To Trust a Stranger

by Karen Robards

  But that sixth sense was giving her as shrill and urgent a warning as a smoke alarm in a house on fire.

  So she shook her false hair forward to hide her face and kissed Mac, knowing that, as her partner in this emergency, he would understand why she was doing it and play along.

  His lips were dry, warm, and firm, and, she discovered, she quite liked kissing them, his sexual orientation notwithstanding. He didn’t seem to have any problems with the kiss either. At least, he did not push her away or recoil in disgust. In fact, after one pregnant instant in which their gazes met, he even seemed to get into it. His lids closed and his hands slid up her thighs with a carnality that made her still-open eyes widen.

  He took over the kiss, handling it like a pro, slanting his mouth over hers and licking between her lips until, just from instinct, her eyes closed and her lips parted to let his tongue inside. Then his tongue filled her mouth, and he was kissing her so expertly and so thoroughly that it was clear he’d had some experience somewhere. His arms went around her, hard and strong as steel bands, and his hands splayed over her back, so hot they burned her skin even through her dress. He pulled her close against him, flattening her breasts against the solid wall of his chest.

  She loved it.

  The same sizzle of electricity that had afflicted her when he’d touched her mouth at the bird sanctuary shot through her again times about a trillion, and she went all soft and shivery inside.

  The warm, wet invasion of her mouth thrilled her clear down to her toes. Which, she discovered as they curled in ecstatic response, were now bare, her shoes having apparently slid unnoticed from her feet sometime within the last couple of seconds. Totally swept away, she wrapped her arms around Mac’s neck and put her tongue in his mouth and kissed him back.

  “That’ll be ten dollars,” the waitress said.

  What could have been seconds or lifetimes later, Julie registered the words and their meaning and pulled her mouth from his. The way she felt gave dazed and confused a whole new meaning, she thought as she lifted her lids to stare at him in dazzled surprise. His eyes met hers. Julie saw that his pupils had dilated to the point where his irises looked almost black. A dark flush rode high on his cheekbones, and his lips were still parted from their kiss. He was breathing hard. She could feel the rapid rise and fall of his chest against her breasts.

  “Mac,” she said, alerting him to the waitress’s presence. His mouth tightened, and his eyes as they met hers had a hot, sexy gleam in them that made her catch her breath. Oh God, he was gorgeous, she thought, her gaze drinking him in.

  “Got it.” His gaze flicked to the waitress. One hand dropped away from her back to dig in the rear pocket of his jeans for his wallet. The other joined it seconds later as, his arms still around her but loosely now, he opened his wallet and extracted a bill. He handed the bill to the waitress, of whom Julie was now only peripherally aware. All her senses were suddenly too full of Mac again to allow anything else to really register. His crotch was pushing into hers, and there was a hard and urgent mound beneath his jeans. It felt so incredibly good pressing against her that she sucked in her breath and pressed back.

  “Keep the change.” Mac was speaking to the waitress, but his voice was thick and his eyes were on Julie again. The waitress said something—probably thanks, although Julie couldn’t be sure—and disappeared. Mac shoved the wallet back into his pocket, shifting beneath her in the process. Julie felt the nudge of that jeans-covered bulge against the most sensitive part of her and suddenly knew what it meant to truly crave something.

  Forget chocolate: what she wanted with every greedy nerve ending was sex. With Mac.

  Her throat went dry, her loins tightened and began to radiate heat. She shivered, conscious of an almost overwhelming urge to rip off her panties and have her way with him there and then.

  Then it hit her like a baseball bat over the head that this was Debbie—Debbie—and he had a giant—really, truly, enormous—hard-on. For her.

  She blinked in befuddled, passion-clouded surprise. What was the deal with that?

  “Do you—do you go both ways?” Her voice was soft and faintly unsteady. Puzzled, she frowned into his eyes, but even as she tried to make sense of the whole thing she snuggled closer against him, her arms tightening around his neck, loving the hot prickly feel of her nipples as they pressed against the solid warmth of his chest, loving the silky slide of her panties over the hardness in his jeans, particularly loving the throbbing deep inside her panties, too turned on at the moment to do more than wonder vaguely about the fine points of his sexual wiring.

