Irresistible Forces

by Catherine Ansaro et al

  "Whoa, baby."

  Her sister's reaction made Margo look up. God, how she wished she hadn't. The man chose that particular moment to shed most of his skimpy attire, leaving only a G-string between the ogling women and his family jewels. The crowd went wild.

  Margo went into shock.

  "I'm out of here. This is disgusting." She stood, and the contents of her open purse rolled onto the floor. "Damn."

  The dancer seemed to think her upright position had other implications. He moved closer to their table, lowering himself in front of her until his pelvis was within reach.

  Steph, obviously far more astute than Margo in such situations, rose to the occasion. She held a folded bill toward the man and deftly tucked it into his G-string.

  Still staring in horror, Margo tried to swallow, but her throat was too dry.

  "You need another drink, sis," Steph calmly suggested as the music faded and Tarzan returned to his jungle. The waiter made rounds during the brief intermission.

  Uncertain how or when, Margo found her spilled belongings back in her purse and herself back in her chair with another drink. Immediately removing the fruit, she sipped steadily. Some of her tension vanished beneath the heady power of demon rum. Her limbs felt warm and heavy. This was better. Much better.

  When the music again increased in volume, Margo was still uncertain why women paid money to be embarrassed like this, but she was considerably more willing now to investigate the possibilities. The alcohol had numbed her somewhat and loosened her inhibitions, which was probably why she rarely imbibed. Steph had always accused her of being a control freak.

  "This is the show with the Eroticops. It's great. I heard they have fresh meat—er, dancers." Steph sighed dramatically. "If all cops looked like these guys, I'd run stop signs on a regular basis."

  Eroticops? Steph seemed awfully familiar with the Studfinder's performers. Just how often did she come here? Margo cast her sister a cursory frown just as the lights dimmed again. The announcer, along with police sirens and flashing red and blue lights, signaled the beginning of the next set. Pencil and paper readied, she looked across the table at her sister.

  "Where'd they find him!" Steph asked in undeniable awe.

  Curious, Margo sought the catalyst for her sister's reaction and spotted him instantly. Her pencil fell from her grasp and rolled impotently across the table. Her notepad dangled unproductively from the fingertips of her left hand.

  This man was built even better than his predecessor, and at the moment he was still fully clothed. A blue policeman's uniform hugged every bulge and hollow of his body to perfection. The bill of his hat shadowed part of his face and eyes. Dark hair curled at his temples and neckline. For some imprudent reason, she wanted to know what color his eyes were.

  She felt her sister's gaze on her and jerked her attention away from the man on the stage, but only for a moment. A very brief moment.

  "Nice, huh?" Steph asked in that infuriating way she had of knowing what someone else was thinking. Four other "police officers" joined the first, flanking him in pairs to mimic his seductive movements.

  Margo could only nod. Despite her best intentions, she turned her gaze back to the stage, discovering that the lead dancer had moved to the front of the runway and seemed to be dancing just for her. In your dreams, silly. His stare never left her as he gyrated his hips and bent his knees, lowering himself for her inspection.

  Her face was hot—and the rest of her body wasn't exactly cool, come to think of it. The man still hadn't removed any of his costume, even though he'd been on stage for several minutes. Some members of the audience were suggesting—loudly—that he should proceed as expected. After all, the other four men in uniform had already shed most of their attire.

  For some unexplainable reason, Margo wanted to see what this beefcake looked like unwrapped. Flustered, she reached for her glass and drained the contents. Her head swam as he tossed his hat into her lap in one smooth motion. The smile he broadcasted was deadly.

  And familiar.

  Margo couldn't speak. It couldn't be…

  He peeled away his shirt and now wore nothing but his trousers. She swallowed hard, unable—unwilling—to drag her gaze from the mesmerizing specimen on the stage. She had to know.

  Much to her dismay, he blew her a kiss. It headed straight for her as if it had DNA and free will, planting itself right on her lips. She felt it—really, she did. A strange, fluttering sensation commenced in her belly and spread.

