by Lori Foster
“No, you’re not.”
“Excuse me?”
She slid one foot to the side in what might have been an attempt at a casual pose, but the effect was nothing less than seductive. “Gina took off.”
“When?”
“About twenty seconds ago.”
Seth started to turn, but stopped. Running after her would do no good. She’d been spooked. Why, he didn’t know. For a brief instant, he wondered if she’d somehow checked him out and didn’t like what she saw. Was that possible?
Nah. Seth wasn’t vain, but he hated false humility more than conceit. Maybe he wasn’t as witty as some guys, but he at least looked good from a distance.
“Do you know why she left?”
The sensuous brunette shook her head. “Something about you dating her cousin a while ago. She didn’t want to piss her off.”
So Gina had been spooked—enough to make up a quick lie and wrangle a stranger to cover her escape. He’d already suspected Gina Ralston was smarter than she let on. Now, he knew for sure.
“Her cousin, huh? Nice touch.”
“Excuse me?”
“Never mind. Doesn’t matter. My blind date dumped me, but she was kind enough to send you my way. I’ll have to find some unique way to thank her.” Like getting her ass tossed in jail for perjury. That would do. Actually, Gina deserved a big fat kiss for finding an unattached woman in this place—particularly a drop-dead gorgeous one—but he was too pissed off at being double-crossed to extend any gratitude to her. “I’d love to buy you that drink now, but I need something from you first.”
She crossed her arms over her chest. Her stance wasn’t entirely defensive, but coolly challenging instead. A prickle of warning shot up the back of his neck. He had the distinct impression that his new companion wasn’t all she seemed to be, either.
“What’s that?”
“Your name.”
She grinned and her dark brown eyes, round with long lashes, softened. “Lacey. Lacey Baptiste.”
A thrill shot into Seth’s gut like a hot bullet. Lacey Baptiste! God, he should have remembered. She was a hard woman to forget. He hadn’t seen her in years—years that had treated her and her traffic-stopping body very, very well. He didn’t expect her to remember him. As far as he knew, they’d never been introduced or even exchanged a word of conversation. But he’d seen her quite often back when he was working undercover for the vice squad, making sure the bars and clubs peddled only alcohol and music and not club drugs. She’d fairly ruled the party scene, along with her entourage of equally gorgeous, equally fun-loving friends. Where were her girls now?
It’d been over four years since he’d worked the club beat. Lacey looked older, but like a fine wine, she’d only improved with age.
He offered his hand, which she took without hesitation. He expected a coy, soft shake, but she shocked him with firm forcefulness—the greeting of someone with authority, not a flirty party girl.
She instantly recognized her mistake and relaxed her hand, but Seth’s instincts hit alert mode. Just who was Lacey Baptiste now? After all these years?
“Nice to meet you, Lacey. Name’s Sam. Sam Duke.”
Giving her his favorite fake name wasn’t his first choice, but it was his first instinct. He didn’t have any recent information on Lacey Baptiste. He knew little about her past. She and Gina could have been lifelong friends. And if they were, he’d find out. Soon.
Her dark eyes flashed down his body, drinking him up like a Black Orchid shooter. The memory of the flavors danced on his tongue. Smooth rum. Syrupy blue curaçao. Tart grenadine and cranberry juice. If Lacey tasted anything like his favorite shot drink, he was in for a night to remember.
“Very glad to meet you, Sam. Now, if you’re tired of standing here by the door, let me lead you into temptation.”
She tugged him forward, her eyes flashing with naughty possibilities, her grin curved with dark intentions. Seth had no idea how his luck had changed so drastically in a span of five minutes, but he wasn’t one to question fate. In the past, when given the choice between business and pleasure, Seth had always chosen business. Duty. Responsibility.
And where had that gotten him other than canned before he’d earned his pension?
Gina? Gina who?
3
DETERMINED TO MAKE every minute of this weekend count, Lacey left her hand in Sam’s as they wound through the crowd to the collection of intimate tables and chairs beside the dance floor. He had great hands. Long, strong fingers. Slightly callused palms. The thought of his skin pressing against hers caused an electric thrill to crackle through her body. She’d ignored her sensual, feminine needs for too long, and tonight, she was more than ready to make up for lost time.
