by Lori Foster
Well-bred ladies most definitely did not react this way!
There were social standards to uphold, a certain degree of expected poise…The litany she’d been reciting to herself came to a screeching halt as the man stopped in front of her.
His eyes, a fierce green, reflected the spotlight. He stared directly at her, then moved so close she could smell the clean male fragrance of him, could feel his body heat. And God, he was hot.
Panting, Emily realized he was waiting for her to give him money. Of all the insane notions…but there were numerous dollars sticking out of those small briefs, and she knew, with unwavering instinct, he wouldn’t budge until she’d done as he silently demanded.
Blindly, unable to pull her gaze away, she fumbled in the huge pockets of her worn coat until her fist closed on a bill. She stuck out her hand, offering the money to him.
Wicked was the only way to describe his smile. With a small, barely discernible motion, he shook his head. She dropped her gaze for an instant to where his briefs held all the cash. She’d watched the women put the money there, trying to touch him, but he’d eluded their grasping hands. He’d played up to the audience, getting only close enough to collect a few dollars, then dancing away.
She didn’t want to touch him.
Oh, what a lie! She wanted to touch him, all right, but she wouldn’t, not here in front of an audience, not ever. She was a respectable lady, she was…She squeaked, leaning back on her seat as he put one hand on the light frame over the bar, the other beside her on the bar stool. She was caged in, unable to breathe. She could see the light sheen of sweat caught in his chest hair, see the small, dark tuft of fine hair under his arm. It seemed almost indecent, and somehow very personal, to see his armpit.
Her body throbbed with heat, and she couldn’t swallow. He stood there, demanding, insistent, so very carefully, using only her fingertips, she tucked the bill into his shorts. She registered warm, taut skin, and a sprinkling of crisp hair.
Still holding her gaze, he smiled, his eyes narrowing only the slightest bit. He leaned down next to her face, then placed a small, chaste kiss on her cheek. It had been whisper-light, almost not there, but so potent she felt herself close to fainting.
The audience screamed, loving it, loving him. He laughed, his expression filled with satisfaction, then went back to his dancing. Women begged for the same attention he’d given her, but he didn’t comply. Emily figured one pawn in the audience was enough.
Though his focus was now directed elsewhere, it still took Emily several minutes to calm her galloping heartbeat. She continued to watch him, and that kept her tense, because despite everything she’d been brought up to believe, the man excited her.
His dark hair, long in the back, was damp with sweat and beginning to curl. With each movement he made, his shoulders flexed, displaying well-defined muscles and sinew. His backside, held tight in the black briefs, was trim and taut. And his thighs, so long and well-sculpted, looked like the legs of an athlete.
His face was beautiful, almost too beautiful. It was the kind of face that should make innocent women wary of losing their virtue. Green eyes, framed by deliciously long dark lashes and thick eyebrows, held cynical humor and were painfully direct and probing when he chose to use them that way. His nose was straight and narrow, his jaw firm.
Emily realized she was being fanciful, and silently gathered her thoughts. She needed to concentrate on what she’d come to do—finding the gun dealer. According to her brother, who at sixteen had no business hanging out in this part of town, he’d bought the gun on this street. It had been a shady trade-off from the start, cash for the illegal weapon. But John was in a rebellious stage, and his companions of late had ranged from minor gang members to very experienced young ladies. Emily prayed she could help him get back on the straight and narrow, that he could find his peace on an easier road than she’d taken. When she thought of the scars he’d have to live with, the regrets, she knew, deep in her heart, the only way to give him that peace was to find enough evidence to put the gun dealer away.
Though Emily planned to change his mind, John thought his life was over. What attractive, popular teenager could handle the idea of going through life with his face scarred? Then she thought of other kids—kids who might buy a duplicate of the same gun; kids who might be blinded rather than scarred. Or worse. The way the gun had exploded, it could easily have killed someone. And despite her parents’ wishes, Emily couldn’t stand back and allow that to happen. Her conscience wouldn’t allow it.
