Deception

by Lisa Clark O'Neill

  “Holy Mary, Mother of God.”

  Josh wasn’t sure whether Declan was cursing or praying, but yes, the sight of what had been hidden by the woman’s shirt was certainly one of God’s finer creations. She’d dropped the uniform top on Clay’s lap before walking back around so that she faced him, and the little scraps of black lace that now struggled to contain her bountiful breasts looked like they’d been put through the dryer on high one too many times.

  Maybe they didn’t make sexy little bras in industrial size.

  Feeling rotten, although he couldn’t for the life of him figure out why, Josh ogled along with the others. The catcalls had grown deafening, the tension in the room high, as everyone waited to see what would come off next. He called himself a pervert, but Josh wondered if she was wearing anything beneath that skirt.

  “Damn, I might need a bib,” one man near Josh muttered, indicating the drool that was running down his chin.

  “Got a hanky in my pocket,” Declan offered with a smirk.

  “I wouldn’t touch anything that had been in your pocket with a ten foot pole, Murphy.”

  “That’s a ten inch pole in my pocket,” Dec corrected. “And I’ve got our girl here lined up for that job, thanks.”

  The man laughed, and Josh felt his blood heat, eyebrows slamming together as he glared at Declan.

  “What,” Murphy asked, all innocence. “Hell, Harding, I’m not getting married. Don’t tell me you’re opposed to everyone getting lucky?”

  “What makes you think that woman would consider it lucky to have men just assume she wants to have sex with them?” The wolf whistles echoed shrilly around the room as the stripper turned her back and knelt so that Clay could help her with the skirt’s zipper.

  One eye on the action, one eye on Josh, Declan rubbed his finger around in his ear as if to clear it. “Either my hearing’s gone bad, or you’re starting to take your serve and protect oath way too seriously, Harding. Didn’t any of those bullets knock the stick out of your ass? She’s a stripper, Josh. Not some paragon of virtue you need to defend.”

  One small part of Josh’s brain told him that Declan was at least partially right, but another, entirely irrational section made his testosterone seem to gather in his fists. There must have been something in the air tonight, because he wanted desperately to lay the man out. There’d been some low-level contention between them ever since they’d met, but for whatever reason it was coming to a head right now. And damned if he knew why, but the catalyst seemed to be the stripper. Calling himself all kinds of fool, Josh sucked back his anger and tried to be reasonable. He didn’t know this woman, had no right to feel… what the hell was he feeling? Protective? Jealous? The whole thing made no sense. In fact, he was tempted to apologize to Murphy when the woman in question stood up and playfully slid out of her skirt.

  Stepping out of the garment, she bent over at the waist to pick it up with one finger, twirling it around overhead before flinging it onto Clay’s lap. Then she reached behind her, unhooked the clasp of the ineffective bra, and draped the garment over the hat on Clay’s head. Laughing good naturedly, Clay applauded the woman’s efforts as she did a little shimmy in front of him when the music’s crescendo indicated the end to her routine. She was left wearing only her boots, a tiny little sequined G-string and a couple of tasseled pasties. As she executed a three-sixty Josh got his first really good look at her unclothed body. Without a doubt, it was the most perfect body he’d ever seen. In fact, he’d only ever seen one body that even came close.

  Sucking in a breath, heat washed over Josh in a rush, causing sweat to break out all over his body. His eyes darted to the area just above the woman’s left hip. From this distance he couldn’t be entirely sure, but he thought he spied…

  She turned and he got a much better view, leaving no doubt about it.

  There was a small butterfly tattooed on her left hip.

  “Damn, that is just about the finest piece of ass I’ve ever –”

  Josh’s fist flew out before he knew what he was doing.

