Читать книгу Strip - Delta Dupree - Страница 9

When the music blared to life and the next dancer emerged, Bryce made a beeline to the dressing room. Point-blank, he asked his buddy to assist him.

“Are you crazy?” Dallas asked. “Man, you must be nuts.”

“Just watch.”

“I don’t want to watch,” Dallas snapped. “Why are you doing this anyway? Are you thinking you can make her jealous? It won’t work, Bryce. She’s not like the little mommas. Rio’s got style and class, time on her side. You’ll ruin every chance you ever had, if you had any at all. What the hell’s the matter with you?”

“I’ve got my reasons.” He’d banked on their sixteen-year friendship. “Come on, man. Just this once. I’ll never ask anything of you again.”

Dallas sighed long and hard. “I must be crazy. All right, go ahead, but don’t come a-whinin’ when it blows up in your damn face, fool.”

Bryce stuck his hand out. “Thanks.”

“Thank me when it’s over. In fact, I will watch this stupid fiasco.”

Galaxeé crossed her legs and glared at Rio. “That was really fuck-nicious, Rio. You want him to quit?”

“Who? Bryce?” Dismissing him, the feel of his hard body against hers, was impossible. Still, this other stuff.

“No, not Bryce. Cockroach. You hurt his feelings. I found him for us. And if he quits, you’ll have to find a new bouncer.”

“Bryce would never—I mean, Cockroach would never quit.”

“He might after that stupid mess you pulled.” Sometimes, “Indignant” was her middle name. “Shit, if this is how you’ll act—snapping at everybody, cussing people out—after a good nut, I hope it doesn’t happen.”

“I didn’t cuss Bryce. I mean,” she said, shaking her head. “Cockroach.”

“Well, now,” Galaxeé said, sitting taller, folding her arms beneath prominent implants. “I see he’s put a stamp on your brain. Or your cootie bug.”

“Stop it.” She fidgeted with the napkin. As if on cue, she and Galaxeé looked down at the tattered mess in her lap. Freaked, Rio flicked the tiny pieces to the floor.

“The boy’s got you in a fluster.”

“Does not.”

“Uh-huh.”

Galaxeé knew her well. She was flustered all right. Skin heated, a fine sheen of perspiration dotting her face. Her emotions were in a ball of confusion over Bryce Sullivan and her awareness of him, unconsciously nervous before she saw the napkin torn to tiny shredded beads.

She caught her partner’s gaze and pleaded with her eyes. “I can’t let anything happen, Galaxeé. I won’t.” Something had occurred between them, a spark that had turned into a blazing inferno.

“Why not? He hot Tarzan, you horny Jane.” She drained the martini.

“He’s too young. He’s too—”

“Age is nothing but a damn number. We live in the twenty-first century. Get over it. Women have every right to get their jollies with a young hunk, Miss Goody Two-Shoes. Men have been making time with young chickies since forever. Run with it, honey. Work it.”

“Oh, sure, you can say that mess since Randy’s ten years older than you, and he’s black.”

“I wouldn’t care if Randy was twenty years younger, sported chartreuse plaid or he came in oxblood paisley. Why should you worry?”

“Remember Carson? I can’t go through that kind of mess again. I’m done with younger men.”

Carson was a thirty-five-year-old, lying slickster. A jailbird now, busted for dealing drugs, selling stolen property, racketeering, running a prostitution ring, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera.

Rio had argued with Galaxeé about his guilt, certain of the innocence he’d adamantly proclaimed. Naïve, she had believed the best of people. She’d graciously accepted Carson’s gift, the diamond and citrine ring for her thirty-ninth birthday. But when her attorney, Victoria, had heard the police handcuffed and dragged Carson from the restaurant he owned and read the charges, she jumped on the telephone. Victoria urged her client to turn the jewelry over to the district attorney. Luckily, Rio had never let the convict get into her panties.

“Ancient history,” Galaxeé said.

“No, ancient history is listed under Marcus’s name.” At thirty-seven her younger brother was as set in his ways as their father, who had trained him.

