A Stranger's Touch

by Tori Carrington

  He shook his head and took a hefty swallow of beer. Since he was a kid, Brad’s mother had tried to force him into a mold that spoke of wealth, power and kowtowing…mostly to her. But while Brad could wear a tuxedo like he was born in one, he’d also thought nothing of hanging out with wrong-side-of-the-tracks Quinn. And while Brad had the latest model Jaguar, the fifth one he’d gone through since coming of age, Quinn still had the old Chevy in need of some TLC that he’d bought when he was sixteen with money he’d made breaking his back on his uncle’s ranch.

  And while Brad had embraced the idea of running his family business, Wheeler Industries, Quinn was satisfied with the spread he’d bought from his uncle three years ago. He enjoyed getting his hands dirty—literally—and working a muscle other than his brain.

  He peered through the scant couples on the dance floor toward the band. The sax player wasn’t bad. Hmm…neither was the female backup singer. He had just shifted to get a better look, when three women passed in front of him, blocking his view—correction—improving the view. Taking a long, slow pull from his beer bottle, Quinn considered the threesome, who were obviously minus three guys.

  The black-haired one definitely had possibilities. She moved that slender body of hers in a way that virtually guaranteed she’d be killer in bed. His gaze slid to the redhead. She wasn’t bad. Obviously shy but with the pink tinge to her cheeks and a fire in her eyes that revealed she could be coaxed to take risks.

  He put his bottle down on the table and sat up, trying to see around to the blonde’s face. She put her hands up in the air, attempting to emulate the brunette’s steps…then fell smack-dab in the middle of his lap.

  He grinned.

  Bingo.

  2

  ONE MINUTE Dulcy was dancing—at least she preferred to call it dancing while Jena called it clucking—and the next minute she was sprawled across the very warm, very hard lap of a guy sitting next to the dance floor.

  Okay, no more tequila for her.

  She laughed at her silent quip, then tried to gain a foothold. “I’m sorry. I…must have tripped.”

  She twisted to get up, her bottom rubbing against the man’s…strategic area.

  His groan caught her off guard and she blinked up into his face. Then blinked again. Not because she was having difficulty seeing. But because if she wasn’t mistaken, she had just landed on top of the star of her most recent fantasy—the guy from the door. And, oh boy, he was even better this close up. Not since she was a teen and had plastered pictures of Sting all over her room—posters her mother had immediately taken down—had she reacted so strongly to the mere sight of someone.

  Either that, or she was completely smashed.

  “No hurry,” her fantasy lover said in a deep baritone, drawing the words out, sounding better than even her imagination could have supplied.

  A delicious shiver ran the length of Dulcy’s spine, then inched back up again, leaving her stomach quivery and her breasts achy. She brazenly allowed her gaze to flick over the guy’s features. Over his broad forehead and thick shoulder-length jet-black hair, the type of hair a girl could lose her hands in. She took in his strong, tanned silk-covered jawline and criminally generous mouth, the kind a woman might be tempted to run the tip of her tongue along the rim of. Then she skimmed her gaze up along the length of his nose to lash-rimmed eyes the color of the amber tequila she had just gulped down with her friends, the sort of eyes that should bear a warning Dangerous Waters Ahead.

  She blinked, just then realizing he was returning her gaze with equal intensity, his strangely penetrating, predatory…hungry.

  But it was his grin that made her stomach yo-yo to the floor right next to her high-heeled shoes, then bounce back up again.

  He cleared his throat, the bobbing of his Adam’s apple mesmerizing. “I was just sitting here, trying to come up with a good come-on line to use on you and, bam, you fall straight into my lap.” He straightened her when she would have slid to the floor. “If that isn’t a sign, I don’t know what is.”

  Dulcy clutched his shoulder to straighten herself, intrigued by the rock-hard muscles she felt bunched beneath the soft, beige chambray of his shirt. Brad wasn’t exactly soft, but he wasn’t this hard, either.

