by Joanne Rock
Stafford pivoted on his heel and stalked away, his crisp uniform impervious to the wind now blasting from the whipping copter blades.
Damon knew an order when he heard one, and this one kept him on unofficial guard duty for Lacey. He planned to make damn sure Castine never touched her again. The Coast Guard motto—Always Ready—was about to become his personal mantra where Lacey was concerned.
Before he headed to his chopper, he checked his cell-phone messages. Scrolling through the calls received, he knew several pertained to work items that could wait. But two calls were from a San Juan hotel he didn’t recognize.
Lacey?
He checked his watch before jogging back inside the building that housed his temporary office to return the call. He’d left Lacey his direct number when they parted ways the day before, half-convinced he’d never hear from her again.
She’d been so incensed about his view of her work and—after hearing her side of it—he had to admit he could see her perspective better. Or, more accurately, he could at least appreciate that her fascination with compatibility was deeply rooted in a core belief that couples who shared each other’s interests had better odds.
In theory.
But in his experience, it didn’t pay to overanalyze relationship chemistry. You either had it, or you didn’t. Then again, what did he know about a lasting relationship? His most serious girlfriend had ditched him for the thrills of illegal drugs.
The phone rang on the other end as Damon slipped into his office. He shared the space with two of his team members, but they were both out, giving him privacy.
“Hello?”
Lacey’s voice smoothed over his senses, the mere sound of her an unexpected pleasure.
“It’s Damon. You called?” He recognized the brusqueness of his approach, but damn it, she had a way of catching him off guard with her unique appeal.
“Oh. Um. Thanks for calling back.” She paused and he heard some rustling around on the other end before she continued in a softer voice. “I found out something that might be of interest to you. Do you have time to meet with me tonight?”
He tensed, concern for her safety giving him a shot to the gut.
“I’ll be tied up at the base until seven or so.” He lowered his voice since he hadn’t closed his office door. “Your, ah, former date didn’t find you, did he?”
“No. But I found out something about him that might be helpful.”
His mind ran at light speed with possible scenarios. Had they e-mailed? Did she have access to her company’s computer files that could yield information about Castine?
“Stay away from him and I’ll head over there after work. You’re at the El San Juan?” He remembered the new hotel name from his call list since it had come up on caller ID.
“Yes. But I need to hit a nightspot tonight so I don’t fall behind on my blog feature.” She paused. “I can’t blow it off. I’m only in town four more days and I need to go for my research.”
Great. He’d arrive just in time to see her sweet body poured into her clubbing clothes. And knowing what he did about the Puerto Rican nightlife, there was no way he’d be able to let her go out alone. Unprotected.
What if she ran into her date-deprived American businessman who was either a sex addict or a sexual predator or potentially both? If Nick Castine had trolled the Internet for women, Damon was damn sure the guy would at least give it a go on the local singles scene.
“I’ll be there. Don’t leave before you see me.”
“I called you, didn’t I?” She sighed on the other end of the phone. “Have I told you lately what a bossy sort of guy you are?”
He grinned, and that surprised him. No doubt about it, he enjoyed this woman on more than a physical plane.
“I do recall a conversation about my control issues. As I remember, that worked out pretty well for you last time.”
Of course, it had paid off in spades for him, too. Just thinking about being with her spiked the temperature in the office.
“Yes, but that game’s only fun to play when both parties can assume control on occasion.” Her teasing tone didn’t hide a hint of accusation.
And damn, but the temperature cooled at the reminder of the trust issues he was in no position to resolve right now.
“Then I’ll do my best to keep my hands off you.” An idea he resisted as much as the thought of giving up control now and then. “But I think it was you who sabotaged my attempt to be a gentleman last time.”
Another sigh.
“Don’t make me regret calling you, Lieutenant Craig.”
He could almost picture the threatening gleam in her eye. And oh man, he was in too deep too fast with this woman if he was already hearing the nuances of her tone.
“You won’t,” he promised himself as much as her. “I’ll see you tonight. And, Lacey? Thank you for calling me.”
Turning off the connection, he wondered what kind of information she might have for him. Would it be something that would move his mission forward? Or—and here’s where his gut knotted—was it something that could put her in more danger?
Either way, he’d have a hard time getting his head back into the recon flight he had to report for soon. But was that because he wanted to take out Castine so badly he couldn’t wait for any information that might nudge the mission along faster?
Or was it simply because he wanted to see Lacey Sutherland again so much it damn near hurt?
Chapter 6
THE KNOCK SOUNDED on her door at 8:54.
Not that Lacey had been counting the moments until Damon’s arrival or anything. Jeez. She was behaving like the kind of person Damon accused her clients of being—desperate. And wasn’t that a cold splash of water to her fevered skin? She should still be torqued at him for what he’d said about her business instead of salivating at the mere thought of seeing him again.
Slowing her step as she neared the door of her new hotel room in San Juan, she forced herself to take a deep breath before she checked the peephole. Oh, mama. The uniformed man standing in her hallway was beyond delectable.
His dark green flight suit covered the lean, muscular body of a man who subjected it to intense physical labor. The expression on his face was focused, his lips compressed in a flat line, his eyes staring at the doorknob as if willing it to turn and remove the barrier between them.
