Bare-Naked Lola (A Lola Cruz Mystery)

by Melissa Bourbon Ramirez

  Chapter Seventeen

  My cell phone rang first thing in the morning, rousing me from a delightful dream in which I was fully clothed—and so was everyone else. I reached across my bed, grabbing the phone from my dresser. “Hmm?” I said, trying not to sound too sleepy.

  “There was a note on my door this morning,” Selma’s spooked voice said when I answered.

  Adrenaline surged through me. I’d thought that maybe the notes had been a decoy to detract from the motive behind Jennifer’s murder, but maybe I’d been wrong. Were the other dancers still in danger? “What’d it say?”

  Her voice hitched as she read: “‘Stop nosing around, or you and your friends will pay the price.’”

  My breath caught in my throat. This wasn’t some veiled red herring of a threat delivered at a basketball game. This was the real McCoy. Whoever was behind this knew where Selma lived, and that was definitely not a good thing.

  “He was there last night. He saw us. He had to.”

  Just what I’d thought.

  She gasped for air. “I don’t want to die.”

  Her mind had gone to the mysterious boyfriend, but mine went to Craig. One of us had to be right.

  “Selma.” I worked to calm her down, finally saying, “I really think you should stay away from Cuerpo y Alma, just for a while. If that place has anything to do with Jennifer’s death, you shouldn’t be there.”

  She hemmed and hawed but didn’t agree to lay low. I sighed into the phone. There was nothing I could do about that. A nudist had to be free.

  I pictured her tiger eyes flashing as she buried the anxiety bubbling up inside her. “I’ll be careful, but you find him, Lola.”

  Exactly what I planned on doing.

  …

  I spent the morning at home. Better to Google Cuerpo y Alma on my personal computer than on the office computer, what with all the naked bodies on the screen. I started on the ABOUT US page, reading up on the history of the resort. I learned that Cuerpo y Alma had been founded more than thirty years ago and was still run by the same family—Craig’s family.

  I peered at the pictures, blinking and making a concerted effort to keep my eyes on the people’s faces. I couldn’t say any of them were familiar, but I clicked page after page after page, thinking I might catch a glimpse of Jennifer and her mystery boyfriend.

  Finally, I spotted her mass of blond hair and her huge toothy grin amidst a group. Jennifer was buck naked, just like everyone else. She was next to Craig and another woman I didn’t recognize. Deirdre stood a few people away from them. I scanned, searching for Selma, and finally spotted her crouched in front. The backdrop of the picture was a stage.

  By the time I registered the concert banner strung from end to end with one colorful word emblazoned on it—Nudestock—my phone beeped with an incoming text.

  RED ALERT! Pinkie Promise #EpicFail!!! Zac forced a confession. :(

  So sorry, Lola.

  No. No, no, no. My heart lurched. If Zac knew, that meant Antonio probably knew. And if Antonio knew, than that meant—

  “I heard you got a new hobby,” a voice said behind me.

  —Jack knew.

  I sucked in a mouthful of air, breaking down into a frenzy of coughing. My hand flew to my chest. Not Jack. Antonio.

  “¡Hijo de la chingada!” My brother. “Tonio, you scared me half to death!”

  “Porn, eh?”

  “No, not porn.” I glared at him. “This is for work.”

  “Right. Work,” he said skeptically.

  Before I could swat his arm, a movement in my peripheral vision caught my attention. A shadow, lean and stealthy. The breath caught in my throat again and then Jack appeared.

  Damn.

  His jaw pulsed as his gaze slid to the computer screen full of naked people, then back to me. “Have fun last night, Lola?”

  “Not so much.” I clicked the page closed. “I was working.”

  “Huh. But the Royals didn’t play last night.” The statement sounded innocent enough, but the blaze behind his eyes made me think it wasn’t actually anything of the sort. Damn Lucy for breaking our pinkie-promise pact. I was going to have to come clean with Jack. Which I didn’t want to do—not because I thought he wouldn’t understand—he was a journalist, after all. He’d gone undercover. He had sources to protect. He crossed lines for his job. But a nudist resort? Did that go too far? I was afraid to face my own boundaries. Was I really not cut out to be a detective? Could I ever be good enough if I had lines I wouldn’t cross?

