Rush

by Beth Yarnall

  “Don’t forget tonight’s show special: Decadence’s Heart-on For You, a beautiful hand-blown glass phallus with a heart shaped handle and sensual beads for added stimulation. And Pleasure at Home’s own Slippery When Whet, a water-based, non-stain lubricant to enhance your sexual experience. Regularly fifty-nine…”

  Was she wet right now? Did she get turned on, handling the long hard shafts, describing how to use them? Did she pleasure herself in the darkness of her bedroom late at night?

  “We also have some wonderful products for gentlemen, beginning with the Super Stroker 3000 from Midnight Embrace.” Mi held up some kind of tube-looking device. “Extra long to accommodate any sized man, this deep throated stroker will bring you to completion and beyond. Soft, full lips wrap around your shaft, gently sucking…”

  He’d experienced less painful torture in the Navy. Watching Mi’s sales pitch was the most erotic thing he’d seen in a long time. And it had been way too long since he’d had anything, but his own hand to slake his lust. He shifted his feet and looked around, needing another focus for his attention. He wanted to fill a sink and dunk his head, give it a good solid soak for the things he’d been thinking. Instead he let his gaze wander the studio, studying the layout, the exits, and the people. He catalogued everything, storing the knowledge away. He was here to protect Mi, nothing more. If only he could erase the erotic images that flickered across his mind like a porno movie.

  Damn Cal and his stupid favor.

  *****

  An hour later, Mi wrapped up the show by repeating Pleasure at Home’s two phone numbers—one for women and one for men—and reminded her viewers that they could view all of tonight’s products and more online on Pleasure at Home’s website.

  “That’s a wrap,” Crosby shouted.

  Mi stepped off the stage, glad to be out of the glare of the lights that seemed sharper with the headache hovering at the back of her head. Her gaze automatically wandered the far corners of the studio, looking for Lucas. She found him near the door, arms folded over his chest. She could just make out his dark shape in the shadows. He looked more imposing than ever. She remembered how gentle, almost kind, he’d been with her earlier. The contrast in him gave her shivers.

  She handed Tracey, the makeup artist, her on-show, trademark eyeglasses. It had been Mr. Sellers’s idea for her to wear them even though she had perfect eyesight. He’d thought the sexy librarian look would be a perfect contrast to Lucy’s blond bombshell. She missed Lucy. Doing the show without her wasn’t as much fun, but with just weeks left of her pregnancy, Lucy didn’t fit Pleasure at Home’s provocative image. A hugely pregnant woman wasn’t sexy, according to Mr. Sellers.

  Mi and Tracey headed to the makeup room just off the main studio. Pleasure at Home was wildly successful, but not successful enough for anything more than a glorified closet as a makeup room. Tracey pulled the bobby pins from Mi’s hair while Mi attacked her face with a baby wipe. She hated the thick pancake makeup required for on-camera work. Tracey finished brushing out Mi’s hair just as Mi wiped the last of the makeup and cold cream off with a tissue.

  Tracey set down the hairbrush and began cleaning up the makeup counter. “You’re all set, Mi.”

  “Thanks, Tracey,” Mi said as she gathered her things. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” She turned to find Lucas crowding the doorway. “Oh! Hello.” Had he been there the whole time?

  He examined her face as though it was a riddle that needed solving. “You have freckles,” he whispered more to himself than her.

  Mi lowered her head a little, touching a finger to her lightly speckled nose. She hated her freckles. “Yeah, since I was a kid,” she answered just as quietly.

  “Hmm.”

  She couldn’t tell if that was a good ‘hmm’ or a bad ‘hmm’. He continued to study her face, his gaze tracing over every inch as though it intrigued him. She knew she looked much different without the makeup, which exaggerated the almond shape of her eyes, the fullness of her lips and the sharpness of her cheekbones. Most men only saw the sex kitten who sold personal pleasure devices, expecting her to be wild in bed. Her on-camera self was sexy and sought after, but her off-camera self was freckled and easily skipped over.

