And right now Rick was thinking of her as Randy Mandy, town whore.
She didn’t cry over things like this, not anymore, or she would surely dissolve into a puddle right there.
The television drowned out the sounds of traffic outside, so when the doorbell rang, it caught her by surprise. She looked that way, still curled with Dancer. Julia? Eternity? Rick? Robbie?
“Come on, Dancer,” she murmured, switching off the television, pushing to her feet. She curled her fingers around the dog’s collar and went to the door, quietly securing the chain lock before undoing the dead bolt. Opening the door three inches, she saw only Rick, and he looked concerned. Not angry. Not disgusted. Not even annoyed with her for lying. It was just concern verging on panic.
He dragged his fingers through his hair. “Can I come in?”
She undid the chain and stepped back. The moment he stepped through the door, Dancer lunged for him, forcing her to release the collar and take a step back, giving them room for their greeting.
Finally Rick met her gaze. “My brother’s an idiot.”
“Yeah, I noticed he lacks your charm.”
“He lacks a functioning brain.” Then…“Are you okay? Did he hurt you?”
He meant physical pain, not emotional. “I’ll have a few bruises, but that’s nothing new.”
“So will he,” Rick added drily, reminding her of the punch she’d walked out on. “Our mom raised him to be a whole lot better than that, but…” He stepped into the living room doorway, his back to her, then glanced over his shoulder. “Did you know my mom?”
Shivers slid through her, and the knot settled in her stomach again. “I knew who she was. We weren’t exactly in the same social group.”
“Your dad worked for our logging company. It was our truck that lost its load. The accident was our responsibility.”
She didn’t say anything.
“Did they take care of him?”
“We got some money—insurance, disability, something else. I was six years old. I don’t know exactly what he was paid. Just that it wasn’t enough. My mother worked two, sometimes three, jobs to make ends meet, and from the time I was able, I picked up the slack from the home health people in caring for my dad.”
Slowly Rick turned, his gaze level, giving nothing away. “How did you hook up with Robbie?”
She sighed. From the moment she’d recognized Robbie, she’d known this moment was coming. She didn’t know what to tell him but the truth. Quickly.
Moving toward him, she gestured into the living room. “Let’s sit down.”
Chapter 8
S he chose the chair, leaving Rick with the one-armed sofa and Dancer. Digging his fingers into the dog’s fur, moving them only minimally, helped him ignore the pain from the scrapes across his knuckles. It had been so long since he’d punched one of his brothers that he’d forgotten how damn hardheaded they were.
Amanda looked about ten years old in that white jumper and pale blue see-through top. But there was nothing girlish about her bare feet—like the rest of her, they were incredibly sexy, even though he’d never had a foot fetish in his life. Her back was straight, her hands clasped together on her lap.
“When I was fifteen, Mom and I decided to switch off. She quit her third job and I got a summer job at the lumberyard, clerking and stocking shelves for your uncle Garry. Robbie worked there, too, more or less.”
Rick understood the “more or less.” Robbie had known since he was little that there would always be money for him, some family money, some in his personal trust fund, so he’d always done most of his jobs more or less. Why exert himself to earn money for a forty-thousand-dollar car when the family would fund it for him?
“We were the only two young people working there and we became friendly.” She looked up, meeting his gaze evenly. “Everything from here on is my version. Any variations from what Robbie’s told you, you’ll have to figure out on your own.”
He nodded once.
“I always took my lunch to work to save money. Robbie started bringing his, too, and we’d walk to the creek out behind the lumberyard. We ate, but mostly we talked—about school and life, what we wanted to do, what our parents wanted us to do. He was friendly and he listened as if what I said really mattered.”
An odd expression crossed her face and Rick wondered if she’d made a connection between that and the listening she did for money at work. Not that it was the same. The customers at the club realized it was a business transaction. They didn’t mistake her attention for personal attraction.
