Admittedly, that’s what she longed for—real love and passion with a man who had no qualms about showing the world he cared about her. A man who held her in high esteem and considered life a full-time adventure.
As the stage lights went up, she glanced at Scorpio, sitting silent and stoic, his dark eyes inspecting the room instead of focusing on the woman who took a bow and left the stage to moderate applause. In her heart, Fiona knew he wasn’t that man. He lived for the moment and the next mission, yet she suspected something drove him aside from wanderlust. She’d seen it in his eyes when she’d mentioned the name Tamra, a sadness that he hadn’t been able to mask with his emotionless expression and casual tone. Maybe he’d been loved and left before, although for the life of her she couldn’t imagine anyone breaking his heart. But then, stranger things had happened, and he did have a penchant for wearing mourning colors. Regardless, she would probably never know. After tonight he would set out on his own, leaving her behind.
Fiona decided then and there to make the best of their remaining time together, make a few memories to bring out on a rainy day when she again settled into celibacy until the right man came along. And she really believed that Scorpio could deposit some incredible reminiscences in the memory bank.
A few moments later the lights dimmed and an attractive couple walked onto the stage hand-in-hand. The woman wore a togalike black wrap that looked as if it might fall off in a strong wind, secured at the waist by a flimsy sash, her blond curls cascading down her back. The guy had blond hair, as well, and wore black tuxedo slacks, his gaping white shirt exposing a lean, tanned chest. Fiona decided they resembled life-size fashion dolls that should carry a disclaimer: Warning, not intended for children under the age of thirty.
A masculine voice from somewhere behind stage announced, “Ladies and gentleman, please welcome Sophia and Simon performing Night Moves.” When they struck a dramatic tango pose, the crowd applauded and whistled. Fiona presumed this was a popular act, considering the noisy show of approval, so she settled back to find out what all the hullabaloo was about.
The rumblings of the crowd ceased as the couple began to move in time with the sultry instrumental. The action started slowly with a few synchronized dance steps until Sophia turned her back to Simon and stepped forward like a drama queen, as if to impede his advances. Simon obviously would have none of that and grabbed her hand, then pulled her against him.
It wasn’t long before Fiona got the gist of what they were trying to convey when Simon’s hands slid down Sophia’s back then pulled up the toga to cup her bottom, basically bare save the black lace thong. Sophia, in turn, pushed Simon’s shirt off his lean shoulders and it drifted to the stage in a heap of white cotton. Their moves became more suggestive, more sensual, giving a whole new meaning to the term “dirty dancing.” Yet Fiona couldn’t deny that they were both very graceful, and for the most part the performance was tasteful even if highly suggestive.
Then why did she feel as if she were a voyeur peering into someone’s window from a perch on a rusty fire escape? Why did she want to turn away yet couldn’t turn away? And why was she starting to feel so hot and bothered?
Simon soon divested Sophia of all her clothing except for the strip of lace that barely qualified as panties. And when Sophia yanked off Simon’s tear-away pants, leaving him clad in only a white G-string, Fiona physically jumped.
The low rumble of an abrupt laugh coming from beside her caused her to tear her gaze from the dancers and level it on Scorpio. She’d been so engrossed in the show, she’d almost forgotten he was there. “What’s so funny?” she asked.
He inclined his head toward her and whispered, “Your reaction.”
She glared at him before homing back in on the couple who might as well be reenacting a private bedroom video. “It just surprised me a little,” she murmured, chagrined over her obvious lack of sophistication.
Scorpio surprised her again by draping his arm across her shoulder and pulling her close to his side. “Is that all it does to you?” he asked in a voice as maddeningly sensual as the dancers’ movements.
“Yes.” She sounded out of breath. Probably because she was. And normal respiration wouldn’t return soon, that much she knew when Scorpio rested his palm on her thigh beneath the table and drew lazy circles on the inside of her knee.
“I find it very artistic,” Scorpio murmured. “Erotic.”
So was Scorpio’s touch, Fiona thought, as Simon, who had fitted himself to his partner’s back, took that moment to run his hand down Sophia’s torso, slowly, lower and lower until his fingertips hovered just beneath the band of her thong. Then he turned his back to the crowd, taking Sophia with him. They swayed together, Sophia’s arms coming back around Simon where she raked her nails down his bare back, leaving no doubt she was in a sexual frenzy. Or at least pretending to be.
Fiona wasn’t pretending. Every inch of her body was covered in heat, and a dull throb settled between her legs. She shifted in her seat, moving closer to Scorpio in the process. With a gentle hand, he inclined her head against his shoulder and brushed his warm lips across her temple. He slid his other hand upward, this time beneath her hem, rubbing his thumb back and forth, back and forth, on the inner part of her thigh, moving a little higher each time. The dancers were now stretched out on the floor, Simon braced above Sophia executing provocative push-ups, leaving no doubt what they were trying to mimic. And Fiona wished that she and Scorpio were doing the same thing—the real thing—right here and now, on the floor beneath the table. Only, she would insist on being on top.
