A sizzling update to keep you warm during the heat if you're in the UK.
There's something different about this evening. Dempsey can't place it when he walks in; like a beaten-down dog, he hides in the shadows. Maybe it's Friday night.
"Do you want a drink?" The waitress from last night smiles at him, and Dempsey isn't so sure about her reasons. She's cute, but he's distracted.
"Scotch on the rocks." He needs it to calm the hell down.
She brings it back on a tray. Once, a lifetime ago, Dempsey recalls Harry doing the very same. "Marilyn will be on soon; she's got a new routine."
He shrugs.
"I can ask her to come over if you like?"
"No, there's really, Jeez, there's no need!" Dempsey is terrified that prospect makes him feel. He doesn't do scared, and he's handled a half-naked hit woman and detonated a bomb, for Christ's sake. If being in love makes him scared witless, he wants out. If this is what that is, hell, it sucks.
"Okay." The girl shrugs, "You seem like her sort of guy."
Dempsey makes his drink last; he doesn't want to attract any more attention from the waitress or say yes when he means no.
There's an Asian girl on the stage, her name is 'Firework Faith' and she's attracting a crowd. He studies her; the moves are different to Harry's; his partner has a litheness he'd forgotten. Harry is, now he considers it, always ready to run. She is strong enough to throw any criminal over her shoulder and has a good shot.
As the dancer removes her top, he also realizes that the only body he's interested in is that of his partner. He's screwed.
XXXX
Backstage, Gemma is eager to share that the 'Sexy Guy with the cigar is back.'
Harry takes a few breaths and decides how she feels. If it is Dempsey there, he has seen her on stage already, and to his credit, he's not broken her cover. In the past,he's muscled in and found an opening with the guise of protecting her. This surprises her and makes her contemplate, as she adds stars to her cheekbones, how he has changed since that first case where he insisted on being her husband.
She feels a bit of a thrill. Dempsey came back.
What would Marilyn do?
She'd give him a show, and maybe that's why she's settled on a new dress and a new song.
XXXX
Dempsey sits back in his seat. He realises the dancers can't see the audience up the back because of the stage lights. Harry is next. He can enjoy it, knowing what to expect. He'll check out tomorrow, go back to London and be a better man. This time will never be spoken of.
The music makes him sit up straighter. "New York" booms from the speakers, and she's on stage in a sparkly dress made from his country's flag. Harry oozes confidence, and her movement seem stronger and more purposeful as she gracefully contorts herself to the brassy tune. As her top disappears, a mischievous smile decorates her face and then Frank reaches those big notes. The crowd doesn't miss it and encourages her.
Her eyes seem to find his. That's impossible, but Dempsey knows that chemistry. The very reason why he can't work with anyone else. Now he feels exposed and doesn't know what to do about it. When the dance ends, Dempsey knows it's the most erotic experience of his life.
He's halfway into a coke, debating what to do when he startles up.
"Do you come here often?"
The clipped, dulcet tones of her voice carry a faint American twang and send a bolt of hunger through his body. She has him glued to his seat with just her words.
She steps closer, sliding one leg between his knees. Her hands land firmly on his shoulders. Dempsey sees her navel. He licks his lips for he can't speak. That's unheard of.
"Would you like a dance? She asks in a persuasive tone that makes him look at her face to check it's her and she's okay.
"What? No!" Dempsey panics, and she looks stunned. Of course, she would; he's been wanting her in his bed since they met, now he's turning down a Grade A opportunity to get a look at the goods. Sure, she's confused; he is too.
Harry looks deflated, "Well, I can't talk to you all night."
"Here?" He croaks; if she so much as touches him, he'll react like a teenager at second base. Not here, with that waitress looking on. "I can't have you dance for me here." He pleads.
"You can take me to the VIP room; it's extra." She leans closer; knowing where he keeps his wallet. If she took it, she might be surprised to see a photo of her inside.
"Okay, I'm good; I have the money." He babbles and takes her hand, letting her walk him through the tables, not even bothering to hide his body's reaction to her. He's no idea if she will shoot or strangle him, but he's willing to find out.
