Anything for You (Blue Heron #5)(21)

Connor suddenly wished he had a blanket.

One of the men held up a bill. “Bend over, doll. Do you do lap dances, by the way?”

Connor was on his feet before he realized he was moving, but Jess had already turned, bolting down the runway and behind the curtain.

“Nice. You scared her to death, *s,” Mrs. Adamson called with a hearty double-fisted salute.

“Last call,” said the bartender.

Connor jumped lightly onto the runway and followed Jess. No one stopped him, so he went behind the curtain.

There was a little hallway that led to the bar on one end, a small room (closet, more like it) on the other. Mrs. Adamson was talking to someone in the bar and barely flicked an eyelid at Connor.

The dressing room door was slightly ajar. Con opened it a little more.

There she was, face in her hands.

“So rhythm isn’t really your thing,” Connor said, leaning in the doorway, and she jumped out of her chair like he’d tazed her.

“Shit.” She grabbed her jeans and flannel shirt. “What are you doing here?” she asked, pulling on her clothes. She dashed her arm across her eyes.

“I’m a scout for Dancing with the Stars. Sorry, we’ve had to rule you out.” He smiled.

Her eyes flickered, then she shrugged, her face neutral. “I needed some extra money.”

“Really? It’s not your dream to be a stripper?”

“Shut up.” She might’ve been thinking about smiling. He was almost sure of it.

“So, Jess,” Mrs. Adamson said, thundering down the hall. “You’re fired. Sorry, kid. Stripping’s not for everyone.”

“You were quite good, though, Mrs. Adamson,” Connor said. He handed her a twenty.

“Oh, Connor O’Rourke! Look at you, all grown up! Thanks, sweetheart.” She pinched his cheek and took the cash. “We’re closing. Off you go, kids.” She strutted back down the hall, the floor trembling under her weight.

Jessica tied her hair into a ponytail with a smooth, quick movement. “So you go to strip clubs a lot?” she said.

“No. This is my second time.”

“Why tonight? You stalking me?”

“Not consciously.” He looked at her for a long minute, taking in the fact that she was jamming things into her bag, moving as fast as she could. “That was really brave, Jess.”

She looked up sharply.

“And I won’t tell anyone.”

Her gaze dropped back to her bag. “Thanks.”

“You want to get a drink?”

“It’s almost eleven. Nowhere’s open.”

“O’Rourke’s might be. I know the owner.”

She hesitated, then met his eyes. “I could use a drink. Which is probably why I shouldn’t have one.”

“How about a Coke, then?”

She nodded.

The fresh air was welcome after the beer-scented fog of the club. Connor waited till Jess got into her car. She turned the key, but there was only a click. “This night seems to be cursed. Can you give me a jump?”

“I only have my bike.” He gestured to his motorcycle. “I’ll give you a ride home, though. After your Coke.”

She got out of the car. He took off his leather jacket and handed it to her.

“I’ll be fine,” she said.

“Put it on. This, too.” He gave her the helmet, and after a second, she did what he asked.

Mentally thanking the gods that had chosen this night for her battery to die, Connor got on the bike. Jess climbed on behind him and put her arms around his waist.

Driving through the dark, Jessica pressed against his back, was about the best thing that had happened to Connor in years. The drive had seemed long on the way out; now, it was way too short.

He parked the bike behind O’Rourke’s, then unlocked the door. “It’s not quite finished yet,” he said needlessly, turning on just the light behind the bar.

Jessica slid out of his coat and put the helmet on the bar.

“It’s beautiful,” she said. She took a long look around, then ran her hand over the bar. “You’re gonna put a dent in Hugo’s business, that’s for sure.”

“Well. It’s...it’s just a pub.”

“Looks like a lot more than that to me.”

Connor saw it through her eyes—the U-shaped bar, the booths with the carefully chosen lighting and comfortable leather seats, the tables that he’d paid extra for so they wouldn’t wobble, unlike 98% of all restaurant tables everywhere. The wide-planked floor and tin ceiling, the amber lights that hung over the bar.

Hopefully, yes, it would be a lot more than a pub.

Jess went to sit down on one of the stools, then stopped. “You live upstairs, right?”

“Right.” His residence wasn’t a secret, but he was surprised Jess knew.

“Would it be all right if I took a shower?” Her voice was businesslike, but she didn’t meet his eyes.

“Yeah, of course. Right this way.” He brought her upstairs, abruptly wishing his place didn’t look like a dorm room. He got a clean towel and handed it to her, feeling awkward. “Take your time,” he said. “I’ll be downstairs.”

He went back down, trying not to think about the fact that Jessica Dunn was taking off her clothes in his apartment. Stepping into his shower. Naked. Wet. Soap suds streaming down her long, smooth—