Jo Leigh - One-Click Buy - September Harlequin Blaze

“I thought it was a bug,” he said with an uncomfortable grimace.

She yanked her false eyelashes out of his fingers. “A bug? You thought I had a bug on my face?”

“It’s not like you’d be able to tell if you did with that stupid mask on. Why do you wear it when you’re not on stage, anyway?”

Oh, boy. A question she definitely couldn’t answer.

“You don’t have to keep up this mysterious woman act for the staff, do you? So why not take it off and take a deep breath?” Swiping a frustrated hand through his short, spiky hair, he added, “Or at least put your damn false eyelashes on more securely?”

She almost growled in annoyance. He was the reason she’d had to put the lashes on through the eyehole in the mask. “I want a lock on my dressing room door,” she whispered harshly.

He glanced at the knob. “You don’t have one?”

“No.” Thinking quickly, she added, “And that’s one reason I keep the mask on all the time. I have no place to go for complete privacy. A reporter who did an article on the club a few weeks ago came creeping around down here one day, trying to get a picture of the real me.”

Nick moved in close, towering over her, burning her with his heat. Putting his hands on the wall on either side of her, he trapped her in. “Who is he?”

Izzie nibbled her lip, trying with every ounce of her strength not to throw her arms around his shoulders and her legs around his waist. Or to shove him away so he’d stop looking searchingly at her, seeing her eyes…how could he not recognize her eyes? How could he be this close and not know the 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, 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.

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 off.

So why are you so tense?

Good question. He was wound as tight as a ball of rubber bands, his jaw flexing, his hands clenching. His heart wasn’t maintaining its usual pace, it was rushed, as if adrenaline had flooded his body.

When they introduced her, something did flood his body. Heated awareness. Maybe adrenaline, too.

She didn’t spot him when she started, and from here Nick had a perfect view of every move she made. She was using the pole tonight, taking advantage of it to showcase her strength and flexibility. Not to mention inviting every man in the audience to imagine being the one she was writhing against, the one cupped between her incredibly long legs.

He tensed, then thrust away the flash of jealousy. It was none of his business what Rose did-in her professional life or in her personal one.

She’d begun removing her petals now, they fluttered onto the stage, one even wafting so close it was only about a foot away from Nick’s corner position. Something made him step closer, to reach for it. Whether to give it back to her, or to save it as a souvenir, he couldn’t say. Fingering it lightly, he stuck it in his pocket and kept watching.

When this close, he had a very good view of the Crimson Rose…a view of a trim waist made for his hands. Of supple legs he could almost feel wrapped around his hips. Of slender fingers that had tangled easily in his hair. A delicate throat for nibbling. Lush round breasts for cupping. And when she removed the petals covering those breasts, his mouth flooded at the image of sucking on those dark, pebbled nipples.

Every bit of her was familiar…to his eyes, and to the rest of his body. He knew what it would be like to taste her, to touch her, to hear her soft little moans of pleasure.