“As the summer went on, we got pretty close. We went from talking to kissing and making out and, uh, discussing having sex. He was willing, but I wanted to wait for school to start. He called me his girlfriend, but I never saw him outside of work. He never took me on a date. He never gave me a ride home after work. He never called me to talk. I wanted more. I wanted…”
“Acknowledgment,” Rick said quietly. As she’d mentioned, they belonged to different social classes. Robbie was sweet-talking and coming on to her in private, but she wanted him to do it publicly. She wanted his friends to see them and know they were together, wanted his family to see them.
That never would have happened. Even if Robbie had genuinely cared for her, he’d been too status conscious. He’d dated cheerleaders and prom queens, not the north side daughter of a paralyzed man and his worked-to-the-bones wife. Amanda had actually worked for money needed to support her family—and knowing Uncle Garry, she’d earned every penny and then some. Robbie had never a dated a woman who actually held a job until he was twenty-seven and out of law school.
“I got acknowledgment, all right,” Amanda went on. “Some of his friends had seen us together out by the creek. They saw us holding hands, saw Robbie kiss me. On the first day of school, they started teasing him about it, and he told them that it had just been about sex.
“His girlfriend, Caroline—cheerleader, beauty queen and class president—wasn’t putting out, so he’d used me instead. He told them I was easy, I would do it with anyone, and he started calling me Randy Mandy. They all did. And the guys tried. They’d touch me in the hallway and invite me into the backseat of their cars during lunch. Other guys started claiming I’d had sex with them, too. If my father hadn’t died and we hadn’t moved away, I don’t know what I would have done.”
Wasn’t that a glowing testament for his kid brother? Calling himself and his brothers the spawn of Satan didn’t seem funny now.
“You’re a strong woman, Amanda.”
Now, after the ugly scene at the club, after relating all the old hurts, now her eyes filled with tears. She swiped one away, but another appeared.
“Come here.” He held out his hand and Dancer tried to climb onto his lap. He pushed her away as Amanda haltingly crossed the room, then laid her hand in his. He pulled her down across him, her hip nestled against his belly, his arm around her back, her head on his shoulder. His free hand brushed gently over her arm, where pale bruises could be seen through the net fabric. By morning they would be dark and ugly, and he just might have to hunt down Robbie and kick his ass.
“I’m not like Robbie. Or my uncle Garry or my father, or any of the other relatives who give the Calloways a bad name.”
“I know,” she murmured.
“How long have you known I was one of them?”
“Since the minute you walked into Almost Heaven. For an instant, I considered quitting, but then I realized that was arrogance on my part. You didn’t have a clue who I was. You’d never known I existed.”
“I am six years older,” he pointed out. “You were twelve when I left Copper Lake. By the time this happened, I was in my third year of college.”
She smiled faintly. “I know. Truthfully, I don’t really remember much about you. I have a few vague recollections of you and Mitch, but Russ and Robbie were a lot closer to my age.”
“I’m sorry. I never thought Robbie would come to the club. Honest to God, I mention
ed the name one lousy time and I never thought he was paying enough attention to remember.” One brief mention in one brief phone call at three in the morning. And the boy didn’t usually remember entire conversations that took place face-to-face. But to remember and to actually come there, when he’d known Rick was working undercover. And to get drunk first…
Robbie had screwed up, but so had Rick. And Amanda had paid for it.
She nuzzled her cheek against his shoulder. “Yeah, crap happens. I never thought I’d ever see another Calloway again. At least I know I’ll never see Copper Lake again.”
“I don’t know.” He removed one of the combs from her hair, then worked his fingers gently through her curls, loosening them. “You wouldn’t go back even to meet my mother?”
She laughed, but it was underlaid with real tension. “Mothers don’t like me, remember?”
“I told you, Mom is different. She would never be less than nice to anyone I brought home.”
“Even when your brother’s telling her I used to be the town whore?” she asked drily.
Okay, he was definitely kicking Robbie’s ass. And then his mother would take over and Robbie would really be in trouble.
“Besides, why would you want to take me home to meet your mother?” Another small laugh, another wave of tension.