“He’ll get over it. And he’s not here anyway. What are you afraid of at your age? Bryce isn’t asking you to marry him.” Galaxeé looked over her shoulder. The current dancer was leaving the stage, his G-string stuffed with dollars. “Yet,” she murmured and scooted off the barstool before Rio burst open with outrage. “I have to get onstage.”

Chaos reigned three minutes later.

“Holy buckin’ bronco! That’s what I’m talkin’ about.” Galaxeé said. “Somebody switched routines on me.”

Oh, my God. Rio groaned, turning away. She rested her forehead against her fingertips.

Bryce had parted the curtains and stepped out in a cowboy getup—snakeskin boots, tight blue jeans, plaid shirt opened to his waist. Perched on top of his head sat a big ten-gallon hat. To make matters utterly ridiculous, the theme song from Rawhide acoustically reverberated off the walls while he cracked a long whip on cue.

She looked over her shoulder again and shuddered. Oh, my God. What had they done? A cowboy, in a club catering mainly to African American women?

Galaxeé’s ear-busting whistles brought the audience to their feet. She had phenomenal talent to start a full-blown riot. “Giddy-up, cowboy,” she yelled into the microphone. “Head ’em up, move ’em out!”

Shocked, Rio’s mouth dropped open as the wild bunch mutated into charging lunatics, much like startled cattle. And when the cowboy flung his hat into the audience, a mad, clawing stampede resulted for the discarded headpiece. This chaos resembled sworn enemies at their first bridal-bouquet scramble. Plastic drinking cups fell to the floor, hardwood chairs crashed loudly against each other and tables had surely scored the new wax.

What had gotten into these women? Rio searched the arena for her servers, and Cockroach, for backup. Just in case.

All the waiters had retreated to the corner beside the curved bar. She couldn’t blame them. The rowdy crowd would likely trample or string them up for blocking a hot-to-trot lady’s view. These women meant business.

The melee didn’t stop Bryce’s routine. He kept with the rhythm of the song. Thank God, he’d tossed the whip aside.

The way his hips gyrated, has he ridden a horse before? Rio tsked. He’d ridden too many women from what she could tell.

“This boy’s a stompin’ fool,” Galaxeé hollered. She blew another shrill whistle. “Didn’t I say he’d work out? Wuh-oh, here we go.”

Everyone knew when the music mellowed to a sensuous tune the actual show-and-tell had begun. The room buzzed with anticipation, eager beavers waiting to chomp on the next oak tree.

Alone now, just what had he planned? Would his dance routine be as suggestive as when they’d swayed together?

Not a chance. Not as a solitary performer.

When he slid his shirt free, exposing all the glory of his muscular chest, Rio licked her lips and swallowed. He had one magnificent physique, and she’d caressed it. The onlookers didn’t know—would never know—how good he felt under her fingertips, plastered against her body.

Bryce unzipped his blue jeans, and she followed the movement of his big hands, watched them slide teasingly down the bulging length hidden behind the denim, remembering its size during arousal, its firmness, its insistence. Pressure. Throbbing heat.

“Breathe, girl,” Galaxeé said, laughing. “Don’t pass out on me now.”

Controlling the air that rushed out took every ounce of strength.

Bryce tossed the plaid and denim aside. The volume in Killer Bods increased twofold as he circled his hips, then dropped to knees, spread them apart, displaying all sorts of virile splendor.

Goodness. Rio felt the beginnings of a brand-new meltdown, sizzling heat filtering through her core, raising a tide of aching between her legs.

“I bet he’d wear you out,” Galaxeé hollered.

“Would you stop it?”

“You’re glistening again. Or shall I say, sweating profusely?”

Rio patted her face dry with another napkin. “We’re packed. With all these people, it’s—”

“Not.” Galaxeé burst out laughing. She glanced at the stage and her smile faded worse than sun-bleached fabric. “That trashy little ho.”

Rio jerked her head around and saw Bryce’s extended hand. And who had taken it?

Shannon Fields—Dallas’s girlfriend. The hussy hightailed up the stairs and threw herself at the man. Within five seconds, the dance went beyond sensuous to downright lewd and filthy. She was under him. On him. All in him.

Heart hammering against her ribs, Rio wondered if she had appeared the same when she’d danced with Bryce. Had their choreography turned raunchy?