  She stole a peek at Steph. Her sister was riveted, as were the other women in the audience. Margo glanced quickly around the room, but her gaze was lured back to the dancing figure as if her optic nerves had a homing device. A blue spotlight suddenly bathed him, illuminating his features clearly.

  Realization hit home. With trembling fingers, she retrieved her pencil and made notes, though she knew her scribbles wouldn't make any sense later.

  Jared. Why now, after all this time?

  She felt his gaze boring into her as he danced and swayed on the stage. He must have recognized her, too. Commanding herself not to look, she bent her head over the tablet, scratching away as his shadow passed to and fro across the table amid the flashing lights.

  Oh, but she wanted to look.

  The hammering in her chest was almost as distracting as the heat inside her body. She'd gone two years without even wanting a man, let alone acting on it. A trickle of guilt filtered through her, but her natural instincts overshadowed it.

  Had Jared removed anything else? She had to know. Just one little peek…

  Garbed in nothing but a light blue metallic loincloth, he thrust his hips toward her in a timeless movement that never went out of style and never would. Heat suffused her, but she couldn't tear her attention from his gorgeous glistening and—God help her—achingly familiar body.

  Dark hair fell across his forehead in disarray. His jaw was square and strong. Of course, she didn't have to see his eyes to know they were blue.

  See, Mar go, this is what happens when you're celibate for two years. Of course, her reaction was reserved for this man, and only this man.

  She drew a deep breath, trying to ignore the twisting, squirming, dazzling male displayed for her simultaneous pleasure and torture. But she couldn't. Lifting her gaze, she found him staring. He gave her a slow, sexy smile when their gazes met.

  Oh, yeah, he definitely recognized her.

  It was magic.

  Just like in the movies.

  "This is a raid!"

  2

  Vaguely aware of chaos erupting all around her, Margo watched Jared retrieve his discarded clothing much more quickly than he'd jettisoned the garments. "Oh, this must be part of the show," she whispered, suddenly wishing she'd skipped the third tropical drink. She giggled at the absurdity of her situation, but Jared appeared at her side and gripped her elbow, turning her knees to rubber. After all this time and everything that had happened, here he was. Touching her.

  "You don't know me," he whispered through clenched teeth.

  "Wha—"

  He tightened his grip and leaned closer. "No matter what happens, you don't know me."

  She met his gaze, searching for answers to questions left unasked since college. "For now."

  "Thanks, I owe you."

  And Margo knew exactly how she would exact payment. Her boss wanted an interview with a male stripper. Well, now there was no doubt in her mind who would grant her that interview. "Yes, you do."

  Another uniformed man—definitely lacking a stripper's physique—approached them. "You'll both have to come downtown with—"

  "Downtown?" Margo blinked when they started toward the front entrance. "Are, we under arrest? I thought this was just part of the show."

  "Not hardly," the officer said, shaking his head.

  Margo glanced at her sister, who was being politely but firmly escorted to the door by a pair of uniformed officers.

  With a sigh, the apparently legitimate police off
icer gripped Margo and Jared by the elbows and escorted them through the door. "Outside with both of you."

  "Suits me. I seem to have worked up a little sweat." Jared shot Margo a lethal smile—one that rivaled the wattage of the parking lot lights.

  "Yeah, I'll say." Margo's gaze dipped to the open vee of his unbuttoned shirt. If he expected her to act like she didn't know him, then she would treat him the same way any other patron at the Studfinder might—as a side of meat. Prime, of course.

  Swaying slightly when the officer stepped from between them and released her arm, Margo clutched Jared's muscular forearm for support. He was, without a doubt, the most well-constructed male she'd ever encountered. Of course, he always had been. Despite his incredible physique, she still had trouble believing he'd chosen exotic dancing as his career. Not Jared Carson. Even so, she remembered that he'd studied Broadway jazz in college. Apparently, he'd found a use for that talent.

  The chilly evening air was like a bucket of ice water on her rum-blurred senses. She squinted, looking around for Steph in the parking lot menagerie. Suspicion nudged its way into the foggy, semidrunken fringes of her mind.

