Oh, he was wrong there. She didn’t have to imagine. She knew.
Rather than remember her experience with the youngest Calloway, she returned to his question. “Of course I want to change my life. But I chose to do it the old-fashioned way—going to school, getting a job, making myself over into a respectable member of the community. It’s taken the better part of twelve years. Some people want quicker results. DinaBeth was sure that if she made it to Hollywood, some blockbuster producer was going to take one look and splash her face across a forty-foot screen. She never did any school plays or community theater. She never took any acting or voice lessons. She wanted to be an overnight success. That’s probably where she is—Hollywood—and she probably conned Tasha into joining her there.”
Of that whole speech, he fixed on one brief comment. “You don’t need that degree or that job to make you respectable. You’re the most respectable woman I know next to my mother.”
It wasn’t the damn near schmaltzy words that got to her, or even the mention of Sara, who was considered a saint by both the community and her sons for having raised them. God knows, the closest to saint Amanda had gotten was its opposite. Taking your clothes off for strange men makes you the worst of sinners, Amanda. My daughter, the stripper, the sinner, the tempter of vile men.
And my mother, Amanda thought, melodramatic and over-the-top.
Her sins aside, what got to her about Rick’s statement was the sincerity in his voice, in his eyes. She knew it could be faked, just as she knew this wasn’t. He believed what he said and so did she; it sent a shaky feeling through her. What did you do when a man paid you the greatest compliment you’d ever gotten? When he was living with a woman you admired and liked? When even talking with him made you feel as if you were betraying that woman?
“Thank you, Rick,” she said softly. With that and a polite nod, she went to her car, undoing the lock as she approached.
He waited until she was about to slide behind the wheel to say, “I’ll follow you home.”
“You don’t have to,” she said automatically, but he waved her off and got into his own car. It was two forty-five in the morning, and he wanted to make sure she got home all right.
Oh, yeah, he could be a great hero. If he ever got interested.
Despite the light traffic, she drove the speed limit, ever conscious of his headlights three car lengths behind her. When she turned into her driveway, he pulled to the curb, shut off the engine and got out.
“You don’t have to see me to the door.” How long had it been since that had happened? A lifetime. She’d been young, as naive as Julia. But she’d grown up quickly.
“My brothers and I may be the spawn of Satan, but we’re gentlemanly spawn.”
She climbed the steps, unlocked and opened the door. Dancer was waiting on the other side, eager for a trip outside. Halfway down the steps, the dog paused, eyes even with Rick’s, and gave him a look, then continued into the yard.
“At least she didn’t pee on me,” he joked.
“Yeah, that’s always a good thing.” Amanda set her bag and purse on the floor inside the door, then turned back.
He still stood on the middle step, hands in his hip pockets, looking at her as if…she didn’t know. Didn’t want to know. Damn sure didn’t want to know if she was looking back at him the same way.
The porch lights cast yellow-tinged light over the wicker, the painted floorboards and him while leaving her in shadow. He had some years on his face—no one would mistake him for being on the young side of thirty—but they’d been good years. He looked as if he’d never had a real care in the world.
Had never been poor. Had never been disowned by his family. Had never been called names too vile for any parent to use with their child. Had never worried about living alone and lonely.
Though he’d lived with Gerald the philanderer. He’d been as disappointed in his father as she’d been in her mother. As her mother had been in her. He’d surely had his upsets, his failures. He didn’t look it, though.
She wanted to be as carefree.
“Well…” Rick’s voice was gravelly and low.
If this had been a date, he would have come onto the porch, would have tried to kiss his way inside the house and into her bed.
If this had been a date, she would have let him.
But it wasn’t a date and she was glad he kept his distance or she might be tempted to forget it. Might forget Julia, too. Might try to tempt him.
“Thanks for the Coke,” she said as Dancer trotted up the steps again, passing Rick without a glance.
“Thanks for the company.” He backed down the steps and lifted one hand in a wave before spinning. “See you later.”
