed by two bouncers from the front. Brad didn’t let go of Daryl’s wrist.

“Boss.”

Damien’s gaze flicked from Brad to Kelsey to Brad’s hold on Daryl, assessing the situation on his last few steps toward the group. “Kelsey, you all right?”

“Fine.” She jerked her chin at Daryl. “He didn’t like being cut off.”

Damien stared at Daryl, still on his knees on the floor. “Is that right?”

Daryl swatted weakly at Brad’s hand. The motion threw him off balance, and the pull on his locked wrist made him yelp. “’S r-right. Got cash an’ I wanna beer.”

Damien leaned down to meet Daryl’s bleary stare. “Too bad you don’t make that decision.” He rose and glanced at Kelsey. “When did you cut him off?”

“About half an hour ago. Offered him a cab, but he said he wanted to sweat it out for a little bit before he left.”

Damien shook his head. “Shoulda taken us up on the offer, Daryl.” He nodded toward the biggest bouncer, Morgan, signaling the ex-football player forward with a grim smile. “He’s all yours.”

“Wha— No!”

Brad released the man’s wrist before he gave in to the impulse to snap it, then watched without guilt as Daryl fell back on the hard floor. The man was a prick, but he was also drunk; he wasn’t in his right mind. That didn’t mean satisfaction didn’t fill Brad as he warned, “This time you won’t be coming back. Thrice has a strict no-touch policy you have been made directly aware of, Daryl. Three strikes and you’re out. No exceptions.”

Morgan grabbed Daryl’s collar. “Let’s go. You’re outta here.”

Daryl protested, loudly, but he might as well have been talking to the wall for all the attention Morgan paid. The bouncer hauled him to his feet and frog-marched him toward the wide front doors of the nightclub. When Daryl stiffened, resisting, Morgan jabbed his knee into the back crease of Daryl’s leg. The move buckled Daryl’s rigid knee joint and forced him to keep moving, step by step, toward the door.

With Daryl’s exit, Brad deflated like a leftover party balloon. For a moment he hadn’t been worried about anything but protecting Kelsey. Just like he protected Angel—except when he couldn’t.

The first time he’d seen Daryl escorted out, almost six weeks ago, had also been the same night Angel visited Thrice for the first time. The night he’d realized she wasn’t just his best friend, but that he was in love with her.

The night she’d been attacked, right outside on the street.

Remembering kindled his anger again, but he tamped it down. He’d already let himself loose the reins too much tonight. Seeing a woman manhandled hit too close to home, especially now, when Angel seemed to have disappeared into the blue. That’s where he should focus, not on a piece-of-shit drunk.

The phone sat on the bar taunting him when he returned. He picked it up, punched in the number to his and Angel’s apartment, and waited. No answer. He repeated the routine with Angel’s cell number, knowing it was futile but unable to stop himself. Nothing. This time he didn’t resist the impulse to throw the handset across the bar. The clatter of breaking plastic did less to ease the fight-or-flight adrenaline surfing his bloodstream than he’d hoped.

The edge of the bar dug into his hip bones as he leaned against it. Supporting himself on his elbows, he pressed the heels of his palms into his dry-as-dust eye sockets. An equally dry snort escaped. Angel would be the death of him; she really would.
Where the hell is she?

A heavy hand clamped tight onto his shoulder. Brad spun, his brain telling him the touch was friend, not foe, even as his heart jumped. The thought slowed his reaction enough that he didn’t punch his boss when he discovered that it was Damien standing behind him. It was the soft light of understanding in Damien’s eyes that worked magic, though. Damien got his attitude. He understood. Brad wasn’t alone. The knowledge eased the residual tension winding his muscles as tight as a damn pocket watch.