Rush

by Beth Yarnall

They’d stopped at a light and he turned to her, his dark eyes glinting in the morning light, like the gleam of sunlight off deep water. “I wish I could do that. Just once. That man could charm the panties off a superfluity of nuns.”

  “A what of what?”

  He smacked the steering wheel with the palm of his hand. “And when he pulled his shades down… the look on your face.” He chuckled, letting her in on the joke.

  A smile tipped up one corner of her lips. “He is good.”

  “It’s a damn shame his door doesn’t swing that way.” Lucas shook his head sadly. “Such a waste.”

  “How do you know him?”

  “Navy. We were on the same team until he got out two years ago.”

  “What about ‘Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell’?”

  He hitched a shoulder. “No one asked, no one told, but everyone knew. Didn’t matter with Malcolm. Everyone wanted to be his wing-man.”

  “I bet. What does he do for a living?”

  “Private Investigator.”

  They turned into the industrial complex, then made a right turn headed toward the Pleasure at Home studio. They could see the crowd already gathered at the gates, banners and picket signs in use. The smiles slid from their faces, their moment of levity crushed under the weight of reality. Lucas sat up straighter in his seat, signaling his shift into the role of bodyguard. Mi wrapped her arms around herself and slunk down in her seat, resenting her role of hapless victim.

  Lucas glanced over at Mi’s pale face, hating the hunted look in her eyes. He clicked her seatbelt open. “Get down into the foot well. Stay down until I tell you to get up.”

  As they neared the gate, the crowd’s attention switched from Cookie Dixon and the man standing next to her on the makeshift dais to the truck coming toward them. The chanting increased at the sight of the new target. They closed in, surrounding the truck, making it difficult to move more than a few inches at a time toward the gate.

  Lucas laid on the horn, taking satisfaction in making a few of the protesters start at the sound. Fists pounded the truck’s exterior as it inched past. They were fully surrounded now. Lucas resisted the urge to jam down on the accelerator. Narrowly. He hit the horn again, then just leaned against it, drowning out all but the closest voices. Faces pressed against the windows briefly before sliding away with the truck’s movement. He hoped to God they would only see him in the cab and not Mi.

  Cookie Dixon sneered down from her perch, shouting into her megaphone. Her face reddened with the effort to be heard. The man beside her looked on, watching as though he was memorizing the truck and driver. Lucas made a mental note to find out who that guy was. Something about the way he stood, separate but interested, made the fine hairs on Lucas’s neck stand on end. He never ignored his instinct.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  The mob broke, parting at the property line of the Pleasure at Home studio, allowing Lucas to enter. He hit the gas pedal, eager to put the noise and anger behind them. Mi seemed to sense the danger had passed and inched up into the seat. She kneeled, leaning over the back of the seat, looking out the darkly tinted back window, her ass nearly eye level. Lucas narrowly avoided plowing into a parked car. The spike of adrenaline apparently had no dampening effect on his ability to appreciate her ass. And what a sweet little ass it was, snug in tight denim.

  He rolled the truck around the corner of the building and into a parking space out of sight from the entrance. Mi dropped down into the seat and sighed, leaning back to look at him.

  “Are you all right?” he asked, taking her in from head to toe. She didn’t look any worse for wear other than the lip she chewed on. “Hey.” He reached out and ran a fingertip over her worn lip. “None of that. You’re fine. I’ve got you.”

  She rubbed her lips together, then relaxed enough to give him a small smile. He felt like a conquering hero.

  “It’s a lot easier to run the gauntlet in your truck than in my compact.” She glanced over her shoulder as though she could see the crowd gathered on the other side of the building. “I wish they’d understand what I do. What good we do with the show. But all they see is perversion.”

  “Not everyone is as comfortable with the idea of using… ah, marital aids as you are. Maybe they think it’s like bringing a cannon to a gunfight. Awkward and completely unnecessary.”

  She considered him for a moment with a small frown between her brows. The longer she focused on him the more uncomfortable he became until he burst out of the truck and stalked around to her side.

  “Idiot,” he muttered to himself.

