A Younger Woman

by Wendy Rosnau

  Margo sniffed in disgust and turned back to her performance. One more song and she could escape back to her dressing room for some emotional fortification. Anxious to get offstage, she hastily picked a crowd favorite. She started the intro, the crowd applauded. Too late she realized her mistake; the sexy Toni Braxton song, “There’s No Me without You,” brought back a flood of memories.

  While Margo suffered through the lyrics, Charmaine Stewart coaxed Ry onto the dance floor and snuggled close to his chest. Margo knew what it felt like to be in those powerful arms, could almost feel the heat, the hardness of his chest. To be on the receiving end of that look, the one he was so unaware of offering at the exact moment when—

  Suddenly a flood of regret washed over Margo. She’d willingly fed her addiction, labeling it “just sex.” But now Ry was haunting her thoughts like a demon, and the demon wouldn’t let her forget the intense heat, the passion. The perfection.

  His scent still lingered in her memory, and Margo swore, still on her skin. His voice could make her ache as easily as his touch. The painful truth was, Ry had always known how to handle her from the very beginning—where to touch her and what to say to make her visibly shudder. She had hoped, no prayed, she would outgrow him someday for sanity’s sake, but two years later the feelings were just as intense. And the lovemaking…the lovemaking had gotten more intense, crazier and even hotter than she remembered.

  The lyrics faded on Margo’s lips as the last chord fell from her fingertips. She stood automatically, then headed offstage, the applause following her as she hurried to her dressing room.

  Margo had a forty-minute break, and Ry intended to monopolize at least half of the time before she went back onstage. She may not be willing to give him the time, but he intended to take it anyway. And not privately in her dressing room, but out in the open.

  Jackson was right. He’d been treading too easy when it came to the case, and the same applied when it came to Margo. And tonight Ry meant to change that—there would be no more sitting on the fence.

  It would be something new for both of them—speaking to each other in public. He had been careful not to let on to anyone he and Margo shared a past, and in a city the size of New Orleans, that hadn’t been too hard to accomplish. He was sure that’s what had ensured Margo’s safety two years ago in the Koch Menaro case. But as Clide had pointed out, Koch was dead—there was no reason why he and Margo couldn’t speak, or more, in public if they wished. After all, his self-imposed rules had already been shot to hell. And honestly it felt good to be living again. Really living.

  He ordered another beer, then leaned back in his chair. Again an elusive image from last night teased his senses, and for the umpteenth time since he’d opened his eyes and found himself handcuffed to his bedpost, Ry felt like a damn voyeur—waiting hungrily for some clue as to what had passed between him and Margo before she’d fled into the night. He knew something sure as hell had happened.

  He checked his watch again. She’d been gone a long ten minutes. He decided he would give her another ten before he… She strolled back into the lounge wearing a false smile; Ry could tell it was forced by the tilt of her head and her rigid body language. She nodded to the men at the bar who were vocal enough to catch her attention. As she passed a table with a lone customer seated with his back to Ry, she stopped and spoke briefly. Ry craned his neck, saw the gentleman motion to the empty chair at his table. Relieved when Margo declined the offer, he discreetly signaled Jackson to check out the man at the table. Just as discreetly, Jackson agreed that the man was worth the effort.

  As Margo drew closer, Ry could see her injured arm drawn close to her body. It must be hurting, he decided, with all the piano playing required of her tonight. He admired her loyalty and dedication, loved her regal appearance, even though it was nothing she needed to work very hard at. Her beauty was as natural and breathtaking as a coastal sunrise.

  “So,” she stopped and placed her hand on the back of the vacant chair next to him, “sleep all day or did you make it up for lunch? I left extra hamburger in the fridge.”

  Her smile suddenly turned real, as well as smug. It clearly told Ry, she felt justified in drugging him. Still, he hadn’t expected her to rub his nose in it with so much obvious pleasure.