  He stared at her, seemingly uncomprehending, for the space of a couple of heartbeats. Then she saw a flicker in his eyes as comprehension dawned, and he grimaced.

  “No,” he said, and slid a hand around her nape beneath the heavy flow of artificial hair, pulling her mouth back down to his. Then he kissed her again.

  Oh, God, if she had ever been so hot for someone in her life she didn’t remember it. His kiss was hard and hungry and yet gentle at the same time, and she was completely bowled over by the warm wet urgency of it. He explored her mouth with an expertise that made her dizzy while she kissed him back and pressed her breasts against his chest and moved sensuously against the tangible evidence that he was experiencing at least this one heterosexual urge. His hands were under her dress now, both of them, cupping her bottom, squeezing her cheeks through the silky panties, and she melted inside like microwaved plastic.

  Oh, God, a little more of this and she was going to come. . . .

  Somebody lurched into their table. There was a tinkling crash, and Julie felt a cool rain of liquid on her bare instep even as she dragged her mouth from Mac’s and glanced around.

  “Sorry.” The man who’d been enjoying the lap dancer was on his feet trying to get out between the tables. Obviously drunk, his attention focused on the near-naked woman who was pulling him by the hand, he’d stumbled into their table, causing her wineglass to topple onto its side, break, and disgorge its contents. Wine trickled over the edge of the table onto her foot. With no more than an impatient look at the cause of the distraction, Julie shifted positions to escape the stream and turned back to Mac.

  What they were doing felt too good to interrupt for a spilled glass of wine.

  “No problem,” Mac said to the man, looking past her.

  “Can I get you some more wine?” The waitress appeared with a handful of napkins and started mopping. Julie, impatient, leaned forward to nibble Mac’s ear, just to keep him from losing focus until they could get back to business. The lobe was soft and tender and tasted faintly salty. But she was starting to sense some resistance from Mac.

  “No thanks,” Mac said to the waitress, sounding as if he was talking through clenched teeth. He was still turned on, she could tell—among other obvious signs, his instant stiffening when she twirled her tongue in his ear was a dead giveaway—but distraction was taking its toll. Then, not particularly to Julie’s surprise, his hands closed over her hipbones and he lifted her bodily off him.

  “Mac!” She wanted to weep.

  Despite her plaintive protest and clinging hands he managed to slide out from under her, slippery as a fish wriggling off the hook, and as her bottom hit leather his hands were busy tugging her arms from around his neck. The waitress, finished with her mopping, loaded the broken glass onto her tray and moved away. Defeated, Julie slumped down onto the banquette, Mac’s hands gripping her wrists.

  “Sid’s gone into the back room. We need to get out of here while we can.”

  Sid. Glancing around, Julie realized that Mac was right: Sid was nowhere in sight. She also realized that, in the heat of the last few steamy minutes, she had completely forgotten about her cheating spouse. Unbelievable—but the cause was leaning toward her, looking a million times better than chocolate ever had as he held her wrists in an unbreakable grip, and the situation was extreme when even the size and warmth of his hands keeping her away from him struck h
er as sexy.

  Meeting his gaze, she realized that while his eyes still held a trace of that superheated gleam, his lips were set in an obstinate line and his jaw was hard. Clearly, Romeo had left the building. Meanwhile, she felt as if she’d been poleaxed. The intensity of the voltage that had leaped between her and Mac had robbed her of any outside awareness as thoroughly as if she’d been unwary enough to press her lips to a stun gun.

  “Come on, move it.”

