“You said earlier that you don’t do well with roommates,” he said, breaking the silence between them.
Rebecca glanced up from her plate with a teasing smile. “Still trying to figure out a way to move in with me?”
His eyes glinted with mischief. “Maybe. So which is it? Have you had lousy roommates in the past, or are you a lousy roommate?”
She laughed. “For your information, I’m a very good roommate.”
“Yeah? In what ways?”
“Help me clear the dishes,” Rebecca drawled, her lips curving naughtily as she rose from the table, “and I’ll show you.”
Chapter
8
“Okay, it’s not as bad as I thought it would be.”
Rebecca glanced up from unpacking a box of glasses to smile at the tall, honey-toned woman who stood at the living room window that overlooked a view of downtown Baltimore. “What were you expecting, Cherelle?”
Cherelle Hagans turned from the window to flash a dimpled grin at her. “When you told me you were downsizing to a cheap apartment in Baltimore, I was afraid I’d find you living in some roach-infested tenement in the projects.”
Rebecca arched a brow at her. “Do you realize what a snob you sound like?”
“Uh-huh. Now ask me if I care?”
Rebecca laughed, shaking her head. “Girl, you are a mess. Get over here and help me unpack these damn dishes like you’re supposed to be doing.”
With one last glance out the ninth-story window, Cherelle started across the room, her chocolate leather Birkin swinging from the crook of her arm. She was a beautiful, statuesque woman with large, heavy breasts and wide, ample hips that swung as easily as a well-oiled door as she walked. Her long dark hair was stylishly braided, and she wore a burgundy cowl-neck sweater and a pair of rhinestone-studded designer jeans that hugged her thick, shapely legs like a second skin. The spiky heels of her black leather boots added another three inches to her height, so that when she stood beside Rebecca—who was five six—she practically towered over her.
The two women met as freshmen at Morgan State University in Baltimore. Paired together on a sociology project, they’d discovered a mutual affinity for African art, conspiracy theories, and anything written by Audre Lorde. In no time at all, they became so close that some of their peers began speculating that they were lesbians. They’d laughed at the rumors, and every so often when they were feeling particularly mischievous, they’d strolled across campus with their hands in each other’s back pockets—much to the amusement of friends who knew they were anything but lovers.
They’d always been there for each other, through bad breakups with boyfriends to the tragic passing of Rebecca’s parents. While Cherelle was studying feverishly for the bar exam, Rebecca had furnished her with meals and an endless supply of Starbucks coffee, a favor Cherelle returned as Rebecca worked toward her doctorate. As far as she was concerned, Cherelle Hagans was the sister she’d never had.
“How are things going at The Sultan’s?” Cherelle asked, reaching for a box filled with plates. “Are you making any progress on your research?”
“Some,” Rebecca said, lining a cabinet with glasses. “Not all of the girls like being the subject of my dissertation.”
Cherelle snorted. “Who can blame them? You’re doing a study on how society exploits strippers.”
“Well, not exactly. My dissertation explores gender differences in societal reaction and conventional support among exotic dancers in a large metropolitan area. In other words, what I’m trying to establish is that female dancers are less likely than male dancers to receive community support for dancing as a way to earn a living.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t have told the girls what you were working on,” Cherelle said simply. “People get nervous when they’re asked to speak on record, especially about their private lives. Maybe there’s a way you could have interviewed them without them knowing they were being interviewed.”
This time it was Rebecca who snorted. “Do you really think I could have asked these women a bunch of personal questions without arousing their suspicions? They would’ve thought I was a reporter or an undercover cop, and either way they wouldn’t have talked to me. Besides, you know very well it would have been unethical of me to gather information on those women without their knowledge or consent.”
Cherelle grinned. “I’m a lawyer. What do I know about ethics?”
“I see your point,” Rebecca said dryly. “Anyway, I just need a little more time to gain everyone’s trust. I’ve only been waitressing at the club for three months, and some of the girls have already given me plenty of empirical data.”
