Rough Play by Christina Crooks

wiggled out of the booth and stood facing him. He smelled nice. His face and his powerful, almost intrusive presence still mesmerized her. She wished her nipples weren’t hard as little pebbles. What was it about him that drew her so strongly?
    “I told you. I don’t know any Gail.” He studied her. “But your reaction to the idea of ungentleness is rather telling.”
    In the dark of the club, with the recessed lights making his eyes glitter, he seemed to radiate all the right kinds of danger.
    She couldn’t tell if the electrical surge flooding her body was adrenaline or attraction.
    Not relevant, she told her body. She had serious unfinished business. Though he made it exceedingly difficult to concentrate on it.
    He might be dangerous, she reminded herself. “I’m looking for Gail, or whatever name she went by tonight. I haven’t seen downstairs yet . . . ?” She let her voice trail off, making it a gentle question. She allowed herself one touch of his arm while nodding to the stairs.
    He gave a sigh, and his lips quirked into a small smile as he nodded.
    He guided her toward the stairs. After they passed through the noise and heat of the dance floor, he spoke again. “May I take your coat?”
    She still had to raise her voice to be heard over the music. “No. I’m not here for a tour.”
    He leaned close to her ear. “I hadn’t planned on giving you one.”
    Her libido leapt at the now-familiar, silky sound of his deep voice. She frowned at her reaction to him and the knowing half smile that appeared on his lips. He was entirely too arrogant. She was going to confront him now, and damn the consequences. “Look. I want answers.”
    “An interrogation scene? Delightful.” At her look, he amended, “We’ll be able to . . . talk . . . more easily downstairs.” She felt his breath stir her hair. “May I play the inquisitor?”
    She made a small sound of wanting deep in her throat. To cover it, she raised her voice, faced him squarely. “Maybe. I have to find out . . .” her voice trailed off as his arms encircled her, grasping her rear as if it was his right.
    Her first impulse was to surrender herself into his arms, let him work his fingers deeper into the crack of her ass, encourage him to grind against her front, hope he took her violently the way everything about him promised he would. Cursing her traitorous body, not to mention her insane mind for even considering it, Charlotte danced away. “Okay, hold it right there!”
    He paused, hands up innocently. His obedience didn’t fool her. Charlotte watched him with suspicion. “First, answers. Then maybe play.” Had she just said that? She had. A sinking, melting sensation heated her more than her coat.
    “I’ll help you.” He moved closer again. She supposed he had to, to be heard over the music. Probably. “I’m taking your coat.” Fear dueled with want as he leaned in. He tugged at the bulky, concealing coat. The fabric slid slowly down her arms and swung free from her body. She shivered, though she wasn’t cold.
    He folded it neatly over one arm. He glanced at her body with appreciation. She saw his chest rise and fall in one deep, savoring breath. She wanted its broad expanse pressed against her. She wanted him. As if he knew it, he blinked lazily and brushed a stray hair back over her shoulder. His thumb grazed her neck and she trembled pleasurably. He stepped closer again.
    Her body knew what it wanted.
    Too bad for it. Her brain had to overrule her body, she decided, placing a flat palm against his chest.
    For a wonder, he respected it. “Yes?”
    “I thought we were going downstairs to look around and talk. About Gail. You have to help me find her.”
    “Have to.” It wasn’t a question. He seemed amused. “I will help you. For a price.”
    She shoved against him. It was like shoving against a cement wall. A warm, muscular cement wall. She spoke coldly. “You misunderstand me.”
    “I understand that when I touch you, you