Instantaneously, anger marched under her skin like fire ants on the attack. The she-cat hiss escaped her lips as wrenching knots twisted in her belly, moved to her heart and cut off circulation.

Rio hopped to the floor, stormed toward the stairs. Hearing Galaxeé call out, she ignored the summons, thoroughly disgusted with her own licentious behavior, completely disenchanted with the immature bastard who had not one gram of class, one iota of damn pride or respect for himself. Or her.

She shoved the office door open with gale-wind force. It hit the stopper, rattling the frosted glass as cold fury crackled through her arteries like chipped ice. Rio looked over her shoulder at the vulgar spectacle below.

Bryce couldn’t believe it.

Shannon had gone way too far. No matter what he did or how far he pushed her away, she always came back. How the hell was he supposed to get her offstage, toss her? Where was Dallas for Chrissake? This was his woman.

“Go sit down, Shannon!”

Either she didn’t hear him or she chose to ignore him. The music blared, but not loud enough to drown out his voice.

“Shannon, get off the damn stage. Now.”

Twining her leg around his thigh, she hooked her arms in a stranglehold worthy of the best professional wrestler, grinding her hips against his pelvis. What the devil was she thinking? That he’d get an instant boner? He’d never shown any interest in Shannon, never had the desire to lay his best friend’s woman.

He searched the club for help and saw Rio at the top of the stairs. Oh, shit. The scowl on her face had the power to slice dried leather; the angle of her shoulders signified tension. He had to rid himself of this grappling woman hanging on to him, or risk losing the job too soon.

He looked to his right and his left and caught Cockroach’s gaze. When the big man ignored him, Bryce shouted his name over the deafening noise and mouthed, “Get her off.”

Cockroach fought his way through the masses. Seconds after clearing the crowd, he climbed onstage and carried a squirming Shannon down the stairs straight to her man. From Dallas’s deadly glare, his bulging biceps flexing from the hold he’d put on Shannon, all hell would soon break loose.

Out of breath from wrestling Shannon’s steel grip, Bryce abruptly ended his routine, not bothering to venture toward the wild bunch waving bills. After the fiasco with another man’s woman, screw the money. He didn’t need it.

He pasted a half-assed smile on his face, bowed quickly and saluted to all yelling for more action. He collected his clothes, jerked the curtains apart and made a fast getaway to the dressing room.

Damn.

Bryce shoved all ten fingers through his damp hair, smoothed it back from his face and collapsed into a chair.

This was the biggest mistake he’d ever made, rooted by anger, saturated in jealousy. Dallas had been right about ruining any chance he’d had with Rio. Forget burning up the sheets. He could only imagine what she thought of him now.

Silly. Immature. A foolish little boy caught up in a grown-up fantasy.

Damn it.

What the hell had he been thinking? He should’ve thought things through first. Instead, he’d jumped to conclusions and allowed his bruised ego to rule his once-logical brain.

Now what? he wondered, pulling on his shirt. He started fastening buttons, but forgot about it.

He should’ve never met the woman. He should’ve kept to his plan, his original plan. He should’ve called the police on Jason Simmons or beat the hell out of him in a back alley. But, no, he hadn’t thought. He hadn’t thought at all. What he should’ve done was kept his nose out of everything and minded his own damned business.

The dressing room door opened swiftly and slammed shut with the force of a category-five hurricane, loud enough to drown out the music for a hot second.

Bryce looked up into the mirror, straight into Dallas’s squinted, midnight eyes. “Look, man, I had no idea this would happen,” he said and held his breath. From the look in his friend’s ferocious glare, he wanted to kill him.

Dragging a chair to his side, Dallas plopped down on it and instantly grabbed a fistful of shirtfront. “I ought to beat you to a bloody damn pulp.”

They’d never had a real fight. Bryce sat there, still holding his breath, waiting for a thick fist to connect with his jaw, imagining the pain and the coppery taste of blood. He deserved one good tag for engaging his best bud’s woman in degrading theatrics.

“If I hadn’t seen it myself, if I didn’t consider you a friend, I’d beat the shit out of you, Sullivan. I’d beat you within an inch of your worthless life, punk.”