  "Are you really arresting me?" Margo asked, her mouth dry and sticky.

  "Not unless you give me a good reason." The policeman pushed his hat back on his head, then nodded toward her companion. "The dogs are going in."

  Dogs? Drugs. Maybe there was another angle to this story after all. She fished through her purse until she found her wayward pencil and opened her steno pad to make a few notes. "What reason do you have for believing there are drugs at the Studfinder, Officer?"

  The man released an exasperated sigh. "A reporter. I should've known." He shook his head and aimed his thumb over his shoulder. "You're all going downtown until we finish searching the place, then there may be some questions. That's all I know."

  Margo shot Jared a questioning look, but he was staring beyond her. His expression intense, a muscle twitching in his jaw, just the way she remembered. When his gaze met hers, a mask dropped neatly into place and another dark curl fell across his forehead. He smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. A stage smile, but why now?

  More important… why for her?

  Still, his grin waged a full-scale attack against her composure and almost won. Why couldn't he be a little less handsome and a lot less memorable?

  "I'm sure you'll be out so fast you'll hardly have time to read the graffiti in your cell," the policeman said in a mocking tone, "We usually don't hold you yuppies long."

  Pencil poised in midair, Margo swallowed hard. "Cell?"

  "Just kidding. Lighten up."

  "Hey, Margo, you got the cute one. Way to go, sis."

  Groaning as her sister was escorted away, Margo rubbed her eyes with thumb and forefinger. "Mom's going to kill me when she hears about this."

  The policeman chuckled. "She looks old enough to drink."

  Shaking her head in self-loathing, Margo released a sigh of surrender. "Arrest me, Officer. Let's get this over with."

  Chuckling again, he led her and Jared to a car, passing two women singing "I Am Woman" at the top of their lungs.

  They were being dragged down to the police station, and there was more to this than a night of exotic dancing. She could use this situation to her advantage.

  Margo tried to stay close to the door as the car rolled out of the parking lot, though knowing Jared sat mere inches away made it difficult to concentrate. Until she found out exactly what was going on, it might be better if she maintained a safe distance.

  She turned her attention to scratching a few more notes about the atmosphere, the way it felt to be incarcerated in the back of a squad car, though not under arrest…

  And trying to ignore the heat of Jared's gaze as he sat staring at her through the darkness.

  Heaven, help me.

  Not a moment too soon, the officer parked behind the police station. They climbed out of the car and went through the rear entrance. In better times, Margo had used the front entrance. She was mortified, though she reminded herself they weren't being arrested. It could be worse. Much worse.

  In the bright squad room light, she couldn't help noticing that the other women from the Studfinder looked quite ordinary. They looked like… mothers.

  "I want to call my attorney," she said quietly, the rum's numbing effect abandoning her.

  "I already did that," Steph said from across the room.

  "There you are." Margo breathed a sigh of relief. "You and your bright ideas about how to do my job. Thanks a lot."

  Steph flashed her a sheepish grin as Margo slumped into a chair beside her. With difficulty, she ignored Jared's eyes on her from across the room. None of this made sense. The Jared she'd once known and loved would never have put on the show she'd witnessed this evening. And what a show. Her face heated at the memory of his bare skin rippling beneath the flashing lights.

  With a sigh, she planted her chin in her hands and peeked at Steph from the corner of her eye, grateful her family had never met Jared in person. "You called Warren, then?"

  Steph nodded. "Yeah, but he's out of town."

  "Of course he's out of town." Margo straightened and allowed her head to hit the wall with a soft thud. "The perfect finale to a perfect day."

  "I wish Nick…"

  Margo smiled sadly when her sister left her comment unfinished. If Nick were alive, he'd have had them out of here by now. "I know. Me, too."

  "They're sending a new junior partner to spring us."

  "Oh, that figures." Margo sighed again, physically, mentally, and emotionally drained.

  "Who's in charge here?" a feminine voice demanded from the doorway.

  Glancing up at the redheaded woman, Margo noted she was well-dressed and built like Marilyn Monroe.

