Get Your Sexy On. Kimberly Kaye Terry
the bed. After a hesitant moment, she laid her head on his chest, her soft curls tickling his nose when he rubbed his chin back and forth over the top of her head.
“You should wear your own hair when you dance. It’s beautiful.” He fingered a lock of hair between his fingers. It was thick and smooth in texture. “Why don’t you?”
“I wear it short, and most of the customers like long hair, adds to the fantasy.” She laughed, a short, humorless-sounding laugh.
“Doesn’t add to my fantasy. You’re beautiful. Would still be beautiful even if you were slick bald.”
Sienna’s answering laugh was more genuine this time. “Thank you.” Her fingers toyed with the hair on his chest as she continued speaking. “Also, it adds to the anonymity. All they see on stage is a body. When I wear the wig, it helps to disguise me even more,” she disclosed.
Mac was quiet. Over the last week, he’d seen that she didn’t dance for anyone but herself.
“How long have you danced?” He lifted her body, until she was laying on top of him, her head resting comfortably beneath his chin.
“Jac…I had been living in a real dump, couldn’t afford anything decent after I moved to DC. I struggled for a few years, working odd jobs here and there, along with working as a waitress to make ends meet.”
Mac caught the slip. She was about to utter the same name Damian said earlier in the evening. The name Marks choked out, which had made cold fear appear in her eyes.
“I’ve been dancing at the Sweet Kitty for four years,” she finished.
“How old were you when you ran away?” He brushed a strand of hair away from her forehead. She leaned away from his chest and peered into his eyes, intently, in the dark.
“Who said anything about me running away?”
“Didn’t you run away?” he asked, leaving it up to her to share or not.
A fraction of silence before she answered, “Eighteen. I was eighteen when I left.”
Mac stroked his hands over her hair as she spoke, silent, listening intently.
“I left home as soon as I turned eighteen, hadn’t even graduated from high school. But it was time. So, on my eighteenth birthday, I left.”
“Did your family ever look for you?”
“I don’t have much family to speak of. Lived in foster homes most of my life,” she told him. The admission didn’t surprise him. “Didn’t see any use in hanging around a place I wasn’t wanted. As far as anyone looking for me? No.”
“Wouldn’t your foster parents notify your caseworker?”
“Why would they? They still got their check from the state for me until I turned eighteen. Once the checks ended, they didn’t give a damn one way or another. I’m sure they got another kid to fill my bed.” She laughed without humor.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” he murmured.
“It’s life. I learned at an early age life wasn’t fair. You work the cards you’re dealt, don’t rely on anyone but yourself, and don’t get caught up, don’t get hurt that way.”
Mac ran one hand down her back, caressing her soft, satiny skin.
He’d always thought he was a hard son of a bitch, detached. He’d helped raise his kid sister, did his stint in the army, got banged up, and tended to play his emotional cards close. Or so he was always told. He wasn’t the warm and fuzzy type. He now wondered who was the most closed off emotionally—he or the beautiful woman who lay on top of him.
11
Sienna wanted to tell him everything. Wanted to unburden herself to a complete stranger. Wanted to release the anger and pain of growing up the way she had. Of the stupid choices she’d made along the way.
Choices she had to make, in order to protect her brother and survive.
“Why did you come to the Kitty?” she asked.
He moved their bodies so they were lying facing each other.
“Why does any man come to a strip club?”
“Well, yes, I know that. I meant, I hadn’t seen you around before last week. I notice all the regulars. At first, I thought you were one of Damian’s associates.”
“Damian, as in the asshole you work for?” he asked gruffly. “No, I wouldn’t call myself a ‘friend’ of your employer.” His voice sounded grim.
It was her turn to wait for him to expound on his answer. For the first time in years, Sienna wanted to get to know a man beyond the superficial.
“My partner and I are here on business. He came to the club a few times with me. You may have seen him. He’s the big, bald black guy who sat with me at the table a few times,” he finally answered.
Sienna recalled seeing the handsome black man sitting next to him during several of his nightly visits to the club.
“You said you were an investigator? What types of cases do you take on? Do you help—” Sienna stopped herself before she could ask him if he could help her out of her situation.
Allowing a man to help her out when she was in need was one of the reasons she was currently stuck in a situation she didn’t have a clue in hell how to get out of.
Damn, what the hell was she thinking?
She would figure it all out, by herself. Rely on no one but herself, and she’d avoid getting hurt.
“Help what?”
Sienna said nothing. No, it was best to stop all thoughts that she’d found her knight in shining armor. She’d given up believing in fairy tales a long time ago.
She decided to stop herself from wanting something she’d never get and enjoy the moment for what it was. To forget who and what she was, and glory in the feel of him, of catering to her sexual needs instead.
Nothing more, nothing less.
To want anything more—to dream that he could help her, be her prince storming the castle and bringing down the dragon—was a setup for heartache.
“Did you enjoy the way I loved you?” Mac abruptly changed topics.
He wanted to press the issue, wanted her to trust him enough to unload her burden, burdens he knew she carried like deadweight.
But he’d wait.
He had every confidence he’d gain her trust before the weekend was over. He planned on keeping her, beneath him, for the next forty-eight hours, until he made sure that happened.
He brought her close and kissed her, grinning in satisfaction against the warm hollow behind her ear when he felt the small goose bumps rise against his mouth.
“Ummm, yes,” she whispered.
“Do you want more?” He gently tugged her head in order to see her face.
The light of the moon cast a shadow on her face, one side darkly shadowed, the other illuminated, giving her the look of a harlequin.
It was like seeing two sides of the same woman, mirroring the two sides of her personality: the open, hedonistic woman who stripped and danced in a seedy club, and the thoughtful one who was shy, unsure of herself, yet held a quiet dignity.
Sin was an enigma.
She held secrets and he found himself more intrigued by her, the longer he was with her. Before the night was over, he was determined to ferret out her closely held secrets.
“Yes,” she answered, her eyes trained on his.
He captured one of her perfect nipples in his mouth, tugging on it, laving it with his tongue before releasing