Strip. Delta Dupree

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СКАЧАТЬ Smart reply for someone so young.”

      At least she flashed a brilliant smile. More encouragement, except that degrading “young” crap declared like a long-lost aunt.

      Scooting up on her barstool, Galaxeé said, “Grab a seat. Would you care for a cocktail while we discuss business?” The offer earned a flat-out frown from her partner.

      Bryce declined anyway, needing to get back to the office clearheaded. Building and selling desktop computers killed off brain cells the same as man’s favorite poison, not to mention the headaches software development induced. If he nailed this gig at Killer’s, his work schedule would turn crazier than it already was. After laying his eyes on luscious Rio Saunders, he thought dancing here might be well worth a pounding migraine.

      “How long have you been shaking?” the woman of his super-erotic dreams asked.

      He dragged a stool across the floor, placed it directly in front of her and said, “Years, but not professionally.”

      Truthfully, dancing ran a close second to skiing, third to computer work. Dallas had worked with him, claiming he had no rhythm or soul. Lacked funk. He’d laid down the law of the club.

      Jam well, if he wanted to get next to Rio. Seductive moves earned the right to get close to her. Above all, he’d better know where to start.

      Bryce knew exactly where to begin.

      Even now, he imagined her skin felt soft as cotton. Nothing could be finer, except the blond hair framing her face. Would the tuft of hair between her legs feel as silky? He intended to find out one day. Slide his hand up her thigh, part her soft flesh, teasing her relentlessly.

      “You do very well for a…a baby,” she said.

      He raked his fingers through his hair, his sensuous thoughts frozen in one brutal second. “I’m pushing twenty-nine. I’m not a damn newborn.”

      “Ooh, with a temper.”

      Bryce yanked his head around at Galaxeé’s gum-popping explosion.

      “Sorry,” she said, but the disapproving sideways glare she gave her partner meant otherwise.

      She’d sided with him. Add another point for the one-man team.

      Sliding down on the stool, he spread his legs wider, nearly made contact with Rio, but she twisted in her seat, crossing a pair of lengthy, stunning limbs. “Am I at least in the running?”

      “You most—” Galaxeé began.

      “We like to discuss each applicant before we make a final decision,” Rio interrupted, which earned another narrow-eyed glare from Galaxeé. She patted the stack of applications. “Everything on your résumé is current? Phone numbers, addresses, etcetera?”

      Eyes locked on hers, he nodded. “Email, too.” When she didn’t deny having Internet access, he mentally ticked off an important item on his agenda.

      “Well, Mr. Sullivan.” She stuck her hand out. “We’ll be in touch one way or the other.”

      What? The interview was over too damn quick—completely illogical. He’d interviewed potential technician applicants, at minimum, for an hour. And this was what, three minutes? Four? Two-hundred-forty stinking, chitchat seconds? How could she learn anything about him in so little time? Granted, he had abbreviated his account of the duties at his day job for good reason, but hell.

      Bryce leaned forward and clasped her delicate hand. Long and slender, nails well manicured, her fingers curled around his with softness enough to caress a man into delirium while she kept him under the spell of her eyes—eyes he could drown in. He really wanted to drown.

      He held on longer than he should have, but for a shorter time than he would’ve liked, without resistance, until Galaxeé cleared her throat.

      “Thank you for your time,” he said.

      When their palms slid slowly apart, Bryce got to his feet. Galaxeé added a sly wink to her handshake. He slung his jacket over his shoulder and started toward the front door, telling himself not to look back, not to appear too eager or too arrogant. Step two now completed.

      A blast of bitter-cold air and snow flurries whirlwinded into the club before the heavy door slammed shut.

      “He likes you,” Galaxeé said. “And he’s got a penetrating pair of gray bullets that were fixed on you every second. When he arrived here, I was concerned, ready to boot the boy out. His aura was dark, murky. It glows now. Maybe it was fear, trepidation.”

      Rio rolled her eyes.

      “Did you notice how he opened for you?”

      “Stop,” she said flatly.

      “He did! An open invitation only for you. He’s well hung too. Majestically.” She grinned, winked. “You couldn’t hide your attraction either. Your tits swelled.”

      “Stop it, Galaxeé.” She had to admit, her lacy bra still felt uncomfortably binding.

      “I saw your nipples perk up under the silk. Bet Bryce saw them. Stood out like cat’s-eye marbles. Bet it made your tattoo spread with bigger, pink ears.”

      Rio hated the sound of a cackling witch, but she agreed with Galaxeé on one item. Bryce Sullivan was very well endowed.

      She’d felt the first signs of pleasurable interest: nipples tightening, quivering between her legs when she’d glanced down at the bulging thickness nestled inside tight jeans. Lots of inches. Lord. What would it look like during an erection, a big oak tree? She shuddered.

      Why couldn’t he have a tenor or sissy voice instead of an I-can-make-you-come-multiple-times bass? God, she loved hearing a seductive, low-pitched rumbler, whispering, promising a thoroughly carnal interlude. A tenor would’ve made it so much easier to forget Sullivan and file his application at the back of the folder. Or in the circular file.

      Still, at her age, any twenty-eight-year-old was too young, too inexperienced; she would consider it robbing the cradle.

      Uh-uh. No way.

      Anger crept under her skin for thinking of the sinful images, if a liaison ever happened. It never would, not in this lifetime. She had more important issues on her mind, like Killer Bods and her future. Denver’s metro area had plenty of room for another women’s club to strip Killer’s of its dancers and clientele.

      “I bet he’s got a hundred young chickies chasing after him. Besides, I don’t like men who flaunt their meat and put it on display like a hot item on a smorgasbord. Especially rookies.” Temper had crept into her tone.

      “He can’t help it. It’s part of him. What do you want him to do, cut it off? Is that why you like Dallas—Dickless?” Galaxeé laughed hard, mouth wide open, head falling back.

      “You drink too much,” Rio said. She meant it to sound snappish and snatched up the applications. “I’ll make copies for you. When you’re sober we’ll discuss them.”

      Rio stomped toward their office above the club. Four-inch stilettos clicked СКАЧАТЬ