LaClaire Touch: An After Hours Novel

by Dori Lavelle

  And she said my name as easily—as if she had said it many times before.

  I slide out of her, my gaze digging into hers, questioning, probing, asking questions without words. Her eyes are wide, her expression horrified, her cheeks tinted red.

  The silence between us crackles for a few, long heartbeats. Even though I’m no longer buried inside her, the weight of my body pins her to the bed. She tries to move, but I hold her in place, holding her hands above her head.

  “How do you know my name?” I ask, shattering the silence. Before she can answer, I lift myself off her and stand beside the bed, my dick still erect.

  “No idea.” She picks up her panties and proceeds to get dressed. “I guess . . . I just called out some random name.”

  I put a hand on one of her shoulders. “A random name that happens to belong to the man you’re screwing? I find that hard to believe.”

  “Like I said. I don’t know.” She shakes my hand off her shoulder and picks up the silk bra. I find it hard not to stare at her full breasts. But I need to focus. There’s no way I can pretend nothing happened, because something is telling me there’s more going on here than meets the eye.

  “Hector assured me my name would not be revealed to you or any other lady here. So, tell me, how is it that you know it?”

  Of course, there might be a simple explanation. She could’ve overheard me and Hector talking. I would have let it go, but the terror in her eyes makes me want to know more.

  “I’m sorry.” She averts her gaze. “I have another client soon.” She rushes to the door.

  “Aren’t you forgetting something?” I reach for my wallet and pull out a few bills. “Thank you for your time.” When she takes the money, our hands brush. An electrical current zaps through my skin. She pulls away before I do. “Don’t worry about your job. I won’t tell Hector what happened.”

  “Thank you.” Her voice is a broken whisper which follows her out of the room.

  I want to stop her, to force her to tell me what she is hiding because I know she’s hiding something, but I can’t make her stay. She did what she came here to do, even though she didn’t allow me to reach the finish line.

  Freaking hell, I’ve never had this much action with a prostitute before. There’s something about her, something that won’t let me go. And I will find out what it is.

  The door closes and I stare at it for a while, hoping she might return.

  Voices from the hallway seep through the thin walls. One of them sounds like that of the owner. I sense him standing in front of the door to the white room, but he doesn’t enter. He must be waiting for me to get dressed. Does he want to come in with another apology?

  I let him wait, get dressed in silence. Done, I pull out my phone and dial the number of an old friend, Mitch Biron.

  “Hey, Mitch, how are you doing? I need a favor, man.”

  “LaClaire, you should be ashamed of yourself.” Mitch laughs. “You don’t call for over six months and then, out of the blue, you reach out asking for a favor?”

  “Don’t give me that.” I run a hand through my hair. “You could have picked up the phone too, you know.”

  “True that.” The sound of a knuckle cracking comes through the line, making me cringe. “Anyway, we’re friends whether we speak or not. Tell me what I can do for you first and we’ll catch up later. “

  “Sounds good. Could you look into something for me?”

  “Name it.”

  Mitch was right, no matter how long we’ve been out of touch, we both know we will be friends for life. We grew up next door to each other, and both attended Magnolia High School. There were times I got along better with him than with my own brothers. When, two years ago, he started his private investigator business, I was the one who gave him a substantial amount of money to allow him to hit the ground running.

  “It’s a personal issue. I need you to find out information about someone.”

  “Someone special, I assume.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “I hear it in your voice.”

  I gaze out of the open window into the darkness and breathe in before answering. “Well, you heard wrong.”

  “You’re not in some kind of trouble, are you?”

  I shake my head. “No, nothing like that.”

  “Good. So, who is this person you want information about?”

  “It’s a woman who works . . . at The Mirage.”

  “The Mirage? You mean—”

  “Yes, the brothel.” I clench my jaw. “Don’t you dare judge me! You’ve been to several of those yourself.”