Had she been taking deep breaths? They hadn’t done jack squat to slow down her heart rate.
She hadn’t planned on calling him again and subjecting herself to the powerful draw of their sexual attraction, as they had so little else in common. But the communication from Nick had left her no choice. Winging a prayer for restraint, she tugged open the door.
“Hi—” he started, his dark gaze raking over her body. “Sweet mother of—What the hell are you wearing?”
She looked down at her outfit, not sure she was seeing what he was seeing. A skirt. A tank top.
“They’re clothes. My clubbing clothes to be precise. Why?” She patted her hips, suddenly paranoid her impulse dinner of cheese fries had gone directly to her glutes. When she’d lost forty pounds in college, she’d promised herself she would never let stress bite her in the butt that way again. “Don’t tell me they don’t fit anymore.”
Sometimes she still didn’t clothe her thinner body with the same finesse as women who’d been normal size their whole lives. She had to really work to bare any skin, and even then, she still usually covered up more than most women, her outfits leaning toward the conservative side.
He stepped deeper into her room and set down a duffel bag as he closed the door behind him.
“You can’t go out like that.” He took her elbow and pivoted her for a better view of her back half. “You can’t even take the stairs in a skirt that short.”
The way his eyes lingered on her thighs suggested maybe her butt hadn’t doubled in size after all. The expression on his face appeared less horrified and more…lustful. And oh man, she couldn’t afford
to go down that road again. Not when Damon had such antiquated and borderline offensive beliefs about her work.
“Trust me, I know how to navigate stairs in this.” The skirt wasn’t even that short. “And while this is a little shorter than I usually wear, I can’t go out to the kinds of places I’m headed tonight in my usual clothes or I’ll never get past the doormen.” She glanced back at his duffel bag. “I hope you weren’t planning on moving in with me?”
It seemed a little presumptuous to bring an overnight bag to her room, but heaven help her, she’d probably given him the impression she would swoon at his feet anytime he showed his face within a mile radius of her.
Relinquishing her arm, he shook his head, still frowning about her clothes. “I didn’t have time to change on base since I wanted to get over here.” Unzipping the bag, he withdrew a pair of jeans, a black T-shirt and a black silk dress shirt. “So what did you find out?”
His fingers started working down the zipper of his flight suit past the Coast Guard insignia and some assorted patches.
Her mouth went dry as he unveiled square shoulders and chiseled abs covered by a thin white T-shirt. And then that was gone, too. Considering her legs and his torso, there was entirely too much bare skin in the room.
With an effort, she focused on relaying the information she’d called him about while he vanished into the bathroom. He left the door open so they could still talk.
“Castine left a note for me back at the Hotel Aquadilla. I didn’t tell them where I was going when I checked out, obviously, but I called my former hotel today to see if anyone had left messages for me, since the abrupt departure.”
If she peered into the bathroom, she could easily see him in the mirror. He slid on another shirt, leaving the top half of his flight suit hanging around his hips. He was completely covered now, but her brain supplied a mental video loop of his bare chest.
Not that she should be spying, damn it.
“And there was some communication from Castine?” He stilled, meeting her gaze in the mirror and grinning like he knew she’d been stealing peeks all along.
She looked away, her cheeks heating.
“Yes. It was a written note, not a phone call. I had the hotel in Aquadilla send it to my fax.” She retrieved the paper she’d printed in the hotel business center and passed it to Damon in the bathroom. “Nick’s signature is there, but I don’t know if he took it to the hotel himself.”
Damon’s brows swooped together as he read the short missive: “In the Flesh is another singles’ venue your blog readers might enjoy.” Damon read the address aloud. “This is in Loiza. You’re not seriously going to some nightspot he suggested.”
“It was already on my list. And the last we knew, he was three hours away from here back in Aquadilla.” She’d thought long and hard about it, but in the end, she didn’t see any reason not to visit a public place. It wasn’t as if Castine had suggested she check out some deserted dark alley. “Besides, if he’s there, I’ll have a cab take me the long way home to be sure he doesn’t find me. Have you heard of this place?”
“Lacey, it’s a sex club.” He slid his arms into the silk shirt and left it open over the T-shirt. “You can’t walk in there barely dressed. For that matter, you wouldn’t want to go in there wearing combat boots and a flak jacket.”
“You’re right about the combat boots. Too S & Mlooking. ”
Damon cursed a blue streak that made her smile. Who knew she had the power to torment him so easily?
“I’m going,” she informed him in no uncertain terms, determined to make sure he understood she wouldn’t be swayed by his he-man tactics anymore. Plenty of jobs besides military and law enforcement came with a bit of danger. Journalists’ research took them to less than ideal places. And, damn it, she was going to do her research. “You don’t have to like it, but I am writing an article on this place regardless. I thought you would appreciate the tip about this guy since it seemed curious to me that he recommended a club on the northeast side of the island near San Juan when we last saw him on the northwestern corner, a few hours away.”
“Maybe he’s telling you he knows where you’re staying.” He slipped off his shoes and speared his fingers into his close-shorn hair, an exasperated gesture. “Shit. You should not set foot in there.”