The show finally ended, the music fading with the lighting until the floor was in darkness. The applause was deafening. And seconds later, the officer was back, his leather jacket slung over his shoulder, his pants and boots in his hand. He thanked the bartender, then took Emily’s arm without any explanation, and rapidly pulled her toward an inside door. They narrowly missed the mob of advancing women.
Emily wanted to run, but she’d never in her life resorted to such a display. Besides, now that she knew he wasn’t really a policeman, a plan was forming in her mind.
He pulled her into a back room, shut the door, then flipped on a light switch. Emily found herself in a storage closet of sorts, lined with shelves where cleaning supplies sat and a smelly mop tainted the air. A leather satchel rested in the corner. He didn’t bother dressing. Instead, he tossed his clothes to the side and moved to stand a hairbreadth away from her.
“You gave me a fifty.”
Emily blinked. His words were nowhere near what she’d expected to hear. She tucked in her chin. “I beg your pardon?”
He pulled the cash from his briefs, stacking the bills together neatly in his large hands. “You gave me a fifty-dollar bill. I hadn’t realized my show was quite that good.”
A fifty! Oh, Lord, Emily. She had no intention of telling him it hadn’t been deliberate, that she’d been unable to pull her gaze away from him long enough to find the proper bills. What she’d given him was part of the money earmarked for buying information.
Maybe she could still do that.
Shrugging, she forced her eyes away from his body and stared at the dingy mop. “Since you’re not a law enforcement officer, I was hoping the money would…entice you to help me.”
He snorted, not buying her line for a second. Emily was relieved he was gentleman enough not to say so. He gave her a look that curled her toes, then asked, “What kind of help do you need, lady?”
It was unbelievably difficult to talk with him so near, and so nearly naked. He smelled delicious, of warm, damp male flesh, though she tried her best not to notice. But his body was too fine to ignore for long, despite her resolve not to give in to unladylike tendencies—such as overwhelming lust—ever again.
She licked her dry lips, then met his eyes. His gaze lingered on her mouth, then slowly coasted over the rest of her body. She knew she wasn’t particularly attractive. She had pondered many disguises for this night, disguises ranging anywhere from that of a frumpy homeless lady, to a streetwalker. Somehow, she couldn’t imagine herself making a convincing hooker. She was slight of build and her body had never quite…bloomed, as she’d always hoped for. She did, however, think she made an adequate transient.
She cleared her throat. Stiffening her spine, which already felt close to snapping, she said, “I need information.”
“Your little trio of drunks didn’t tell you enough?”
Since he appeared to have guessed her mission, she didn’t bother denying it. “No. They didn’t really know anything. And I had to be careful. They didn’t seem all that trustworthy. But it’s imperative I find out some facts. You…you seem well acquainted with the area?”
She’d said it as a question, and he answered with a nod.
“Good. I want to know of anyone who’s selling guns.”
He closed his eyes, his mouth twisting in an ironic smirk. “Guns? Just like that, you want to know who’s dealing in guns? God, lady, you look like you could go to the nearest reputable deale
r and buy any damn thing you wanted.” He took a step closer, reaching out his hand to flip a piece of her hair. “I don’t know who you thought you’d fool, but you walk like money, talk like money…hell, you even smell like money. What is it? The thrill of going slumming that has you traipsing around here dressed in that getup?”
Emily sucked in her breath at his vulgar question and felt her temper rise. “You have fifty dollars of my money. The least you can do is behave in a civilized, polite manner.”
“Wrong.” He stepped even closer, the dark, sweat-damp hair on his chest nearly brushing against the tip of her nose. He had to bend low to look her in the eyes, but he managed. “The least I can do is steer your fancy little tail back where you belong. Go home, little girl. Get your thrills somewhere else, somewhere where it’s safe.”