  She didn’t know why the way he looked at her now made her feel apologetic, it just did. And it annoyed her. “It’s the makeup. I’m supposed to look the part.” She dropped her voice further until it was barely audible. “You know, seductive and alluring.”

  He frowned, a deep V forming between his brows.

  “Mi, you forgot this.” Tracey held out Mi’s cell phone, angling herself for an introduction to Lucas.

  “Thank you. Tracey Casey meet Lucas Vega my—” And then it slipped out, catching Mi as unaware as anyone. “—boyfriend,” she finished, not daring to look at Lucas. What had she just done?

  “Pleased to meet you,” Lucas said smoothly, as though it were true.

  “Boyfriend?” She could feel Tracey’s questioning stare, but she didn’t dare look up.

  “Yes, ah—”

  Lucas cut in. “We’ve just made it official.”

  And then Lucas draped his arm across her shoulders, bringing her up against his side. A decidedly hot and altogether hard side. She could smell the leather of his coat mixed with the fundamental scent of warm male. It was all she could do to not turn her head and rub her face against his chest, luxuriating in his scent like a bitch in heat. Instead she brought her arm up and under his jacket, laying her hand flat on his lower back just above the hard ridge of what was probably a gun. More heat. His muscles twitched under her palm.

  Tracey tipped her head back and to one side. “Well then, congratulations. I suppose.”

  Mi was surprised at the tone Tracey used. If she didn’t know better, she would have thought Tracey was being catty.

  “Thank you. Well, we’d better go. See you tomorrow,” Mi told her.

  Lucas navigated them through the doorway. Mi bunched a handful of his t-shirt in her fist to keep up with him. Once they were clear of Tracey, Lucas leaned down and whispered in her ear, his lips brushing her hair. “Nice explanation.”

  “I didn’t know what to say. How to explain.”

  “I’m not complaining. It’s the perfect excuse for us to be together twenty-four seven.”

  She could have sworn he smoothed his cheek away more slowly than necessary. And he might have taken an extra deep breath while he did so.

  “So you’re okay with that?” She hoped he was because they were getting looks on their way back through the studio, walking with their arms around each other.

  “Sure. Unless you already have a boyfriend.”

  Her answer came out rushed. “No. No boyfriend.”

  “What the hell?” Crosby said from behind them.

  They’d almost made it to the door when Crosby called them back. “Mi, in my office. Now!”

  Mi would have dropped her arm, turning to go back was the perfect excuse, but Lucas still held her to him.

  “Get in here and close the door.” Crosby waited while they crowded into his office, which wasn’t much bigger than the makeup room. Crosby gestured back and forth between them. “What the hell is all this?”

  Lucas dropped his arm, forcing Mi to do the same. “Appearances. Unless you want everyone to know Mi has a bodyguard?”

  “No. I suppose not.” Crosby never looked happy, but this was a new level of displeasure even for Crosby. “You’re gonna watch where you put your hands. You get me?”

  Lucas tucked his hands in his pockets. “Yes, sir.”

  “Crosby.” Mi’s cheeks heated. She felt about sixteen, going on her first date.

  “There are a bunch of goddamned protesters out front, more than usual,” Crosby said. “Sellers hired a couple of guards for outside, but I wanted to give you the heads up. The lady from C.A.L.M. is out there with a goddamned megaphone, stirring up all kinds of shit.”

  “C.A.L.M.?” Lucas asked.

  “Christians Against
Loose Morals,” Mi explained. She tried not to show how much it bothered her that Cookie Dixon and her group picketed every show taping or that their numbers seemed to be growing every week. When she met Crosby’s eyes and saw the softening of his expression, she knew she hadn’t pulled it off.

  “It’ll be all right, kid. You’re well protected.” Crosby sent Lucas a look, communicating something Mi didn’t catch. “Investment number one, remember? Here’s your mail.” He handed a stack of envelopes to Lucas. “I know you like to answer your fan mail, but from here on out, he goes through it with you. Anything that’s off gets bagged and goes to Detective Rolls. Got it?” Crosby said more to Lucas than Mi. “Now get out of here.”

