That’s what had him so withdrawn and worried? She shook her head, smiling. “You’ll figure it out. You both will.”
“I don’t know. Your mom understands her so much better than I do. It makes me realize how little I know about being part of a family.”
“There’s no rule book, Cal. I know that’s a big disappointment to you, but I think you’re supposed to just make it up as you go.”
“I was hoping there was a way to do it that wouldn’t make her hate me. She likes your mom. Hell, I think she likes everyone at the commune more than she likes me.”
“Because you’re the one telling her what to do.”
His eyebrows came down hard. “Someone has to. She’s an idiot.”
“Spoken like a big brother. I could have used one of those when I was her age.”
He looked doubtful. “I don’t think Amber agrees. She’d leave if she had anyplace else to go. And I have to tell you, it would be nice not to have to save her ass every couple days.”
She drew her eyebrows together, suddenly worried. “You won’t let her leave, will you?”
Cal set his jaw. “I’m all she has. I’m not walking away.”
The Aerie looked deserted. Cal scanned the few people sipping drinks at the bar and the mostly empty booths. A twinge of dread curled inside him. If he’d guessed wrong about Rafe being here, then he had no idea where to find him.
“Where is everyone?” Maggie asked. “I’ve never seen it this dead.”
It might be dead, but it wasn’t quiet—music pounded from the lounge area in the back room. As they stood there, a loud cheer went up, rising over the fast beat. They exchanged puzzled looks. In unspoken agreement they cut past the row of booths to check it out.
Cal rounded the wall and came to a sudden halt, staring. The front of the lounge was empty but the back half had been turned into an impromptu dance floor. Tables had been pushed aside to create a space big enough for several couples. A crowd stood around the dancers, watching. It was the dancers who had stopped him in his tracks.
Men and women were fused together, moving as one to the rapid, pounding rhythm. Bodies moved in sinuous harmony, bending and leaning in ways that were blatantly sexual. As he watched, a woman turned in her partner’s arms then bent double, moving her hips while her partner melded his pelvis with her backside, rocking against her in a rhythm no one could mistake. The move elicited another cheer from the crowd, mixed with shouted encouragement and a few wolf whistles.
“Wow, dirty dancing,” Maggie said beside him. “Some of them look like professional dancers, too.”
“It’s the Trust Fund Brats,” he muttered. “Rafe must be in there somewhere.” His eyes searched the dance floor. Rafe would be a dancer, not a watcher; the man craved attention too much to sit on the sidelines.
A couple moved aside in a sinuous flow of bodies. Cal spotted them and stiffened. Rafe and Amber were plastered together, thigh to thigh, hip to hip, chest to chest. Rafe’s chest was bare, his shirt obviously discarded to better show off his toned body. At least Amber was clothed, if barely. Her short, tight top looked like the sort of thing women jogged in, leaving a lot of bare skin below it. He figured with her low-slung jeans there was nearly a foot of tanned skin swaying beneath Rafe’s greedy fingers. Her hands slid up his arms and over his shoulders in a dance of their own. Neither smiled. Rafe’s eyes held hers with an intense gaze that promised all sorts of dark pleasures. Amber’s mouth opened slightly as the tip of her tongue licked a slow path over her upper lip. Someone in the crowd yelled out, “Yeow! You got yourself a hot one, Rafe!”
Cal froze as the room swayed beneath his feet. Where the hell had a sixteen-year-old learned to dance like that?
As he watched, Rafe said something to Amber. In response, she raised one leg and hooked it around his thigh. Rafe held it, rubbing his pelvis against hers in a long, slow stroke that he repeated as she laid back on his other arm. He held her as they mimicked having sex; there was no other word for it. The crowd roared its approval.
Cal’s brain was on fire. Rafe De Luca was a dead man.
His mind raced with the charges he’d slap on Rafe. Lewd behavior in public. Indecent behavior with a minor. Sexual assault. He’d even take the jail time he’d probably get for knocking his teeth out. It would be worth it. He started forward, his furious gaze steady on Rafe and Amber.