  “I had dance practice,” I offered. It wasn’t a lie. I had had dance practice…before I’d gone to the nudist resort.

  Antonio didn’t blink. “Uh-huh. And after?”

  Oh yeah, they knew.

  My mind raced as I tried to strategize, but in the end, I gave up. Damn Lucy. I knew I shouldn’t have let her come. And damn Zac for then spilling to Antonio and Jack.

  “Like I said, I was working.”

  “Lola.” Jack’s lips were tight and his eyes narrowed. “Tell me you didn’t go to a nudist resort.”

  I met his scrutiny head-on. “Okay, I won’t tell you.”

  My attempt to lighten the tension in the room fell flat. He didn’t smile. Not even the tiniest glimpse of his dimple marked his cheek.

  “Jesus,” he said as he spun on his heel and paced the living room. Coming back next to me, he raked his hand through his hair, then pointed from me to him. “We’re a team, remember? I would have—”

  “You would have what, Jack?” I stood, the adrenaline coursing through my body. “Come with me?” Maybe that’s what I’d been afraid of. We hadn’t made love yet—not from lack of trying. Seeing each other bare-naked at Cuerpo y Alma was not what I wanted.

  “Hell yes, I would have come.”

  “I couldn’t even do it—”

  “That’s not the point,” he said, although I thought he seemed a bit relieved that I’d confirmed what he’d probably heard from Zac.

  “What is the point? I have to be able to do my job, but in the recesses of my mind, I’m wondering about what you’ll think…or if Sarah has come back and if I should even worry about it because as long as she’s around—”

  Antonio made a stealthy retreat toward the kitchen. “I’m just going to go. To work. See you kids later.” He gave a quick wave, and suddenly he was gone.

  “She’s not around.” The floor of the old house creaked as Jack paced.

  “For now. Until she runs away from her family again.”

  “She’s not coming back. I won’t take her in—”

  “What about your sister?”

  “Brooke won’t take her in, either.” He came around to face me. “You can trust me, damn it. You can tell me what you’re up to. I want to know.”

  Wanting to know and being okay with the truth were two different things. Seeing me dance around in a cheerleading costume and stripping at Cuerpo y Alma were two different things. “It’s a nudist resort. My family will disown me—”

  His jaw pulsed. “I’m not your parents, Lola. And I’m not going to stop you from doing your job. If you can’t trust me, this isn’t going to work.”

  Salsa lay on the floor by the door, her droopy face curious, following us.

  “But I can’t pick and choose where a case takes me any more than you can pick and choose where a lead takes you,” I said.

  Jack sighed. “I know.”

  I knew he’d been in some dicey situations tracking a source or following a lead for a story. It was his job, and I’d never try to stop him. I didn’t think he felt the same about my job—not deep down.

  “What about Sarah?” I finally asked. He’d said she wasn’t an issue anymore, but as long as she was in his life, she was an issue to me.

  He sank down on the couch, his eyes clouding to a stormy gray. “She’s not you and you’re the one I want. Damn it, Lola, I choose you.”

  My head swam, but I took a deep breath to steady my nerves, wanting to believe h
im.

  We sat in silence for a minute. Finally, I said, “So you don’t care that I was at a nudist resort.” Not a question, just a statement. And I didn’t like the sound of it, either.

  He pressed his hands against his face, digging his fingers into his eyes. “Of course I care. You were following a lead. I get that. I want you to be straight with me, Cruz. Do I like that you went there? Hell, no. Why would I want other men to see you naked? Jesus, I haven’t even seen you naked.”

  “Not for lack of effort,” I said, adding some flirt into my voice. On both our parts.

  Finally, he cracked. “Yeah.”

  I breathed easier as the tension in the room deflated a bit. I’d discovered last night that I wasn’t willing to get naked for my job, but facing that left too many doubts in my mind about whether my parents were right. Maybe I was fooling myself, trying to be something I wasn’t cut out for.

  “Are you going again?” he asked when I didn’t respond.