  “No worries, I don’t judge, man.” I hear the keys of a keyboard clicking. “Needs have to be met. Now, let’s get down to business. Whose life do you want me to dig into? Give me a name.”

  “Hang on a second.” I move as far away from the door as possible, in case Hector is listening in on my conversation. “I’m not sure of her real name. But at The Mirage she goes by the name Ruby.”

  “Do you have a surname, at least?”

  “I’m afraid not. But I can describe her looks to you. Would that help?”

  “Anything helps. I might have to pay The Mirage a little visit myself. I might be able to find out more.”

  A fist of jealousy hits my gut at the thought of Mitch booking an evening with Ruby. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

  “Don’t worry, I’m not going there for some action. Purely business. I’ll find a way to talk to her . . . colleagues.”

  “I’d appreciate that.” The good thing about having someone who knows you well is the fact that they can read your mind, allowing you to avoid voicing your uncomfortable thoughts.

  Someone knocks on the door. I turn from the window. “Hey, Mitch, let’s talk some other time. I’ve got to go. Thanks for your help.”

  “Anytime, my friend. I’ll call you when I know something. Then maybe you can tell me why this girl is so important to you.”

  “She’s not.” We hang up and I open the door to find Hector standing there, his face pinched as though he’d eaten a lemon.

  “Mr. LaClaire, I don’t know what to say.” He pulls in a shaky breath. “I gave Ruby clear instructions before she came to you. I made it clear you booked for the whole night, that she should not let you down again. I apologize . . . again.” He runs a hand over his hideous Hawaiian shirt. “Since you’re leaving my place disappointed yet again, I cannot allow you to pay for tonight. It’s on the house. I do hope you will return to The Mirage. Like I said last time, we have some other great girls here.”

  “I appreciate your apology, Hector. I’d still be happy to pay you.” I might not have orgasmed, but the sex was still terrific. I pull out my wallet and pay him what I owe.

  “Please come back again,” Hector begs before I walk out the door.

  In the doorway I turn to face him. “Did you by any chance tell any of your ladies my real name?”

  Hector’s stiffens. “No. Of course not. I assure you I’m the only one who knows your legal name.” He fiddles with the cross hanging down his neck. “Is there a problem?”

  “No problem. I was just curious to know, that’s all. Have a good night.” I walk away without making promises I might not be able to keep. But I will return to The Mirage, whether in person or in my thoughts has yet to be determined.

  10

  Derrick

  Lance drags himself out of the king-size bed, relying on the strength of his arms. As he lifts his body into the custom-made luxury wheelchair beside his bed, it threatens to tip onto its side. I shoot out a hand to grab his upper arm but he shrugs me off.

  “Leave me the fuck alone.” His face darkens. Using the support of the bed, he breaks his fall. “If you are so desperate to help someone, try helping yourself.”

  “What exactly do you mean by that?” I straighten my spine and fold my arms in front of my chest.

  “I’m talking about your messed up situation with the prostitute you ke
ep going on about.” He arranges himself in the wheelchair. He wheels it to his wooden desk and yanks out a drawer. He reaches inside and comes out holding a bottle of gin.

  Gritting my teeth, I cross the sprawling master bedroom before he unscrews the top.

  “Are you out of your freaking mind?” I snatch it from his hand. “It’s barely 7:00 a.m., for God’s sake. You haven’t even had a bite to eat yet.” In my frustration, I hurl the bottle through an open window, imagining it shattering in the garden below.

  “I don’t know why you have to butt into my business. The whole bunch of you.. Don’t I have the right to privacy?”

  “You’re our brother. You better get used to us watching over you because that isn’t going to change any time soon. The LaClaires stick together.”

  “What about cleaning up your own messed up lives? Look at you, all high and mighty and you’ve got a prostitute screwing with your head.”

  As he turns himself around, his face a mask of rage, I sink onto the bed and meet his gaze. “I didn’t know you were listening.”