Maggie’s hand shot out, grabbing his arm. “Don’t!”
He shook her off, but she grabbed him again, this time with both hands. He turned and growled between clenched teeth, “Let go, Maggie. I have to do this.”
“No!” She jerked hard on his arm to get his full attention. “Just wait, damn it.”
His head was about to explode with pressure, but he focused an impatient stare on her. “Why?”
“Look at that crowd. Who do you see?”
He turned, running a quick gaze around the circle. “Crew members. The regular group of fans.” He paused, recognizing one of the tabloid reporters that had hounded Maggie. Then another. And next to him, a cable TV reporter. “Press. God damn it.”
“If you barge in there you’ll create another incident like the one we started. The reporters will rip into Amber just like they did to me. Worse, probably, once they find out she’s a lot younger than she looks.”
He automatically glanced at Amber as she danced with Rafe’s hands all over her ultrafeminine curves. “What’s the age of consent in Colorado?”
“I’m pretty sure it’s seventeen.”
“Good.” The criminal charges regarding minors would stick. It didn’t mean he wouldn’t punch Rafe’s lights out, just that he didn’t have to kill him.
He watched the dancers as his frustration rose. What did she think she was doing, anyway? Was Rick watching from the crowd, filming them? That hardly seemed like a plan for revenge.
At the back of the crowd he heard one of the reporters yell to another, “Who’s the chick with Rafe? She a local groupie, or is she somebody?”
The other man shrugged. “Nobody.”
Cold panic grabbed Cal’s gut. How long would it take them to find out?
The music changed, the melody fading behind a hard, driving beat. Amber turned in Rafe’s arms, putting her back to his chest. Rafe’s hands immediately covered her breasts as his pelvis ground against her ass in time to the beat.
The press might not know who Amber was, but Rafe did. Cal imagined he was enjoying this even more, knowing she was his sister.
Rage ripped through him. Fuck waiting. He’d have to create a distraction, something that would clear everyone out of there. A fire alarm would work. It would probably mean fines or charges later, but what the hell? He was already going to spend time in jail for hitting Rafe, so what was one more misdemeanor? “Do you see a fire alarm?” he asked Maggie.
She jerked as if her thoughts had been elsewhere. “What? No, don’t do that, you’ll get arrested, and Amber will be part of a police report. I have a better idea.”
“What is it?”
“Never mind, just trust me.”
“Maggie, I need to clear this place out, now.”
“I know.” She took both his hands in hers and gave him a pleading look. “Just give me a few minutes, okay? For Amber’s sake. Don’t do anything.”
She turned on her heel and rushed back around the wall, toward the bar. Cal shot a glare at the dancers. Whatever Maggie was planning, it better happen fast.
Fear blossomed in Maggie’s chest at the thought of what she was about to do. She shoved it down, refusing to think of consequences. Nothing mattered as much as saving Amber from the publicity that was inches away from crashing on top of her.
She raced blindly around the dividing wall, nearly colliding with a young woman. She recognized her as one of Rafe’s fellow Trust Fund Brats, Lara Somebody, a spoiled heiress with too much money and not enough common sense.
Maggie grinned at Lara. This was perfect.
“Hey, what’s going on back the
re?” Lara nodded toward the room where Rafe and Amber were setting the dance floor on fire. “Is it a good party?”
“It’s Rafe De Luca hogging the attention again. But if you’re up for some action and you don’t mind getting your picture on the front page of every tabloid, you might want to come with me.”
Lara might have known laughably little about middle-class life, but she knew the value of publicity. Without a blink, she took Maggie’s hand. “Let’s go.”
She rushed around the corner, Lara in tow, and slapped the bar. “Bartender!”
A young man at the other end turned with a start. Maggie knew everyone else in the room would be looking at her, too. And at Lara.
“Bring me two margaritas and a pair of scissors.” She put one foot on the rung of a bar stool and began unlacing the hiking boots she’d worn for exploring the mine. “If you don’t have scissors, I’ll take a sharp knife.”
