Chapter 5

She'd had some first kisses in her time. Good first kisses, average first kisses, terrible first kisses, and some first kisses she'd classified as pretty darned great. But as Mal tightened his hands on her waist and kissed her back, she realized she'd been wrong about those. Those weren't great kisses. This was a great kiss.

Hot and sweet and slow as they explored each other.

His hand moved a little and hit the skin at her waist bared by her tank top and leggings and she shivered and wriggled a little closer.

Which made his hands pull her even tighter and suddenly there was no room between them at all.

It stole her breath and set her skin alight and in two point nothing seconds flat, the kiss went from great to unforgettable. Mal's mouth opened and so did hers and the deep seductive taste of him burned indelibly into her brain.

As did the feel of him right where their bodies pressed together. Leggings weren't much of a barrier, and it was abundantly clear that Mal was enjoying the kiss as much as she was.

Even as she thought it, he growled a little, a deep hum in the back of his throat, then settled her more firmly against him and took the kiss to a whole new level again.

Supernova.

Turning her into a spark of nothing but heat and the taste of Mal. Brain-meltingly good.

Wait. There was something wrong with her brain melting.

What was it?

She tried to think but he was hard against her and her thoughts collided, skittered, and dissolved when he moved and the hard length of him under his clothes hit her exactly right.

God.

No.

She had to think.

Think.

But he felt so good.

With some shred of self-preservation gathered from who knows where, she disentangled her hands from where they clutched his shirt, put them on his chest, ignoring the urge to grip him again, and pushed herself away from him. The effort left her breathless as she stared down at him.

He stared back, his eyes gone dark and dangerous, pupils wide, chest moving as rapidly as hers.

Crap.

So much for trying to scare him off with a kiss.

She should have remembered that kissing men like Mal rarely did anything but encourage them. It was the nice ones who were scared away by her being flirtatious and forward.

Though, as she looked at Mal and he looked at her, clearly just as dazed by that damned kiss as she was, she was struggling to remember exactly why she wanted a nice boy when there was a man like Mal at her fingertips.

Sanity.

Safety.

That was why. She was going for grown-up and adult. Going for stable. She was too old for the roaming insecure life of a Broadway dancer; that was why she'd started Madame R. And that meant she was responsible for people. For everyone who worked for her, for the ones who hired the space, for the women who came here for classes and an escape, for the audiences that came every night, looking for a bit of sparkle and sizzle and mystery.

She couldn't let people down. Couldn't lose her bearings—or more—because of a man.

Or not a man like Malachi Coulter.

The weight of those deep, dark eyes rested on her, the banked heat in them warming her skin all over again.

He hadn't pulled her close again, hadn't made any demands. No, he was just waiting, his hands resting, so lightly she was only just able to feel them, at her hips.

Being a gentleman.

Being a good guy.

But he couldn't hide it. She'd kissed him now and she knew that spark when she felt it. There was the same wildness and need at the heart of this man as there was at hers.

Two sparks would make a fire.

An all-consuming, destroying fire. Leaving ashes and destruction and pain.

So. No Mal for her.

A deep breath. Then another.

"Well," she managed. "That was … nice. Useful. Thank you."

One of his eyebrows twitched upward and a dimple appeared in one cheek as his mouth curved. "Useful?"

"Informative," she said brightly, trying to ignore the urge to start kissing him again. Her cheeks were flaming, she was sure. And she hardly ever blushed. "Very."

"And what exactly did you learn?"

She slid off his lap. He didn't stop her.

"That my first instincts were right," she said. "That this is a bad idea."

"So you liked it, then."

She definitely wasn't going to dignify that statement with a response.

Two more retreating steps put some more much-needed distance between them. "I'll introduce you to Luis," she said firmly.

Mal looked at her another few seconds then nodded. "If you say so." He unfolded himself out of the chair, making her wish desperately for her stilettos once again. He was too tall. Too annoying. Too … tempting. Standing there, looking half amused by her, as though he hadn't just had his hands on her body and his tongue down her throat.

"Though," he said, running one hand through his hair before tugging the edges of his T-shirt down where she'd rumpled it up past his hip. "For the record, I'd like to state that I think that I disagree with your assessment of the situation."

"Noted. But when it comes to who kisses me, I get the deciding vote."

He smiled then, slow and sure, and she wasn't sure if it was lust or irritation heating her blood. Though it was probably lust. Irritation had never made her weak at the knees before.

"Well, then," he said with a drawl that made her think that at some point in his life he'd spent no little time either in the southern states or surrounded by southerners. "I guess I'll just have to work on changing your opinion."

Raina led Mal back down through the club to the back office where Luis was likely to be hiding, working hard not to turn back and look at him every few seconds. She was aware of him walking behind her, aware of the space he took up, of the boundaries and lines of his body.