When Dallas let loose of the shirt, Bryce let out the stagnant air burning his lungs. He had every right to be pissed off. Their egos matched; both had fierce tempers. They’d had arguments and shoving matches and tossed out biting words that caused most men to go to blows, except a woman had never come between them. Their friendship had always prevailed. But, this time was different.

Dallas rubbed the back of his neck. He slid down in the chair, propped his feet on the counter. “I sent her home.”

“Maybe you should follow her, have a sit-down talk. You can’t have this kind of stuff hanging over your heads. The wedding’s next month.”

“I’m cuttin’ her loose, Bryce. We’re history.”

“What? After one jacked-up incident?”

He couldn’t believe it. Dallas had given Shannon a diamond ring, pledged his love and promised to be a good husband. Granted, they’d only been together five months, but Dallas had said he knew love when it slapped him upside the head.

Bryce had never crossed into the same frontier or felt the same type of backhand. However, he was as lust-struck as any manic rabbit his first moment outside a cage surrounded by females.

“It wasn’t all her fault, Coop. If I—”

“This wasn’t the first time. I caught her at SS. Same shit, different day. My fault. I put the blinders on. Didn’t want to see, didn’t want to hear, didn’t want to accept.” He tugged at his ear and let out a snort. “She played me for the fool I am, and I let it happen.”

What could he say to a statement put so bluntly? Coop wouldn’t show emotion any more than he would, even to a best bud. “You okay?”

“Yeah, I’ll live.” Pinching the bridge of his nose, Dallas sighed long and hard, then scratched at his clean-shaven head. “Gonna be tough. I really did love her. Still do.”

“What now? Walking away won’t be easy. I think it’ll hurt like hell.”

Bryce had walked away from lust. The last infatuation and breakup hadn’t fazed him either. Catherine, a good-looking curvy accountant, had sought better-fertilized pastures when he’d flat out admitted having no interest in marriage. Ever.

“Hurts now.”

“Go after her, Coop. Talk to her. Get this mess straightened out. You’ll stay together if you love each other. If not, at least you tried.”

Seventeen years old when he entered college, Bryce had headed down the devil’s lane to keep one coed a lover. Pussy-whipped, he’d let her talk him into streaking through Stanford’s campus on a sultry night. The nineteen-year-old, rich, daddy’s little girl was into nearly everything unconventional for Bryce’s logical-working mind. They’d engaged in high-powered sex under a temporary platform at an outdoor political rally during her mother’s bid for mayor. But Bryce was too selfish for the kinkiness of ménage à trois, too possessive to share his lover’s body with either gender. He knew when their relationship had ended, meant to stay buried in the darkest caverns before they reached hell’s castle. And he would not go as far as marriage to keep her.

How far would he go for Rio?

They had a relationship now. He knew it as sure as tomorrow’s sunrise. Well, maybe. He’d embarked on the subtle chase along a curvy lane. Yet they were veering sideways on an entirely different path. She hadn’t responded until the dance and her acute reaction was as overwhelming as drowning in luxury for the first time. Totally seductive, fiercely unsettling.

Funny, they hadn’t spent a minute alone together, not one second. But, deep inside, Bryce knew they were a perfect match. They belonged side by side, on each other, wrapped in each other—in bed.

“I’ve got another set to do,” he heard Coop say.

“I’ll take it. Tips go to you, my man,” Bryce insisted. “Go ahead. Get out of here.”

“Sure?”

Damn right, he was sure. “No problem.” They bumped knuckles and Dallas was gone for the night.

Galaxeé closed the door to the office. “I’m beat. Drunk.”

“Should’ve thought about that after the third martini,” Rio said. She shuffled a few invoices together and stuffed them inside an accordion folder. In the last few hours, she’d completed a good bit of work.

“Think I need a cab.” Galaxeé fell into her chair, knees spread apart, dress drooping between them, sitting like a two-bit streetwalker.

“I’ll call Randy or I’ll take you home myself.”

“Nah. Randy’ll want more than I can give tonight. Don’t wanna hang around to wait for him, either.” She had the weirdest-looking smirk on her face, lopsided. “I locked down the place tight. Waiters are gone. There’s no sense in you driving to West Hell and back. Call me a cab. I can’t read the numbers on the phone.”