  “Harding. What the hell?” Declan was on his ass, rubbing his jaw, staring at Josh with first confusion and then a growing lust for blood. Josh saw it through the red haze which had formed in front of his own eyes, as behind him he heard a feminine shriek and then some very male cursing. The men gathered near him and Declan were watching them both with confusion, and as Declan gained his feet and made a move for Josh, several scrambled out of the way. A couple of guys – toasted past reason – started chanting “fight, fight, fight” like this was some junior high schoolyard and they were the lunchtime entertainment, but luckily a few others had more sense and stepped in to intervene. The best man put himself in front of Declan before the man could launch himself forward, and Josh’s arms were suddenly pinned from behind as Clay made a surprisingly quick and agile move considering the amount of alcohol in his bloodstream.

  “What are you doing, friend?” Clay asked calmly, leaning in close to be heard over the music and Declan’s shouts about Josh’s upcoming ass-stomping.

  Hell, that was the question, wasn’t it? But then Josh wrenched himself around and spotted the answer through the sea of male bodies.

  Rogan Murphy had procured a jacket from somewhere and was wrapping it around the stripper to help her cover herself as he hustled her toward the stairs. No doubt he expected that a knock-down, drag-out was about to ensue, and he didn’t want her in the middle of it.

  Good man.

  But just before she disappeared down that shadowy stairwell under the relative safety of Rogan’s shepherding arm, she turned and met Josh’s eyes with a brief flicker of pained recognition.

  Any lingering doubts he may have had were completely erased.

  The woman who’d just stripped in front of him was definitely Samantha.

  CHAPTER THREE

  SAM was pretty sure she’d never been so mortified in her entire life.

  What were the chances that here, in this city where she was a virtual stranger, she’d run into a man she both knew and respected? A man who had been a friend to her when she’d had no belief that was possible between the sexes, and who’d unknowingly helped her turn a life spiraling out of control into something of which she could be proud. He’d helped her regain her self-respect during a period when even Donnie hadn’t been able to reach her, and now here she was, taking off her clothes in front of him and his friends.

  She knew what she’d just done wasn’t that bad, but she just couldn’t help feeling dirty. And the way Josh had looked at her across the room…

  Shit. She felt like she was going to throw up.

  “I’m really sorry about that,” Rogan Murphy was talking in her ear, helping her down the stairs like a perfect gentleman, when in reality he was the one who could use assistance. “I don’t know what got into my brother… well, I probably know what got into my brother, but I’m not at all sure what got into Josh. Like I said earlier, even the nicest guys in the world can turn ugly when you factor in alcohol and naked women. Sorry.” He looked embarrassed and made sure his eyes were averted. Obviously the guy was extremely cognizant of the fact that she was pretty much quite naked beneath the short jacket, which barely covered her exposed cheeks.

  “It’s okay,” she quickly assured him, though she was disgusted when her voice wobbled. She had a pretty good idea what had gotten into Josh, but didn’t feel like it was the right time or the right person with whom to discuss it. Hopefully, she could just grab her trench coat and get out before anyone else realized what was happening. She didn’t want to see any of these men ever again, and she most definitely didn’t want to face Josh.

  The thought of it turned her stomach.

  Oh lord, she hoped she could make it to the bathroom. She would have bolted in that direction if not for the fact that Rogan had his arm tucked firmly around her shoulders. He probably wanted to make sure the jacket stayed in place, or maybe had some idea that she was going to collapse with the shock of w
hat had happened. Of course when her knees started to shake and one buckled beneath her, she realized that he was quite possibly right.

  “Whoa, I’ve got you.” His arm tightened and he held her against him, close enough for her to smell the alcohol on his breath. Which, if possible, made them both even more embarrassed. When she was steady again he released her, but kept his hand on her shoulder just in case.

  “Thanks” She rolled her eyes at her own stupidity. Why had she ever thought she’d be able to handle this? “I guess I’m just a little bit shaky.”

  One corner of his mouth drew up. “Well that just shows that you’ve got some sense. I’d be shaky in your position as well. And again, I’m sorry for my idiot brother and my idiot friend. Pretty much my whole idiot sex.”

  Sam laughed a little as they reached the bottom of the stairs, thinking that Rogan Murphy was a nice man. Maybe almost as nice as the man upstairs, who had the sweetest, sexiest smile she’d ever seen.