She went inside, latching the screen door as he got in his car, locking the door as he drove away. The house felt empty with no one but Dancer to break the stillness. “Not that you aren’t the best company in the world,” she said aloud, giving the dog a scratch behind the ear. It was just that she felt…well, empty. She wanted friends. A boyfriend. Someday a husband and maybe even kids. None of those things had been priorities, she’d told Rick, and that was true. For twelve years, all she’d focused on was saving money, getting her degree and finding a job. Well, she had a nice chunk of change in mutual funds, plus a little play money in high-risk, high-yield bonds. She had the degree and the job was hers, starting after Christmas.
Now she wanted a man. Someone else’s man.
And unless she’d misjudged that look a few moments ago, there might be a chance she could have him.
Saturday nights were big nights at Always Heaven. Every girl who showed up for the evening got her turn onstage, then mingled with the customers. That, Rick knew, was where they made their real money. Tips tucked into bras or thongs onstage were nice, but it was sitting at the tables and giving lap and private dances in the back room that paid the bills.
And since Saturday nights were good for the dancers, they were good for the bartenders, as well. Not that Rick got to keep any of it. His salary and tips went from his pocket to GBI, and the tips were often more than the salary.
He was working the bar with Vincent tonight. On weeknights, one bartender was enough. The customers drank a lot of booze, but their primary interest was the girls. On weekends, it took two to keep the booze flowing.
Vincent was in his mid-forties, thin in a bony scarecrow way, with sunken eyes and a head of hair styled to do Johnny Cash proud. He was on the lazy side, and he had an in of some kind with Rosey Hines. He also had a thing—unrequited, Rick was sure—for Eternity.
During a lull when Amanda, Eternity and an Asian girl named Anh took the stages, Rick shifted the toothpick he chewed on to one side of his mouth and went to stand next to Vincent. “I heard Mr. Hines has a special scheduled for tonight. Does he do that very often?”
His narrow gaze riveted on Eternity, Vincent shrugged. “From time to time.”
“I want to get in on it.”
“Why?”
“Same reason the girls do.” Rick nodded toward the stage but was careful to keep from actually seeing Amanda. She remained a blur of pale golden skin, blue garments and sensuous moves. “Money.”
“Where’d you hear about it?”
“Being a good listener is one of the job requirements for tending bar.”
Anyone else might have cracked a smile, smirked or had some kind of comeback. Vincent gave no sign he’d even heard. “Mr. Hines chooses the personnel for the specials. If he wants you there, he’ll let you know.”
“Why aren’t you there tonight? He didn’t want you?”
Finally Vincent looked at Rick, his blue gaze colder, narrower than usual. Eternity probably felt a moment’s ease as the creep factor for her ratcheted down. Rick’s own creep factor just about doubled, making him grateful for the pistol strapped to his ankle. “I’ve done plenty of specials. I’ll do plenty more in the future. Tonight I decided to be here.”
Because Eternity was here? Before Rick co
uld do more than wonder, Vincent walked to the far end of the bar and turned his back to him.
Rick filled a couple of drink orders, wiped the bar a time or two, watched the second hand on the clock make a few rotations, then finally looked at Amanda. Because there was nothing left to do. Because it was totally natural to look at a half-naked woman on display. Because he couldn’t have not looked at her for one minute longer.
She wore a halter top, royal blue and clinging as if it were two sizes too small, with a skirt, also blue, made of some gauzy fabric. The hem was uneven, dipping lower in the center and rising high on the outside, and it fluttered around her runner’s thighs with every move she made.
This was the first song in her three-song set. Before it was over, she would remove the top. By the end of the second song, she would remove the skirt, and she would finish the set wearing nothing but bits of fabric covering the most intimate parts of a body meant to drive him nuts.
God, he needed a drink.
