Waking Up to You Overexposed - By Leslie Kelly Page 0,115

smell of her body?

It was good that he didn’t, she knew that. But it was also starting to tick her off.

“Just some reporter,” she murmured.

“Have you had any problems with him since?”

“No, he hasn’t been around since the story came out. Would you relax?”

“You tell me if you see him.” Then, staring hard at her, he slowly pulled back, releasing her from the prison of his arms. An odd look appeared on his face, as if he’d suddenly realized just how close they’d been and wasn’t happy at himself for it. Clearing his throat, he added, “I’m sorry I hurt your eye.”

“It’s all right.” Slipping away from him, she headed again to her door, relieved to have escaped his scrutiny. Good thing he’d let her go, because the longer he stayed so close to her, the more angry she was going to get that he didn’t know her.

Especially because a mask would never prevent her from knowing him.

Huh. Men. So painfully unobservant.

“I hope you’re taking me seriously,” he said, that gruff, no-nonsense tone returning to his voice, his apology obviously done.

“I am, I am.” She practically bit the words out from between her clenched teeth, ready to smack him if he didn’t shut up and let her go get herself back under control. And fix her eyelashes.

“No more running out to your car alone to get something you forgot.”

“Yes, your majesty.”

“No more coming back upstairs and mingling close to closing time.”

She seldom did that, anyway. Whirling around, she offered him a sharp salute, and snapped, “Got it, chief.” Then, determined not to listen to another word, she spun on her heel and strode into her dressing room, slamming the door shut behind her.

It was only after she’d shut him out that Izzie realized how stupid she’d just been. Nick had annoyed her so much—both because of his overbearing protective bodyguard schtick and his inability to see what was right in front of his face—that she’d completely forgotten her role in this. The role she played as the Crimson Rose.

Because during those last three words, when anger had overtaken common sense, she’d forgotten to speak in her sexy, husky voice.

She’d been pure, 100 percent Izzie.

7

LEATHER AND LACE employed a few burly bouncers to watch the doors and to stand in the back of the crowd during the show. Their presence was mainly to inspire intimidation to keep the audience on its best behavior. And they did their job well, especially the tallest one, Bernie, whose beefy build concealed a guy with a deep belly laugh and a good sense of humor.

Nick, however, wasn’t technically one of them. His job involved more than rousting out rowdy drinkers or breaking up any fights. He was there to make sure nobody touched the dancers. Especially Rose. And the bouncers were his backup.

He typically moved around during the performances—sometimes in the audience, sometimes backstage, sometimes downstairs. He kept a low profile, his eyes always scanning the crowd, looking for the first sign of trouble.

Tonight, he was standing close to the dance floor, in a shadowy corner just left of the stage. He couldn’t say why. It wasn’t as if he expected anyone in the front row to leap up and try to grab Rose or one of the others. Yes, it’d happened. But usually not until at least the second set, late in the night, when the patrons had consumed more than a few fifteen-dollar shots of top-shelf whiskey. And when they’d forgotten how big the bouncers were or how stupid they were going to feel having to call their wives to get bailed out of jail.

Tonight, Nick was close to the stage because he wanted to watch her.

Something had happened earlier, something that was still driving him crazy. Oh, she drove him crazy in any number of ways, already—mainly because of that blatant sexuality oozing off the woman. But this didn’t have anything to do with her attractiveness, or Nick’s reaction to it.

It was something else. Something he couldn’t define. Ever since he and Rose had exchanged words outside her dressing room, a voice had been whispering in his head that there was something he wasn’t seeing. Some truth he had overlooked.

He had replayed their entire conversation, thinking about every word, wondering what had seemed so off with it. Aside from her being such a smart-ass about the self-protection tips he’d asked her to follow, they hadn’t been confrontational. Hadn’t been unpleasant in any way, other than when he’d accidentally almost ripped her eyelid