Shut up, shut up, the voice in Rick’s head was chanting. Remember the case? Remember their agreement? That not acting on this thing between them was best? But he ignored the voice, forgot the case, threw out the agreement and acted instead. “Because my mother always meets the important women in my life.”
Amanda’s eyes darkened. “Always? That sounds like a lot. Fewer than twenty, more than fifty or somewhere in between?”
“Way fewer than twenty. It’s three—and that includes Prudence Charles. She was my algebra tutor our junior year in high school, and she taught me about a whole lot more than numbers. She broke my heart when she ditched me for the president of the math club.”
“And the second?”
“Her name was Elizabeth, and we dated in college. We thought about getting married, but she was really into politics and images, and I didn’t think I’d make a very good First Husband.” When Amanda chuckled, he went on. “You think I’m kidding, don’t you? She’s been our senator for six years and is rumored to be considering a run for the White House.”
“And number three?”
“Julia.”
Amanda’s expression grew wistful. “I bet your mom liked her a lot.”
“Yes, she did.”
“Probably hoped you two would get married.”
“No, she didn’t. Julia and me—it was just never that sort of thing.” Their relationship had always been a working one and still was, even though they shared an apartment and he’d seen her in practically less than her birthday suit. If he took pictures of her performance at the club—better yet, videos—he could sell them at work and make a fortune. Blackmail her with them, and he could make a bigger fortune.
“And what about this?” Amanda whispered. “What sort of thing is this?”
“I don’t know.” He swallowed, then brushed his mouth across her forehead. “But I’d like to find out.”
“What about your priorities?”
“They’ve changed.” That was the truth. At this moment, for this night, the case was on the back burner. Being with Amanda, chasing away that sadness from her eyes, taking care of her—that was what mattered most now.
For a long time, she was still and silent, no doubt considering his words from every angle, applying reason and logic and—he hoped—emotion to them. He was asking her for more than an affair and he damn well wanted her to agree. They were good together. He just wanted a chance to prove it.
“Okay,” she said.
“Okay?” he echoed dumbly.
She eased to her feet, backed away, then curled her fingers over the hem of her dress. With movements as graceful and elegant as any world-class ballerina, she peeled the dress over her head. “Stay,” she said firmly, then started for the bedroom, trailing the dress behind her by one strap.
The secret to an instant hard-on, he’d discovered that evening, was Amanda in a damn near nonexistent thong. Both in the club and again now, the sight forced the breath from his lungs and sent blood rushing to his erection, spreading fire along the way.
She sashayed through the arched doorway into the dining room, then called over her shoulder, “I meant the dog. Not you.”
Still feeling struck dumb, he looked at Dancer, curled beside him. “Yeah, stay,” he ordered, his voice thick and hoarse.
He followed Amanda through the house and into the dreary bedroom, which was no longer dreary. The trim had been painted white, the walls papered and new lights installed that brightened and softened.
“What do you think of the paper?” she asked, tossing the dress aside and standing primly, hands clasped, next to the night table, which held a lamp and three plastic condom packets.
He didn’t spare the room another glance. “Beautiful.” She was amazingly beautiful. Long, lean muscles. Incredible skin. Those curls that could give a man erotic dreams. Delicate features, womanly hips, legs that went on forever. Every man who walked in the door at Almost Heaven knew all that about her.
But he was the only one who could see her like that here. Who could touch her. Who could kiss her. Who could die inside her.
Then do it again.
“You’re about to have hot sex with the best exotic dancer at Almost Heaven.” Her tone was light, her smile unsteady. “Do you have any fantasies?”
He snorted. “Only about a million. And they’ve got nothing to do with exotic dancers. Just you. Amanda Nelson. Incredibly smart, beautiful, talented, sexy woman.”
The smile turned shy and she ducked her head. He closed the distance between them, lifted her chin and gazed into her eyes. “Since the first night we talked, I’ve wanted to…” He covered her mouth with his and her arms automatically went around his neck. The instant his tongue touched her lips, she opened to him and he stroked inside, thrusting, tasting, teasing.
