Into the Fury (BOSS, Inc. #1)(4)
Ethan and Dirk followed Carlyle toward the group of women standing in a semicircle, taking direction from the choreographer of the show, who stood in front of them.
“That’s Daniel Clemens. He can be a little pissy, but he’s damn good at his job. We couldn’t do the show without him.”
For rehearsal, most of the women were wearing black leggings under a collection of very short skirts, cutoff jeans, long T-shirts, and cutoff sweatshirts.
“For the next few days they’ll be working on their routines. There’s a full dress rehearsal the day before the show. That’ll include final costume fittings, live orchestra, everything.”
Ethan’s gaze ran over the women. At least for the moment, they were decently covered. Their casual dress didn’t change the fact that each woman was incredibly beautiful, their faces right out of a magazine.
Carlyle roll-called ten names and the women came forward. A couple of redheads, five blondes, two brunettes, and an ebony-skinned beauty with amazing cheekbones and long jet-black hair.
Ethan flicked a glance at Dirk, who carefully kept his eyes straight ahead.
“Ladies, these men will be working as additional security while we’re on tour. Ethan Brodie is the big guy on the right. Dirk Reynolds is the guy with the ’stache.”
Carlyle smiled. “Do me a favor and cut them some slack. They have a job to do, same as you. It’s easier if they don’t have to contend with naughty smiles and flirty remarks.”
The women chuckled good-naturedly.
“Introduce yourselves. First names are enough. Start at the far end and work this way.”
A redhead stepped forward. “I’m Caralee,” she said with a soft Southern drawl.
“I am Katerina.” A beautiful, smiling blonde with a hint of Russia in her voice.
As the women each spoke their names, Ethan mentally attached the name to a face, knew Dirk would be doing the same. The redheads were Caralee and Megan. The blondes were Heather; Katerina, the Russian; Delilah, with very high cheekbones; Ursula—either German or Austrian; and Valentine.
The brunettes were Isabel, a young Sophia Loren look-alike; and Carmen, a pretty, dark-eyed Latina. The exotic ebony-skinned woman was Amarika. From Africa, maybe. He couldn’t be sure.
He let his gaze travel over the women a final time, paused for a moment on the one who called herself Valentine. He liked blondes, always had. All five of them had gleaming long blond hair, some straight, some wavy. Valentine’s was the color of honey. It curled softly down her back and swung around her shoulders.
She was maybe five nine, about an inch shorter than the redhead named Megan, who stood beside her. Most of the girls were around five ten; a couple, including Amarika, appeared to be at least six feet. All of them wore strappy high heels that pushed them up another five or six inches.
In a room full of gorgeous women, it took a helluva lot to stand out. He heard throaty laughter, realized it came from redheaded Megan. Next to her, the blonde flashed a grin, and a stunning pair of dimples popped out. He’d remember that one now, Valentine. Sounded more like a stripper than a classy underwear model, but hey, what did he know?
And even in their nondescript rehearsal clothes, all of them were perfect. Chosen for their flawless faces and exquisite bodies.
Too perfect, as far as he was concerned. Even if the women weren’t off-limits, he wouldn’t be interested in a female whose entire focus was on herself. Hell, if it weren’t for sex, he’d give up women completely.
Unfortunately, he had needs, just like any other red-blooded male. As he looked over the tantalizing buffet of femininity and felt his body stir, he figured it was past time he made a date with one of his lady friends.
Women he had known for years, the sort who understood where he was coming from, made no demands, were fun to be with, and in it to satisfy their own needs, same as he was.
Not tonight. Tonight he was having supper with his cousin Nick and his wife, Samantha. Tomorrow night, maybe, if he could find the time. His gaze swung back to Valentine, and he felt a little kick. The sooner, he thought, the better.
“Ethan! Come on in.” Samantha Brodie stepped back so Ethan could walk into the single-story, wood-sided house on a heavily treed, oversized lot in the Newcastle area. The home wasn’t far from Brodie Operations’ main office in Bellevue and was also close to the Perfect Pup pet-grooming parlor where Samantha worked.
Ethan looked down at her and couldn’t help smiling. “Hi, sweetheart, how you feeling?” He was off women, had very little use for the female sex, at least for the moment, and yet Nick’s petite wife had won him over completely.
“I feel great.” She grinned, went up on her toes to give him a hug. “We both do.” Samantha was almost four months pregnant, with the little baby bump to prove it. With her freckled nose and bouncy nutmeg curls, she was the image of the girl next door. Nick was crazy in love with her and over the moon about having a kid.
“I heard you got the job with La Belle,” she said, still smiling.
“I got the job. Not really looking forward to the travel, but the money’s damn good.”
“It’s only for a few weeks, isn’t it? The show starts here in Seattle, goes to five other cities, then comes back home.”
“That’s right.” He didn’t ask how she knew what was going on with La Belle. He didn’t want to think of his cousin’s pretty wife in a pair of lacy bikini panties. He didn’t think Nick would appreciate that, either.