“I think it’s more likely he remembers me saying I was going to check out some clubs closer to San Juan during the week. I e-mailed him a few times before I came down here, and he knows about my work for Connections. The fact that I’m checking out unusual singles’ venues is a matter of public record.” She picked up the piece of quartz crystal Tatiana had given her and slid it into her purse, figuring she could use every bit of luck she could get tonight.
Damon’s low whistle alerted her to his watchful gaze, and she felt awkward for primping in front of him. She forgot to be self-conscious when he reached for his zipper to unfasten the rest of the flight suit, however.
“What are you doing?” Warmth flooded her veins at that simple act full of so much masculine promise. Her body responded in ten different ways from her aching breasts to her quivering thighs and a whole host of destinations in between.
“Changing. Remember?”
Flustered, she turned around, leaving him alone to finish dressing.
“Don’t leave on my account,” he called from the bathroom.
A minute later he emerged wearing a pair of jeans and stuffing his flight suit into his bag.
“I’m going with you, okay? If you’re dead set on going to this place, I really need to be with you to make sure no one hassles you.” He appeared completely serious, his face settling into grave lines.
“You have a protector complex of gargantuan proportions, you know that?” She shook her head in disbelief, her hair swinging softly against her neck with the motion.
The thought made her realize how sensitive her skin had become since he’d entered the room. Or more precisely, since he’d taken off his flight suit.
“Only for women I’ve rescued and then proceeded to sleep with.” A grin kicked up one corner of his mouth, stretching that dimple on his chin into a more subtle depression.
“That must keep you awfully busy.” She couldn’t keep her eyes off his mouth.
“Not since you’re the only woman who fits the description. ” He stared at her for a long moment, and for a second she thought he might lean closer for a kiss. But he only caressed her with his eyes until he spoke again. “Do you have any idea what you’re getting into at In the Flesh, by the way?”
The shift in the direction of their conversation unbalanced her, and she found herself disappointed that he hadn’t kissed her. She’d been so sure he was thinking about it.
Trying to focus on what he was saying about the club on tonight’s list, she hoped she’d be able to recall the information later for the next article in her series, since her thoughts were a long way from business right now.
SHE HADN’T KNOWN what she was getting into.
That much was patently obvious to Damon as they wound their way through the maze of halls at the old paper mill converted into a luxury watering hole for fetishists and exhibitionists, voyeurs and purveyors of the S & M scene. The expression on Lacey’s face as they passed a man on a leash said it all. She might have researched the singles’ scene before, but not this singles’ scene. She gripped his arm tighter as they walked by a topless woman sporting elaborate nipple rings bearing long chains that led to her boyfriend’s arm torque and clamped to the silver band with a padlock.
Damon hoped the guy didn’t need to throw any punches in an impromptu bar fight or he’d inflict a hell of a lot of hurt on the poor girl’s breasts.
“I didn’t picture this,” Lacey admitted as they wove around another set of velvet ropes, admitting them to the second-floor gallery overlooking the dance floor.
The place was decked out in blue-and-black zebra wallpaper, an eighties decorating nightmare. There were mirrors on the ceilings and
small disco balls suspended at regular intervals, giving the club a psychedelic atmosphere.
“It’s not too late to get out of here.” Personally, Damon couldn’t wait. The weirdos this sort of place attracted gave him the creeps. Sure, there were some regular Joes just out searching for a thrill, and they didn’t bother him. It was the nipple rings with chains, the carnival barkers trying to get patrons off into the side rooms to view more explicit entertainment and the hardened look of the lap dancers who’d seen everything by the time they were…twenty-one? He sure as hell hoped those women were twenty-one, but some of them appeared damn young to him.
Not that he’d been to this club many times. It was only on his radar since it was used for bachelor parties or as a destination to show newcomers to Borinquen. But even though he hadn’t been to In the Flesh often, he knew the type of establishments from being stationed all over. Sex clubs were the updated version of strip joints, with more to see, more to do and more ways to feed diverse sexual appetites.
“I don’t want to leave,” Lacey insisted, speaking close to his ear since the music vibrated at a deafening volume. “If I’ve been deceiving myself about what people in the dating world want, I damn well need to face facts. I didn’t even know places like this existed.”
She left his side to position herself at the rail overlooking the dance floor. He followed close on her heels, determined not to lose sight of her among the sexual thrill seekers and jaded clubbers who’d seen everything. Done everything. The crowd that populated the place would think nothing of sweeping a neophyte into one of the back rooms for a “welcome” to the club scene. Lacey could be drugged and violated in ten minutes flat. And—depending on what types of drugs were used—she might not even remember it. Was that why Castine had invited her here?
Damon kept an eye on the shadows while sticking close to Lacey. By the rail overlooking the dance floor, she watched in fascination at the mass, near orgy among the partygoers. Overt sex acts were confined to back rooms, so there wasn’t anything supergraphic going on under the strobe lights. But there were more topless women here, some of whom were dancing with their hands all over each other—or with any man in reach. At the four corners of the floor, professional dancers were stationed on raised platforms above the crowd. They were the only ones who were completely naked.