She didn’t bother to look at the dozen or so people scattered around the room as she kicked off both shoes and socks. If her announcement hadn’t gotten their attention, her next move would.
“Follow my lead,” she told Lara, who was already slipping out of fashionable, spiky heels. She hadn’t even asked why. Damn, you had to hand it to the über-wealthy—they knew how to leap at opportunity.
Gathering the long skirt, she stepped onto a barstool, and from there onto the bar. Two middle-aged men sitting nearby lifted their beers off her new runway, watching with interest. Hands on hips, she surveyed the room. “Let’s get this party started, people!”
Lara got a boost from a couple of helpful men, landing beside her. “Fucking brilliant,” she told Maggie.
A couple women stared in shock as two others raised their glasses in a toast to her. The men looked like they might be up for some entertainment, but several cast skeptical glances at her ankle-length skirt.
“Is that the best you can do?” one called.
She grinned back. “You’re right. These aren’t exactly party clothes.”
“Uh, miss?”
She looked down at the bartender. He held two frosty margaritas, a large pair of scissors dangling next to one. “Scissors first,” she said, stooping to snatch them from his hand. “And a drink for my friend.”
He held a margarita aloft, and Lara snatched it, drinking deeply.
“You’re not supposed to be on the bar.”
She ignored him. Lifting the hem of the skirt, she eyed the seam for guidance and began cutting a straight line up the side.
“Now, that’s a party,” her critic agreed, deserting his table for the bar. Several others followed.
When the scissors reached her upper thigh, she cut across, then down again. Tossing the strip of fabric to the floor, she pointed her toes and angled her leg toward the men in front of her. “What do you think?”
A six-inch-wide gap ran from hip to hem, revealing the full length of her leg nearly up to her panties.
Several men called out approval as her former critic slapped the bar with a happy shout of, “More!”
Others turned it into a chant, slapping and yelling for “More!” She cut more, swishing this way and that so they could admire her handiwork, adding a few bump-and-grind hip thrusts. Cheers and whistles rose over the thrumming music in the other room. Yes! She needed more of that. She’d do whatever it took to get it.
Lara took the scissors, not pausing as she ripped a slit up her skirt.
The bartender still held her margarita, a worried crease on his forehead. “Hey, it’s a party,” she called out. “Drink up!” She grabbed her margarita and took a healthy sip before setting it on the bar.
“Two beers over here,” someone ordered, finding a place at the bar. Someone else called for a refill. She turned a smile on the bartender, who shrugged and turned to fill the orders.
She quickly cut another strip up the side of the skirt, to the accompaniment of rhythmic clapping. Dancing around her margarita, she swayed down the bar, making use of the heavy beat pounding through the walls behind her. Her audience was getting into the spirit of the dance, clapping and yelling out requests, mostly to “Take it off!”
She’d known it would turn into a strip show the second she stepped on the bar. The consequences didn’t matter; saving Amber from a paparazzi feeding frenzy was worth it. She gave her T-shirt one last look of regret before raising the scissors.
Cal hung back in the shadows, furious with Amber and unable to take his eyes off her. As if watching could stop Rafe’s hand from roaming down to squeeze her ass in a firm grip as he did now. Cal clenched his fists and swore.
A cheer rose up from the front room, briefly rising over the music and noise in the lounge. He couldn’t imagine what Maggie was doing to arouse them. A few people broke off from the back of the crowd, wandering toward the bar. Most still didn’t seem to hear the whistles and shouts from the other room, or didn’t care.
Whatever she was doing, it wasn’t enough. He scanned the walls for a fire alarm.
Maggie had her T-shirt cut off just below her bra and her skirt shoved low enough to reveal her belly button. What remained looked more like a fringed belt than a skirt. Her small crowd was getting louder and larger. But not large enough. The people she needed were still in the other room.
Next to her, Lara was getting into the mood. Stripped to a cami and eight inches of skirt, she thrust out her chest and wiggled for the boys.