  They did as Crosby said, exiting the building through a side entrance near where Mi had parked her car. The building that housed the Pleasure at Home studio and offices looked like every other building in the huge industrial complex just outside of Dallas.

  The air hung heavy with the heat of the dying day. The last rays of the sun slashed the sky orange and red, foretelling another day of oppressive summer tomorrow. They could hear the crowd on the other side of the building, sending up cheers after everything Cookie Dixon said through her megaphone. Mi tried not to let the negativity and hatred get to her, but it was hard when so much of it was often directed at her as one of the faces of Pleasure at Home.

  Lucas held out his hand. “Give me your keys.”

  “Why?”

  They’d reached Mi’s car, a compact sedan that looked like every other vehicle in the parking lot, and faced off on the driver’s side of the car.

  “I drive,” Lucas insisted.

  “This is my car.”

  “For me to do my job I’m going to need you to do what I say. Sometimes I’ll be able to give you a reason, sometimes not.”

  “So what’s your reason?”

  He looked at her for a moment like he wouldn’t answer, challenging her to go along without having to give her a reason. Then he seemed to come to some kind of decision. “I’d feel weird having you drive me around.”

  She dropped the keys into his palm. “That’s as good a reason as any, I suppose.”

  He walked her around to her side of the car and opened the door for her. She saw him flick a look at the car seat in the back and cringed inside, anticipating his questions. Instead he closed the door without comment, which felt almost like he’d closed off a part of himself.

  He climbed into the driver’s seat with difficulty, his knees up near his chin. Mi smothered a laugh. He finally got the seat adjusted as far back as it would go, but his legs were still too long.

  “Damn compacts,” he muttered.

  This time Mi didn’t bother hiding her chuckle. “I can drive.”

  “We’ll be taking my truck going forward.”

  He pulled out of the parking space. They drove around the building and got their first look at the mass of people gathered outside the gates of the parking lot. Cookie stood on something to make her taller than the crowd that jabbed picket signs in the air, shouting in response to the things she said. There were more than ever before and their signs were more sophisticated. This was a new kind of crowd—organized and more dangerous than the Sunday school teachers and PTA parents who usually protested.

  Suddenly a loud crack rent the air. The back window exploded behind them, pelting them with glass.

  “Get down,” Lucas ordered, shoving Mi’s head between her knees. He hit the gas pedal, sending them straight at the crowd blocking their exit.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Mi braced for an impact that never came. Lucas finally took his hand off the back of her neck, allowing her to sit upright. She blinked, taking in the street they were driving on. One she didn’t recognize. She looked back at the smashed window. Glass bits dotted the backseat and a large rock sat in the infant car seat. Her heart fluttered like a caged bird in her chest.

  Lucas stared straight ahead, his mouth pressed into a hard line. “You all right?”

  Mi looked down at herself, then again at the back of the car. “Yes.” The breeze from the rear window sent pieces of her hair dancing around her face. A tidal wave of emotions she couldn’t delineate rose within her, threatening to consume her whole. She closed her eyes on stinging tears, willing them to go away. She hadn’t cried thirteen years ago and she wouldn’t cry now. Tears were a luxury for other people.

  “I’m fine,” she said, then again more forcibly. “I’m fine.” She repeated it like a mantra inside her head, hoping if she said it enough times it might actually become true.

  Lucas risked a sideways glance at Mi to be sure. She hadn’t resisted when he forced her head down and had stayed down until he let her up. She looked a little shaken, but otherwise okay. At least she wasn’t crying.

  “Where are we going?” she asked, her voice calmer than he expected.

  “Your place.”

  “But this isn’t the way.”

  “It’s not the most direct way.”

  Mi gave him a curious glance, but didn’t question him. He was really starting to like that about her.

  He’d narrowly missed hitting a couple of protesters back there. The looks on their faces as they’d leapt out of the way at last minute would stay with him. He was sure of it. Thinking about what to do next, he rubbed the heel of his palm over the ache in his right thigh. It was a reminder of an injury bad enough to earn him an honorable discharge from the Navy. He wasn’t sure anymore if he rubbed it to relieve the pain or out of habit.