  She noticed she had a good portion of the shirt clutched in her fist. She set about smoothing out the wrinkles, her huge diamond engagement ring flashing in the lights from the dance floor.

  She snatched her hand back as if scorched. “I’ll say it’s a sign. It’s a sign that me and tequila don’t mix.”

  She finally struggled to a standing position, finding the strange thunk-thunk of her heart disconcerting, and the burning in her lower abdomen completely foreign and as intoxicating as the tequila. She felt as if she’d barely escaped being hit by a charging horse.

  “You can dress her up…” Jena’s voice edged its way through the silken cobweb crowding Dulcy’s mind. “Well, since you’ve already been personal with the man, don’t you think you should properly introduce yourself?”

  Introduce herself? What was Jena talking about?

  The man stood. And it seemed her gaze had to travel up and up, and up again before she could see his grin.

  “I’m Quinn.”

  Dulcy made a face. “Quinn? That’s the name of my—” She yelped when Jena elbowed her strongly in the ribs, the words “groom’s best friend” effectively lost.

  Not that it mattered. Even though she’d yet to meet Brad’s mysterious friend, no exclusive, blue-blooded Wheeler associate, much less Brad himself, would ever be caught dead in a meat market like Rage. And the connecting hotel didn’t have nearly enough marble to be considered fashionable, which was one of the reasons why Dulcy had given in so easily to Jena’s demand that they come here. For one last night, she wanted to be in a place where no one gave a hoot who the Wheelers were. And the man in front of her, with his longish wild hair, his brawny body and decadently suggestive grin, would not only not care who the Wheelers were, but also effortlessly make her forget about them.

  “I’m Jena,” her friend said, shaking the man’s very tanned, very large, very fascinating hand, and shaking Dulcy out of her reverie.

  “Hi. I’m Marie.”

  Dulcy watched dumbly as Marie followed suit, then stood back expectantly. Another nudge. She glared at Jena, then smiled at the stranger. What had he said his name was? Oh, yeah. Quinn. “I’m sorry to have—” she looked around, but saw that the other chair at the table was empty “—to have interrupted your evening, Quinn.”

  “No name?”

  “Oh. I’m—”

  “Dee,” Jena said quickly. “Her name is Dee.”

  Dulcy made a face at her. Why would Jena give him a name that she and Marie had used when they were kids? God, Dulcy couldn’t remember the last time either of them had called her that. Of course, she’d been the one to insist on the nickname when she was a teenager, hating that her given name was so different from everyone else’s. Jena was a derivative of Jenny or Jennifer, Marie…well, it went without saying that her name, as well, was common. Only Dulcy had been stuck with a peculiar name solely because it had belonged to some dead ancestor and her mother had liked it.

  The man’s large, rough-skinned hand completely dwarfed hers as he took it, knocking her train of thought completely off track. Dulcy felt a strange vibration move up through her fingers, swirl around her arm, then travel the entire length of her body. Good God.

  “It’s nice to meet you, Dee.”

  “Me, too. I mean, it’s nice to meet you, too…Quinn.” The song “The Mighty Quinn” popped into her mind. Oh, yeah…the Quinn standing in front of her would, indeed, be mighty in all the ways a woman needed. She started at the thought, then grimaced. “Um, if you’ll excuse me…I think I’m going to be sick.”

  WELL, AS FAR AS COMEBACKS WENT, Quinn had to say that Dee’s ranked right up there with some of the most memorable. While he wasn’t arrogant enough to think himself capable of charming any woman, he c
ould safely say he’d never made one feel sick before.

  Still, he couldn’t help grinning, as Dee teetered back on her heels. He hoped she didn’t plan to be sick that moment. On him.

  Only she didn’t look sick to him. She looked…well, damn good. Rather than being bereft of color, her cheeks were flushed, and while her eyes were bright, he suspected it was more a result of their very close encounter just now than from whatever she’d had to drink.

  “Okay, I think I’m going to be all right now,” she said, obviously relieved as she pushed her blond hair back from her face. “Yes. I’m fine. I just got…a little dizzy, that’s all.”