  Stop it, Samantha. Thinking about Joshua Harding that way was not good for more reasons than one – that was territory she’d covered long ago. And because there were so many reasons why seeing him here was all kinds of wrong, she felt her stomach doing the pre-hurl hula once again.

  Oh, God.

  She was definitely going to vomit. And because she could feel it coming and knew that even her pride or willpower or basic good manners couldn’t hold her back, she took off so quickly that the jacket slipped off under Rogan’s grip. No doubt he had a nice view of her bare ass hauling down the hallway as she careened toward the restroom like a bat out of humiliation hell.

  He called out to her, but she couldn’t answer. She was too busy getting acquainted with the inner workings of the restaurant’s plumbing. There was certainly nothing left in her stomach, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t wretch.

  Nothing like some dry heaves and tasseled pasties as a fun way to spend the evening. Clutching her stomach with one hand and plucking the hated nipple covers off with the other, Sam threw the pasties in the toilet before depressing the flusher with the heel of her boot. Sick, ashamed and wishing she had the power to disappear at will, she grabbed her trench coat off the hanger and headed toward the sink, where she loaded her hands with soap from the dispenser and did a quick scrub job to dispel the worst of the makeup. Her eyes were still pretty gunked-up, but she’d have to wait until she got hold of some Vaseline to get the rest of the stuff off. For now she’d just have to settle for looking like she’d been accosted by Mary Kay.

  After drying herself with a few towels from the stack on the counter, Sam belted the coat around her waist before whipping off the stupid wig. No point attempting to maintain any anonymity when she’d obviously already been made.

  Josh, no doubt, had remembered her boobs all too well.

  Sam ran a few fingers through her short brown hair before stepping out into the hall, relieved to find the area empty. The issue of professional etiquette ran through her mind, making her wonder if she should attempt to say her goodbyes. But hell, this wasn’t a tea party. What did it really matter if she split? She’d been hired to do a job, she’d done it pretty well, and she should leave through the back door like a regular employee. No need to make herself or the Murphys any more uncomfortable, and definitely no reason to see Josh. On that note, Sam walked briskly through the darkened bar area until she wound her way back to the kitchen. She’d almost made it to the door when she heard her name.

  “Samantha?”

  Well hell. She’d know that voice anywhere. Even after all these years.

  “Sam.” He’d come a little closer, though she still hadn’t answered or turned around. The kitchen was dark, only the light from the outside security lamp shining through the cracks around the door, and she had the ridiculous thought that if she stood really still he might not see her.

  Right.

  Sighing, Sam turned just enough to catch a shadowy glimpse of Josh Harding as he stood several yards behind her. Even in the dim light he looked… good.

  God, he’d always looked too good.

  The handsomest man she’d ever seen.

  Hell, half the women on the planet couldn’t hold a handle to the sheer beauty that was Josh. It was enough to make her want to beat her head against the wall. “Josh.” She cleared her throat and was thankful for the absence of light. No way did she want him to see the tears that swam crazily in her eyes.

  “It’s really good to see you, Sam.”

  Samantha snorted and dragged her hand down her face. “You know, I wish I could say the same. But unfortunately, you’re just about the last person on earth I wanted to see tonight. I…” She stopped to gather her thoughts. What could she possibly say? “I really can’t believe this is happening. What are you doing in Charleston?”

  “I grew up just west of here,” he reminded her as he moved closer, into the thin band of light. There was just enough illumination to see that his eyes were as blue as ever. His dark hair was cut shorter, more urban professional than when she’d known him, but as always there was nary a hair out of place. And his finely chiseled features were still utterly flawless in their boyish fashion. He was the kind of man who was only going to grow increasingly more attractive as he aged. “I’m a cop,” he continued, halting an arm’s length in front of her. “Forensic artist. With the Charleston PD.”

  “Of course.” She’d forgotten he’d been headed for law enforcement. Something about a deal with his old man. The Sheriff. But it looked like he’d found a way to use the art background, after all. “That’s great, Josh.” God, he was close enough to smell. Close enough to touch. He’d always smelled so damn good – like really nice soap. And man.