When she pulled off the top to reveal a bra that was tiny enough and flimsy enough to make a joke of the name, he bit the toothpick in half. When she removed the skirt, one agonizing inch at a time, and he saw the matching panty that was a shade smaller than decent, with ties that crisscrossed her hips before tying in a delicate bow right across her belly button, he damn near bit his tongue in half.
Aw, man, this was not the way he worked. Not once in fourteen years in law enforcement had he ever gotten turned on in the course of his job. Not once had he forgotten for even one second what he was there for, that he was the good guy and everybody else, whether bad guy or innocent bystander, was off-limits. He was undercover, for God’s sake.
And he wanted to get wild and dirty under the covers with Amanda.
One good reminder that he needed to get his head straight chose that moment to come to the bar. Julia had been seated at a table in the corner, watching everything, her encyclopedic brain taking it all in and cataloging it.
Amanda had already changed Julia’s hairstyle and makeup. Rick assumed he was seeing her influence in Julia’s clothes tonight, as well. She wore jeans, but they were a world apart from the previous night’s pair. These were faded, tight enough to make loss of consciousness a real possibility and long enough to require four-inch heels. I’m getting used to them, Julia had told him when he’d first commented on them. For the night I audition.
Ms. Stick-up-her-ass had certainly changed her attitude in the past few days.
She’d come home at five in the morning, fumbling loudly enough at the door to wake him. He’d grabbed his pistol and taken up a defensive posture at the end of the hallway, only to relax when she’d come through the door. Oh, she’d said. What are you doing up?
She’d swayed a bit as she’d closed the door and secured the three locks. The girls think I’m tipsy, but I’m not. And as easily as turning off a switch, she’d straightened and, utterly steady on her feet, strolled past him to her room.
Damn, Julia had never strolled.
She leaned her elbows on the bar, showing a nice bit of skin in the vee of her snug shirt. “Give me a twenty-dollar glass of wine.”
“Yeah, right.” He pulled a bottled water from the refrigerator and slid it across to her. “Our cheapest wine is twenty-five dollars a glass. You learning anything?”
“Uh-huh.” She didn’t offer anything more, but turned to watch the room. “I’m starting to think that actually dancing won’t be nearly as intimidating as chatting up the customers.”
“You talk to people all the time.”
“I interview.” Her voice lowered. “I interrogate. I don’t chat.”
“It’s not like you’re expected to carry on intelligent conversation. You flutter your lashes, use a breathy little voice, act helpless and you’ve got it made.”
Julia quirked one brow. “And you learned that…Ah, having coffee with Amanda. What other secrets did she tell you?”
He moved to the center of the bar to fill an order, then returned, leaning across the bar. To anyone who saw them, they’d look intimate, but all he really wanted was privacy. “Both Tasha and DinaBeth liked doing the specials. We need to find out if Lisa did, too. Maybe the connection is more than just the club. Maybe it’s got something to do with those.”
“I’ll have someone get in touch with Lisa’s sister.”
“When do you audition?”
Finally, a glimpse of the Julia he knew. She swallowed hard and something flashed through her dark eyes. “Tomorrow night. Since it’s illegal to sell liquor on Sundays, the club’s not busy and Harry will have time.” She looked away, then back. “You’ll be off.”
Illegal to sell liquor, Rick thought, but they did it anyway, at least to their regulars.
Auditions weren’t formal. A girl came in, talked to Harry, he put her on one of the smaller stages, she danced and if he liked her or thought his customers would he gave her a shot. She could pay her seventy-five-buck house fee like all the rest and hope to make more.
“You don’t want me here?” he asked with a grin.
“No.”
“Aw, come on…”
She shot him a sharp look.
Truth was, he’d rather not sit in on her audition. He had to work with her when this case was over. He’d rather not know what she looked like in stripper clothes. He’d really rather not find out just how much she’d learned.
“You comfortable being in here alone?”
Another sharp look. “I can take care of myself.”