Scorpio tipped her face up and touched his lips to hers, a chaste gesture contrasting with Fiona’s less-than-innocent thoughts. She clamped her thighs together, trapping Scorpio’s hand, but it didn’t stop his random stroking. It didn’t stop Fiona from wanting him to keep going.
“I could touch you and no one would know,” he muttered.
“I would know,” Fiona responded in a shaky voice.
“Yes, you definitely would.”
“We can’t,” she said, her legs parting despite her protests, allowing Scorpio to brush his knuckles up her leg to the crease of her thigh then back down again.
“No one will see,” he said. “They are too captivated by the show on stage.”
Oh, how Fiona wanted to be so daring, uninhibited, adventuresome enough to just let it happen. But a woman sporting a platinum bouffant hairdo was sitting at the table not far from them, staring as if she suspected something naughty might be taking place. Her husband or boyfriend or whatever he might be, had his chin resting against his chest, sound asleep. No wonder she was looking for a vicarious thrill.
But Fiona couldn’t let Scorpio do this. Not here. Not now. She had to get her mind back on the reason why they were there, although she believed their attempts to find the fugitive would be futile tonight.
Fiona cast another quick look at the dancers. “We should go now since I don’t think he’s coming.”
“If he’s an expert lover, it will take longer.”
“I meant Birkenfeld.”
He worked his hand upward. “You’re right. I greatly doubt he’s going to show up here.”
“Let’s go then,” she said on a breathy sigh.
“Not yet.”
The music thrummed, rising to a loud crescendo, and so did Fiona’s pulse, pounding in her ears while Scorpio’s fingertip grazed the lace edging of her panties.
She should stop him, really she should. This was insane. Totally insane.
Just then Sophia and Simon left the stage to rousing applause and the house lights came up, signaling the show was over.
After Scorpio pulled his hand from beneath her skirt, Fiona slid from the booth and tugged at her hem. “Are you ready now?”
“That would be an accurate assessment.”
“I meant are you ready to leave.”
He wrapped his hands around the coffee cup. “Wouldn’t you like to finish your drink first?”
“Would you like another?”
Fiona frowned, totally confused over his reluctance. “No. I’m driving, remember? So come on.”
“I need a few more minutes.”
When she saw Scorpio twitch in the seat, much the same as she had, and his hand briefly disappear beneath the table, she suddenly realized exactly why he needed those moments. He’d been as turned on by the whole scene as she had been. He was still turned on. So was Fiona. Her arousal wasn’t so obvious. His would be.
She sent him a knowing smile. “Okay, while you take a few minutes, I’ll go ask the bartender if he’s seen Dr. B.” She held out her hand. “Give me the picture.”
He withdrew the photo from his jacket pocket. “I should be ready to leave upon your return.”
Unable to resist, Fiona grinned and said, “I don’t know, Scorpio. That might take longer than a few minutes.”
“For your information, my leg is somewhat cramped from maintaining the same position for so long.”
Fiona folded her arms across her middle and stared at him. “Okay. As soon as your cramp goes away, we can leave.”
He smiled, slowly. “And I’m sure it will return as soon as we are alone.”
Fiona headed toward the bar, shivering over what had almost happened, the suggestion in his voice. She was getting in too deep, losing her grip on reality. Having sex with him would probably only complicate matters, but it was too late to consider that now. Denying that she wanted him would be equivalent to refusing to acknowledge her dreams.
She intended to have him…and hang on to her heart in the process.
Five
Scorpio allowed Fiona to help him to the sedan, their arms wrapped securely around each other. He hadn’t been totally lying when he’d said his ankle was troubling him, but that had not been his most critical discomfort. It still wasn’t.
Seeing the seductive dancers, touching Fiona beneath the table, had brought him to the edge. He was hard, hot, sexually charged, and he needed relief. More important, he needed to find out if Fiona was serious about taking this further, taking this beyond the limits.
When they reached the car, he backed up against the passenger door she was trying to open for him and pulled her into his arms, capturing her gasp of surprise with his mouth, kissing her with urgency. Kissing her in the way that he’d wanted to in the club. He nipped at her lips, explored the edges of her teeth with his tongue, then thrust into the heat of her mouth, the way he would thrust into her body if the opportunity presented itself. He palmed her bottom and pulled her up against his erection, but that provided no respite. Only one thing would, but taking her in a parking lot against a sedan would not be advisable. When he let her go, she whimpered in protest.
“In the car,” he demanded, then threw open the door, pulled her inside onto his lap then closed the door. The effort it had taken to move so quickly cost him in terms of his wounds, but he chose to ignore the pain.
After shifting Fiona around, bringing her legs to rest over the console and her back against the passenger window, she wrapped her arms about his shoulders and stared at him with an unwavering gaze. “I’m going to hurt your leg.”
“You are not bothering my leg.”
“Good. I wouldn’t want to do that,” she said, followed by a seductive smile.
“What do you want from me?”
She seemed surprised by the question. “Just some adventure, Scorpio.”
“That is all you wish?”
“Yes.” She looked away. “Of course.”