Suffused with heat at both his nearness and his derisive attitude, it was all Emily could do to keep from cowering. She clicked her teeth together, then swallowed hard. “You don’t want to help me. Fine. I’m certain I’ll find someone else who will. After all, I’m willing to pay a thousand dollars.” Then, turning to make a grand exit, certain she’d made him sorry over losing out on so much money, she said over her shoulder, “I imagine I’ll find someone much more agreeable than you within the hour. Goodbye.”
There was a split second of stunned silence, then an explosive curse, and Emily decided good breeding could take second place to caution. She reached for the door and almost had it open, when his large hand landed on the wood with a loud crack, slamming it shut again. His warm, hard chest pressed to her back, pinning her to the door. She could barely move; she could barely breathe.
Then his lips touched her ear, whisper-soft, and he said, “You’re not going anywhere, sweetheart.”
Chapter 2
SHE FELT LIGHT-HEADED, BUT SHE SUMMONED A cool smile. He was deliberately trying to frighten her—she didn’t know how she knew that, but she was certain of it. Slowly turning in what little space he allowed her, Emily faced him, her chin held high. “Would you mind giving me a little breathing room, please?”
“I might.”
Might mind, or might move? Emily shook her head. “You have a rather nasty habit of looming over me, Mr….?”
For a moment, he remained still and silent, then thankfully, he took two steps back. He looked at her as if she might not be entirely sane. Emily stuck out her hand. “I’m Emily Cooper.”
His gaze dropped to her hand, then with a resigned look of disgust, he enfolded her small hand in his much larger one, pumping it twice before abruptly releasing her. He stared at the ceiling. “Judd Sanders.”
“It’s very nice to meet you, Mr. San—”
“Judd will do.” He shook his head, and his gaze came back to her face. “Look, lady, you can’t just come to this part of town and start waving money around. You’ll get yourself dragged into a dark alley and mugged, possibly raped. Or worse.”
Emily wondered what exactly could be worse than being mugged and raped in a dark alley, but she didn’t bother asking him. She felt certain he’d come up with some dire consequence to frighten her.
He was watching her closely, and she tried to decide if it was actual concern she saw on his face. She liked to think so. Things still didn’t fit. He didn’t seem any more suited to this part of town than she did, regardless of his crude manners and bossy disposition.
But now that he’d backed up and given her some room, she was able to think again. “I made certain to stay in front of the stores and in plain sight at all times. If mischief had started, someone surely would have offered assistance.” Her eyebrows lifted and she smiled. “You did.”
He muttered under his breath, and pointed an accusing finger at her. “You’re a menace.”
Glaring at him wouldn’t get her anywhere, she decided. She needed help, that much was obvious. And who better to help her than a man who evidently knew his way around this part of town, and was well acquainted with its inhabitants. She cleared her throat. “I realize I don’t entirely understand how things should be done. Although I’m familiar with the neighborhood, since I work in the soup kitchen twice a week…” She hesitated, then added, “I bought this coat from one of the ladies who comes in regularly. On her, it looked authentic enough. That was even her bag I carried—”
“Miss Cooper.”
He said her name in a long, drawn-out sigh. Emily cleared her throat again, then laced her fingers together. “Anyway, while I know the area, at least during the day, I’m not at all acquainted with the workings of the criminal mind. That’s why, as I said, I’d like to hire you.”
“Because you think I do understand the criminal mind?”
“I meant no insult.” She felt a little uncertain with him glaring at her like that. “I did get the impression you could handle yourself in almost any situation. Look at how well you took care of those drunkards? You didn’t even get bruised, and there were three of them.”
“Yeah. But you’d already laid one of them low.”
She could feel the blush starting at her hairline and traveling down to cover her entire face. “Yes, well…”
He seemed to give up. One minute he was rigid, his posture so imposing she had to use all her willpower not to cower. Then suddenly, he was idly rubbing his forehead. “Let’s get out of here and you can tell me exactly what you want.”