Cherelle’s light-brown eyes twinkled with mischief. “So when are you gonna start working at a club with male strippers? That’s when I’ll start dropping by to meet you for lunch.”
Rebecca laughed, tossing a wad of newspaper at her friend. “You’re such a freak!”
Cherelle laughed. “Oh, please. You know you’d much rather be watching a group of buff, gorgeous guys strip down to G-strings than a bunch of chicks with sagging tits and nasty stretch marks.”
Rebecca chuckled. “First of all, I’m too busy serving customers to be watching anyone on stage. And just for the record, The Sultan’s has some of the most attractive dancers in Baltimore. Bruno pays those girls to keep their bodies in shape and maintain healthy eating habits. He even pays for their membership to Gold’s Gym, and don’t think he doesn’t periodically check in with the manager to keep tabs on who’s showing up to work out and who’s not.”
Cherelle frowned. “Sounds like a dictator to me. Or an obsessive pimp.”
Rebecca shrugged, slicing open a new box. “He’s a businessman, and a very savvy one at that. He’s built his reputation on having the best exotic dancers around, and whether or not you agree with his methods, he delivers on that promise.”
Cherelle paused in the middle of unwrapping a plate to study Rebecca through narrowed eyes. “Are you absolutely sure there’s nothing going on between you and Signor Rossi? He’s very good-looking, if I recall. And—perhaps more important—he’s rich. That is, if you don’t mind wondering where all his money comes from.”
Rebecca shook her head. “You sound just like those feds who kept auditing him to find discrepancies in his financial records. If Bruno Rossi is a criminal, then I’m a long-lost heiress to an African dynasty.”
“You might be. Remember how our history professor used to tell you that you carried yourself like a queen?”
Rebecca made a face. “He was also eighty years old and half blind.”
Cherelle snickered. “Seriously though, Beck. What makes you so sure Bruno Rossi is on the up-and-up?”
“What makes you so sure he isn’t? The fact that he’s an independently wealthy Italian-American? Does that automatically mean he has ties to the Mafia or some other criminal enterprise?”
“Of course not. You know I’m not that narrow-minded.”
“A lot of people are, though.” Lips pursed, Rebecca tipped her head thoughtfully to one side as she looked at her best friend. “You want to know why I’m convinced of Bruno’s innocence? Because he told me. Seriously,” she added when Cherelle shot her a cynical look. “I know it’s hard for you to believe I’d be that trusting or naive. You make a living defending corporate executives you know damn well are guilty as sin. Your cases have made you jaded, and I understand that. But I’m not jaded—or I try not to be.
“On a slow night when I was working late at the club, Bruno and I got into a conversation about our families. He told me how his relatives immigrated to this country from Sicily with nothing more than the clothes on their backs. He talked about his grandfather working night and day at a factory to feed his large family and resisting pressure to get involved with organized crime, as many of his friends had done. The Rossis were dirt poor, and they never quite realized the American dream. But Bruno’s grandfather died knowing he didn’t have any man’s blood on his hands, and
that he’d led a life of integrity and honor that would impact future generations. Bruno Rossi’s success today can be attributed to his grandfather’s legacy, as well as the good head for business he was blessed with.”
When Rebecca had finished speaking, Cherelle began to clap slowly. “That’s one of the best oral summations I’ve ever heard.”
Rebecca laughed. “All I’m saying is that Bruno is a self-made millionaire who got where he is through hard work and determination. He took business courses at the local community college, saved up his money and made some smart investments along the way, including the purchase of a failing nightclub he breathed new life into. I don’t know what kind of so-called evidence the government has on him, but obviously it hasn’t been enough to bring him down. My gut tells me they’ll never produce the kind of evidence they need to indict him, because it simply isn’t there.”
Cherelle looked vaguely amused. “Your gut tells you?”
“Yeah.” A soft smile curved Rebecca’s mouth as she remembered Vince’s words. “I have a sixth sense about these things.”