Almost as though she could describe exactly where he was without looking. As though the tingle on her skin and the weight of his gaze on the back of her head drew a perfect image of him in her mind.

Unsettling.

Sometimes she'd gained that sort of awareness with a dance partner, the kind where you could reach out a hand and know where they were without looking. But that was a hard-won awareness, born out of hours of sweat and moving together. Of trusting and learning each other.

She couldn't remember it happening with a lover.

And Mal wasn't even her lover.

She intended it to stay that way. Luckily Madame R's wasn't that big and she reached Luis's office and rapped on the door with relief. She didn't usually stand on ceremony around here but since Luis and Brady had gotten married, they were enjoying some sort of honeymoon frenzy. It wouldn't shock her to catch them wrapped around each other, but she couldn't be sure how Mal would react.

"Come on in." Luis's deep voice echoed from behind the door and she threw it open.

Luis was sitting at the desk in front of the bank of security screens, which were a lot older and less sophisticated than Mal's at Deacon. The pictures were gray and grainy, and Luis was frowning at one of the images, which had dissolved into static. A second screen was completely black. That one, Raina knew, was the feed the vandalized camera at the front door should have been producing. The one they'd need to replace if it couldn't be cleaned.

Raina joined Luis by his desk, trying not to make it too obvious that she was trying to put some distance between her and Mal. Luis shot her a quizzical look but didn't say anything.

"Luis, this is?—"

"Malachi Coulter," Luis said. "He was at the door earlier." He levered himself out of his seat and held out a hand to Mal. "Mr. Coulter. Nice to meet you. How's that team of yours shaping up?"

Luis was a Saints fan. Damn, she'd forgotten that.

"Well, spring training went well. We've filled our roster, picked up a couple of good pitchers, so now we find out if we made the right choices."

"I saw that Basara kid on one of the televised games," Luis said, nodding enthusiastically. "He's got an arm on him."

"He's got some potential," Mal agreed. "I'm looking forward to seeing how he does."

Much as it was a relief to have some of Mal's attention focused on someone other than her for a little while, Raina knew she had to nip this particular topic of conversation in the bud. Otherwise Mal and Luis would be talking baseball for hours. Which wouldn't get him out of her club and out of her head anytime soon.

"Luis," she said. "Mal looks after security for the Saints. He noticed our door and the camera and offered to see if there was anything he could do."

Luis's dark eyes narrowed briefly and Raina wondered if she was going to be in the middle of some sort of male power game. But apparently baseball trumped any ego Luis might have about his systems, because he shrugged.

"Sure," he said. "Always good to have an expert opinion." He jerked his head toward one of the chairs near the desk where he did paperwork. "Pull up a seat."

"Did you get any footage of the guy who tagged your door?" Mal asked as he pulled up the chair.

"Nothin' but the first few seconds before he sprayed the camera," Luis said. "There's only the one out front. The queue isn't usually long enough to warrant more."

Mal nodded. "I see. Do you mind if I take a look?"

Raina felt herself bristle. "Luis has stuff to do. I told you, it was just a dumb kid."

"And I told you, I take the security of anyone associated with the Saints very seriously," Mal said. That earned him an approving look from Luis. Damn, between baseball and acting all protective, Mal was winning brownie points with Luis.

"I—"

Another knock on the door interrupted her. Brady stuck his head into the office, smiled blindingly at Luis, and then looked at Raina. "There you are. I ran the girls through the rest of the routine but they're on break now. Are you coming back to rehearsal? I want you to try on the wings again. I've made some tweaks."

"Wings?" Mal said, looking startled. Maybe it was Brady's hair, which was currently mostly brilliant blue with a few black streaks. It set off his blue eyes very nicely but still took some getting used to.

"Wings for your Angels," Brady said. "I'm helping Raina with the costumes."

"Wings?" Mal repeated, turning toward Raina.

"It was Alex's idea," Raina said.

"I'm sure it was," Mal said, shaking his head.

"If you're going to have a baseball team called the Saints and a dance squad called the Fallen Angels, then you're just going to have to put up with all the bad heaven and hell imagery," Raina said.

"I know that," Mal said. "I've been a Saints fan a long time."

"Should've picked the Yankees," Brady said. "No wings in the Yankees. Though, thank God you didn't. Not sure what we would have done for costumes there." He nailed Raina with a look of impatience. "So are you coming back? Or do you have something more important to do?" He lifted an eyebrow then, his eyes flicking to Mal.

Raina's face went hot again. Damn it. Brady had a supernatural sixth sense when it came to registering sexual tension. She should have hustled Mal out of the club as soon as possible. Because now she was going to get grilled six ways from Sunday about Mal and what she might or might not feel about him.

She bit her lip, torn. If she stayed, then Brady would be teasing her about being unable to keep her mind on the job with the big boss man in the house in about thirty seconds flat. Which was so not a conversation she wanted to have anywhere in the vicinity of Mal.

