him. Back then, from what she could tell, he’d been sure of himself and maybe even a ladies’ man. Jolie hadn’t thought much about their future; she wasn’t really a future-thinking kind of girl where guys were concerned. But regardless of what that future held, Hauk deserved to have his confidence back. She could help him find it.
“I’ll be thinking of you while I’m dancing,” she said with a coquettish smile. “And when a burlesque dancer says that...” She winked and opened the door to the backstage.
Hauk sucked in a breath. “What are you doing after the show?”
“I had plans.” She crooked her finger at him, and just as she’d hoped, he came to her. Carefully this time, she put a hand on his chest.
He watched the movement, stared at the connection. His breath heaved in and out once before his eyes found hers, a mixture of hope and hunger in them.
She curled her nails into him lightly. The tension in his muscles ratcheted up, and not from discomfort this time.
“But I could be convinced to change them.” She lowered her voice to a hum. “Wesley.”
* * *
The door shut behind Jolie, and Hauk couldn’t breathe. Two and a half months ago they’d met on either side of the sheet she used to make a changing station here at the theater. Before she’d seen his face, she’d let him touch her through that sheet. His hands had wandered her body and his mouth had tasted her. She’d come against his tongue.
It had been the first time he’d heard a live woman yelling in ecstasy in over five years. Against his better judgment (he was a felon, after all) he’d told his first name. She’d nicknamed him “Wesley of the Divine Tongue.”
Best nickname ever.
Then they’d met face to face. After that, she’d called him Hauk, like everyone else did, and he’d kept his hands and his tongue to himself.
But if she was calling him Wesley again...
He headed out to her car with a big grin, a big hope and an even bigger hard-on.
Chapter Three
“Good gods, woman, when you rolled down from the ceiling I about had a fucking heart attack.” Hauk managed a teasing laugh, but his blood pressure still raced every time he thought of Jolie performing her first drop.
She’d danced with silks this time, stretches of fabric that hung from the ceiling while she climbed, swung, tangled herself and unrolled dramatically. The show had started with her unraveling from the ceiling, hurtling twenty feet down before one silk caught her foot and the other she caught in her hand in an elegant but reckless feat of physical prowess.
Hauk’s heart had plummeted right along with her. The impulse to launch onto the stage arms out to catch her had been near impossible to quell. Girl had no fucking fear, and her antics were going to be the death of him.
“Did you like it?” she asked, oblivious to his concern as she dropped flip-flops onto the floor and slid into them. The crowds were gone, and she’d just exited the backstage into the bowels of the old electric company. Bright makeup and stuck-on jewels emphasized her green eyes and perfectly lush mouth. It also hid her freckles, which was a bummer, but the effect was enticingly exotic. Plus, Jolie loved dancing. She was damn good at it, and the joy it gave her made him happy. Even when it terrified him.
She straightened and tipped her head expectantly, and he realized he hadn’t answered her question. He smiled. “You know I love to watch you dance. The show was great, despite my near heart attack.” Every straight man in the audience wanted to take Jolie home, that was for sure. And he might be the one doing it if their earlier conversation was any indication. But she hadn’t exactly said she’d go home with him, just that she could be convinced to do something with him. He found himself suddenly tongue-tied as to how to do that convincing.
Five years ago, he’d have grinned, lifted an eyebrow (he didn’t have eyebrows anymore, just metal piercings where they should be) and said something complimentary. Then he’d have crossed his arms to show off the muscles and asked if she wanted to go for a ride on his motorcycle.
He did still have muscles and a motorcycle.
Fuck, what was he doing? He wasn’t sexy. There was nothing he could do to fix that. He had a metal leg, for Freyja’s sake. It was easy to forget