  I’ve been staying with Lance for the past two days, my turn to watch over him. Late last night, while he sat in his living room, staring at the blank TV screen, I told him about Ruby. I didn’t even think he was listening because he never said a word in response. As soon as I was done talking, he got onto his wheelchair and went to his room, slamming the door shut behind him.

  “I’m physically disabled, not hearing impaired.” For the first time in weeks, I detect a twitch at one corner of his lips. An almost smile is better than none, I guess. I do applaud him for trying, because as hard as we all are on him, he’s the strongest person I know. Perhaps even stronger than all of us.

  The guy has gone through a lot, becoming paralyzed after a fight with your own brother is a hard thing to swallow. It took years for Lance and Bryant to put the past behind them and try harder at forgiving each other. Last time they had a serious conversation about the past, Lance offered Bryant his forgiveness. That couldn’t have been easy. In fact, every single day of Lance’s life since the accident has been a struggle. Drinking is the only way he knows how to ease the pain.

  “All right,” I say. “How much did you hear?”

  “Every damn thing you said.” He buries his hands into his thick, chestnut hair. “The question is, what are you planning to do about it?”

  “What can I do?” This conversation is a great idea because it diverts the attention from Lance’s situation to mine. Besides, even in his darkest moments, Lance sometimes gives great advice. Hopefully our conversation will empower him, making him feel less useless, at least for one day.

  “First, you have to stop burying your head in the sand. You pretend to be all strong, but we all have our weaknesses. This woman is, clearly, yours.”

  I rise from the bed and head to the round mahogany table at the far end of the spacious room. I pour myself a glass of water. “Is that so?” Bringing the glass to my lips, I take a mouthful and swallow it down. “So, Mr. Know-it-all, is that all you’ve got? You think I’m burying my head in the sand?”

  “I know you are. I’ve been watching you.” He leans back in his wheelchair, hands on his knees, spine straight. “Why don’t you just accept you’re in love with the prostitute?”

  Water sprays out of my mouth as I cough with laughter. “You’re kidding, right? You actually think I’m in love with her?” I lower the glass to the table. “That’s preposterous.” I turn away from him, run a hand through my hair, closing my eyes for a moment. Her face appears in my mind immediately. Shit. I’ve tried so hard to erase her from my mind but every time I close my eyes, there she is. Every time the room is filled with silence, her voice cuts through, the sound of her saying my name.

  I open my eyes again to find Lance watching me with a satisfied expression on his face. I throw my hands into the air.

  “Fine, I admit she has some kind of effect on me. I don’t know what it is, but it’s there. I can’t stop thinking about her. Can you blame me? The woman said my name and she shouldn’t know it.”

  Lance barks with laughter. “Damn, she’s got you bad, doesn’t she? She even clouds your mind to the point you don’t see the obvious.”

  “And that is?” I raise an eyebrow.

  “That you’re a LaClaire. It’s completely possible she’s seen a photo of you in the papers.”

  I allow what he said to sink in. I shake my head. “I’m hardly ever in the papers. You know how hard I work to keep my life private.”

  “Sure, but you’ve graced the cover of a tabloid once or twice. That’s all it takes for someone to remember your name and face.”

  He has a point but I refuse to accept it. “It’s not so much that she said my name, but the way she said it. I don’t know how to explain it.”

  “This is what I think you should do,” Lance says. “Go back to that Mirage place. Ask for your Ruby and fuck her brains out until she leaves your system.”

  “You think that’s all that matters to me? Sex?” I clench my jaw.

  “You said that, not me.” Lance grabs a corner of one of the sheets, wheels himself around the bed, straightening the sheets and plumping the pillows. He has a maid, but he always insists on making his own bed. I guess it gives him some sense of purpose. “You know, you remind me of Bryant.”

  I lean my body against the table. “In what way?”

  “When Bryant met Grace, he was a nervous wreck, remember? You could see on his face how hard he was fighting his feelings for her. Look what that got him, in the end.”

  “Well, I’m not Bryant. And this is a completely different situation.”

