A Stranger's Touch

by Tori Carrington

  No, he’d never thought Brad would come to a place like the Pink Lady. But the past few days had offered up a lot of surprises.

  He felt Dulcy’s gaze on him as he took another swallow of beer. “You know, when Brad told me you were a bit of a bad-boy, I…”

  Quinn looked at her, wondering how close Dulcy had ever come to a man like him before last Friday. He’d guess never. Then again, he’d questioned his observation skills the minute he entered this place and realized Brad had been there.

  “…I, well, thought he was speaking relatively. You know, you liked to play sophomoric pranks at the fraternity, drink until you puked your guts out, that kind of thing.”

  Quinn’s grin was decidedly dark. “I’ve never been inside a fraternity, babe. A few sororities maybe, but never a fraternity.”

  Her long, elegant throat convulsed as she swallowed. “I guessed that.” She nursed her cola some more. “How, exactly, did you and Brad become friends, then?”

  He squinted at her.

  She grimaced and crossed her arms on the bar. “Don’t look at me like that. It’s a valid question. Just as I didn’t expect Brad would ever come into a place like this—” she waved around the bar “—I don’t think there would have been a lot of opportunity for your path and Brad’s to cross when you were younger. And you two did meet when you were young, right?”

  Quinn nodded. “We were nine.”

  “Nine. That’s a long time. Almost as long as Jena, Marie and I have been friends.” She gave a visible shudder. “I’d hate to consider what I don’t know about them.”

  Quinn skimmed her shapely body, vividly recalling how each curve and dip had felt in his hands.

  “So, how did you meet?”

  He motioned the bartender for another beer. “I think that’s something you should ask Brad.”

  She shifted in her stool. “I would do exactly that but, strangely, Brad’s not around to ask right now.”

  The music notched up again, nearly drowning out the last of her comment. Quinn’s gaze snagged hers and held.

  “Gentlemen—and I see we have a lady in the house—give it up for Miss Candy!” the announcer shouted.

  There went her bulging eyes again. Quinn nearly grinned at Dulcy’s discomfort. During their conversation she seemed to have forgotten where they were. Only, there was no ignoring it now. He turned to lazily watch the young, curvy blonde stepping out onto the stage. If he squinted just right, she was a double for Dulcy. He slanted a gaze toward the woman next to him, finding her doing an Exorcist like move. Her body was facing the bar, but her attention was very definitely glued to the stage.

  “She’s like Candeeeee,” the singer of the song crooned, followed by a deeper male voice offering up dialogue on the title woman’s generous assets.

  Quinn recognized the song from the mid-eighties or so. High on bass, low on content, the song seemed the perfect score for the experienced stripper who stopped in the middle of the stage oval, feet shoulder-width apart. She slid her thumbs inside the tiny straps of her top, mocking herself by tugging the fabric out for a peek and then releasing it.

  “Oh my God,” Dulcy croaked next to him. “Where do they get bodies like that?”

  Quinn resisted the urge to glance at her. She didn’t seem to have a clue that the stripper’s body didn’t even compare to her own toned curves. Dulcy’s breasts were natural, perfect globes with the pinkest tips he’d ever seen on a woman. Unlike the stripper’s, whose breasts were obviously chosen from a catalog and whose dark nipples hinted that she wasn’t a real blonde at all. The stripper swung around the pole, then offered her bottom to the audience, doing the string-tugging thing again.

  Dulcy’s quick intake of breath drew Quinn’s gaze to her. Her mouth was open in a soft O. She had finally given in to temptation and had swiveled her stool to face the stage. Her long, long legs were crossed at the knees and her throat worked around a swallow she couldn’t quite seem to get down. A silky wisp of blond hair had escaped the twist at the back of her head and teased the corner of her pink lips. He resisted the urge to push it back from her cheek, afraid if he touched her, he wouldn’t be able to stop.