But if she went with Brady, then Mal would have free rein to wangle all of Madame R's security dilemmas out of Luis. Worse, he might then decide he needed to get involved in fixing them.

Damned if she did, damned if she didn't.

Where was the convenient wall to bang her head against while she decided which was the lesser of two evils.

"Raina?" Brady said again. "We need this routine down before tonight. Carla's sick, so she's out. Which means we need the extra group number. Unless you want to do ten minutes of flirting with the crowd to make up the time?"

No. No she didn't. She was tired and, while she was very used to working when she was tired and cold, and could, if needed, turn on the charm and the smile and the flirting and have an audience eating out of her hand even when she was nearly dead, she didn't want to. Between the Saints and the door and all the other balls she was trying to keep in the air, she'd save energy where she could.

"I'm coming," she said. "Just give me a couple more minutes."

"Five, max," Brady said. "The bloody wings take forever, so you need to sign off on the design tonight so I can get the seamstresses working on the white ones. The feathers are arriving tomorrow. Eighteen pairs of wings by Saturday week is cutting it pretty fine."

"What color is the pair you've made for Raina?" Mal said.

Brady smiled at him. A sneaky sort of smile that Raina didn't like the look of. "Why don't you come by the stage when you're done here and we'll show you?"

"I might just do that," Mal said.

Raina's heart sank. She wanted him to leave. But he was one of the people paying for the wings and the outfits and her time, so she could hardly tell him no.

Brady looked somewhat smug. "That would be awesome. Raina, five minutes." He spun on his heel and disappeared back out the door before she had time to object.

Luis was watching her with amusement in his eyes. He was obviously drawing the same sort of conclusions about her discomfort as Brady had.

Double damn. Or even worse words that she wasn't going to let herself think because she might just start saying them out loud.

Swearing at Mal wasn't exactly an option, either.

She turned back to Mal, who was waiting patiently. "Okay, you heard the man. I have five minutes."

"You could just go now," Luis said. "Mal and I can talk computer at each other and you won't be bored stupid."

"I speak geek," Raina said. She'd had to learn it. Running a business was easier if you understood computers.

"This will be über-geek," Luis said.

She frowned at him. He looked unrepentant. There was no graceful way to say Okay, but don't tell this guy all my secrets, so she made a frustrated noise and said, "Fine. Mal, don't keep him too long, we have a busy night ahead of us here, so Luis has plenty to do."

"Understood," Mal said. "I have to be on my way soon anyway."

Thank goodness for that. One small thing that was going her way, at least.

"I could just send you a picture of the wings. Send it to all three of you," she offered.

"Might as well look while I'm here." The dimple in his cheek flashed again. "Go on, or Blue Hair will be reading you the riot act."

"His name is Brady," Raina said. "And he works for me."

Luis snorted. "Don't you always say that a wise dancer doesn't piss off her choreographer?"

"Maybe. But who said I had to practice what I preach?"

Mal grinned at that. "Consistency builds morale."

"Morale is just fine," Raina said. "Everyone here gets to dress up in pretty things and have fun. It's not a baseball club."

"So I see," Mal said. "Well, go have your fun then. I'll come check out these wings after Luis and I have our conversation."

There was no point standing here arguing with the man. He clearly wasn't going to leave until he was good and ready, and she was going to be late for Brady. And that would just cause more drama.

She would give her right arm for a lack of drama right now.

And a lack of disturbingly attractive men damaging her calm.

Who would have thought that baseball would be so much trouble?

Raina had lost track of time when she noticed Mal standing at the back of the main room, behind the last row of tables, eyes fixed on her. She must have stiffened because Brady, who was doing something to the fit of the harness that held up the wings, made an annoyed sound.

"Stand still," he muttered through his mouthful of pins.

"I am," she said.

"No, you're not," he retorted. He pushed the wing forward and stuck his head out from behind it. "And now I see why. Mr. Tall Dark and Baseball is back." He came all the way out from behind Raina and beckoned at Mal. "Come on down here, Mr. Coulter."

"Call me Mal," Mal replied. He started weaving his way through the tables toward the stage.

Raina watched his approach and suddenly felt severely underdressed. Which was dumb because she was actually wearing more clothes than she had been earlier. She still had her leggings and crop top on, but Brady had insisted she slip on a sparkly black shift dress that approximated the length of the angel outfits he had made to go with the wings.

Somehow wearing the scrap of silk and sequins made her feel naked. And then there were the wings themselves. The harness crossed between her breasts and the tightness of it and the weight of the wings forced her shoulders back so her boobs were front and center. She might as well have been striking a Playboy pose. She wasn't exactly huge in the breast department but the combination was doing its best to highlight what she did have.