  “If I need to.”

  He didn’t say anything, but his eyes smoldered.

  “I have to get ready for dance rehearsal,” I finally said, standing. “I’ll be back in a minute.” I felt his frustrated eyes on my back as I headed to my bedroom to change, Salsa trailing behind me.

  Normally, I’d be comforted by the terra cotta silk bedspread, the black wrought iron bed frame, the neatly organized desk and bookshelves (I am my mother’s daughter, after all, and cleanliness is next to Godliness), but at the moment I was blind to it. Salsa immediately settled on her pillow, stretching and turning as she found the right position, but I left the door open a crack in case she changed her mind and wanted to go back to the living room with Jack.

  I stripped off my blouse and tossed it onto the edge of the bed, wishing Jack and I could get past this, wishing Sarah was a non-issue, wishing my case was solved, wishing I knew for sure that I really was P.I. material.

  I unzipped my jeans and was just about to unhook my bra when the bedroom door swung open.

  “Lola.”

  I froze. Part of me had hoped Jack wouldn’t be able to stay away. Slowly, I turned, clasping my hands to my chest, holding my black Victoria’s Secret bra in place. “¡Ay, Dios! Jack. What are you doing?”

  He dug his hands into his pockets, dragging his eyes from my body back to my face. Salsa perked up, peering at him curiously, then, as if she knew this was a private conversation, she got up and trotted out the door.

  “I don’t want to wait anymore,” he said.

  I felt the rush of air against my stomach, a triangle of black lace showing where my pants were undone. His gaze never left my face, but the heat of it spread like fire over my skin and he seemed to absorb every single detail of my body.

  There was a low pull in my abdomen as I shifted my slipping bra back into place. “For what?” I asked, kicking myself after the question left my lips.

  He took a step toward me, his voice dropping. “For you. For us.”

  I took a step back, ending up against the wall, readjusting my suddenly heavy arm against my chest.

  He followed, stopping a breath away from me, bracing one hand on the wall above my head. His musky scent embedded itself in my memory banks, something I’d be able to conjure up at will. I gripped the dresser next to me with my free hand, my breath catching in my throat as he pressed his body against me, trailing one finger down my cheek, his chin against my forehead. “Jack—” I muttered as he slowly lowered one knee to the ground. His bent leg brushed against mine, his hands circling my waist, my hips, making their way into my undone jeans. I forced my breath out, my whole body aching with my need for him.

  His lips grazed my skin, nipping around my belly button piercing—collateral damage from my first investigation as lead detective. Which I’d grown to kind of like. His hands gripped me, pulling my body closer, if that was possible. “Jesus, Lola, you’re killing me, you know that?”

  The feeling was mutual. “I just need to know you’re only with me, Jack.”

  He slipped my jeans down my hips. “I am.”

  My knuckles turned white with the strength of my hold on the edge of the dresser. Was I ready for this? Could I take a leap of faith with him?

  “Belísima.” He pulled away and stood, stripping off his T-shirt, his lids heavy as he took in every inch of me.

  Any words caught in my throat when I saw the curve of his arms, his chest, his taut stomach, wanting to feel them all against me.

  My knees buckled and I started to slide down the wall, but his lips found me again. He held me upright as he tugged at my jeans, working them down my legs. I stepped out of them, only black lace and an unclasped bra separating all of me from him.

  He kissed my stomach, his hands running up the outside of my legs, making their way down again, then one of them slid up the inside, his fingers skimming the lace. Dios mío.

  He stood and in one fluid movement, stripped off his jeans, his black boxer briefs riding low on his hips. He caught me again just as my legs were ready to give out completely, and pressed his body against mine.

  I leaned my forehead against his shoulder. “Are you sure?” I asked, as much for myself to answer as for him. “I can’t change who I am,” I added, barely above a whisper.

  His hand curved around my back and he dropped his head and brushed his lips against my neck, the heat from his mouth bringing goose bumps to the surface of my skin. He swept my hair away from my ears, circling my silver hoop earrings with his fingers. “I don’t want you to.”

  “I have to be able to do my job—” I moaned when his teeth tugged at my earlobe.