“All right. I’ll take your word for it. However, if Signor Rossi ever needs legal counsel, be sure to drop my name. Landing a client like that would put me on the fast-track to making partner at the firm, and you know I need all the advantages I can get being one of the youngest attorneys and a woman.”
“You don’t need any advantages. Those people are lucky to have someone of your talent and ability working for them. If they don’t realize it, there are a hundred other law firms that would snatch you up in a heartbeat.”
Cherelle gave her a grateful smile. “Can I take you to the office with me every day?”
“You could,” Rebecca said with a grin, “but I don’t think that would go over too well with the senior partners.”
“Probably not.” Cherelle turned away to stack plates in the cabinet. “By the way, you never answered my question. When are you going to start moonlighting at a male strip club?”
Rebecca laughed. “You just don’t give up, do you? Like I told you before, the bulk of my research comes from survey responses provided by female exotic dancers at several different clubs around the city. But, yes, to present a more balanced study, I do plan to spend at least a month waitressing at the Spectrum to get the male dancers’ perspective. Bruno has already spoken to the owner, who’s a good friend of his, and set it up for me.”
“Uh-huh, I bet he has. And you say there’s nothing going on between the two of you.”
“There isn’t. I’m not interested in Bruno that way.” Rebecca paused for a moment. “Besides, I met someone.”
Cherelle whirled around so fast she nearly dropped a plate. “What did you say?”
“I met someone. At the club.” Rebecca grinned wryly at her friend’s wide-eyed expression. “Damn, girl. You don’t have to look so surprised. It’s not like I’ve never dated before.”
“Yeah, but you know it’s been a long time.”
Which would probably explain how insatiable she’d been with Vince, Rebecca mused. She still couldn’t believe how many times they’d made love yesterday. She’d stopped counting after the fourth or fifth mind-blowing orgasm he’d given her.
“So tell me about this someone,” Cherelle urged, abandoning her task to give Rebecca her undivided attention. “You say you met him at The Sultan’s?”
Rebecca nodded. “Now, you know how I feel about men who get off on watching women strip in public. I generally think they’re borderline perverts. But something about this guy was different. I got the feeling he doesn’t visit strip clubs very often.”
“What’s his name?”
“Vince,” Rebecca answered, remembering the way she’d moaned and screamed his name into the wee hours of the night. “He’s an investment broker, and girl, he is beyond fine. Tall, dark, and too sexy for his own damn good. Picture the buffest male stripper you’ve ever seen—big shoulders, rippling muscles, a six-pack you could bounce quarters off of. Well, Vince’s body is all that and then some.”
Cherelle raised a finely sculpted brow. “How do you know so much about that man’s body?”
Rebecca grinned. “Let’s just say I had an up-close-and-personal encounter.”
Cherelle’s eyes widened in shock. “You little hussy! No, you didn’t!”
“I did. Over, and over, and over again.”
With a squeal of delight, Cherelle grabbed Rebecca’s hand and practically dragged her over to the small oak table in the sunny breakfast nook. “Details! I want details!”
Feeling like a naughty schoolgirl, Rebecca told her friend everything that had happened from the moment she met Vince Gray, starting from the unexpected summons to the Platinum Suite that had led to their first kiss, and ending with an account of the way he’d taken her roughly against the refrigerator when they’d finally emerged from the bedroom to have dinner last night. The memory of each erotic encounter was enough to make her body throb with renewed desire.
“O-M-G!” Cherelle exclaimed when she’d finished speaking. Grinning broadly, she fanned herself with her hand and shook her head at Rebecca. “You never cease to amaze me. Just when I think I’ve got you all figured out, you go and do something crazy like this.”
Rebecca grinned. “Believe me, I shocked the hell out of myself. I hardly even know this man, but that didn’t matter to me the moment I saw him again. All I could think about was how damn hot he was, and how his deep, sexy voice was making me weak in the knees. Before we even stepped onto the elevator, I knew I was a goner.”