  He helped her slide down from the truck, then stepped back to enjoy the view of her bending over to grab her bag from the floor board. He shoved his hands in his pockets to keep from giving her a pat or grope. They walked to the employee entrance of the studio side by side in silence. He strode with his shoulders hunched, hoping she’d let his remark slide by without comment.

  Just as he reached for the door handle, she snatched that chance away. “You’re uncomfortable with what I do.” She said it as though she was reconsidering everything she’d ever thought about him. And not in a good way.

  He hitched up his shoulders in a helpless shrug. “It’s unusual.”

  She shifted back, parking a hand on her hip. “It embarrasses you. I embarrass you.”

  “No. It’s not… that is... You don’t embarrass me.” He reached for the door handle again. “You’re gonna be late.”

  She slapped a palm on the door and leaned all her body weight into it, preventing him from opening it. He gripped the handle, struggling with her for a moment before giving up. If he used anymore strength he’d send her backwards onto her sweet little ass.

  “Have you ever used toys in the bedroom? Maybe a pair of fuzzy handcuffs or stimulating lubricant?” She tossed that out as though she were asking him if he’d ever used deodorant or put sheets on his bed. Ordinary things everyone used. She scanned his face for a response, but he did his best to keep it carefully blank. “Colored condoms? Flavored lotions? Massage oils?” Her face slowly changed with each question, like the first rays of sunrise moving over the land, from curiosity to disbelief to outright astonishment. “Wow,” she said on an exhaled breath, then swallowed hard.

  She made him seem like some kind of freak and then it dawned on him that she’d probably experimented with all of those things and more. Defensive anger backed up in his chest, hurting a little, and he stared at her hard. She flinched and took a half step back. He tried to soften his expression, but couldn’t quite manage it with the images his mind put before him of her and any number of men performing all kinds of kinky sex acts.

  She risked one more question. “Have you ever wanted to?”

  “No.”

  “Oh.” She looked deeply disappointed. In him? In herself? She shifted her bag on her shoulder and kept her gaze straight ahead, hitting him just below his chest. “I do,” she whispered.

  “Do what?”

  “Want to try those things.”

  “You mean you’ve never…?”

  She shook her head. “Never mind.” She reached for the door handle and this time it was he who put out his palm to stop it.

  They didn’t speak for a long moment. He stared at her bent head, trying to wrap his mind around what she’d said and not said. His chest swelled at the implication of her words. She wanted to try all of those things and maybe more. With him.

  Wanting confirmation of his thoughts, he lifted her chin with the crook of his finger. She kept her eyes cast down as he slowly raised her face up to his and then they flew open wide. What he saw in their deep golden depth was defiance tinged with uncertainty and mortification. And what always seemed to happen when he looked into her eyes happened again. His thoughts slowed, his stomach felt nervous to the point of nausea, his mouth dried up, and his heart beat in a hard thumping rhythm. When she looked at him like that, he wanted to give her whatever she asked for.

  He opened his mouth to tell her just this,
but before he could get the words out a car came around the corner of the building, startling them both. Lucas moved faster than Mi could blink, shoving her behind him. He had his gun drawn before either of them registered whose car it was. The sleek silver Mercedes Benz CL600 Coupe slid into the specially designated spot closest to the door. The driver opened the car door and slowly unfolded his tall frame with the ease of a man who held power like a dog on a chain. His golden head bent down to receive his buff colored Stetson, shielding his face from their view.

  Hat firmly in place, Cal Sellers raised his head, flashing Mi and Lucas the smile that closed a thousand deals a day. He presented a picture, stretching an arm across the roof of his car, holding the door in the other hand for a moment as though he had all the leisure time in the world. Or was posing for a business magazine spread.

  Lucas slid his gun back into his waistband.

  “Honey, come on out and meet my friends,” he said, then closed the door and made his way toward Lucas and Mi, leaving ‘Honey’ to scamper out her side of the car on her own.