  “Just trust me.”

  He searched my face when I didn’t answer.

  I tried to steady the rise and fall of my chest, unclenching my hand from the dresser and skimming his hair, his cheek.

  His breathing was heavy. There wasn’t a trace of a smile on his face. This was what torture was like.

  I held my breath as my thoughts grew fuzzy. I started to move my arms, the straps of my bra dangling from them. Then, slowly, I let the lace slip away from my body.

  I heard the sharp intake of his breath before I saw the intensity of his face. The next second, his lips were on me, his tongue exploring every inch. His touch sent an electric charge through my body.

  Just when I was sure I couldn’t take another second, he stopped, nuzzled his way to my mouth, and kissed me, hard and insistent, more urgently than I thought possible.

  Dios mío, I needed him.

  He held me close as he edged me away from the wall and over to the bed, laying me down as he propped himself above me, taking me in with aching, hungry eyes. “Finally.”

  I backed away from any thoughts of Jack’s past, the notches on his bedpost, his one long-term girlfriend. I didn’t want to think about any of that now. I reached for him, my body moving under his, arching up.

  He pulled away, skimming his lips down my body before he found the lace barrier and slipped it off me. He paused, his lips curving up. “Mmmm. That’s very nice.”

  I felt the blush rise on my cheeks. The wax job. “It was provisional. In case I had the guts to be a nudist for a day.”

  He lifted his smoldering gaze to mine. “Really? Not for me?”

  I smiled just a little. “Well,” I confessed, “you crossed my mind…”

  He gave a devilish grin, taking another look. “Uh-huh. That’s what I thought.” Then he slipped his boxers off and crawled back up to me like it had always been meant to be, like there was no other place he belonged. Home.

  Chapter Eighteen

  “You sure you have to go?” Jack asked as I came back in the room after a speed shower. He lay in my rumpled bed, still naked.

  Being with him for the first time was both beyond anything I’d imagined and not nearly enough. “I do if I want to keep my cover and solve my case.”

  Which I did. More than anything.

  He looked wolfish and ready for more.

  Almost anything.<
br />
  I crossed the room, bent down, and kissed him. Part possessive, part hungry, part—

  “You will,” he said as he pulled me down on top of him.

  My eyes closed and I breathed him in. I’d been waiting for this moment since I’d been in high school. Now I thanked God that I’d had time to grow up and appreciate making love with Jack as an adult rather than as a teenager. Poor Greta Pritchard had lost out.

  It took work, but I finally pried myself away from him and with another kiss, wiggle of my hips, and a wink, I was out the door. And feeling like a bubble ready to burst. As if I were still in high school, I felt an urgent need to tell someone about the amazing experience I’d just had. But who? Reilly was out of the question. My sex life might become pillow talk for her and Neil, and I definitely didn’t want that. My sister, Gracie, was teaching school. No dice there. Lucy was a possibility, but she was probably working, and besides, I now knew that my schoolgirl giddiness would get back to Jack if I told her.

  Which would be no bueno.

  I’d whispered it to Salsa as I left, but now I jammed in my Bluetooth and dialed my oldest childhood friend. I couldn’t tell anyone I was undercover as a Courtside Dancer. I couldn’t tell anyone I’d been to Cuerpo y Alma. But I could tell Coco Sandoval that my long-awaited passion for Jack had been realized…in a big…and multiple…way.

  “It’s done,” I blurted the second she answered.

  “Lola? ¿De qué estás hablando?”

  “Jack Callaghan…and me. We—”

  Her screech drowned out the rest of my sentence. “You did not!” she said after she recovered.

  “Sí, dormimos juntos,” I said, sure the glow was still on my face.

  “So you two are…¿qué? ¿Amantes? ¿Novios?”

  Hmmm. Were we lovers? Boyfriend/girlfriend? “Somos socios,” I said as I merged onto the freeway. Partners. A team. I liked the sound of that.

  She asked a million more questions, most of which I declined to answer. Not so schoolgirl after all. I didn’t want to kiss and tell everything. Before long I was at the arena. “Gotta go, Coco. See you at Ambrosía.”