  As she pulled out the chair and sat, he glanced around and noticed that the crowded tables around them had turned quiet. Knowing there was a good chance they had an audience, he said, “That was nice of you to think ahead, the hamburger, I mean. Only you forgot to unchain me from the bed, baby. Fair is fair, but if you want me to keep playing your games, the least you could do in the morning is—”

  Her hand shot out and covered his mouth. Embarrassed, she side-glanced the couple at the table next to them. Ry watched her cheeks turn a warm glowing shade of pink. She said to the couple, “He’s always joking around. Really, we never. I didn’t—”

  Amused, Ry waited for her to bring her attention back to him. And as he’d expected when they were face-to-face once more, her eyes flashed fire. Softly, but with a mountain of feeling, she said, “That was cruel.”

  “What was cruel was feeding me drugged hamburger,” Ry answered just as quietly, but with the same intensity she had chastised him.

  “You complained about being tired. I was just helping out by offering you an uninterrupted eight hours.” Her smug smile returned. “Or fifteen. Exactly how long did you sleep?”

  Ry studied her in silence.

  She leaned forward. “Sulking doesn’t suit you, Detective Archard.”

  “Gloating doesn’t suit you, either.”

  “You can’t be surprised.” She glanced around, then lowered her husky voice once more. “Like you don’t know why I did it. You lied to me about something critical. If you ever do it again, be prepared for more of what you got last night. I’m no child, Ry. No fool, either.”

  Ry sighed. “I needed you to be honest with me. You weren’t doing that. I used poor judgment in a crunch situation, I admit that, but—”

  “Is that how you’re justifying inhuman behavior? Poor judgment?”

  He swore softly. “Contrary to what you believe, I don’t enjoy lying any more than you do.” Ry tried to keep his voice in control, but every time he thought about the seriousness of the situation his temper flared.

  “Just so you know, I told Mama about Blu this morning. Everything is out in the open. No more lies.”

  “And how did that go?”

  “Well enough.”

  “So she took it like a trooper. Didn’t I say she’d—”

  “I also left strict instructions with Uncle Pike to stay with Mama until this is all over.”

  “That was smart.”

  She was all business. Feeling the need for some form of contact, Ry reached out and gripped her fingers. She tried to tug free, but he refused to let her go. “I forgive you for last night.”

  “Well, I don’t forgive you.”

  She was back to being obstinate, and Ry knew it was fueled by the knowledge that she had reestablished her freedom, or so she thought. “How about a truce?”

  “No.”

  “A deal, then?”

  “No.”

  “I could have had you picked up hours ago,” Ry told her. “Jackson spotted you on your way to see your mother this morning.”

  “No deal,” she said again, then, as if she had just remembered something, she attempted to stand. Ry tightened his hold on her and forced her back into the chair. “You don’t have to be back onstage for another fifteen minutes.”

  “Let go,” she whispered hotly.

  “Make a scene,” Ry urged calmly. “I dare you.”

  “I don’t want to make a scene, but I don’t want to be sitting here when your date returns from powdering her nose, either. So let go.”

  Instead of doing as she asked, Ry threaded his fingers through hers like a puzzle piece that had found the perfect fit. “Are we talking about Char?”

  “You know we are.”r />
  Ry studied Margo’s face. Her eyes were almost black, and her breathing had gone deeper. If he didn’t know better, he would think she was jealous. Liking the idea, he said, “She’s not my date, baby. You don’t have anything to worry about—”

  “Me worry about you? You’re joking of course.”

  “Tell me about last night.”

  “You know what happened last night.”

  She twisted her hand free, and Ry let her. He leaned forward. “I mean after you drugged me. Tell me what happened in that bed?”

  He watched her sit back, take a couple of quick breaths. “You want to know how I got the key and left, fine. I waited until I was sure you were sleeping and…” She lowered her voice. “I managed to reach for your pants and took the key from the pocket.”

  “My pants were on the floor. You were handcuffed to me on the opposite side of the bed.”

  “It wasn’t easy getting the key. I never said it was.”

  “You touched me.”

  A few more short breaths of air. “Of course I touched you. I had to crawl over you. Stop looking at me like that.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like you know something.”

  “Something?”

  “You couldn’t possibly know…” She stopped herself. “You were asleep.”

