Dane asked smugly.
“Just what did you tell me, little brother?” Chase’s voice, like his thoughts, was raw and rough.
“That you’ve never seen anything like her.”
Chase smiled thinly. “Outside of a red-light district, no, I can’t say as I have.”
“Chase Wilcox, closet Puritan!” Dane hooted in disbelief. “Say it again. I still don’t believe it. Tahitian dancing can be a little sexy, sure, but it’s a long way from smutty.”
“Couldn’t prove it by watching the red-hot redhead. I’m surprised the cops haven’t shut this place down.”
Dane realized that his brother was serious. “What are you talking about? Look around you. The Kipuka Club is rated PG.”
After a moment Chase forced a smile onto his lips. He knew that his brother was right. There were families gathered around tables all through the supper club, enjoying the food, drink, and professional conversations that were the Kipuka’s hallmark.
Reluctantly he admitted that if he found Nicole’s dance violently arousing, the problem was with him rather than with the dance itself. He had seen Tahitian dance performed before, had enjoyed the saucy rhythms, the curve of breasts and hips, and none of it had raised his heartbeat worth mentioning.
But that was before the fire-haired goddess.
All Chase could think was that the men in the club must be as blind as stones not to see the wildness in her, the hunger, the sexual heat.
My God, the sheer heat.
On the heels of that thought came another, one that made Chase’s mouth curl slightly beneath the thick black sheen of his mustache. The women must be blind, too, or they would grab their men whenever Pele came onstage and take off like bats out of an erupting volcano.
“When does Nicole make her rounds of the tables?” Chase asked idly.
“Make her rounds?”
“Yeah. You know. Go to each table and smile and press the flesh and get tips stuffed into her lavalava.”
Dane shook his head. “You’ve been keeping the wrong company, bro. You keep acting like this is a strip joint and Nicole’s some kind of exceptionally well coordinated tart. If you try to stuff money in her lavalava, you’ll lose your hand.”
“I don’t notice Jan dancing here,” Chase pointed out.
“Try next Wednesday. That’s amateur night. But if I catch your hands anywhere near her lavalava, I’ll hire three men and break your arm.”
Chase tilted his head back and laughed, really laughed, releasing some of the tension that had coiled so explosively inside him. The sound of his laughter was contagious. Nearby people looked around and smiled at him for no other reason than their pleasure in hearing him.
“I’m glad to see you have enough sense to be jealous of Jan,” Chase said finally.
“Just cautious. Women fall into your hands like sun-ripe fruit. Jan makes life very comfortable for me. I don’t want her too close to your lethal charm. After fifteen years of staid married life, she might get itchy and wonder if she missed anything by marrying real young.”
Like you’re itchy? Chase asked his brother silently. Aloud, he said, “Women trample me to get to you. You’re so damned civilized and elegant you’re almost pretty.”
Dane grinned. “Yeah. Ain’t it grand?”
As long as it isn’t Nicole chasing you, yes.
Chase knew there was no way his brother could have a very discreet, very meaningless affair with Nicole and then go back to Jan a wiser man. But Dane didn’t know that, and he wasn’t listening to his older, wiser brother.
Chase felt like leaning over, grabbing his brother’s shirt, and yelling, Listen to me, damn you! You’re going to screw up a wonderful marriage and never know it until way too late.
Even as Chase wanted to pound on his brother’s stubborn head, he knew that there wasn’t much hope of words getting through. When their crotch was on alert, men were exceptionally vulnerable. Stupid, even. Shortsighted, certainly.
Except for Jan, Chase had never known
“Just what did you tell me, little brother?” Chase’s voice, like his thoughts, was raw and rough.
“That you’ve never seen anything like her.”
Chase smiled thinly. “Outside of a red-light district, no, I can’t say as I have.”
“Chase Wilcox, closet Puritan!” Dane hooted in disbelief. “Say it again. I still don’t believe it. Tahitian dancing can be a little sexy, sure, but it’s a long way from smutty.”
“Couldn’t prove it by watching the red-hot redhead. I’m surprised the cops haven’t shut this place down.”
Dane realized that his brother was serious. “What are you talking about? Look around you. The Kipuka Club is rated PG.”
After a moment Chase forced a smile onto his lips. He knew that his brother was right. There were families gathered around tables all through the supper club, enjoying the food, drink, and professional conversations that were the Kipuka’s hallmark.
Reluctantly he admitted that if he found Nicole’s dance violently arousing, the problem was with him rather than with the dance itself. He had seen Tahitian dance performed before, had enjoyed the saucy rhythms, the curve of breasts and hips, and none of it had raised his heartbeat worth mentioning.
But that was before the fire-haired goddess.
All Chase could think was that the men in the club must be as blind as stones not to see the wildness in her, the hunger, the sexual heat.
My God, the sheer heat.
On the heels of that thought came another, one that made Chase’s mouth curl slightly beneath the thick black sheen of his mustache. The women must be blind, too, or they would grab their men whenever Pele came onstage and take off like bats out of an erupting volcano.
“When does Nicole make her rounds of the tables?” Chase asked idly.
“Make her rounds?”
“Yeah. You know. Go to each table and smile and press the flesh and get tips stuffed into her lavalava.”
Dane shook his head. “You’ve been keeping the wrong company, bro. You keep acting like this is a strip joint and Nicole’s some kind of exceptionally well coordinated tart. If you try to stuff money in her lavalava, you’ll lose your hand.”
“I don’t notice Jan dancing here,” Chase pointed out.
“Try next Wednesday. That’s amateur night. But if I catch your hands anywhere near her lavalava, I’ll hire three men and break your arm.”
Chase tilted his head back and laughed, really laughed, releasing some of the tension that had coiled so explosively inside him. The sound of his laughter was contagious. Nearby people looked around and smiled at him for no other reason than their pleasure in hearing him.
“I’m glad to see you have enough sense to be jealous of Jan,” Chase said finally.
“Just cautious. Women fall into your hands like sun-ripe fruit. Jan makes life very comfortable for me. I don’t want her too close to your lethal charm. After fifteen years of staid married life, she might get itchy and wonder if she missed anything by marrying real young.”
Like you’re itchy? Chase asked his brother silently. Aloud, he said, “Women trample me to get to you. You’re so damned civilized and elegant you’re almost pretty.”
Dane grinned. “Yeah. Ain’t it grand?”
As long as it isn’t Nicole chasing you, yes.
Chase knew there was no way his brother could have a very discreet, very meaningless affair with Nicole and then go back to Jan a wiser man. But Dane didn’t know that, and he wasn’t listening to his older, wiser brother.
Chase felt like leaning over, grabbing his brother’s shirt, and yelling, Listen to me, damn you! You’re going to screw up a wonderful marriage and never know it until way too late.
Even as Chase wanted to pound on his brother’s stubborn head, he knew that there wasn’t much hope of words getting through. When their crotch was on alert, men were exceptionally vulnerable. Stupid, even. Shortsighted, certainly.
Except for Jan, Chase had never known
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