  “If you say so.” Lance finishes up with making the bed and picks up a remote. The electronic shades opening out onto the terrace whirl as he opens them. He tosses the remote onto the bed, opens the French doors and wheels himself outside. The morning breeze ruffles his dark hair.

  I leave behind the scents of fragrant wood and aftershave lingering in the bedroom to breathe in the fresh air. I come to a halt behind his wheelchair. “I’m not in love with the prostitute. I’m curious, that’s all.”

  “Well, if that’s what you want to make yourself believe, that’s your problem.” Lance’s shoulders grow rigid. “Now get the hell out of my house and stop hanging around me like a damn puppy all the time. Go take care of your business and leave me to take care of mine. I’m leaving for Mexico tomorrow, anyway.”

  Over the past few days, we have tried to talk him out of going to Cabo, but he wouldn’t back down. In the end, we all agreed that he needs to find peace, and if that’s where it is for him, perhaps we shouldn’t stand in the way. We had only one condition, that he takes his caregiver, Jia, along. After a few insults directed our way, he agreed.

  The moment Jia comes to mind, I turn around and there she is, standing at the door with a tray. I was so focused on Lance I didn’t even hear the ding of the private elevator which comes to Lance’s floor.

  She has brought Lance breakfast and I hope he won’t fight her too hard.

  Jia is the only caregiver who made it past a week or two of caring after Lance. The others could not handle his depression, mood swings and anger outbursts. But Jia breezes right through them. She’s a stunning twenty-six-year-old woman, a blend of African-American and Chinese heritage. Since she’s the only one who seems to be able to handle Lance, there’s no way we are letting her go.

  “Morning, Jia. Make sure he eats the breakfast.”

  “I won’t take no for an answer.” She gives me a bright smile.

  Lance swivels his wheelchair around and glares at me. “I thought I told you to go. I need my space.”

  “Fine, I’m out of here. I’ll check on you later.”

  He doesn’t say a word as he swivels himself around again, turning his back on me and Jia, to face the lush gardens.

  Respecting his wishes, I go to my room and get my belongings.

  Within fifteen minutes, I’m sitting behind the wheel
of my car wondering whether to call Mitch or not. I haven’t heard from him in three days and it’s driving me nuts. What if I call him and he has no news? I decide to call him anyway. He picks up on the third ring.

  Lance was right, Ruby could very well have seen me in the papers but my instinct tells me there’s more. My name slid off her tongue way too easily.

  “Impatient, are we?” Mitch says from the other end.

  “Come on, I haven’t heard from you in days. Any news for me?”

  “I planned to call you after breakfast. I guess you beat me to it.” His voice is interrupted by the sound of a printer spitting out paper. “In answer to your question, I did find out something that might be of interest to you, but I think it’s best I tell you in person. How about we meet for lunch tomorrow?”

  “Why don’t you tell me over the phone?”

  “Because I want to see your face when you hear what I have to say.” His laughter floats down the line. “And by the way, since I’m doing this for free, we’re doing it on my terms.”

  “Well, you won’t let me pay you.”

  “How could I let you pay me after everything you’ve already done for me? You kick-started my business, man.”

  “That’s what friends do for each other.”

  “I want you to know that I appreciate it.”

  “I know you do. You’ve said it enough times.” I rake a hand through my hair. “Now why don’t you give me your findings over the phone? What’s the big deal?”

  “And pass up the opportunity to see the shock on your face? That’s not gonna happen.”

  “Then let’s meet for lunch today.”

  “Today is tight. I’m meeting clients all day. Meet me tomorrow, at Bridges Grill. One o’clock. It will be worth the wait, I promise.”

  He hangs up before I can push him into speaking.

  The only way I can get through the day without going crazy is to find another focus point. I turn on the ignition and as I drive away from Lance’s place, I call my assistant, Maureen, to arrange a meeting between me and Rodger Simone, a potential investor in my next Las Vegas adventure theme park, one that would cater to extreme thrill seekers.