Cherelle laughed. “Not even I’ve had sex on an elevator, and you know I’ve done some wild shit in my time!”
Rebecca flushed, curling her bare toes over the bottom rung of the chair. “I can’t explain what came over me, Cherelle. It’s like I was someone else. A woman with no inhibitions, no fears.” She frowned. “No morals.”
Cherelle snorted. “Morals have nothing to do with this. There’s a freak in all of us, Rebecca. It just took you twenty-nine years to find yours.” She grinned lasciviously. “Better late than never, I always say.”
Rebecca chuckled. “I guess you’re right.”
“I know I’m right. And based on your description of Vince Gray, you chose the right man to unleash your inner freak upon. So when are you going to see him again?”
“I don’t know.” Rebecca bit her lower lip. “When he left early this morning, I was still in bed and kinda out of it. We didn’t really discuss any future plans.”
Cherelle smiled gently at her. “I’m sure he wants to see you again, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“I’m not worried,” Rebecca said quickly. Hearing the note of uncertainty in her own voice, she added, “I’m not looking for a serious relationship. If what Vince and I shared was just a one-night stand, then I’ll just chalk it up to the best one-night stand I’ve ever had, and leave it at that.”
Cherelle stared at her for a moment, then shook her head. “You haven’t seen the last of him. If you rocked his world as much as he rocked yours, trust me, he’ll be back for more.”
Rebecca didn’t want to admit, even to herself, how much she wanted Cherelle to be right. She told herself it was because the sex had been so phenomenal, but she knew there was a little more to the story than that. She’d felt a connection to Vince that she’d never experienced with any other man. Beyond his physical attributes—and there were plenty—he was warm, smart, funny and thoughtful. He’d ordered enough Chinese food to feed an NFL football team just to make sure he got something she liked, when it would have been more practical for him to wake her up and ask her what she wanted. Instead he’d chosen to surprise her with dinner. And she would never, ever forget the deliciously erotic way he’d awakened her.
Have mercy.
Cherelle rose from the table. “Maybe I need to start hanging out at The Sultan’s if Vince represents the kind of customers you’re meeting in that place.”
Rebecca smiled, but somethin
g told her Vince Gray was one in a million.
Chapter
9
“See anything interesting yet?”
Vince glanced up from the video monitor he’d been watching off and on as Frank Sciorra grabbed the chair beside him and sat down with a soft grunt.
“Not yet,” said Vince. “All he’s been doing for the past two hours is paperwork. Not exactly must-see TV. What’d you get us?”
“What else? Crab cake sandwiches and French fries from O’ Doherty’s.” Frank reached inside a grease-stained paper bag and pulled out his food before sliding the bag across the table to Vince, who eagerly helped himself.
He hadn’t eaten since his midnight meal with Rebecca, and even then he’d been too distracted by her beauty to swallow more than a few bites of sesame chicken before he set out to devour her again.
She’d risen slowly from the table, a naughty little smile on her lips as he’d backed her into the kitchen. Once he cornered her against the refrigerator, she’d wrapped those long, luscious legs around his waist and welcomed him inside her tight, wet pussy as if it were the first time.
Just thinking about the way he’d drilled into her like a jackhammer got him so hard he ached.
With a mental shake of his head, Vince bit into his crab cake sandwich and returned his attention to the video screen, which was filled with a live image of Bruno Rossi’s large, opulent office at The Sultan’s.
The club owner sat behind a gleaming mahogany desk, his dark head bent over a mound of paperwork. He was oblivious to the hidden video camera that enabled two undercover cops to spy on him from a nondescript police trailer parked on the other side of town.
“I don’t understand this guy,” Frank muttered, shoveling a thick French fry into his mouth. “He’s rich enough to hire a whole team of people to do his filing and bookkeeping, yet he insists on handling those responsibilities himself.”
Falling Into You Page 6