  “Couldn’t know what? That you touched me?” Ry hoped she would confess something, anything that might spark his memory. He needed to know what happened, what she’d said. “You whispered in my ear.”

  “Oh, God!” She stood quickly, nearly knocking over the chair in the process.

  Ry reached out and snared her hand. “Your breathing’s gone wild, baby.” She sat back down.

  “Stop this. You’re causing another scene. I like my job. I like these people, and they like me. I don’t want anything to ruin it. So just stop.”

  “Okay. I’ll stop for now. We can discuss it later, back at the house.”

  “No.”

  “I was afraid you were going to be stubborn.” Ry released her hand, leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest, the action stretching his navy-blue shirt taut over his broad shoulders. “If you don’t come home with me be prepared to be arrested.”

  “Arrested? For what?”

  With as fierce an expression as he could muster, Ry said, “Attempted murder.”

  She stared in disbelief. “Who did I try to murder?”

  “Me. Last night.”

  She narrowed her beautiful brown eyes. “That’s ridiculous.”

  Ry shrugged.

  “You wouldn’t do it.”

  “Wouldn’t I? I’ve done worse, right?” He leaned forward and whispered, “There’s something else I should warn you about.” Slowly he reached out, clasped her around the neck, and pulled her close. “I want you back in my life, in my bed.” That said, Ry slanted his mouth over hers and kissed her. It was a kiss like in the old days, a kiss loaded with innuendo and more than one future promise. And by the time he had finished staking his claim on her, there was more than one table watching the performance offstage.

  Lucky breaks didn’t shine down on Margo often. Recently they had been as spare as Ry’s presence in her life. So when the fight broke out at the bar, she saw it as the perfect diversion for the perfect escape.

  Seated behind the piano, finishing the final chorus of her last song of the evening, Margo watched Ry leap to his feet and head to the bar where Charmaine Stewart had become the elusive prize in a tug-of-war between two oversize admirers. As she was nearly being torn into two lovely sequined pieces, she continued to scream at the top of her lungs, crying out for Ry to help her.

  Margo ignored her irritation at hearing Ry’s name on Charmaine Stewart’s lips and instead concentrated on getting offstage as quickly as possible. With every eye turned toward the bar, she scrambled up from the piano bench and fled into the back hall. She didn’t take time to think her plan through, all she knew was that she had to get away and quickly. Ry’s heat-filled kiss had her questioning too many things. True, the damn thing had had enough punch and dynamite behind it to knock her into next week, but what about the past? And what did he mean, he wanted her back in his life?

  It was all some kind of trick, she decided. A mean, calculated device to pay her back for drugging his supper and chaining him to the bedpost.

  As she reached her dressing room door, Margo glanced down at her three-inch spikes, then over her shoulder. Afraid to take the time to change shoes, she sighed and hurried past her dressing room. Taking another quick look behind her, she flung the back door open and ran straight into the arms of one of the Toucan’s customers.

  “Oh!” Margo jumped back and promptly stumbled. But before she fell, the man’s hand shot out to rescue her. She felt his firm grasp clamp down on her injured arm as he hauled her upright, felt the stitches draw. She moaned in response, then made the situation worse by tugging her arm free. “Excuse me, I…I wasn’t watching where I was going and—”

  “Then you weren’t throwing yourself into my arms? What a pity,” the man said smoothly. “I had hoped that was the case.”

  The easy smile that he flashed her was friendly enough, and yes, he was handsome in an eccentric sort of way, but Margo didn’t smile back. She took in the man’s clothing, noting he was dressed all in black, his long hair falling well past his shoulders. He reminded her of a swashbuckling pirate. The only thing missing was one of those nasty-looking guns shoved into his belt and a black eye patch.

  “I’m in a hurry,” Margo said, then emphasized the fact by glancing behind her. She was relieved when the hall remained empty.

  “Don’t tell me that hell’s devils are chasing you?” he teased.

  “No.” Margo shook her head.

  “Then you don’t need to be rescued, is that it, Beautiful? It’s raining, and my car is right outside.”