  While Cal and Lucas greeted each other with a handshake and slaps on the arms, Mi watched as ‘Honey’ picked her way across the pitted parking lot in the short steps her skin-tight suit would allow. Mi worried for her. Between her over-inflated breasts that looked like they played hell with her balance and the sky-high shoes with spiked heels, Mi was sure ‘Honey’ would turn an ankle or worse.

  Cal always had a ‘Honey’ with him, acting as his assistant. Mi wasn’t sure why a businessman would need a woman like that following him around all day. She figured maybe she was a status symbol like his Mercedes and Rolex. An accessory that reflected his wealth and success.

  Cal greeted Mi, bending his lean frame to scoop her up in a warm embrace. “How’s my little star? I swear, darlin’, you get prettier and prettier every time I see you.” He winked at her, all good ole boy charm and wolf smile. He tipped his head toward Lucas. “I see this big block has been doing his job, keeping you safe. Don’t let his good looks fool you, darlin’. This one’s a killer. I’d trust him to guard my own dear mother. You’re as safe as Fort Knox.”

  Slinging an arm across their shoulders, Cal rounded up Mi and Lucas and herded them through the door into the busy studio, keeping up an effusive dialog that was short on information and long on BS. ‘Honey’ trotted to keep up after them. Cal’s presence had a rippling effect on the employees of Pleasure at Home. Everyone dropped what they were doing and came over to greet him like the golden boy come home.

  Crosby marched to the front of the line and stuck his hand out to his boss. “Mr. Sellers, good of you to visit.” They shook hands. “I hope you’re staying for the taping. The folks in marketing put together a terrific lineup for tonight. Some of our top selling products.” Without taking his focus off Cal’s face, Crosby said, “You’ve got ten minutes for makeup, Mi, then I want you on set.”

  “Yes, Crosby.” Mi got a pat on the back from Cal as he released her. Lucas trailed on her heels, which she hadn’t expected. “I’m just going to makeup. I’ll be right out.”

  “I go where you go.”

  “But Cal—”

  “Expects me to do my job not hover around him like one of his honeys. And my job is with you—”

  “Yes, I know. Twenty-four seven.”

  Mi wasn’t sure why she was short with him, but it might have had something to do with throwing herself at him, practically begging him to fulfill her fantasies. Fantasies that disgusted and embarrassed him. She could just die. How humiliating! She knew he was about to reject her when Cal had come flying around the corner, distracting him. What an idiot she was. He was here to do a job, nothing more.

  She made a vow right then to keep things strictly business between them. It was for the best, she told herself. A complicated man like Lucas would only add to her troubles, not take them away. She sneaked a peek at his profile out of the corner of her eye. But oh, the shivers that raced through her when she did nothing more than look at him. And when he touched her, she burned for him, all of her cares melting away under his dark gaze and heated caress.

  Tracey had set out all of the implements of her trade and flitted about, not bothering to hide her impatience with Mi’s tardiness. “Thank goodness you’re here.” She began work on Mi’s hair as soon as her bottom hit the chair. “Crosby’s been in a snit, checking in with me every other minute to see if you’ve arrived. If he popped his head in here one more time I was going to make him up in your place.”

  “Sorry. The protestors gave us a terrible time. I can’t believe how many of them there are now.”

  “I see you brought your boyfriend with you again.”

  Boyfriend. Mi caught Lucas’s reflection in the mirror. His back was to them, but she was sure he could easily hear them in the small space. “Yes.”

  “That must be going well.” Tracey bent down to whisper in Mi’s ear. “But doesn’t he have job? I mean, how does he have the time to hang out here all day? Or can’t he bear to part from you?”

  Mi didn’t like Tracey’s tone. It had an edge to it that pricked her anger. Mi balled her fists in her lap out of sight under the counter. She’d always considered Tracey a friend. Could it be her friend was jealous?

  “He wanted to see what I do.”

  Tracey straightened. “Uh-huh.”

  Mi didn’t owe Tracey an explanation. She had a feeling there was no answer she could give that would satisfy Tracey’s unexpected bitterness toward Lucas anyway.

