“Who are you?”
“An illegitimate cocktail server slash stripper with issues.”
His lips quirked.
He couldn’t erase who she was, what she’d done. He needed to understand the reality of her. “I’m not a debutante. I never will be. Your friends have seen me almost naked. I know that bothers you.”
His jaw tightened.
Touché. “You could never take me out to a social event with them.”
“Why are you putting up barriers when we agreed to just hang out and have fun?”
Izzy nodded. “Right, sorry, just fuck buddies.”
“Stop saying that,” he growled, pushing off the railing.
“Why, when it’s true?” She exhaled. “You can’t hide me away in a hotel room. No matter how nice it is, I’m still me.”
She turned and strode into the bathroom and took a shower. When she emerged, he was sitting out on the patio with a short glass of scotch smoking an aromatic cigar. He stood as she came out wrapped in the big fluffy white robe that came with the suite.
“Are you hungry?” he asked.
“Yes.”
He threw back the rest of his drink. “Get dressed, I’ll take you somewhere nice, in public, and show you off.”
“You don’t need to prove—”
“I’m not trying to prove anything to anyone. I don’t need that validation. I’m hungry, you’re hungry. I want to go to a restaurant, restaurants are public places. Now please, hurry up before I toss that robe over the railing and we both starve to death.”
“Okay,” she said and hurried to get dressed. Fifteen minutes later she was ready, her hair dry, light touch of cosmetics, lips brushed with glossy pink lipstick, wearing a white jersey knit halter style miniskirt romper. It was comfortable but dressy and the color looked good against her olive skin tone and pink-tipped hair. She wore her favorite gold chandelier earrings, and matching bangles, complete with a pair of natural-colored canvas peek-a-boo wedges with a thin ribbon of gold woven through the straps. She felt good, and liked knowing that despite the sleek lines of her outfit, it didn’t scream, strip club. Quite the opposite. It was rather chic and she wore it well.
When she strode back onto the patio, Flynn was reclining in his chair, a full glass of scotch by his hand. His legs were extended and he looked every bit the predator. His eyes narrowed as his full lips tightened. His pants swelled and his chest rose as his breaths deepened. His eyes narrowed as he lazily gave her a long, thorough perusal.
“Do you have any idea how fucking sexy you are?” he growled.
“I-uh, no.”
“You’re perfect. You deserve a man better than me.”
“I don’t want a man better than you right now.”
Stubbing out his cigar, slowly unwinding his long, muscular limbs, he stood. “I’m not worth it,” he said softly, the sound of the crashing surf making it difficult to hear. “I get bored easily.” He moved close enough to touch her, but didn’t. “I have a temper and I don’t like to share my toys.” Stepping around so that he stood behind her, he ran his fingers along her spine to the dip at the bottom of her back. “I’ve discovered when it comes to you, I have a nasty jealous streak.”
“Are you trying to scare me away?”
“I’m telling you the truth about me.” His hand fanned out and he cupped her right butt cheek and squeezed. “I like rough play.”
“If it isn’t rough, it isn’t fun,” she threw back, shocked at her words, but imagining rough sex with this man heated her blood.
The sound of a deep primal growl as it rumbled from his chest to his throat sent gooseflesh scattering across her body.
“I’d kill any man who put his hands on you without your permission.” His hand slid around to her waist and splayed down her belly to rest on her mound. “And I would never give permission for another man to touch you.”
Izzy swallowed hard, highly aroused and for the first time afraid. Not that he would hurt her, but of his dominant nature.
He slid his hand up her belly, across her breasts to her throat, and up to her jaw. He pulled her back, bowing her back until she could see the heat in his blazing eyes. “Don’t think for one minute, Isadora, that I would force you to do anything you don’t want to do.”
“Okay.”
“But expect me to push you to your limits.”
She shivered hard.
He nipped her neck and stood back. Twirling her around, he took her hand and pulled her toward the door. “Let’s eat.”
Chapter Thirteen
With Pink’s hand beneath his on the gearshift, Flynn sped up the coastal highway. Tension tightened his body, and emotions he’d never dealt with collided in his heart.
The tension was twofold. He was white-hot for the body sitting less than a foot from him. He was hornier than a teenager in a whorehouse. He’d always had a healthy libido, but with Pink it was on steroids. The other half of his tension sprung from the need to prepare for the final conflict that was coming. One of them was going to get hurt by the freight train barreling straight for them. Badly.
He knew they were destined to a showdown over his issue with her job at the club. While she wasn’t up on the pole, she was on the floor three nights a week, wearing a scrap of material that barely covered her nipples, ass and pussy. She heightened the look with that belly button ring, the thin gold chain she wore around her waist and those fuck me heels.
How was he supposed to feel knowing each time she stepped into that place guys would be grab-assing her? What if Andre insisted she perform another lap dance? As determined, as Flynn knew she was, he knew she’d do it. And that ate at him the most. He didn’t want anyone to see what he was privileged to see.
The thought of hurting her ate at him. He wasn’t a dick. He’d never intentionally hurt her, but he couldn’t pretend her job didn’t bother him because it went beyond bothering him. It infuriated him. Damn if she didn’t intrigue him more.
She did something to him and he wasn’t going to let it go because of what she did for a living, regardless of why. Not yet. He’d kept the darker side of his sexual nature under control. He’d watched what out-of-control lust had done to his parents’ marriage. What it was doing to his brother’s and his sister’s. Flynn had always tempered his sexual encounters, never fully letting loose. He’d been Ken dating Barbie dolls. Plastic and hollow. Something Pink would never be.
Pink was no Barbie doll. Flynn smiled. Not even Stripper Barbie. She was everything Barbie was too afraid to be.
With Pink he wanted to explore his sexual depths. He knew she’d be game, too. As inexperienced as she was, she had the same deep passionate streak in her that he had. Whatever they had went beyond sex. He didn’t have to touch her to feel their connection. It thrummed like a live wire around them. When they came together, Jesus, the way she made him feel. Like Superman. He’d never felt anything like it. Fucking Pink was the most amazing experience of his life.
His hands tightened on the steering wheel and on her hand. That feeling of being flattened by a freight train gripped him again.
“You’re hurting me,” she said softly.
Immediately he let up the pressure on her hand. “I’m sorry, I zoned out for a minute.”
“Your entire body’s tense. What were you thinking about?”
He didn’t want to ruin the quiet mood they’d fallen into. He wanted to enjoy a nice dinner, maybe take a walk on the beach, then take her back to the room and make slow sweet love to her. His dick jerked in agreement against his thigh.
“I was just thinking about a case I was working on.”
“You’re a lousy liar. But if you’re telling the truth, then I feel like chopped liver.”
He laughed. “Chopped liver?”
“I thought what happened an hour ago on the balcony was pretty amazing, and if you’re thinking about an old case, then maybe I wasn’t as amazing as I thought I was.”