  Dizzy was good, Quinn thought. Dizzy was real good.

  The redhead stepped up and wrapped her fingers around Dee’s arms as if to steady her. “Are you sure? Would you like some water? Maybe you should sit down.”

  Quinn deftly pushed the chair opposite him out. “Be my guest.”

  The blonde looked from the small table to the empty chair to his face again. “I couldn’t,” she said, trying to back away.

  “You can,” Jena said and steered her toward the table.

  Quinn noted the interesting behavior. The brunette pushed and the blonde skidded a couple of inches, then stopped again. “I can’t,” she said, staring at her friend.

  The other woman rolled her eyes to stare at the ceiling and sighed gustily. “Talk about wet blankets.”

  Oh yeah. Sheets…silk ones…black, to contrast with the paleness of the blonde’s skin. Quinn waved a hand toward the empty chair. “Please. At least until you get your feet back under you.”

  The brunette grinned, the blonde grimaced and the other one… Quinn looked to see her pirating a glass of water from a waitress’s tray. With a tad too much enthusiasm, she plopped it down on the table next to his beer.

  Interesting…the two women appeared to be trying to hook their friend up with him. Which should have pleased him, if solely because it would make his job that much easier. But somehow the obvious attempt left him feeling a little ill at ease. He squinted and looked at them more closely. What were they up to? The one named Jena gave him a catty smile, Marie immediately avoided his gaze and the blonde…

  Jena grasped Dee’s shoulder and firmly pushed her into the empty chair. Dee appeared as mystified by her friends’ behavior as he was. Quinn slowly sat back down in his own chair.

  “We’ll be right over there,” Jena said and smiled. “You two have a good time…getting acquainted.”

  The blonde made a grab at her friend’s arm, but the brunette seemed to anticipate the move and maneuvered around it. The redhead followed quickly behind her.

  Quinn shook his head, then glanced at the woman across from him. “I think we’ve just been hooked up.”

  She stared at him as if now remembering he was still there. She nearly knocked the chair over in an attempt to get up. Quinn quickly grasped the back of it. “Whoa, there. I don’t bite.” The soft silk of her blouse was warm to the touch as he steadied her back into the chair. “Although I have been known to nibble a little. Upon a lady’s invitation, that is.”

  Her cheeks burned bright, heightening the hazel of her eyes. She looked caught between wanting to bolt…and longing to stay.

  Quinn looked at her more closely. Oh, it had been a long time since he’d been with a bad-girl playing good. And this one was definitely a bad-girl. It was evident in the delicious curve of her neck when she turned her head just so. In the enticing jut of her erect nipples against her blouse. In the way her decadent tongue dipped out to touch the corner of her mouth as if eyeing a treat she really wanted but didn’t dare take.

  The heat that had accumulated in his groin when she had dropped into his lap ignited into something hotter, and difficult to ignore.

  “Oh God,” she murmured, trying to get up again and this time succeeding. “Nothing personal, but…this just isn’t something I should be doing.”

  Quinn allowed his gaze to travel over her from forehead to ankle, liking every incredible inch of her but knowing the chances of his getting to sample any of her wares had just dwindled to zero. “Are you sure?” he asked.

  She nodded so emphatically she nearly fell back into her chair. “Oh, I’m very sure.” She bit her plump bottom lip, then glanced in the direction her friends had gone. “Absolutely…positively…” Her gaze settled on him. “Um, sure.”

  Quinn grasped his beer bottle, trying to cool himself with the condensation running down the green glass. “Well, it was nice meeting you, then.”

  She gave him a fleeting smile that made him want to groan, then left him staring after her, even more in need of a woman than he’d been a half hour ago.

  “ARE YOU INSANE?” Dulcy repeatedly splashed water over her face and stared in the rest room mirror at Jena, who was skillfully freshening her lipstick. She felt…anxious, shaken, and one-hundred-percent sober.

  Jena pursed her lips and tried to hand Dulcy her lipstick. “Actually, I was just asking myself the same question. Of you.”