  As he watched her mouth, her wet tongue dipped out and nervously ran the length of her lower lip. He gave a hearty mental groan. She had no idea that just watching her like this turned him on in a way that a dozen strippers never could. And knowing she was indulging in decadent behavior while he watched notched the heat factor up even farther. He’d lay ten-to-one odds that Dulcy had never seen another woman completely nude, much less offering up that nudity in an uninhibited, titillating way designed to turn men on.

  He leaned closer to her, discreetly blowing on her hair near her ear. Her shiver was exactly what he’d been after. “You could put those women to shame, Dulcy.”

  “Me?” she whispered, and glanced around as if he had just suggested she engage in group sex.

  He grinned. “Yes, you.”

  “You mean, like, up on the stage?”

  He nodded.

  “Never. I…I could never do that.”

  He hiked a brow. “Not even for the man you love?”

  Color flooded her cheeks and it was obvious she was having a hard time imagining herself doing the things the stripper on the stage was doing. “Not even for the man I, um, love.”

  Had she ever stripped for Brad back in that dark, cold bedroom at the condo? The thought caused his gut to tighten. Then he remembered their time together at the hotel, her initial hesitancy, her hungry awkwardness, her complete discomfort in the lounge—and he hazarded a no. While she wore naughty underwear under all that designer clothing, he suspected that Dulcy believed stripping was something best left to professionals. His gaze slid down the front of her blouse to where the first few buttons were undone, revealing a stretch of pale silken flesh that rapidly moved in and out as she tried to control her breathing. He made out the hard, bunched tips of her nipples through the material and wondered if she was slightly turned on by the new experience. He knew she was when she re-crossed her legs. Then did so again.

  Quinn thought of the scrap of lace he had in his pocket, panties that Dulcy would now be wearing if he hadn’t stripped them from her earlier. His gaze slid up her bare legs to where her skirt hiked farther up with every leg crossing. He nearly groaned at the thought that if he were positioned just right, he’d be able to catch a peek of her own priceless wares.

  The place was just dark enough, the long bar positioned in such a way, that Quinn suspected if a person had something…naughty in mind, no one would notice. The bartender was at the other end of the bar talking to a customer. The remainder of the clientele had their gazes riveted to Candy. And that left the very hot Dulcy completely at his mercy.

  And at his mercy was exactly where he wanted her.

  When they’d met, all he’d wanted was a quick roll in the hay. Then this morning had happened and he’d discovered she was his best friend’s fiancée. Now…well, now he wanted to show her all the things that Brad never could. Wanted her to taste what it was really like to be with a bad-boy. Make her beg for him in a way that made her question her choice in men.

  Leaning back against the bar, he covertly swiveled her stool so that she was facing him as much as she was the stage. She blinked at him as if in a trance. Her pupils enlarged to claim nearly all the color in her irises, her eyelids half closed, giving her a sleepy, provocative look. Quinn swallowed hard as her attention slid back to the stage. He leaned slightly forward, pretending an interest in the peanut bowl behind her, then rested his hand on her bare knee. She tensed beneath his touch, her gasp telling of her surprise. But she didn’t remove his hand. Didn’t ask him to remove it. So Quinn slid his fingers up a couple of inches, until his fingertips brushed the hem of her skirt. His nose was nearly buried in her hair. He breathed deeply, restraining the desire to press his lips to the delicate shell of her ear. Her own breathing came in shallow gasps, then stopped altogether when his thumb crept the
remainder of the way up her leg and flicked against the tight bud of her womanhood.

  “I’ve always admired women who are comfortable in their own skin,” he murmured, stirring her hair with his breath. “Who feel as comfortable in their clothes as out of them.”

  Her shudder seemed to ripple straight to the core of him.

  “Tell me, Dulcy. Would you strip for me?”

  She blinked at him, her eyes swimming with desire and confusion. Her lips parted as if awaiting his kiss.

