Regina Kyle - Triple Time

“A rave,” she repeated, adjusting the fringed tube top she’d paired with a denim miniskirt and white gogo boots. The movement did wonderful things for her breasts. “It’s an all-night dance party.”

“I know what a rave is.” Gabe smirked. “I crawl out from under my rock once in a while.” Plus, he had a case a couple of years ago involving a rave.

“Well, come on, then. We’re burning midnight.”

He looked down at his polo shirt and khakis. Another ten minutes and she would have caught him bare chested and in sweatpants, his usual bedtime attire. “Don’t you think I’m a little underdressed?”

She shook her head, her long, dark hair, held off her face by a floral band, rippling. “Anything goes at these things.”

He grimaced, remembering his case. Teenagers, illegal substances and slam dancing were a lethal combination. “So I’ve heard.”

“If you’re talking about drugs and sex...”

He raised an eyebrow.

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Do you really think I’m so stupid I’d put your job at risk?”

“No, I don’t think you’re stupid at all.” She might not have an Ivy League education like most of his colleagues, but he’d pit her street smarts against their book learning any day.

“Not all raves are dens of iniquity. True rave culture is about peace, unity and respect. It’s about expressing yourself in any way you feel comfortable, in a place where you feel no fear, just love and joy from everyone around you.”

He snorted. “You sound like a greeting card.”

“Very funny. You need to loosen up, and this will get you out of your comfort zone and in touch with younger voters.” She tapped one patent-leather toe on the linoleum. “Now quit stalling and let’s go.”

Busted.

He picked up his keys and wallet from the hall table, stuffed them in his pockets and closed the door. He wasn’t pleased that Holcomb seemed to think he needed fixing, but Devin was front and center, ready, willing and able to help him “express himself.” Might as well get it over with. “Where exactly are we going?”

She started down the corridor. “A vacant warehouse in the meat-packing district.”

He trailed after her, admiring the way the skintight skirt cupped her ample bottom. Why did the bad girls always look so good?

They stopped at the elevator and he pressed the down button. “How do you find out about these events? Is there some sort of website or something?”

“There are message boards and forums.” With a ding, the elevator door slid open and she got in. “But I found out about this one from some friends. That’s how I know it’s okay.”

He followed her inside and hit the button for the ground floor. “So my job’s safe. I still don’t understand how going to a rave is supposed to get Holcomb to endorse me.”

“Your boss wants you to be more relaxed, more spontaneous, right?” She did a little shimmy, bringing her backside dangerously close to his groin. “There’s nothing more freeing than dance.”

Oh, yeah, that was freeing, all right. Any more freeing and he’d take her right there in the damned elevator.

He stabbed at the button again, as if that would speed their trip. This night was going be torture. In more ways than one.

Ding.

The elevator opened and Gabe hightailed it out of there. Maybe outside the cramped car he stood a chance of resisting her.

Right. And maybe he stood a chance of serving on the United States Supreme Court. She bent down to pull up one of her boots, simultaneously lifting her skirt and lowering her tube top, and he swore under his breath. Like she wasn’t showing enough skin already.

“I’ll get us a cab.” Without so much as a backward glance, he strode across the lobby, through the door and to the curb, his arm raised. The sooner this evening started, the sooner it would end.

“Not so fast.” Devin yanked his arm down and dragged him toward Canal Street. “Tonight we’re slumming it.”

She pointed down the block toward the subway station.

“You consider the subway slumming it?”

“No. But I figured you would.”

“I take the subway. On occasion.”

“Oh, yeah?” She paused at the top of the subway stairs and faced him. “When was the last time?”

He lowered his chin. “Okay, so it’s been a while. But only because I started biking to work when the weather got warm.”

Her eyes traveled the length of his body and her tongue darted out to lick her lips. “It shows.”

She brushed past him and headed down the stairs, giving him another view of her spectacular ass. He stood for a minute, his mouth open. Christ, she was bold. He’d never had a woman check him out so blatantly. He wasn’t sure if he liked it.

Okay, that was a lie. He liked it. A lot.

“Are you coming or not?” Devin called from the bottom of the stairs.

Not yet. But maybe later...

He bounded down the steps, shaking off that thought as quickly as it had sprung up. Figuratively and literally. “Right behind you.”

The subway ride was uneventful. If Devin singing with a street drummer and helping a guy dressed as Spiderman find his cell phone could be called uneventful. All in only three stops. When they got off, she led Gabe a few blocks to a large brick building.

“This is it?” He looked around. Quiet. Deserted.

“Just wait.” She knocked on the heavy metal door.

“Dev!” The burly, bald-headed man who opened it greeted her with a bear hug. “Where you been, girl?”

“Here and there.” She hugged him back. “Got room for two more?”

“For you, of course.” He opened the door wider and eyed Gabe. “Who’s your friend?”

“Carlos, this is Gabe. He’s a virgin,” she said with a wink.

“A what?” Gabe choked.

“She means it’s your first rave.” Carlos ushered them in and closed the door. “Don’t worry. Devin’s a real pro. She’ll take care of you.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Gabe muttered.

Carlos showed them down a long hall and then a flight of stairs. As they descended, the insistent beat of techno music grew stronger, vibrating through the soles of Gabe’s loafers and up his body.

He bent his head so his mouth was at Devin’s ear. “This might be a good time to confess I’m not much of a dancer.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll lead.” She grabbed his hand. “Just stick close and follow me.”

“Have fun, kids.” The music was deafening now, and Carlos had to yell to be heard as he swung open the door at the bottom of the stairs.

Gabe nodded in acknowledgment, not even bothering to try to shout over the noise, and he and Devin stepped into what seemed like another dimension.

The big open space was wall-to-wall people of all ages, from college kids to baby boomers. Some were dressed in street clothes like him. Others wore all manner of costumes: tutus, hot pants, sequined bras, fluorescent wigs, outrageous hats and glasses. Gabe could have sworn one woman’s dress was made entirely of duct tape.

A huge stage filled the far end of the room, showcasing a DJ behind a wall of electronic equipment. Giant screens displayed images from an elaborate laser light show.

“Come on,” Devin said, drawing him into the crowd. “Let’s dance.” Or at least that’s what he thought she said. They didn’t teach lip-reading at Columbia. Or Officer Development School.

The crush of bodies on what Gabe supposed could be considered a dance floor pressed them together, chest to chest, hip to hip. Laughing, Devin threw her head back and raised her arms. Then she started moving, swaying, undulating against him and he thought his cock would burst through his khakis.