  Dulcy violently yanked paper towels from the holder one after another. “For God’s sake, Jena, you can’t possibly be implying what I think you are.” She realized she’d accumulated a small pile and forced herself to stop, blotting her skin with a handful.

  “What? That you spend your last night as a single woman in the arms of a complete stranger?” Her smile was decidedly wicked. “Absolutely.”

  The flushing of a toilet sounded, then one of the stall doors opened and Marie’s curly red hair sprung into view. She claimed the sink on the other side of Dulcy. “In retrospect, it probably wasn’t a good idea,” said Marie.

  Dulcy slumped against the sink in relief. “Thank you. At least someone sounds reasonably sane.”

  Marie smiled at her in the mirror. “But you have to admit, the guy was downright…tempting.”

  “Native American.”

  Dulcy stared at Jena.

  “What? Didn’t he look Native American?”

  Marie nodded.

  “Not full-blooded, mind you. But he definitely has some of that hot Native American heritage in his background.”

  Dulcy really didn’t want to discuss this. She wadded up the towels and rounded Marie to stuff them into the wastebasket.

  “That’s exactly what I thought,” Marie said, washing her hands and drying them. “All that wonderful brown skin. Those chiseled features. That…that mouth.”

  “He’s not,” Dulcy said, closing her eyes against the seductive image that her friend’s words conjured. “Just because a guy has long dark hair and a great tan doesn’t mean he’s Native American.”

  Jena’s gaze homed in on her in the mirror. “So you did notice what a wowie he was.”

  Dulcy raised her chin. “I’m engaged, not blind, Jena.”

  “Yes, but you’re not married yet.”

  She rolled her eyes. “I can’t believe I’m even discussing this with you.” She held up her hand. “No, let me rephrase that. I am through discussing this with you. I am not going to do anything with any strange man just because I’m getting married in a week. Get it?”

  “Got it.”

  “Good.”

  Marie smiled and linked her arm with hers, then Jena hesitantly did the same on the other side of her. “Now that that’s out of the way…let’s go have some fun.”

  FUN. THREE HOURS LATER Dulcy supposed that someone might have found the molten temptation flowing through her veins fun, but she found it downright alarming. A woman in love with the man she was about to marry wouldn’t salivate over another man, would she? She’d always thought love made one blind to all others, no matter how tantalizing…or how much one had had to drink.

  In hindsight, she should have insisted she, Jena and Marie go up to their rooms and settle in with every last item on the room service menu and a pay-per-view movie immediately after the “anonymous male” incident. But she hadn’t. No. Instead, she’d downed more tequila—in moderation—scarfed down more cor
n chips and a large number of the nachos they’d ordered, and danced until she was sure her feet would fall off.

  And during every single move she was heatedly aware of the stranger watching her from across the room. That is, when she didn’t catch her own gaze plastered to him and his strikingly manly physique.

  Did he have a Native American background? She admitted that with his dark hair and eyes and skin, all made darker still by the intimate lighting in the club, he very well could have. And the contrast between his provocative dark looks and Brad’s handsomely waspish features couldn’t have been more profound.

  Dulcy absently fingered the sexy silk negligée in a box at her elbow, a gift from Marie, and watched a woman approach the man she couldn’t seem to tear her eyes away from. He’d talked to no fewer than four other women during the course of the night, and danced with two others, but she couldn’t deny her relief when none of them joined him at his table. As if sensing her attention on him, he slid a dark, suggestive glance in her direction, and then led the woman onto the dance floor. She felt as if she were about to swallow her tongue whole when he skimmed his hands down the woman’s back as he pulled her close, even as his gaze was fused with Dulcy’s. Good God…

  “Don’t be such a prude, Marie,” Jena was saying across the table. “Of course it’s all right to bring sex toys into the marriage bed.”

  Dulcy forced herself to pay more attention to her friends, and less to the man who was touching another woman but seemed to be suggesting he’d rather be touching her.

  Marie was twirling a spiked dog collar around her finger. “But there are sex toys…and then there are implements of torture.”