  Quinn gave in to the urge to groan. She hadn’t put panties on after their ladies’ room encounter. The thought of her walking around in public for the past three hours, naked under her skirt, air caressing her soft flesh, made him rock hard. He drew his thumb down the length of her crevice, then dipped it inside, pleased with her dampness.

  He didn’t know how he would pull it off, but he had to have Dulcy again.

  DULCY KNEW she should be ashamed. That instead of thrusting her hips into Quinn’s sinful touch, she should have pulled away, asked him to stop. But she had been powerless to do either. The truth was that his touching her felt so, so good. Made her want him so, so bad.

  Strip for him? She restlessly licked her lips. Never. No matter how titillating the thought of baring her skin to Quinn’s hungry gaze, even as she gave in to the sheer need surging through her body, she knew that she could never, ever do what the woman on the stage was doing. Could never put herself on display in such a provocative, public manner. Just thinking about it made her feel panicky, out of control. And control was so very, very important to her. Especially given how much of it she had lost recently.

  “No…never,” she murmured.

  His dark eyes seemed to stare straight into her, uncovering her fears. “Never?”

  Her breath caught. “Never.”

  Dimly she noted a shaft of artificial light from the street penetrate the bar. She saw Quinn’s glance flick to the door, but her focus was on pressing herself farther into Quinn’s hand…only to have his hot, stroking fingers disappear. She was afraid he’d stopped because of what she’d said. Then his breath caressed her ear, making her shiver.

  “Let’s get out of here.”

  She gazed at him and slowly nodded. She carefully tugged her skirt back down, then stood. But instead of leading her toward the door, he led her to the back of the club down the hall to the rest rooms. Remembering that morning, she questioned whether he planned to finish what had started in a similar environment earlier. The prospect excited and shocked her at the same time. Her palm dampened where it rasped against his. He opened first the ladies’ room door, then the men’s room. He tugged her into the men’s room. Dulcy leaned against the closed wood, her breathing growing ragged, her thighs moist in anticipation. But rather than kissing her, he motioned her toward one of the stalls. She hurried after him, only to find herself being boosted by two hands on her bottom through a window over the alley.

  Dulcy landed flat on that bottom and stared wide-eyed at Quinn as he followed her through the window. Before she knew it, he was pulling her up to stand next to him.

  “Sorry about that,” he murmured, his gaze raking her face. “Remember the flower guy?”

  Dulcy blinked at him. “What?”

  “The flower deliveryman at Brad’s place.”

  She licked her parched lips and nodded. “Sure. But what’s he got—”

  “He just walked into the club.”

  “Oh,” she said dully. Then the importance of what he’d said slowly sank in. “Oh!”

  Grabbing her hand again, he led her down the alley toward the parking lot. Sure enough, sitting under a light pole, was the white van with the flower shop’s logo on the side.

  “No phone number,” she said to herself, finding him holding her hand disconcertingly comfortable. Strangely, she didn’t try to remove it.

  “I’m guessing it’s a front. That there is no Manny’s Flowers within a hundred-mile radius of Albuquerque.”

  “How could you know something like that?”

  He stared at her, his dark features and eyes looking dangerously handsome in the dim light of the alley. She guessed he knew all sorts of ways of doing things that she preferred not to know about.

  “Oh.” She seemed to be saying that all too often lately.

  “Come on,” Quinn said, looking toward the closed door to the club. “Get in your car and leave. I’ll stick around and make sure he doesn’t follow you.”

  Dulcy didn’t move.

  “What?” he asked.

  “We need to talk.”

  Even when he gave her a shadow of a smile it came off as a grin. “I don’t think now’s the time, Dulc.”

  She swallowed hard. “I’m not talking about…that.” She finally gathered the courage to tug her hand out of his. “Where are you going next?”

  “I don’t get what you mean.”

  “In your search for Brad.”

  He didn’t say anything for a moment, merely stared at her unblinkingly. “Go home, Dulcy.”

  She crossed her arms. “And do what? Continue to work as if today was any other day? Or plan my wedding as if my fiancé isn’t missing?”