  At first Lucas had thought their car had been shot at, but the rock sitting in the baby seat told him otherwise. His only thought had been to get Mi out of there in one piece as quickly as possible. He stole another glance at her. She leaned back in her seat, the slanting sun casting a golden light on her face, illuminating the freckles sprinkled across her cheeks and nose. Her eyes glowed gold, fixed on a point in the distance. The only emotion she showed was the worrying of her bottom lip between her teeth.

  He thought about the protestors. What people did in the privacy of their home was nobody’s business. He didn’t watch porn or have pictures of half naked woman pinned up like the other guys in his unit. He believed in marriage, fidelity and straight up sex between two people, no gadgets or gizmos and certainly no—fuck, what did they call them—dildos. One prick in the bed was all he could handle.

  He darted his gaze back to her. He couldn’t help it. He’d been surprised by how different she looked without all that makeup. Fresh. Nothing like the TV screen siren she portrayed. It pissed him off that he was interested in her with or without the costume she wore for the show. Even now, looking about eighteen, she stirred something in him. More than just his dick, which seemed attuned to her every movement. He wanted to touch her. Trace the line of her jaw, gather her hair in his fist, hold her hand.

  She turned, catching him peeking at her. She jabbed a thumb at the back seat. “Shouldn’t we report this to the police?”

  “We will when I get you safely back to your place.”

  Her brow buckled. “How do you know where I live?”

  There was no reason not to tell her he supposed. “It was in the file Cal gave me.”

  “He gave you a file on me?” Her voice took on a cautious tone. “What’s in it?”

  “Just the basics.”

  “What basics?”

  Something about the way she asked that last question sent up a flare for him. She was hiding something. And he was definitely going to find out what that something was. He told himself it was for her own good. The more he knew about her the more he could help her. Whatever she was hiding could be behind the threats she’d been getting or why she was being followed.

  “Your name, address, associates, and a brief history of what’s been happening,” he answered, sneaking another glance at her profile.

  “That’s all?”

  “Pretty much. Is there something I should know that wouldn’t be in the file?”

  She sho
ok her head. He caught the movement out of the corner of his eye and realized he’d been holding his breath. He stole another glance at her. She was working that lip again, her head turned partially away. They were almost to her house. As soon as he got a moment, he was going to look into whatever it was she was keeping from him.

  “Do we need to stop anywhere on the way to your place?” he asked.

  “No. I don’t need anything.”

  “You have a sitter at home?”

  She whipped her head toward him so fast it made her seat move. “What?”

  “Look, I don’t mean to pry.” He did actually. He meant to pry into just about every part of her life. “But I noticed the baby stroller in the picture earlier, and I can’t miss the baby seat with the rock in it back there.”

  “There’s no sitter at home.” She reached over and turned up the volume of the radio. Some kind of my-wife-left-me-and-that’s-why-I-drink song came on, cutting off any further conversation.

  Lucas drummed his fingers in time with the tune, but his mind was breaking down everything she’d said. And hadn’t said. They turned the corner onto her street, but he drove past her house.

  Mi reached over and turned down the radio. “You missed my house.”

  “I wanted a look at it first before we pulled in.”

  “Why?”

  He hitched a shoulder, feeling surly about her not answering his questions. “Just being cautious.”

  He drove around the block, scanning the streets and sidewalks for anything unusual. They pulled into the driveway of a small house with no garage and faded trim. The lawn needed to be cut, but other than that it looked like every other house on the block. For a woman with such a high profile job, Mi seemed to choose surroundings that ensured she blended in—her car, her house, even her clothes. All were about as vanilla as they could be. To Lucas’s mind her efforts were wasted. She’d stand out in a crowd of look a-likes.

  As soon as Lucas stopped the car, Mi had her door open. She needed the privacy of her home, the comfort of her things. Being cooped up in such a small space with such a large, overwhelming man had her nerves on edge. Not to mention the rock through her window. She bit her lip, worrying about how she was going to come up with the money to cover the insurance deductible.