Her fingers threading through his hair, she moved closer, rubbing against him, and he slid his hands to lift her bottom against him. The feel of nothing but net over soft, silky ass made his erection throb, made the fire inside flare until it licked his skin.
When he started to end the kiss, she whimpered, held his head with both hands and thrust her tongue into his mouth. She was hot, too, her breasts swollen, her nipples hard against his chest.
He cupped his palms to her face, pushed her back and kissed her cheek, her temple, her forehead. “Is any of this stuff breakaway?”
“Just the thong.” She sounded as rough and ragged as he felt. Wriggling against him, she pulled the top over her head, discarded the bra and shimmied out of the shorts. Blindly he found the clasps on either side of the thong’s narrow triangle, and it fell away, too.
Seeing her naked after weeks of seeing her nearly so was incredible. She was amazingly hard and hot and soft, and, damn it, he still had all of his own clothes on.
“When I was onstage tonight, before—” instead of mentioning Robbie, she shrugged, a delicate full-torso thing that made her skin quiver; even her hips did a little shiver “—I saw you at the back of the bar, leaning against the wall, and I thought that if I got the chance, I would undo these buttons. Very. Very. Slowly.” She touched the top button with a red-tipped nail and his heart shifted into overdrive. When she actually unfastened the button and brushed her mouth to the skin there, his knees damn near buckled.
She couldn’t breathe. Some distant part of her brain that was still functioning was amazed. She ran. She lifted weights and practiced yoga. She did heavy-duty work around the house and danced onstage in eight-inch heels, but at that moment, standing in her bedroom, she couldn’t breathe.
She undid the next button and drew her tongue slowly across Rick’s chest. A quick glance showed that his eyes were closed, his
features strained, but his mouth quirked into the faintest of smiles. He was so damn gorgeous. So damn special.
He was the kind of guy she could love.
No, not the kind of.
The guy.
His breathing was labored and fast and became more so as she opened the next two buttons and slid her hands inside. His chest was lightly furred, muscled, broad, and his skin burned as if with a fever. He was hot for her—literally. The knowledge made her smile.
She reached his jeans. She undid his belt, unfastened the button, slid the zipper slowly to its end, then pulled his shirttail free and pushed it off his arms. It landed on the new area rug, bright white against the muted colors.
Now his jeans. They were faded and snug and concealed a pair of navy blue boxers that didn’t conceal much at all.
Rick caught her hands as she stroked his erection. “Let me get my boots….” He toed them off, kicked off his jeans, then bent to remove his socks and an ankle holster. He shot her a quick look as he stuck the Velcro to itself, then laid it on the night table. “Does this bother you?”
She’d never known anyone who carried a gun, at least, that she was aware of. “I’ve seen where you live.”
Wrapping his fingers around her wrist, he pulled her down onto the bed with him. They both pushed at his boxers; they both fumbled with the condom. When he thrust inside her, she gave a long, low groan. He felt long and hard. She felt full. She felt…damn, she felt like crying. No, no. She hadn’t cried when things were bad with her mother. She hadn’t cried when things got ugly with Robbie. She wasn’t going to cry when things were oh, so right with Rick.
Even if one tear did seep out.
He kissed it away, then began moving inside her, an easy ride. She stroked him, caressed him, encouraged him with soft touches and softer sounds, and he teased and tantalized her, nibbling at her lip, suckling her breasts, biting her nipples. The heat built, the tension, the hunger, the pace, until the sounds and smells and sensations of sex were all around them, hoarse and musky and damn near more than she could bear.
And just that quickly, it pushed over the edge. More than she could bear. Her back arched, her heart stopped, her breath strangled in her chest, as need so intense it was pleasurable turned into satisfaction so intense it was painful. She couldn’t cry out, couldn’t plead, couldn’t do anything but react, her muscles taut, her body quivering, her vision fading.
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