Regina Kyle - Triple Time

“What are you doing?” he mouthed.

She smiled and looped an arm around his neck, tugging him impossibly closer. He tensed, certain she could feel his erection straining against his zipper.

Christ. What had happened to his legendary self-control? The guys at work called him Mr. Spock, and it wasn’t because he had pointy ears.

Gabe gritted his teeth and focused on a spot somewhere just above Devin’s left shoulder. Anything to distract him from the seductive way her breasts shimmied under her tiny tube top.

With her free hand, she grabbed his waist. “Move those hips,” she shouted. “You’re as stiff as a freaking statue.”

Oh, he was stiff all right. But not in the way she meant. “I told you, I can’t dance.”

She rose up on her toes to speak into his ear. “Just think of it as sex standing up. With your clothes on. In public.” She gave him a wicked grin. “You can do that right?”

He smiled back. “I can try.”

“Good.”

She started swaying again, using the hand at his waist to make him move with her. After a minute, he relaxed and gave in to the rhythm of the music and the soft but insistent pressure of her hand. With each step, each brush of her chest against his, his pulse quickened and his breath grew more ragged.

Gabe dragged his gaze from Devin’s and scanned the crowd. It was either that or go from the simulated sex she called dancing to getting down and dirty for real right there in the middle of the floor.

A few gyrating bodies away, a man in a leather vest and pants was doing his best impression of moonwalking. He turned, and his eyes locked on Gabe. A slow, sardonic smile spread across his face as he held out his thumb and index finger in the shape of a gun. He pointed it at Gabe, then shifted his aim to Devin before pulling the imaginary trigger.

Fuck. Gabe knew that ugly mug. Had seen it in court every day for three months, felt those eyes boring into the back of his head from the gallery when the jury announced its guilty verdict and the judge pronounced sentence—life in prison without parole.

“We’ve got to get out of here,” he yelled, unwrapping Devin’s arm from around his neck. “Now.”

“What—”

“No time for questions.” He pulled her farther into the fray, away from both the mock gunman. And, unfortunately, the door they’d come in. “Is there another exit?”

“This way,” she hollered back, taking the lead and pushing through the crowd toward the stage. “Like Carlos said, I’ll take care of you.”

* * *

“WHAT THE HELL was that all about?” Devin asked when they were finally outside the building and she didn’t have to scream her lungs out to be heard. One minute she was sure Gabe had been about to let go, to give in to the music and the crazy, crazy lust swirling between them. The next, he’d bolted for the door, colder than a flat frog on the Cross Bronx Expressway.

“Not yet.” His eyes flicked from left to right, settling on an alley alongside the warehouse. “Come on. We can hide down here for a few minutes. I want to make sure we’re not being followed.”

“Followed?” She struggled to keep up with him despite her long legs. “What is this, CSI ?”

“No.” He ducked into the alley, grabbing her arm and pulling her into the shadows with him. “This is real.”

The tone of his voice made goose bumps rise on her arms.

“What happened back there?” she whispered.

“Nothing you need to worry about.”

“Then why am I cowering in an alley at one in the morning?”

He put a hand against the brick wall and let out a long, slow breath. “Let’s just say I ran into someone I’d rather not see.”

She surveyed the overflowing dumpster, the abandoned refrigerator, the puddle of something a little too close to her left boot that didn’t look or smell like water. Mr. Clean had to be desperate to drag her into this cesspool. “You must really hate this guy. What’d he do to you?”

“It’s what I did to him.” Gabe gave her a sidelong glance. “I put his younger brother in prison.”

“Oh.” She nodded. “I can see how that’d piss him off.”

“The guy was guilty.”

“I believe you. But I’m guessing big bro was harder to convince.” She wrinkled her nose. “How long do we have to hide down here? It smells like a sewer. And I think there’s something moving in that pile of newspapers.”

“Just a few more minutes.” He poked his head around the corner then pulled it back again. “Until I’m sure the coast is clear.”

She flexed her tired toes in her boots and looked for someplace to sit down. Her choices were a plastic milk crate with a hole through the bottom, an overturned five-gallon bucket that looked like it hadn’t been washed since Obama took office or the suspicious newspapers. She gave up and leaned against the wall next to Gabe. “Not exactly what I had planned for tonight. But at least it’s out of your comfort zone.”

“I think it’s safe to say this entire evening’s been out of my comfort zone.”

She turned her head to study him and found his eyes on her. Something in his stare made her breath catch, and it was a second before she could form a coherent sentence. “I don’t know. I thought you were doing pretty good in there. A few more minutes and you’d have been glow-sticking with the best of them.”

Or I’d have been dry humping you in the middle of the dance floor.

She tried to tell herself what she felt for him was purely physical. Gabe was a certified hottie. She’d have to be six feet under not to want him. That must be why her knees were wobbly and her heart was practically pounding out of her chest. Well, that or their sprint to the alley.

The trouble was she suspected it was something more. She was starting, God forbid, to actually like the guy. When she’d shown up at his apartment, unannounced and dressed like a throwback from the sixties, she’d half expected him to slam the door in her face. Instead, he’d been a good sport, going along with her crazy plan and letting her drag him and his two left feet onto the dance floor. Hell, she’d even been having fun until he went all cloak and dagger on her.

“Glow-sticking?” He shifted closer to her and rested his forearm against the wall above her head. The stench of the alley faded, replaced by a mix of toothpaste, soap and his woodsy cologne.

“It’s pretty self-explanatory.” She swallowed hard to relieve the sudden dryness in her throat. “You...”

“Quiet.” He held up a hand.

“What the...?”

He cut her off with a finger on her lips as the sound of footsteps and distant chatter grew louder.

“Damn it, we lost him.” A male voice, tight and gruff.

“Are you sure it was him?” Another man, this one higher pitched.

“Sure, I’m sure. Do you think I’d forget the face of the scumbag who locked Frank up?”

“What’s a district attorney doing at a rave?”

“How the fuck should I know? Maybe he’s undercover.” The footsteps stopped and Devin could just make out two hulking shadows at the mouth of the alley. Their backs to her, they looked like linebackers, big and bulky and capable of inflicting serious bodily injury without breaking a sweat.

Shit . The night had gone from bad to worse to flat-out disastrous.

She held her breath and shifted nearer to Gabe, who slipped his hand from her mouth to her wrist and pulled her around the Dumpster.

The sharp rasp of a match strike echoed in the muggy August air. “How about that chick he was with? Sweet piece of ass.”

Instinctively, Devin lunged toward the voices, but Gabe held her back, wrapping a protective arm around her waist and tugging her against his rock-solid torso. She pressed her lips together, her heart beating fast from the threat of being discovered—and from Gabe’s hot, hard embrace.