  Margo hesitated. A quick escape would be the best. Even if Ry wasn’t on her heels, he could be at any second. “Yes, I think…” In midsentence, she stopped herself. If she got into this man’s car, her chance of flushing out Blu’s enemy might be taken away. At this very moment someone might be watching her, waiting for the opportunity to speak to her. It was a frightening thought, but also the only chance she had of finding Blu.

  “Thank you for being a gentleman, but I’ll confront the rain and hell’s devils if I need to,” Margo told the pirate, then moved past him quickly and hurried into the alley.

  The rain had turned the sultry air sticky, and the smells from the city rose up to greet her as she reached the street. The rain quickly soaked her shirt, and it clung to her curves like a second skin. Wiping the rain from her eyes, Margo suddenly wished she’d taken the stranger up on his offer. She glanced back to see if she could find him. When she saw no one, she considered her options and decided her apartment was the closest place to go.

  Minutes later, soaked to the bone and breathless, Margo entered her apartment building. She hurried up the steps and down the hall. Chest heaving, she sagged against the dingy wall next to her front door and forced air back into her lungs. Eyes closed, she tried to slow her pounding heart.

  A sudden noise warned her of impending danger. Margo jerked away from the wall, but it was too late. Her apartment door swung open and a hand shot out from the darkness and pulled her inside.

  Chapter 11

  “I’m getting too old for this crap. I haven’t run four blocks flat-out since I made detective.”

  “Ry! I thought—”

  “Jackson’s taking care of Char Stewart.”

  He had her pinned, her chest flattened against the door, his body pressed into her back. He was breathing heavily, his moist breath moving in and out against her ear. The room had suffered from the day’s high humidity, and in the darkness Margo could feel the sultry heat, hear her own heavy breathing. She said, “Back off, Ry.”

  “Why, am I hurting you?”

  “No—yes.”

  “Which is it, baby?�
�

  “Yes!”

  “I don’t think so.” He sighed, then leaned his head against the door beside hers. “I’m tired of running after you, tired of hiding how I feel, tired of keeping my hands off you.”

  “Ry, please back off.” Margo attempted to turn around, but he pressed his weight more firmly against her. “Ry…Ry, please—”

  She felt his hand on her hip, slowly it slid down her thigh. “Say no,” he murmured. “See if it will make a difference.”

  He pressed his fingers into her thigh and slowly dragged them back up. Margo would have been afraid, if the man behind her was someone else. But this was Ry Archard, the man with the golden touch and drug-filled kisses. And though his tone suggested he was angry, that his temper had been stretched, she knew he wouldn’t hurt her.

  She felt him shudder, felt her own body tremble. Margo bit her lip and squeezed her eyes shut. She couldn’t stop thinking about his mouth on hers, couldn’t stop thinking about what it would be like to have him make love to her right here, right now.

  “Halfway through your last set, I remembered,” he whispered against her ear.

  “Remembered?”

  “What happened last night.”

  Margo sucked in her breath, squeezed her eyes tight. “You were asleep,” she insisted. “You couldn’t know.”

  His hands proved her wrong. Suddenly he was pulling her away from the wall just enough to touch her breasts in the same manner she had touched his chest last night. The action forced her backside into his groin and Margo sucked in her breath. “I’m still angry with you for running away from me,” he told her, “but—”

  “You’re mistaken if you think I care,” she argued.

  “We’ll see what you care about,” he breathed against her ear. His hands clasped her wrists and he lifted her arms and placed them, palms flat, against the door. A moment later, he nudged her legs apart. His hands returned to her waist.

  “Ry, please!”

  “Please, what, baby?” He gyrated his hips against her perfectly shaped butt, letting her know how advanced his condition was. He dipped his head, found her exposed neck, nipped and teased. His hands captured her breasts. Margo’s reaction to his thumbs grazing their already-puckered tips through the wet satin was a faint no. Her protest was embarrassingly weak, the pleasure as his fingers stroked her nipples causing her to moan pitifully. Easily, he coaxed another shameful moan from her, than another and another.