  In no time Tracey had Mi’s hair up in her usual on camera style and was applying Mi’s lipstick when Davy poked his head in the door. “I’m sorry, Miz Mi, but Crosby says you’ve thirty seconds to… and he’s making me quote him… ‘Get your ass on set before I fire you and you have to get a job swinging a sign dressed like a goddamned sandwich at the mall food court.’ Only he said it a lot louder than that so you’d better hurry.” He bobbed his head. “Sorry, Miz Mi.”

  “That’s all right, Davy. I’m finished except for my glasses.” Mi looked at Tracey. “Where are my glasses?” Mi pointed to a tray on the counter. “I left them right there.”

  Tracey buckled her brows. “Are you sure that’s where you put them?”

  “Yes. I put them there after every show. They have to be here somewhere. Help me look.”

  Mi, Davy, and Tracey searched the small makeup room with no luck.

  Using the edge of the counter, Mi climbed to her feet after searching underneath. “I don’t understand where they could have gone.”

  “There’s only one pair. What are you going to do?”

  Davy backed out of the room. “I’ll just go and check on… something.” Then he scuttled away as fast as his little bowed legs would take him.

  Tracey laughed. “He’s making himself scarce for the Crosby explosion.”

  Mi didn’t blame him. This was going to have Crosby hitting his flask again. “Someone had to have taken them,” she said to Tracey. “I can’t think of any other explanation.”

  “Who would do that?”

  Mi wasn’t sure how much Crosby had told the staff about what had been happening, but they had to have noticed. Either way Mi decided it wasn’t her call, knowing if she told Tracey it would be like sending a companywide email. “I don’t know.”

  “You know, I think I have to pee.” And Tracey backed out of the makeup room, too, leaving Mi to face Crosby alone.

  Lucas straightened from his station against the wall and followed Mi as she came out of the makeup room. “Everything all right?”

  “No. My glasses are missing.”

  “You don’t have an extra pair?”

  “No.”

  Mi marched up to Crosby, who was deep in conversation with the lighting director. “Excuse me, Crosby, can I speak with you a moment?”

  “Only if you’re going to tell me you’re ready.”

  “Well—”

  “Where are your glasses?”

  “They’re missing.
”

  Crosby took a deep breath through his nose, pinching the bridge to calm himself, probably for Mr. Sellers’s benefit. “Missing.”

  “Yes.”

  “Of course they are. Davy!”

  “I, ah, think Davy had to go see about something. We looked and looked for them, but they’re just gone.”

  “Gone. Perfect. Ab-so-fucking-lutely perfect. Did you know, Greg here was just telling me that there’s a problem with the goddamned lighting?”

  “Ah, no.”

  Crosby made a shooing motion. “Go. Send someone out to buy another pair. No. I want twelve goddamned pairs. I’ll lock eleven of them in my goddamned desk drawer so this never happens again!” His voice had gotten progressively louder, ending at his usual shouting level. He turned to Greg the lighting guy. “And you. I want those goddamned lights fixed before Mi’s glasses get here. Got it?” He rose from his director’s chair and stomped back to his office.

  Stepping out of the shadows, Davy reappeared at her side. “I’ll go, Miz Mi.”

  “Thank you, Davy.”

  “Come with me,” Lucas whispered, gripping her elbow and signaling Cal with a tip of his head to follow them.

  When they’d all crammed into the makeup room, Lucas asked Cal to close the door behind them.

  “Wait for me out here, will ya, Honey?” he told his assistant before she could squeeze herself in, then closed the door. He looked back and forth between Lucas and Mi. “I gather there’s a problem.”

  “You need more security here. Around the clock.”

  Cal appeared to consider Lucas’s words, but underneath Mi could tell he was seething. Cal didn’t like to be told what to do. “Explain.”

  Lucas filled him in on the sabotage, the cameras in Mi’s home and the threatening letter from the Doyle Gann. “It’s escalating. Two guys walking the perimeter during business hours aren’t enough. You need security inside the studio and at the gates, keeping that mob back.” And then Lucas said the one thing that was sure to make Cal sit up and take notice. “The sabotage and delays are probably costing you more money than you’d spend.”