They found a table right along the edge of the dance area, intimate in size, yet trimmed in neon. Lacey liked the way the designers had combined the lit floor tiles from the disco era with the computer graphics so hot today. Speakers imbedded in the floor added to the experience. The music thrummed with hard bass, passing through her stiletto heels directly into her legs—and higher. Or was Sam’s potent masculinity responsible for the throbbing between her thighs?
Lacey didn’t care. She wasn’t leaving tonight until she was satisfied. She wanted to eat, drink and dance. She wanted a man to remind her of how intensely powerful she was as a woman. And if that meant sex with a relative stranger, then so be it. She could take care of herself. For four years, she’d sacrificed her life on the altar of the Federal Bureau of Investigation. The least she could do now was use the knowledge she’d gained there to make sure her spontaneous behavior didn’t get her in any serious trouble.
A waiter appeared before they’d even sat down. Sam chivalrously helped her into her chair, then asked her what she would like. She couldn’t really say in front of the waiter, now could she? But she’s already had two martinis, so she opted for club soda with a twist.
“I’ll have a scotch and water. No twist,” he ordered, then turned immediately to Lacey. “You don’t drink?”
Lacey laughed. “Oh, believe me, I drink. But I’ve already had two tonight before I met you. Figured I’d better slow down until I’ve had something to eat.”
Sam smiled, and Lacey felt her insides quiver. Even amid the strobes flashing from the dance floor, she could see his eyes were deep-in-the-forest green. His lips weren’t too thick or too thin—but just right. For kissing. For exploring. For sending a woman over the edge into the rainbow world of orgasmic delights.
“Then may I also invite you to dinner? I have a reservation upstairs in a half hour.”
“How can I say no?” Lacey said, her attention wandering to the infectious rhythm pounding all around them. “I’m starved.”
“Should I order appetizers here?” he asked, raising his voice. “I wouldn’t want it to get around that I let a lady go hungry.”
She couldn’t help but bite her lower lip. Oh, don’t worry, buddy. I won’t be going hungry as long as you’re around.
With a quick shake of her head, she turned down his offer. She could think of better ways to temporarily sate her hunger.
“Instant gratification can be highly overrated,” she said.
Sam’s dark brows lifted high over wide eyes and he leaned closer. “Are you purposely speaking in innuendos or am I just reading too much into what you’re saying?”
She folded her arms on the table and scooted in as close as she could without climbing onto his lap. “Rest assured that I mean everything I say. Try me. Ask me anything. This is a blind date. Let’s commence with the getting to know you part.”
He scooted his chair around to the side so they could talk over the music. “Fair enough.”
If Sam sought to shock her by quickly grasping her hands in his again, he succeeded. But she didn’t let him know. Unless, of course, he could feel the sensual current coursing its way through her nerve endings.
“Why did you switch places with Gina?”
She ar
ched a brow. Duh. “’Cause you’re gorgeous. She also told me you were a good dancer.” Among other things.
He glanced at the crowd of bodies writhing and bopping not a foot or two away. “I’m no Gene Kelly.”
“Good, because I think Gene would be a little out of place here, don’t you? How do you compare to, let’s say, Ricky Martin?”
His scowl made her laugh. “I don’t quite lose control of my bon-bon like he does, but I can hold my own to a decent beat.”
“I’m going to make you prove it, you know that, right?”
His eyes darkened with the challenge. “Bring it on. I’m here to have fun, after all.”
The waiter arrived with their drinks and placed a tray of pretzels in front of them as well.
“So, you’ve known Gina long?” he asked before popping a salty snack in his mouth.
She supposed she couldn’t blame him for asking about Gina. Again. His prearranged date had run off without so much as an apology or explanation. Lacey took a long sip of her soda. Once she got him out on the dance floor, she promised herself he wouldn’t remember Gina’s name, much less her influence over their fortuitous meeting.