  Apparently not subject to extended postmortem ruminations of his own, Mac slid out from behind the table, picked up his beer and took a quick swig, then pulled her out after him, one hand wrapped around her wrist as if he was afraid she’d try to escape. Still feeling vaguely dazed, Julie fell in with the program. At the same time she tried to figure out what, exactly, had just happened. Her mind reeled as she considered. She’d caught Sid with his hand in the cookie jar, and kissed and been kissed by Mac cum Debbie, all within the space of maybe ten minutes. The unsettling thing was, the events seemed to be assuming almost equal importance in her mind. When she stumbled, glanced down to see what had tripped her up, and discovered that the offending object was one of her own tan leather slides, she wasn’t even surprised to find that she had been on the verge of leaving in her bare feet without even realizing it.

  Now that was dazed and confused.

  “What’s the holdup?”

  As she stopped, Mac looked around at her with a frown.

  “My shoes.”

  She tried to right her shoe with her toes so that she could slide her foot inside, but she couldn’t do it because, she thought, all her blood was still busy rushing somewhere more interesting than her brain. Watching, Mac made an impatient sound and swooped on the shoes, scooping them both up in his free hand. Hanging on to them, he headed purposefully toward the door, towing her barefoot behind him.

  Stepping out of the chilly purple gloom of Sweetwater’s into the dark, crowded bustle of the street was disorienting. The heat enfolded her, welcome as a blanket on a winter’s night, and Julie realized that the nightclub had been downright cold. She simply hadn’t noticed after the first few minutes because she had been wrapped in Mac’s arms.

  Which in spite of the overenthusiastic air-conditioning had made her hot enough to want to get naked. Right there. Right then.

  With Mac.

  The realization was mind-boggling.

  “Here.”

  Mac stopped just past the line waiting to get in, handing her her shoes. She leaned against the smooth painted brick of Sweetwater’s outer wall to slip them on while what seemed to be the entire population of several states went by around them and he created a jostle-free zone for her with his body. As she stood on first one foot and then the other, he watched without saying a word. When she straightened, shoes in place, his gaze met hers.

  The sizzle in his eyes was as tangible as the heat in the bricks she leaned against.

  Hmm. Something here was not right.

  Mac broke off eye contact then and started walking, hauling her after him, plowing through the throng on the sidewalk like a wide receiver with the football tucked under his arm and the goalposts in sight. Julie followed in the wake he created, entertaining a variety of thoughts in quick succession as, with dispassionate assessment, she eyed his retreating back.

  He had nice shoulders, broad and muscular in a navy tee that equally showed off equally nice arms. He had a nice butt, small and tight and sexy in well-worn jeans. He was tall, athletically built, handsome.

  Any woman would salivate.

  So it wasn’t surprising that she wanted him. In fact, it would have been surprising if she didn’t. She was a normal, red-blooded American female, after all, and he was a hunky guy. To say nothing of the fact that she was in a marriage so dead rigor mortis was about to set in and, to clench matters, was extremely sexually deprived.

  But he wanted her, too. She wasn’t mistaken about that, and that was where the question lay. Her thoughts curled around boat-sized high heels and blond wigs and mountainous boobs and pink leashes and Josephine. And she tried to recall just what he’d said when she’d asked him point-blank if he was gay.

  She couldn’t remember exactly. But the short answer, as recorded by her brain, had been yes.

  Just a little while ago, when she’d asked him if he went both ways, he’d said no. And punctuated that by kissing her until her brain was practically fried.

  So where did that leave her? Julie wasn’t sure, but “frustrated” came to mind.

  “Hold on just one minute,” she said, digging in her heels.

  They were in the alley now, headed toward the lot where the Blazer was parked. It was dark and shadowy and smelled of booze and garbage and should have been scary as all get-out, but Julie scarcely noticed. Her attention was all for the man pulling her along after him as if she’d been a recalcitrant Josephine.

  No, probably he would have shown more consideration for the poodle.

  When she balked, he stopped, turning to face her.

  “What now?”

  The various lights from the establishments they’d left behind created a reddish glow at the mouth of the alley that allowed her to see his expression. He looked almost—wary.