He leaned close enough to smell her perfume. The other prim stuff in her life might be temporarily banished, but the perfume was as sweet and innocent as cotton candy. “I don’t think you can hide a pistol or pepper spray in those outfits you bought.”
“Amanda will be here, and Eternity. They’re enough.”
“What will Amanda think when you have your big debut and I’m not here to see it?”
“She’ll think what we tell her to think.”
Rick reached for another toothpick. Chewing on them was a habit that had driven his mother crazy. When are you going to stop that? she’d once asked, and he’d quickly replied, The day I take up smoking. She’d never said anything about it since.
“People don’t tell Amanda what to think,” he pointed out. Though he might like to see someone try.
Julia fluttered a hand. “She’ll think I want to give you a private show.”
At home. In his bedroom. Ending in wild, wicked, incredibly hot sex.
He wasn’t a horny kid anymore. He knew wild, wicked, incredibly hot sex happened, but not every time. Not with every woman. Most of the time sex was good. It was great. But it didn’t usually turn him inside out. And truthfully, sex with Julia sounded about as much a turn-on as kissing the sister he didn’t have.
But sex with Amanda…He watched her disappear from the stage, knowing she would come out again in a moment or two and circle through the audience. Someone would ask her to sit with him a while and buy her a drink. She would order her usual—water—and he’d get charged the eighteen-dollar minimum for it. She would listen more than she would talk and she would smile a lot and he would think that maybe, just maybe, he could be the one to make a difference in her life. For a few minutes, he could live the fantasy that he could have her. She could be his. He could be the one to rescue her.
Rick knew she didn’t need rescuing. But he wouldn’t mind at all being her hero.
“About that…” Julia took a drink, then tightly screwed the lid back on the bottle. “I’m thinking that after I get the job, we should break up.”
She couldn’t have said much that would have surprised him more. “Break up?”
“You’re getting cozy with Amanda. I’m getting cozy with Eternity and Monique. We don’t need to be together anymore.”
Nah. Uh-uh. She was one of the things keeping him from making that fantasy reality. He didn’t want to break up. Didn’t want to be available in any way, shape or form.
�
�It’s really pretty limiting,” Julia went on, not seeming to notice that he was staring at her. “I needed an in and I’ve got it. Now I need to be free to take full advantage of it.”
“I’m holding you back from that?”
“Having a boyfriend who works here is. Besides, they’ve noticed that you and Amanda…” She finished with a shrug.
“That we what?”
“That you take breaks when she does. That sometimes you’re waiting out back when she leaves. That you two went out for coffee after work Thursday night. They don’t think Amanda would do anything wrong. They just think—” she smiled unexpectedly “—you would.”
“You went out drinking,” he protested.
“I know, but I was with the girls. You were with one girl. And it wasn’t your live-in girlfriend.”
“Because you went out drinking with the other girls.”
She smiled in that smug, condescending way women had with men when there was no logic to their arguments but it didn’t matter because they were going to win anyway. “It won’t even be a big breakup. We’ve been together a long time, we’ve been growing apart, we thought moving in together might bring us closer, but now we’ve come to the conclusion that we want out of the relationship. No one’s hurt, no one’s holding a grudge, we’re still friends.”
No logic. If Rick had really been seeing a woman for three years and was living with her, it was a sure bet that a breakup, even a mutually-agreed-upon one, would leave some hard feelings.
She patted his hand. “We weren’t really fooling anyone. They must think we’re the most unaffectionate couple in the entire world. We just don’t act the way lovers should. There’s no chemistry.”
He gave her a narrow scowl and muttered, “Go ahead. Trample my ego.”
“If anyone’s ego can survive trampling, it’s yours.”
Her logic might be skewed—more like nonexistent—but he couldn’t find fault with her conclusion. She needed to be chummy with as many of the dancers as possible and, since none of them were involved seriously with just one man, a boyfriend could be a hassle. And there was no chemistry between them. Hadn’t he just thought that sex with Julia would be worth skipping out on?
Forbidden Stranger Page 10