“I just met her tonight. We hooked up at the bar and she pointed you out to me. My blind date ran off, too, if that makes you feel any better.”
Sam nodded, as if her confession verified something for him. What, she had no clue.
“He must have been a real idiot, this blind date of yours. Question is, why would a girl like you need a blind date?”
She sighed, knowing that if she regaled him with all the reasons, he’d likely turn tail and run faster than the jerk with the law enforcement phobia that her sister had fixed her up with.
“I could ask you the same thing,” she said, expertly diverting his question. She planned to hang out with this hunk for a while, so why draw more attention to her failures and weaknesses when they’d just met?
“So why don’t you?” he asked.
“Because I don’t really care. Going out on a blind date doesn’t mean you’re desperate. Sometimes it’s fun to leap into the unknown. Besides, Gina’s loss is my gain. Now, have you had enough scotch to fuel you to the dance floor because I love this song.”
Without a second’s hesitation, Sam placed his drink on the table and practically yanked Lacey out of her chair. She landed flush against his hard body and the reverberation of her flesh against his both stunned and exhilarated her. She’d guessed about the hardness of his chest and thighs from one glance—now she knew her estimation had been dead on. And enhanced by the brutally male scent of his cologne—musk, with only the slightest hint of leather—she thought she might lose her balance if he set her down too soon.
But Sam Duke wasn’t in any hurry. He allowed her to slide with sensuous slowness down the length of his body. When her belly pressed against the increasing stiffness of his sex, he captured her gaze with his jade irises and held her still. Stole her breath. Forced her to feel the full effects of her body against his.
Lacey didn’t know if Gina had told her one thing that was true about Sam Duke—but she’d bet every last dime of her savings account that the “master in the bedroom” claim was more accurate than DNA testing or blood-spatter analysis. Fate had done more than smile on Lacey tonight—Fate was having an orgasm at pairing ready-for-anything Lacey with master-of-everything Sam. Anticipation shot through her like an electric current, and she gasped for breath.
Fate wasn’t going to be the only one having an orgasm tonight.
When she sighed, he set her down.
“Ready to tear up the dance floor?” he asked.
“I’m ready for anything.”
His grin quirked up on one side. “I’ll just bet you are, Lacey Baptiste. I’ll just bet you are.”
SETH FOLLOWED LACEY across the fluorescent tiles glowing and pulsing beneath them, timed to enhance the music that pounded from every corner of the dance floor. Man, how long had it been since he’d indulged in this particular pleasure? The rhythm pumped through him, connecting deep and holding tight. The beat rocked through his spine, settling his shoulders and hips into a cool gyration. Perfectly timed. Perfectly understated. When Lacey swung around to face him, he caught the admiration in her eyes. Yeah, he loved to dance. And girls generally flocked to the guys with the confidence to take to the dance floor—which was why he’d developed the talent back in junior high in the first place.
He wondered when he’d turned so damned serious—and yet, he didn’t want to know the answer. Probably had some correlation with his decision to join the force. And tonight, he didn’t want to think about that part of his past. Not when it was oh-so-much-more interesting just to dance with Lacey and let the hot licks set them free.
A lot had changed in Seth’s life since those innocent days, but it didn’t take more than a minute for him to work the beat of the music until he owned it. After a moment of stunned stillness, Lacey also slid into the groove, closing her eyes and arching her neck until the music swept her up in its quick, rhythmic wave. The R&B star, Pink, sang about getting the party started—and they most definitely had.
By the second refrain, several couples had moved out of their way. Seth couldn’t help wonder how Lacey’s smooth moves on the dance floor would translate to the bedroom. Her motions bordered on wild, but possessed just enough control to assure him she knew exactly what she was doing. She shimmied her hips, rocked her shoulders and swayed her backside. She tore her hands through her hair, fully aware of the sensuality of her every move—or perhaps not. After watching her for an entire song, Seth wondered if Lacey Baptiste cared enough about what other people thought to choreograph her moves.