Oh, no. She wouldn’t tell him that, because what she wanted from him and what was proper were two very different things. But she forgave herself the mental transgression. No woman could possibly be in the same room with this man without having a few fantasies wing through her mind.
Trying for some vagrant humor to lighten his sour mood, she asked, “Wouldn’t you like to change first?”
Staring at her, his jaw worked as if he was grinding his teeth. Then he gave one brisk nod. “Turn your head.”
Emily blinked. “Turn my…Now wait just a minute! I’ll go out to the bar and—”
“No way. I can’t trust you not to disappear. Just turn around and stare at the door. I’ll only be a minute.”
“But I’ll know what you’re doing!”
He smirked, that was the only word for it. “What’s the matter, honey? You afraid you won’t be able to resist peeking, knowing I’ll be buck naked?”
That was a pretty accurate guess. Emily shook her head. “Don’t be ridiculous. It just isn’t right, that’s all.”
“Afraid one of your society friends might meander along and catch you doing something naughty?” He snorted. “Trust me. Not too many upper-crust types visit this part of town. You won’t catch yourself in the middle of a scandal.”
But she had been caught once, and it had been the most humiliating experience of her life. She’d been alienated from her family ever since.
She thought of that horrid man and nearly cringed. She’d thought herself so above her parents, so understanding of the underprivileged. And she still believed that way. A gentleman was a gentleman, no matter his circumstances. Decency wasn’t something that could be bought. But the man who had swept her off her feet, shown her passion and excitement, had proven himself to be anything but decent.
She’d nearly married him before she’d realized he only wanted her money. Not her. Never her. He’d used her, used her family, made a newsworthy pest of himself, and her parents had never forgiven her for it.
She could still hear herself trying to explain her actions. But her mother believed a lady didn’t involve herself in such situations, under any circumstances.
A lady never lost her head to something as primal as lust.
Lifting her chin, Emily gave Judd the frostiest stare she could devise. “I can most certainly control myself.” Then she turned her back on him. “Go right ahead, Mr. Sanders. But please make it quick. It is getting rather late.”
Emily heard him chuckling, heard the rustle of clothing, and she held her breath. It was only a matter of a minute and a half before he told her she could turn around.
Very slowly, just in case he was toying with her, Emily peered at him. He was dressed in jeans, and had pulled on a flannel shirt. He was sitting on a crate, tugging on low boots. When he stood to fasten his shirt, Emily noticed he hadn’t yet done up his jeans. She tried not to blush, but it was a futile effort.
He ignored her embarrassment. “So, Emily. Where exactly are you from?”
Her gaze was on his hands as he shoved his shirttails into his pants. “The Crystal Lakes area,” she said. “And you?”
He gave a low, soft whistle. “The Crystal Lakes? Damn. No kidding?”
Annoyed, she finally forced her attention to his face. “I certainly wouldn’t lie about it.”
He took her arm and led her out of the storeroom. He had stuffed his dance props into the leather satchel he carried in his other hand. “I’ll bet you live in a big old place with plenty of rooms, don’t you?”
Emily eyed him with a wary frown. She wasn’t certain how much she should tell him about herself. “I have enough space, I suppose.”
He asked abruptly, “How did you get here?”
“Actually, I took the bus. I didn’t think parking my car here would be such a good idea.”
“No doubt. What do you drive, anyway? A Rolls?”
“Of course not.”
“So?” He pulled her out the door and into the brisk night. “What do you tool around in?”
“Tool around? I drive a Saab.”
“Ah.”
“What does that mean? Ah?” He was moving her along again, treating her like a dog on a leash. And with his long-legged stride, it was all she could do to keep up. He stopped near a back alley, and Emily realized they were at the rear of the bar. “Why didn’t we just go out the back door instead of walking all the way around?”
“‘Ah’ means your choice of transportation shouldn’t surprise me. And we came this way so I could spare you from being harassed. Believe me, the men working in the back would have a field day with an innocent like you.”