The wings, which on the Angels would come down just past their hips, almost reached her knees. Brady had made them to scale for one of the universally tall dancers they'd hired, not her. The black and pink feathers surrounded her on either side and arced up over her head.

She felt like she was being served up to Mal's gaze on a feathery platter.

What's worse, seeing him looking made her feel hot and weak at the knees all over again.

Her body had no sense.

Mal reached the edge of the stage, stopped for a long look that swept slowly up from her ankles to the top of her head, then boosted himself up to stand beside her.

She was, at least, wearing dance shoes now, which gave her a couple of extra inches of height.

"Impressive," Mal murmured. "That look has potential."

"The version for your dance squad will be white of course," Raina said. "And the outfits are white, too. With touches of silver and blue and yellow."

Mal reached out and touched one of the feathers near her right ear softly.

There was something wrong with her because a shiver ran over her skin as though he'd stroked her, not the wing.

"I have kind of a soft spot for black and pink," he said.

"Well, not sure your fans will go for those as team colors," she said briskly.

"They might if they saw you in this outfit," Mal said.

Behind her, Brady cleared his throat. "So you approve?" he asked.

Mal shrugged. "They look cool. But aren't wings hard to dance in?"

"They won't be wearing them for the whole routine," Raina said. "They come in doing this slow sort of walk and then there's a bit of a—" She demonstrated the slow-mo shimmy/twist/turn series of moves briefly, figuring that Mal wouldn't understand if she started spouting dance terminology at him. She hadn't thought about how he might react, though.

Which was to go still and deep while he watched her, his eyes once again full of wicked intentions. "Anyway," she said, trying to pretend she hadn't noticed, "imagine that with someone taller and blonder than me."

"I don't go for blondes," he said. Beside her Brady choked down a laugh.

"Anyway," she continued, soldiering on. "Then we do this." She hit the release on the wings, shrugged out of them, and let them flutter to the ground. "Fallen angels, get it? Which leaves the girls perfectly able to do the rest of the routines. It's like a big opening number. Get some attention, let the press get some good shots. Alex is using us for some publicity, so we're going for a bit of spectacle and razzle-dazzle."

Mal was still looking at her and she got the feeling he was thinking about things very far removed from spectacle and razzle-dazzle. Things that were far more personal. Involving a much smaller cast and a much smaller set.

Damn it, now she was thinking about it, too. She bent down and picked up the wings. She didn't know quite how Brady had done it but they were light enough to be wearable without giving anyone a back injury but tough enough to survive being shed by the Angels during the routine.

She ran her hand down the wings, smoothing the feathers. The black with the odd brilliant pink one here and there was striking. Maybe she could come up with a way to use them in the show here.

One of her reasons for taking the job with the Saints was to try to get some publicity for the club as well, so it couldn't hurt to have a fallen-angel routine that was a little more burlesque and naughty than she could get away with on a baseball field.

"So, what do you think?" Brady said.

"I'm beginning to understand Alex's point of view on the cheerleader thing," Mal said.

"Fab," Brady said. He reached out and took the wings from Raina. "Well, I'll just put these bad boys away and leave you two to chat. Many wings to make before Saturday and all that." He disappeared behind the stage curtain before Raina could object. Leaving her alone with Mal again. Feeling even more naked without the wings.

Where exactly had she left her hoodie again?

She couldn't remember. And she wasn't going to give the Mal the satisfaction of hunting frantically for it to put it on so she felt less exposed. Instead she straightened her spine. "Thanks. That was helpful."

"I want to talk to you about the graffiti. Luis said it wasn't the first time."

"I thought we already discussed that. I'm not an idiot, Mr. Coulter—" She couldn't quite bring herself to use his name. Not with that kiss still tingling on her lips. "—if I thought there was an actual problem, I'd take steps. I take my safety and the safety of everyone who works here just as seriously as you take things as Deacon. Now, don't you have somewhere to be?"

"I do," he said. "But it can wait."

The implication being that he had all the time in the world to stand there and watch her while he grilled her about her security. But she didn't want him watching her any longer and she really didn't want to talk to him. When she talked to him, she apparently lost her mind the way she had earlier, in her office.

"That must be nice," she said. "But my schedule is pretty packed today." She made her way over to the stairs at the side of the stage and headed down. Normally she just hopped off the edge, but she didn't want to give Mal any chance to get his hands on her again in the guise of being gentlemanly and helping her.

When she was safely down on the floor, she turned back to him. And froze. He was standing under a spotlight, outlined in light against her black velvet stage curtain. Every long, lean inch of him perfectly outlined. Like a da Vinci drawing of the ideal male specimen.

Her brain adjusted the image by removing the clothes he was wearing and she blinked and turned away, heading for the door that led to the outside, spots dancing in front of her eyes from both the spotlights and the desire dancing through her veins.

She heard Mal follow her but this time she'd learned her lesson and didn't look back.