In fact, when she was still going as the song changed, he knew. Lacey Baptiste danced for herself and everyone else be damned.
He’d never been more turned on.
They stayed in the center of the dance floor, enjoying every song, every divergent rhythm from retro-disco to bopping pop, until sweat and thirst sent them back to the table. They took long chugs—he with his scotch and she with her soda—and before he could even wipe the perspiration from his forehead, she dragged him back into the melee.
Finally, a slow, sultry tune pealed out of the speakers. Lacey licked her lips and the anticipation of holding her hot flesh close to his nearly drove Seth to fall to his knees and praise his luck right then and there. But a buzzing from his belt stopped him.
The pager he’d received when he’d arrived told him they had less than two minutes before he lost his reservation in the restaurant upstairs.
“Sorry,” he said, unclipping the glowing red device.
She shrugged. “There’s always dessert.”
He tossed a twenty on the table, downed the last of his drink, and watched as Lacey sweet-talked her way around the crowd waiting on the spiral staircases that led upstairs. She waved to him from halfway up and he dashed through the crowd to join her. Only when they reached the top and checked in with the maître d’, did Seth realize that he hadn’t thought about Gina Ralston or his case for a good twenty minutes. How could he when he had nothing but making love to Lacey Baptiste on his mind?
“I should stop by the ladies’ room before we sit down. I must be a mess,” she insisted, dabbing at the perspiration that had gathered between her breasts with a cocktail napkin stolen from a passing waiter’s tray.
Despite that Seth had finished his drink, his mouth dried to Sahara conditions. Oh, to be that napkin.
“You look perfect.”
“You’re lying.”
“I don’t…”
Seth cut himself off, not so quick to tell such a whopper to Lacey. Normally, he didn’t lie. Especially not to women he intended to take to bed. Wasn’t a problem when he was working undercover. He didn’t sleep with the women he met through that avenue. Back when he was a cop with a badge and a department-issued gun, making the distinction between chicks he met while working and those he met off duty had been easy.
&n
bsp; Not so, anymore.
“I don’t need to lie,” he said instead. “Some women wilt on the dance floor. You blossom.”
She smiled, but rolled her eyes, just enough to make sure he didn’t think his poetry was all that clever.
“I can’t remember the last time I let loose like that. You’re hot on the dance floor.”
“You’re pretty smoking yourself.”
She waved the wilted napkin to create a breeze, but all her action did was fan his desire with her distinctly feminine scent. Musky, hot and elemental—yet with a cool citrus undertone—like lemons dusted with confectioner’s sugar. He knew exactly what he wanted for dessert—and it wasn’t lemon pie or another twirl on the dance floor.
“So far, so good,” she said.
“Excuse me?”
“Our blind date,” she reminded him, amused that he’d seemingly forgotten that they’d known each other for less than an hour.
“There’s something to be said for chemistry,” he answered.
She nodded and the shine dulled on her smile. “I know all about that.”
“What? Are you a chemist now?” he asked. Back when he’d known Lacey, she’d been no more than a college freshman—sophomore at the most. He had no idea if she had the brains for science or if she’d majored in underwater basket weaving. Yet he had a strong suspicion that whatever subject Lacey pursued, she mastered.
“Not exactly.”
“What do you do for a living?”
She reached out and patted his cheek, her smile half sad. “Oh, man. Do you really want to know? I’m starved and I really don’t want to get dumped again before dinner.”
4
LACEY’S CHEST TIGHTENED and she wondered if Sam was going to press her for an answer she didn’t want to give—yet. Luckily, the hostess called their name, distracting Sam from inquiring further about her job. They were escorted beyond a set of wrought-iron gates into a surprisingly lush and quiet restaurant.
The combination of expert soundproofing and verdant plants blocked out the beat from the club below. Soft jazz streamed from speakers tucked in the ceiling painted like a night sky, complete with twinkling lights. Soft spurts of artificial fog streamed above them, creating the illusion of clouds. They’d even piped in the sounds of crickets, loudest near the pond fed by a fountain that gurgled down one wall.