  “What did you mean, no?” She narrowed her eyes at him. In the shadows along one wall, something stirred. Seeing the movement out of the corner of her eye, she jumped about a foot in the air and skittered toward Mac. He released her wrist to wrap an arm around her waist and pull her against his side, his gaze focused on the threat. They both watched as, not ten feet away, a man got to his feet and, with no more than a single glance at them, staggered toward the street.

  The smell of booze was suddenly overpowering. Julie realized that they had disturbed a sleeping drunk.

  “You want to have a conversation, wait till we get to the car.”

  With that curt response Mac was off again, pulling her behind him, not pausing until they reached the Blazer. With more haste than courtesy he bundled her inside, slammed the door behind her, and got in himself.

  Then, without a word, without so much as a glance at her, he started the car. He was reaching for the button that controlled the lights when she turned off the ignition.

  “What the . . .” As he glanced at her in surprise, she curled one leg beneath her, leaned across the console, and pressed her lips to his mouth.

  13

  HIS RESPONSE WAS INSTANTANEOUS and unmistakable. His lips molded themselves to hers and the blaze of heat that flared between them told Julie everything she needed to know. He tasted faintly of beer. His kiss was hungry, insistent, arousing. An instant memory of his hands, hot as they slid up under her dress, making her hot as they cupped and caressed her bottom, threatened to make her forget her purpose. She wanted him—God, she wanted him.

  And he wanted her, too. No doubt at all remained about that.

  Shaken but satisfied at the result of her impromptu research, Julie lifted her mouth from his before she could completely lose her head, breaking off the kiss even as he pulled her across the console and into his lap.

  “You’re not gay.” If her voice was faintly breathless—all right, a lot breathless—it was also accusing. His hands still gripped her waist; hers rested on his shoulders. She was half lying, half sitting, with her back cradled by his arm and her breasts just brushing his chest. He curved over her, his wide shoulders blocking out her view of the rest of the front seat. Their faces were just inches apart. She could feel the warmth of his breath feathering across her lips. Unfortunately, it was too dark to read his expression. But she imagined it—he was no doubt looking guilty as hell.

  “You—are—not—gay.” She said it again, with emphasis, as if to drive the point home to herself as well as him.

  That seemed to make an impression. He took a deep breath and straightened, pulling her up with him and then lifting her back over the console into her own seat. Once there, she gave a tug to her skirt to make sure she was decent, folded her arms o
ver her chest, and glared at him.

  “I never said I was.” His voice was cool as a glass of lemonade.

  To her annoyance, as he spoke, he restarted the car as though nothing at all out of the ordinary had happened. The lights came on, bouncing off the wall in front of them to reflect on his face. He did not look guilty, she noticed with increasing ire. He looked—he looked as calm if they were discussing the vagaries of the weather.

  “You did too.” Once again she searched her mind for his exact words. “When I asked you before you said . . . you said . . .”

  “I asked you if it mattered.” He pulled out of the parking lot and turned down the alley. The beams illuminated graffiti-adorned brick walls, a Dumpster with a partially open lid, piles of litter. He glanced her way. “If I remember correctly, you said it didn’t.”

  Julie narrowed her eyes at him.” Well, now,” she said with more than a hint of bite, “it does.”

  “So I’m not gay.” He slid her another of those so-calm-she-wanted-to-kill-him looks before edging out into the still heavy traffic. “Put on your seat belt.”

  Julie’s lips compressed. Mentally counting to ten, she put on her seat belt. Her temper was heading toward slow boil, but she decided to suspend judgment until she was sure she had the full picture. Maybe there was something she was missing here.

  “Are you a cross-dresser?”

  He gave a grunt that might have been laughter. “Only when I have to be. As far as I’m concerned, panty hose could have been invented by the Spanish Inquisition. How women wear those things is beyond me. And bras are a bitch, too. But the shoes were killer. I was really starting to get into the shoes. Yours especially.” He switched into his Debbie voice. “Girlfriend, I gotta tell you, those little heels you’re wearing are the bomb.”