She hadn’t even removed her top, but still, his eyes zeroed in on her over the other topless women, gorgeous though they were. He’d always had a thing for redheads. And she knew it, damn her. Worst of all, she was hiding something. She knew Trey better than she let on. Still, his suspicions couldn’t stop his libido from running amok. He wiped his sweaty palms on his jeans, vowing he wouldn’t touch her no matter what. He’d certainly extracted information in physically painful ways before, but this would be sheer torture. He didn’t remember the last time he’d had such a hard-on. And never in the presence of a suspected perp. Finally she came over to him and offered her hand. Feeling like a bull led by his balls, he took that dainty hand and followed her to the very back of the club, to a tiny alcove. Oh hell. He knew what that meant. Now no one could see them. City ordinance forbade men touching the strippers, but that was about as enforceable as the old law still on the books in Texas that you could get arrested for spitting on the sidewalk.