Her hesitancy concerned Darin. “I live for the moment, Fiona. I do not intend to settle in one place or to settle down into a safe existence.”
She leveled her green eyes on his. “Have I said I expect that from you?”
“No.” Yet he could not help but believe that despite her talk of adventure, she would expect more than he could give.
She brushed a kiss over his jaw. “Why don’t we dispense with conversation and go back to the apartment?”
“We will wait for a while.”
She sighed. “Scorpio, we know Birkenfeld isn’t coming here. The bartender’s never seen him before. Besides, it’s late. No telling where he is. I just don’t see the point in staking out this place any longer.”
He outlined the scoop neck of her shirt with one fingertip. “I do not recall mentioning a stakeout.”
“Then just what do you have in mind?”
He slid his tongue along her lower lip. “Finishing what I began in the club. What I wanted to do before you lost your nerve.”
She inclined her head, allowing him full access to her delicate neck, which he plied with kisses. “I didn’t lose my nerve. The lights came up.”
“Perhaps you’re not as daring as you believe yourself to be,” he whispered with an added flick of his tongue on her earlobe.
“I took you into my house, didn’t I? That was pretty darned daring considering I didn’t know you.”
He raised his head and flattened his palm against her chest then slid it up to her throat. “True.” He circled his fingers around her neck. “I could have harmed you.”
He searched for fear in her eyes yet he saw nothing but heat. “But you didn’t, did you? And you won’t hurt me now.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I do know you better than you realize, Scorpio. I have you pegged as a good guy who’s driven into dangerous situations by some major demons, probably because of something that’s happened in your past. Something really terrible. Am I right?”
What had he told her last night in his drugged state? He dropped his hand from her throat. “I am driven by the search for justice.” And his own guilt and grief.
She laid one palm on his chest, above his thrumming heart. “I’m not wrong about this. I have very good instincts. And my instincts are telling me now—” she wriggled her bottom against him “—that you definitely need something from me.”
He did need her and want her, all of her. Wanted her with a fierceness that robbed him of control. Bending his head, he took her mouth again, deeper this time, more insistent as he palmed her breast, stroking his thumb back and forth across her rigid nipple. He slid his hand down and nudged her legs apart, seeking the damp heat between her thighs without formality. He wanted to touch her. Needed to touch her.
The panties proved to be a barrier, but only for a moment as he tugged them down partway with a one-handed grasp as Fiona lifted her hips, aiding him in his quest. She released a soft sigh when he divined her slick flesh and stroked the small bud that flourished with his touch. He pushed one finger inside her, then another, all the while keeping his mouth firmly mated with hers. As she moved her hips in sync with his caresses, he hardened more, painfully so, but that would not stop him.
She shuddered and moaned and only then did Darin break the kiss to watch her face. She was beautiful in the throes of pleasure, her eyes hazy and her lips wet from his kiss. After the spasms subsided, temptation to lower his head and give her another climax nearly overrode his need to be inside her.
Later, he decided. When they were in a bed and he could maneuver better. Where he could give every bit of himself, as much as she was willing to take. All that he could offer physically since he could offer nothing emotionally.
Yet when she looked up at him with satisfaction and smiled, he felt something tug deep inside him, an odd longing and unwelcome emotion. He pushed it away as he readjusted her clothing.
“Wow,” she said, still smiling.
“That is only the beginning.”
“A really great start.” She brought his head down and kissed him again, quick and hard. “Now what do you have planned for me next?”
He leaned over and whispered his plan in her ear, a common word in English that left no need for interpretation.
Her eyes went wide. “Well, that’s one way
to put it. A little crude, but you won’t get any argument from me.”
“The word is not important,” he told her. “It is how well you interpret the word.”
“How well do you do that, Scorpio?”
“Take me to your home and I will show you.”
“What about Birkenfeld?”
“I will find him. Tomorrow.”
* * *
From a car parked two spaces away, he watched the pair, furious to find that he hadn’t mortally wounded Shakir after all, yet satisfied to know he had discovered the man’s Achilles’ heel—a woman. No surprise to Roman Birkenfeld. Women were responsible for most of the ills of the world.
He craned his neck to get a better view of the car illuminated by an overhead guard light. Although Shakir was vulnerable at the moment, he didn’t trust that the tracker wouldn’t be quick on the draw even with his girlfriend in his lap doing who knew what to him. Even if he couldn’t exactly see what was going on, he did know they sure as hell weren’t talking after that little display of groping he’d witnessed a few moments before. He did imagine what they were doing, in great detail, and that fed his fury, his own lust.
He really couldn’t blame the bastard for wanting the redhead. She had the kind of body he wouldn’t mind exploring himself, and maybe he would do that in the near future, payment for her tackling him in the alley and nearly getting him killed.
But he had more important things to consider aside from base urges, namely how to rid himself of the man who was determined to hunt him down like common prey. However, he would be forced to wait to exact his revenge. Wait until the time was right. Until he had the opportunity to dole out the punishment Shakir deserved. In the meantime he had to obtain the funds to get out of Vegas. Out of the country.
The Millionaires’ Club: Ryan, Alex & Darin Page 33