Maggie grabbed her. “Turn your back to me.” When she did, Maggie plastered herself against Lara, shoulder to shoulder and butt to butt. Sensuously, she began moving against her.
Lara was obviously no slouch when it came to sex and seduction. She immediately began swaying in time with Maggie, reaching back to put her hands over Maggie’s hips, keeping them in perfect rhythm and keeping the audience hooting and cheering. Maggie thanked fate for uninhibited, happily tarnished rich girls.
Still swaying, she scanned the back of the room. Three familiar faces—finally, the right people had noticed. She didn’t have to wonder if the recognition was mutual.
“Hey, it’s Maggie and Lara!” The shout came from a man at the back of the room, a reporter she recognized from one of the cable TV stations. Excitement rippled through her audience eliciting several more yells of recognition.
“Maggie! I thought you gave up your wild life.”
So had she, yet here she was throwing gasoline on the flames.
She refused to think about the consequences. She had no choice. If the media vultures realized they were watching Cal’s sixteen-year-old sister throwing herself at Rafe in the next room, they’d trash her life in a way she’d never live down. Maggie had already been sacrificed on that public altar. This way there were no new victims.
A new voice called out from the back, “Our old Maggie’s back! Hey Maggie, where’s Zoe?”
Pain stabbed her, but before she could respond, Lara shouted, “We’re all you need, guys!” To prove it, she spun around and fused her pelvis to Maggie’s rocking backside.
Holy shit. Maggie nearly staggered, and Lara’s hands came up to steady her.
Landing over each breast.
Someone held up her margarita. Maggie tossed back a healthy gulp to loud cheers, feeling the burn as it went down while trying to ignore the warm fingers covering her breasts. She’d needed a distraction, and she got it. No turning back. “Woohoo!” she yelled, holding her drink aloft. “Let’s hear it for tequila!”
“Tequila!” the group at her feet chorused.
It was wonderfully raucous. She glanced to see if the bartender was getting upset, but he was busy pouring drinks. “Is that the best you can do?” she admonished her fans, while trying to ignore Lara’s hand as it roamed down to her hips. Raising her margarita higher, she yelled, “Tequila!”
“Tequila!” the room roared. The sound rolled over her in a deafening wave, while from the side a camera flashed. Then another. She tried not to think about it.
“Patrón!” Lara shouted, going
for top-shelf. Maggie laughed. You can take the girl out of the penthouse, but you can’t take the penthouse out of the girl.
“Patrón!” they cried, stomping and whistling. A few independent thinkers called out their own preferred beverages, getting enthusiastic support.
She kept up her sinuous movements, letting Lara guide them. Who’d have guessed the girl had hidden leadership ability? Her hands caressed Maggie’s hips, skimmed her breasts, and threaded through her hair. The room went wild.
And on the fringes, a couple paparazzi drifted back toward the lounge. To call their friends or because they were bored? She couldn’t take the chance.
There was only one way to hold them. Her stomach rebelled at giving up the last bit of respect she’d fought for. But it was either that, or let a sixteen-year-old girl suffer an even more widespread public humiliation.
It was no contest.
It had taken Cal several minutes to locate an alarm on the back wall, and another one to pry off the cover. Rafe was getting bolder by the minute. Cal’s breaths came hard and fast as he pulled the alarm.
Nothing happened.
What the fuck? He flipped the switch several times with no result. Shit! As soon as this was over, he’d make sure the Alpine Sky got slapped with a heavy fine.
Still fuming, he turned back to Amber. It was bad enough when Rafe’s hands were on her waist, pulling her against him. The little pervert had to be hard as a rock by now. But now his hands slid up to cup the sides of her breasts. Only a thin layer of material kept him from crossing the line from bold to lewd. Even Amber looked more cautious than before as Rafe slowed their dance, making his moves seem all the more intimate.
Amber gave a sudden jerk and pulled back. It was enough to let Cal see what had startled her—Rafe’s thumbs had crept beneath her top to stroke the underside of her breasts.
Silver Sparks Page 25