  He winced, and she took far too much satisfaction in the reaction.

  “Look, Quinn, I want—no need—to find Brad as urgently as you do. And since we’ve both ended up in the same place twice now, don’t you think it would be a good idea to work together on this?”

  “Together…” he asked, putting his index finger to his lips.

  Her gaze caught on the gesture. He seemed to grow aware of her attention and ran the pad of the digit across the length of his bottom lip.

  “Normally that would sound like a good idea…”

  She forced her gaze away from his decadent mouth.

  “But nothing seems to turn out normal when we’re together, Dulcy.”

  He had a point there. But she couldn’t stand the thought of going back to the office, jumping every time the phone rang, passively hoping for some sort of news on Brad. On her life.

  She uncrossed her arms and smoothed down her skirt. “Well, since you won’t tell me where you’re going, I’ll share where I’m heading—to Brad’s country club a couple of hours outside of town, near Socorro. He had a golf appointment yesterday. I plan to see if he kept it.”

  “Dulcy—”

  She raised her hand. “There is no way I’m just going to sit back like a good little girl and wait for all this to work itself out. It’s not what I’m made of. Not what I’m about.”

  The grin returned along with a good dose of sexual suggestion. “Oh, I would never mistake you for a good little girl, Dee. You forget, I know how very bad you can be.”

  Dulcy’s cheeks blazed but she held his gaze. “Then, we’re in agreement.”

  “No.”

  She shrugged. “Fine. See you at the country club.”

  He grasped her arm. “Tomorrow.”

  She suddenly found the simple act of swallowing difficult. “Tomorrow?”

  He nodded. “I’m going to head out to the Wheeler estate. See what Beatrix, Bruno and the greasy detective they hired earlier have unearthed.” He released her. “You’re welcome to come.”

  She rubbed the skin he’d touched. “I don’t think that would be a very good idea.”

  “That’s how I thought you’d feel.”

  She searched his eyes, finding them unreadable. “You’ll call me at home if you find out anything?”

  He nodded once.

  8

  DULCY FELT she had chugged down ten coffees instead of the half she was still sipping. She made a face at the cooling liquid in the cup sitting on the edge of her desk and automatically reached for the phone. She pulled her arm back. There was absolutely no one else for her to call.

  No sleep the night before wasn’t helping matters any. But she supposed she’d be more worried had she slept like the dead. She shuddered at her unfortunate choice of words and worried her engagement ring arou
nd and around her finger, then glanced at her watch. Only five minutes later than the last time she’d looked. Which meant the group visit to the police station was still a good two hours away at noon. They planned to meet with Barry’s contact there to report Brad’s disappearance.

  She turned the page of the legal brief in front of her and sighed, resting her forehead against her palm. She’d talked to Beatrix for a full two minutes first thing this morning. Up until yesterday, Brad’s mother had been suspiciously solicitous with her, warmly welcoming her into the family and going out of her way to try to bond with her. Now with Brad’s disappearance, she came off as a female Jeckyl and Hyde, one moment kind to her, the next oozing a dislike that made the hairs on the back of Dulcy’s neck go prickly.

  Beatrix had taken what appeared to be an equal amount of pleasure and displeasure in telling her that no progress had been made in locating Brad on any front.

  Then there was Quinn…

  Dulcy refused to admit that he had a thing to do with her not getting any sleep last night. Her mind had been on Brad and his whereabouts and safety only. Nothing else. And if she drifted off for a couple minutes and woke up with the sheets twisted around her legs and pulled tight between her thighs, Quinn’s name on her lips…well, that was because she was an anxious bride four days away from her wedding night.

  A no-good bride who had done some very naughty things with her groom’s best man.

  Dulcy groaned. What was she going to do?

  She reached for the phone to put in another call to Quinn, although she hadn’t left a message the past ten times she’d tried him. The moment her hand met with the receiver, the phone rang.

  Slapping her other hand to her chest, she answered the phone mid-ring. “Hello?”