Free Strip Search by Shayla Black Page B

of her choice. She wasn't called Commando Bitch for nothing.
    Mark was different. He wouldn't even dance unless he felt like it, much less let her pick the tune. Nicki wasn't prepared, had no defenses.
    From the beginning, the attraction that flared so bright had been unsettling. She'd wanted Mark bad--faster than anyone else, ever. On some level, her body must have known he could give her something she'd always craved yet feared: A real challenge, a sexually dominant man who didn't need to control others but unconsciously asserted quiet authority because he was. The devastating skill of his mouth only served to further overwhelm her.
    That's what scared her. She'd never asked herself this question before, and couldn't believe she was now, but what if she couldn't handle him?
    "Why don't you take the pizza and go back to your place?" Her voice shook, and she didn't care. She just needed time alone, to sort this through.
    "Nicki ..." He raked a hand through his hair, as his brow furrowed with a frown. Wisely, he didn't step any closer. "That went farther than I intended. I didn't mean for it to get so ... intense. But I'm not going to apologize, not when you were right there with me. Admit that."
    Anger and embarrassment stung her. She felt her face flush. He could have let her off easy by taking the blame. He'd started it, after all. But no, he wasn't going to let her squirm away from it. Not a bit.
    Damn him.
    "Fine. You're the man." And I apparently have all the spine of Gumby. "Take the pizza and go."
    "Truce," he cajoled. "Let's eat and talk about my costume. I swear I won't touch you again, not even if, by some miracle, you beg me to."
    "You wish." Nicki snorted. But inside, she feared it wouldn't take anything near a miracle to make her beg. God, she needed to get a grip on herself.
    "Yeah, I do." He shot her a rakish smile, complete with dimples, as he lifted the lid on the pizza box, grabbed a slice and handed it to her.
    Nicki took it and bit into the crust and cheese concoction just to give her mouth and hands something to do.
    Mark took another slice and followed suit.
    "You got five minutes," she laid down the law--though she was painfully aware she had no way to uphold it. "What's the matter with your costume?"
    He sighed. "I look like a vampire. And the silly homed helmet, are you serious?"
    "The dancer you're replacing had a whole cowboy bit. It doesn't fit you. This does. If you're image-conscious, this isn't the right job for you. When you're here, you're a fantasy. Period."
    In fact, he was a fantasy, in general. Not lasting, not really real, not something she could keep. Nicki knew she needed to drill that factoid into her head for her self-preservation.
    But the unvarnished truth didn't stop her from aching for him. Everywhere.
    True to his word, he didn't touch her again. Not even to shake her hand or hug her goodnight. Not even his eyes held remembrance or suggestion. That made her want him more, not less.
    Damn him.

    The fact Zack had asked Mark to an emergency rehearsal on Thursday afternoon underscored the reality that his efforts to screw up his Viking routines had not gone unnoticed. The fact Nicki had been called in to observe delighted him.
    Mark arrived a few minutes early, wearing the stupid-ass costume--except the helmet. He wasn't wearing that unless absolutely forced.
    With a scowl, he tossed the offending headgear on a nearby trunk.
    "You're not still pouting about your costume, are you?"
    Nicki. Mark whirled toward the sound of her voice to see her entering the stage area from the left, dressed in a denim skirt that showed a long length of thigh and a white sleeveless top that gathered right beneath breasts, which he lamented that he hadn't gotten his mouth around when he'd pressed her between the wall and his raging hard cock three days ago.
    She'd been avoiding him since.
    "I don't pout," he returned.
    Rolling her eyes, Nicki flashed him a kitten's smile. "All men do. Whether you call it