  "I am." The officer at the desk looked up at the newcomer. "May I help you, ma'am?"

  The woman grimaced slightly, then smiled. "I'm Raquel Eastwood from Riley and Gray—I mean, Warren Grayson's office."

  "Oh, thank goodness you're here." Steph stood and grabbed the woman's hands in both her own. "Can you get us out of here?"

  "Done."

  The woman's smile took Margo aback, and there was something about her eyes… "So we're free to go?" Margo asked, rising to stand beside Steph.

  Ms. Eastwood nodded and snapped her fingers. "You bet. I have a couple of forms to sign, then we're out of here."

  "There were others," Margo began, her gaze inexorably drawn to Jared's slouched figure against the other wall. His expression was so intense it stole her breath. She needed to talk to him, to learn why he was here and why he'd been at the Studfinder. Somehow, she sensed he wouldn't welcome her questions now, and she needed a hot bath and a couple of aspirin. Maybe more than a couple.

  But there was a story here—more of one than she'd originally thought. Jared knew something.

  Frowning, she dragged her gaze from Jared to ask the attorney something, but Ms. Eastwood was staring at Jared, too. Of course she was. Jared was the kind of man any woman would ogle, and he wasn't Margo's anymore. She had no right to feel jealous. But she did.

  "I guess you've all had enough excitement for one night," Jared said with a chuckle, gaining Margo's immediate attention. The expression in his eyes was no longer intense, nor was it for her alone. Again, the mask was in place.

  What was his game? Narrowing her eyes, she reminded herself that no one else here knew who he was. He'd shushed her back at the Studfinder. For now she would play along. However, she reserved the right to collect payment later for keeping his secret.

  "Excitement?" Her voice dripped sarcasm, and she mentally patted herself on the back when his eyebrow arched ever so slightly. "The only exciting thing that happened this evening was watching you parade around in front of a bunch of screaming women. Half-naked. More than half."

  "I'll say," Steph said.

  Ms. Eastwood shook her head slowly, her gaze riveted to Jared. "Another surprise." She cast a sidelon
g glance at Margo.

  After Margo and Steph finished answering a few questions about the Studfinder and signing some papers, the attorney offered to drive them home. They walked by Jared, who stood and flashed them his stage smile again. "Nice meeting you, ladies."

  "Very nice." Steph giggled.

  "Shake it, don't break it, man," Ms. Eastwood said in a sultry tone.

  Margo couldn't prevent herself from giggling along with Steph, though her reasons were far different from her sister's. She'd only known one person who would've had the guts to say something like that to Jared Carson, and he was dead.

  Jared's eyes sparked and one corner of his mouth quirked upward. "Lawyers. Who needs 'em?" He turned his gaze on Margo. "Reporters, lawyers… and women."

  "Hey, watch it, buster." Raquel placed one hand on her curvy hip." Margo's a reporter."

  "Anything for a story?" The expression on Jared's face now could only be called a smirk.

  Margo elevated her chin and took a deep breath, sensing this was part of his secretive role. "You bet." She noted a wink of approval from Ms. Eastwood. Just how had Warren's new partner known she was a reporter? Well, it didn't really matter. This nightmare was almost over, except for dealing with Jared.

  Later.

  3

  Nick stripped off his dress and infernal high heels the minute his apartment door closed behind him. Thank goodness he and Grayson had seen the wisdom of opening their offices in an old Victorian. The upstairs was a furnished apartment—the perfect place for the new junior partner to hang out for a while.

  The perfect halfway house for a halfway angel.

  He had no idea how Séamus had managed to create a position for Raquel Eastwood in the firm, but it was like magic. From the moment Raquel had walked through the door, everyone treated her as if she'd gone through a normal hiring process and they'd been expecting her. Amazing. Even Mrs. Brown, the old bat receptionist, hadn't suspected a thing. This divine intervention stuff had its merits.

  Raquel had a driver's license, a Social Security card, a diploma hanging on her office wall, and she was a member of the Bar. She was as real as anyone else walking down the street.