“Jesus, Galaxeé. You really need to stop drinking. You can’t get loaded when I’m not here.”

“No problem. I won’t. Even when I do get a buzz, which only happens on Fridays, the peroxide-blond heifer would watch over me if you asked her anyway.”

“Don’t start with me.”

“Perino’s kissing ass every damn time I look around.”

“It’s her nature to be kind.”

“Well, it gets on my last nerve. She’s sneaky, and I refuse to put my hands on her when I know she’s hiding a secret. Tonight, her aura was blue-green then jumped blood-red. Hell of a combination.”

Rio wished Galaxeé would lighten up. She was taking this fortune-telling too far. Blue-green and blood-red fits better in an abstract painting.

Rather than argue, she dialed the usual cab service. They’d called one a few times for a tipsy patron. No one left the club stinking drunk without assistance. She’d take them home herself if necessary. “Couple minutes. I’ll walk you down to the curb.”

“I do not need help,” Galaxeé snapped. “Later.” She stood, snatched the red-fox jacket from the hanger, left it clanking its own melody, and marched out of the office, sweeping the floor with her fur.

“Call my cell when you get there.”

Rio tried to glare a hole through her back. Her partner hadn’t stumbled, tripped or bumped into a wall. Or slurred her words, come to think about it.

She listened to each step on the staircase. Even. Smooth. Steady. What game was this woman playing now?

Galaxeé hadn’t mentioned any problems with Randy. Their relationship had seemed stable and secure during the four months of complete and utter bliss they’d shared. She’d say if they’d had a situation, wouldn’t she? They were best friends.

Minutes later, Rio looked down at her watch. Quarter to three. Surely, Galaxeé was safely on her way to her cozy West Denver home.

Then, she heard a noise and looked up. Someone was making his or her way deliberately up the stairs.

“Galaxeé?”

Without an answer, Rio grabbed the phone base and rolled the stool back toward the corner of the room. As the footsteps closed in, grew louder and louder, her heart pounded just as noisily. Galaxeé had said she’d locked down the club. Had she been too drunk to remember? Rio knew she should’ve checked the doors before her partner left the premises.

Swallowing first, she forced out a whisper. “Who’s there?”

The desktop phone unit contained a panic button: five-second notification. Five seconds for an intruder to kill her. Five more seconds and she’d die of a heart attack. The police would find her on the floor, unable to help, unable to bring her back to life. They’d arrive five minutes too darn late.

She should’ve listened to Galaxeé and bought a pistol for protection when she spent late nights in this big building. She should’ve had Cockroach stay with her until she’d finished working. She should’ve left with Galaxeé!

But, darned if she’d go down easily. She owned this club. She’d put everything she had into this place. Killer’s was her life!

Silently, Rio replaced the receiver. She stood and snatched up the letter opener, drew it back over her shoulder. Whoever thought they’d get away with her murder may get a dinner, but she’d sure get a sandwich.

I’ll leave a permanent mark on their behind.

As the footsteps drew closer, her heart worked to burst out of her chest. She’d bleed on everything—stain the floor, the walls, and even change the color of the expensive red dress she still wore.

She readjusted the weapon in her hand, ready to spring forward, ready to defend herself and her thriving business.

The footsteps halted at the top of the stairs. She heard breathing, heard every sound inside the building and every noise outside.

Why was the person waiting? She was ready, alert, most of all, capable.

And, scared, on the verge of panicking.

Bryce stepped around the corner. “Rio?” The letter opener clanged on the wooden floor. “Are you all right?”

Her eyes were huge, clear and vivid gold with wild fear.

“My God.”

He crossed the floor of the small office in a few long strides and gathered her into his arms. Holding her rigid body tightly against his, she trembled almost violently while he stroked her satin-smooth hair, bare back and arms. Her breathing sounded as ragged as if she’d run a mile, but her hot breath caressed his neck like a dove’s soft feather.

When he climbed the stairs, he’d wanted to ensure she’d heard him coming. He’d stopped to take a calming breath and ebb his heart rate before he faced her, certain she was upset after seeing the silly fiasco with Shannon.

He’d scared the shit out of Rio instead.

