Radclyffe - Turn Back Time

Pearce looked where Wynter pointed and saw a woman who had to be Wynter's sister Rose, since she looked like her carbon copy, only slightly shorter. Rose was glued to the front of a surprisingly scruffy guy in a black leather jacket that looked very much like Pearce's. He had a diamond stud in his left ear and blue jeans that were torn out in the ass. Rose had her arms around his waist, both hands stuffed into his back pockets, and was squeezing said ass. "Tell me he's a law student too."

Wynter laughed. "He's a drug counselor when he isn't playing bass in a rock band."

"Interesting combination."

"Apparently it's working for them. Come on," Wynter said, grabbing Pearce's hand. "Let me introduce you."

If Rose was surprised by Pearce's presence, she didn't show it.

She smiled and extracted one hand from her companion's jeans and held it out. "Hi. I'm Rosie, and this is Wayne."

"Nice to meet you. I'm Pearce."

"Good to see you," Wayne said in a surprisingly mellow baritone.

Further conversation was curtailed as the doors opened and the crowd surged forward. Pearce and Wynter fell in behind Rose and Wayne in the haphazard line. Wynter held tightly to Pearce's hand, and in a few minutes the crowd had poured itself into the theater, from which all the seats had been removed on the main level. It was standing room only in the dark, warm space. Staircases on either side led to a balcony area where a few tables stood along the railing, but most of the area on that level was filled with people standing as well.

"It's really jammed," Wynter shouted above the din.

"We're going to go upstairs," Rose said, struggling for balance when someone unintentionally bumped her hip in passing. "We'll meet you after, if we don't see you up there."

"Okay." Wynter looked at Pearce. "Upstairs or down?"

"Your call," Pearce replied, automatically sliding her arm around Wynter's waist and pulling her close as two men with plastic cups of beer sidled past them.

"What do you say we stake out a place on the stairs?"

Pearce nodded as Rose and Wayne disappeared. "We'd better move fast."

Plenty of people had the same idea, but luckily they found two open steps halfway up along the wall. Pearce claimed the upper one and Wynter wedged in on the one just below her, leaving barely enough room for people to pass next to them. They shed their jackets and stashed them against the wall by their feet. The security staff, men and women in black T-shirts and jeans who shouted into walkie-talkies as they pushed through the throng, looked the other way despite the fact that standing on the stairs was in violation of code. The entire theater was wall-to-wall people by the time the warm-up band bounded onto the stage.

Wynter, her back lightly cushioned against Pearce's chest, tilted her head back against Pearce's shoulder. "You okay?"

"Terrific." Pearce steadied herself with a hand on either side of Wynter's hips when another person crowded onto the stair just behind her. As soon as she regained her balance, she quickly moved her hands.

"Sorry."

"No need to be." Wynter's face was very close to Pearce's. As the band started to play, she said, "I'm really glad you came tonight."

"Me too," Pearce shouted before all conversation became impossible.

Waitstaff, against all odds, managed to snake their way through the packed room holding aloft circular trays laden with bottles of beer.

Pearce snagged two, tossing what she hoped was a ten onto the tray before passing a bottle to Wynter. Unlike most openers, the first band was better than good, and forty-five minutes later the crowd was primed for the main attraction. When Patti Smith hit the stage growling, lean and hungry in leather pants and a faded Dylan T-shirt, the room was seething with the contagious energy of sex and booze and rebellion.

Wynter rocked against Pearce as she clapped and stomped, her body hot against Pearce's chest and stomach. The sounds were primal, the words prophetic, and Pearce was on fire. By the time Patti screamed that desire was the hunger, Wynter's hips pressed and rolled between Pearce's legs so hard that her mind filled with the red haze of arousal.

She had no conscious awareness of sliding her arms around Wynter's waist or of Wynter clasping her hands and tightening the embrace. When Patti proclaimed that the night was made for lovers, Pearce buried her face in the curve of Wynter's neck and breathed her scent, her mouth open against sweat-dampened skin. Moaning softly, she surrendered to sensation, content to have just this small, sweet surcease. But it was Wynter who wanted more.

At the first touch of Pearce's mouth against her neck, Wynter turned molten inside. Patti roared, the crowd raged, and Wynter soared to a place she'd never been. She arched her back and, without a single thought, pivoted and wrapped her arms around Pearce's neck. She fisted her hands in Pearce's hair and feasted on her mouth as if she'd been starving for years.

Pearce kissed her back, unable to do anything else. She'd wanted this for weeks. Wynter's mouth was hot, soft, and demanding at the same time. Wynter's tongue raced over the inside of her lips, and her stomach twisted with urgency. When she heard Wynter groan and felt the telltale rocking of Wynter's hips, some part of her mind separated itself from her wildly demanding body. She found herself looking down at them as if from a great distance, saw Wynter carried away on a wave of abandon, and she suddenly knew she had to stop. She had to stop it, because she understood the consequences.

"Hey," Pearce gasped, turning her head away from the kiss and brushing her lips over Wynter's ear. "I'm losing my grip here."

"Oh God, me too," Wynter moaned, nipping lightly at Pearce's neck. "I've been wanting to do that since Match Day."

Pearce fished in her pockets for her keys, and pressed them into Wynter's hand. "Take my car home. I need to take a walk."

Uncertain, Wynter searched her face. "Why? What is it?"

"This isn't Match Day anymore." Already slipping into the crowd, Pearce shook her head. "I gotta go, Wynter."

Wynter leaned back against the wall and closed her eyes. Her body was in turmoil, her mind incapable of rational thought, but somewhere, deep inside, she knew Pearce was right.

CHAPTER TWENTY

Pearce cut across the small lobby, ignoring the curious stares of the staff, and shouldered through the door. She carried her jacket hooked over her shoulder, not slowing for even an extra second to shrug it on. The heat from the simmering crowd and the unrelenting arousal chased her, propelling her as if she were besieged. It was nearly 11:00 p.m., and the biting cold never even registered in her mind as she strode west, forcing her way through the teeming streets. Even now, in the dead of winter, the nightlife pulsed along the twelve-block stretch of South Street extending from Penn's Landing on the Delaware River.

Boutiques, bars, tattoo parlors, and fast food kiosks jammed every available inch of real estate. Packs of teenagers jostled and preened, taking their first steps in the age-old mating rituals. Curious out-of towners gawked and the locals strolled. And Pearce ran.

She had only one goal in mind, and that was to put distance between herself and Wynter. She needed some space to resurrect her shattered defenses. She'd known that going out with Wynter tonight was a risk. She'd known for days, weeks in fact, that she'd been pretending.

Pretending that her attraction was controllable, her desire containable, and most dangerously of all, that Wynter was available. But she hadn't had the strength to walk away, and now she had to run. She wondered how far and how long it would take to run from the memory of Wynter's hungry kisses, the firm hot pressure of her body, the small sounds of pleasure that had cut through her with the deadly precision of surgical steel. Farther than she had yet, she knew that.