Mistress Christmas: Wild West Boys by Lorelei James Page B

highball glasses, ignoring each other. He noticed a couple of bodies bent over the gambling machines in the backroom. The area for lap dances was cordoned off and completely dark.
    For the first time in a long time, Nick wasn’t sure how to play it. Should he storm through the door warning “No Unauthorized Admittance”? Should he demand to see the manager? Or should he just demand to see the good Mistress?
    “Hey, buddy.”
    His head swiveled toward the gravelly male voice behind the bar. “Yeah?”
    “Whatcha want to drink?”
    “Arctic Ale.”
    “Coming right up.” The man popped the top on a brown bottle and slid it across the counter. “That’ll be ten bucks.”
    “For one beer? Don’t you have happy hour prices?”
    The big man shrugged. “Everything is pricey in the entertainment industry.”
    Nick jerked his chin toward the empty stage. “Don’t see any entertainment goin’ on. When’s the show start?”
    “In an hour.”
    “Mistress Christmas here tonight?” He took a pull off his beer and hated the anxiety making his head pound.
    “Yep.” Another customer garnered the bartender’s attention and he turned away.
    Nick chose a barstool in the corner that allowed him to keep an eye on the door to the backroom and the restrooms, where a mirrored section of the ceiling gave him an unobstructed view of the entrance. Holly wouldn’t get past him tonight. No way, no how.
    He waited. Sipped his beer. Thirty minutes ticked by. A few more customers trickled in. His cell phone buzzed and he looked at the caller ID. Shit. It was his captain. Nick slid off the stool and headed to the bathroom to take the phone call in private.
    Five minutes later he came around the corner and saw her. Mistress Christmas. Long, black leather-clad legs. Red bustier. Bare shoulders. Hair piled on top of her head, revealing the sexy length of her neck.
    Nick’s pulse throbbed in his temple.
    She kept her back to him and was gesturing and laughing with the guy who’d been sitting across from him. Acting as if she didn’t have a care in the world. As he stalked closer, he noticed a couple of key things. She must’ve been wearing stilettos because he wasn’t towering over her by a good five inches. She must’ve been wearing a wig because her hair wasn’t a shiny mass of auburn waves, but nearly black.
    Finally it was the smattering of freckles across her back that threw him off. Holly had freckles on her nose. His mouth tasted every alluring curve of her shoulder and he hadn’t remembered freckles.
    Nick tapped her on the shoulder and said, “Holly?”
    Unfamiliar cool blue eyes connected with his. “No. Afraid you’ve got the wrong person.”
    “Then who are you supposed to be in that getup?” He pointed to her clothes, the exact same outfit Holly had worn, minus the mask.
    “I’m Mistress Christmas.”
    He lowered his voice. “Like hell. Where is she?”
    “Where is who?”
    “The real Mistress Christmas.”
    “I am the real deal, buddy.”
    “But—” Nick counted to ten. Where was Holly? He spied the door to the back. “My mistake,” he said, then sidestepped her and made a beeline for the private entrance.
    “Hey! You can’t go back there!”
    Once inside the darkened passageway, he zoomed past the dressing area where the strippers readied themselves. A door loomed ahead. Just as he was about to kick it in, Holly emerged.
    She stumbled over a fruit basket and tumbled right into his arms. “Nick?”
    Frustration set in and he hauled her upright until they were nose-to-nose. “Yes, I’m Nick, but who the hell are you? And where do you get off stealing my wallet and walking out on me?”

Chapter Nine
    “I didn’t steal your wallet on purpose, Detective.”
    At her use of his title, he knew guilt flickered in his eyes.
    “It ended up on top of my purse and it was so dark when I left—”
    “You mean when you snuck out like a thief in the night?”
    “I am not a thief,” she huffed.
    “Says