Soothing her was easy. Her supple body molded perfectly to his. He could stand here for hours, holding her, caressing, inhaling her intoxicating scent, filling himself with her. But containing the rapacious lust screaming through his veins presented a problem and his pulse rate strummed a new beat.

Now, his cock was at attention. Potent, hard and throbbing, flagrantly pressed against this luscious woman, poised and needy as they come.

Relaxation forced the tension in her body to seep away slowly. Bryce leaned down and brushed a kiss over her earlobe, then to a place behind her ear he remembered was sensitive.

She responded with a shiver, accompanied by an audible gasp.

Oh, yes, she liked that. And he pressed a lengthy kiss to the very same place as his hand traveled down her back, splaying his fingers over the tight muscles, kneading. He stopped the forward progress at the base of her spine. He wasn’t foolish enough to push her too far or rush too soon after a traumatic episode. He’d simply hold her as long as necessary.

“Don’t,” Rio whispered, but her arms lifted, fingers curling into his shirtfront. She held him in place, held him immobile.

He’d heard the unsteadiness in her voice, felt the subtle movement of her body. She was fighting him, warring within herself. Cupping her chin, he forced her to meet his gaze. “Tell me to stop and I will. I’d never force you into anything you don’t want.” Studying the bewilderment in her beautiful eyes, he cupped her chin, ran his thumb over her unpainted, silky lips.

“But I want you, Rio,” Bryce said softly. She didn’t move out of his embrace. “I want to kiss you everywhere, caress every inch of your body. Chase the fear away.”

“I…you can’t,” she stammered, breathless, trembling. “We can’t.”

“Why?” When she frowned, he smoothed the furrows away with a tender kiss. “Why?”

“You’re…you’re,” Her mind raced for words, looking for a satisfying reason. “Too young. Too…we’re different.”

Damn it. “Different how? We’re both adults.” Sliding his hands farther down, he gripped her behind, pressed her more firmly against his ripened erection. He strained toward her, gritting his teeth from the sweet torture.

Somehow, he had to relieve an unjustified apprehension. An unimportant number separated their ages. Need for one another meant everything. At this moment, he needed her.

And he knew Rio felt a similar need for him. Earlier, she’d passionately responded to his kiss, allowing herself complete freedom, and she’d dissolved in his arms with free-flowing ease. Alone and secluded, they could chase the stars across the sky and capture the universe together.

She huffed, broke bodily contact and shoved his hands away. She was more upset about age than he thought.

“I’m…I’m,” Rio stammered. “You’re…you’re…Caucasian.”

“Son of a bitch.”

What the devil did that have to do with anything? The entire club had watched while he’d kissed her. The entire club had watched while they’d dry fucked. The entire club was all black except for him and very few ladies. He still didn’t feel like the Lone Ranger.

With one hand, Bryce raked a vicious path through his hair. When he moved closer to Rio, she tried to sidestep, tried to circle around him, but he boxed her into the corner, hands flat against the walls. “What we do is our business. I don’t care about our backgrounds. I don’t care what other people do or think or say. I live my life the way I want.”

“An understatement, Mr. Sullivan. Remember Shannon a few hours ago? Ring a bell?”

He cursed under his breath. He had expected resentment, but not biting sarcasm. The dagger went deep. Still, Bryce was determined to win her over.

Catching her hands with his own, he squeezed lightly. “It meant nothing. She meant nothing to me. Never did. I just handled the situation way stupid and imma…silly. From anger.”

He stepped closer. As her breasts brushed against his chest, nipples peaked and hardened, he remembered the first time today she’d reacted to his nearness. He’d seen the telltale signs.

“And jealousy,” he added. A streak of uncertainty crossed her face. “It’s true. Seeing you hug Cockroach, right after we’d finished dancing, I lost my cool.” He wound her hands behind her back, pinned them in a bracelet hold without her slightest resistance.

Confessing inner turmoil or discontent to a woman had been the furthest admission from his mind, but Rio was like no other woman he’d ever met. Kissing her now would certainly prove how much he wanted her. He’d make sure she would never regret a moment of their joining if she’d allow him to pleasure her.

Bryce leaned toward her, but he left the last inch separating their lips up to Rio.