  Except he wasn’t a man she could have. Ever.

  And she didn’t want him to see her this way.

  Running a hand through her hair, Sam laughed without humor. This was turning into a pisser of a night. “I’m sorry, Josh. I know this is rude as hell and you deserve to be treated so much better, but I really can’t do this right now. I just… yeah. I have to go.” She turned, desperate to flee, desperate to run as far away from her mistakes as she could possibly get, away from all the reminders of what she shouldn’t want and couldn’t possibly have anyway, and pushed as quickly as her trembling legs would carry her out the door.

  Josh followed, of course. She’d damn well known he was going to. But she ignored him until he caught her by the arm.

  “Sam, wait. Don’t run away. Not again, dammit.”

  Which was totally unfair, because she hadn’t run away, darn him. Except that… well, actually yes she had. She’d run, run, run like her feet were on fire. Just up and left Savannah, moved away, sayonara.

  You just shouldn’t fall in love with your best friend.

  “Sam, come on. Talk to me. What are you doing here?”

  The shaky little laugh made an appearance, which disgusted her even further. “By here do you mean Charleston? Or do you perhaps mean here, as in what are you doing here, at my friend’s bachelor party, taking off all of your clothes? Again.”

  Josh shook his head in his oh no, you don’t fashion. “Samantha, that’s not what I meant, and you know it. I never thought that. You were the one who got up in front of the drawing class for all the wrong reasons. And I thought…” He blew out a breath that ruffled his perfectly styled hair. “I thought you’d realized that. Um…” He cleared his throat, shifted from boot to boot. With her own boots on they were almost exactly the same height. He was dressed nicely, as usual, in trim black slacks and a royal blue shirt. He’d always had more fashion sense than she had. “I just hope that whatever reason you are here tonight – and I’m not judging you, whatever it might be – I hope the reason is, you know, practical or even… personal. As long as it’s not some kind of self-punishment. Because God, Samantha. What happened to you was not your fault.”

  Sam’s heart nearly fell out of her chest. She’d been drunk, all those years ago, when she’d told Josh little pieces of he
r story. Not the whole thing – never the whole thing – though she guessed he’d pieced stuff together. And he’d remembered. After what? Almost ten years? Suddenly her mortification notched up to just take me out and shoot me levels.

  “Wow. I just… really don’t want to have this conversation. Not while I’m standing here with the breeze off the bay blowing across my bare ass.”

  A scarlet flush crept up Josh’s cheeks, letting her know he was almost as uncomfortable with this as she was.

  “It was… interesting to see you, Josh. Take care.”

  “Sam, wait.”

  She shook off his arm. “Just let me go, Josh.”

  “Not until you –”

  “Samantha?”

  The new voice caught her off guard. It was deep, and masculine and way too familiar. She didn’t want to turn around and face the new arrival, but hey, could it really be that much worse than this little tete-a-tete with her good friend Josh? She’d have to create a whole new standard for crappy when she ranked this suck-fest of a night.

  Sighing for the umpteenth time, she swiveled around and looked into the confused face of her brother’s surgeon, Justin Wellington. Apparently, the hellish world she’d been unexpectedly thrown into was just small enough for every guy she’d ever thought highly of to know one another. And they’d all decided to gather here tonight. Justin peered up at her from his position at the bottom of the delivery ramp, his dark brows almost touching his hairline in a sort of facial question mark. And then his grey-eyed gaze slid over her shoulder to land like a blow on Josh Harding.

  “Josh.” He acknowledged the other man. Suspiciously. Then he divided a hard stare between him and Samantha. “Is there a problem here?”

  “Oh there’s a problem, but not the kind you think.” Another half-laugh, because hell, it was either that or cry. Sam could tell that Justin was on the verge of asking for an explanation, maybe offering to help, when the breeze kicked up, sending the edges of her trench coat airborne in a nifty little Marilyn Monroe.

  From Justin’s lower perspective, he most certainly caught an eyeful.