Lori Foster - Outrageous

She didn’t want to touch him.

Oh, what a lie! She wanted to touch him, all right, but she wouldn’t, not here in front of an audience, not ever. She was a respectable lady, she was… She squeaked, leaning back on her seat as he put one hand on the light frame over the bar, the other beside her on the bar stool. She was caged in, unable to breathe. She could see the light sheen of sweat caught in his chest hair, see the small, dark tuft of fine hair under his arm. It seemed almost indecent, and somehow very personal, to see his armpit.

Her body throbbed with heat, and she couldn’t swallow. He stood there, demanding, insistent, so very carefully, using only her fingertips, she tucked the bill into his shorts. She registered warm, taut skin, and a sprinkling of crisp hair.

Still holding her gaze, he smiled, his eyes narrowing only the slightest bit. He leaned down next to her face, then placed a small, chaste kiss on her cheek. It had been whisper-light, almost not there, but so potent she felt herself close to fainting.

The audience screamed, loving it, loving him. He laughed, his expression filled with satisfaction, then went back to his dancing. Women begged for the same attention he’d given her, but he didn’t comply. Emily figured one pawn in the audience was enough.

Though his focus was now directed elsewhere, it still took Emily several minutes to calm her galloping heartbeat. She continued to watch him, and that kept her tense, because despite everything she’d been brought up to believe, the man excited her.

His dark hair, long in the back, was damp with sweat and beginning to curl. With each movement he made, his shoulders flexed, displaying well-defined muscles and sinew. His backside, held tight in the black briefs, was trim and taut. And his thighs, so long and well-sculpted, looked like the legs of an athlete.

His face was beautiful, almost too beautiful. It was the kind of face that should make innocent women wary of losing their virtue. Green eyes, framed by deliciously long dark lashes and thick eyebrows, held cynical humor and were painfully direct and probing when he chose to use them that way. His nose was straight and narrow, his jaw firm.

Emily realized she was being fanciful, and silently gathered her thoughts. She needed to concentrate on what she’d come to do—finding the gun dealer. According to her brother, who at sixteen had no business hanging out in this part of town, he’d bought the gun on this street. It had been a shady trade-off from the start, cash for the illegal weapon. But John was in a rebellious stage, and his companions of late had ranged from minor gang members to very experienced young ladies. Emily prayed she could help him get back on the straight and narrow, that he could find his peace on an easier road than she’d taken. When she thought of the scars he’d have to live with, the regrets, she knew, deep in her heart, the only way to give him that peace was to find enough evidence to put the gun dealer away.

Though Emily planned to change his mind, John thought his life was over. What attractive, popular teenager could handle the idea of going through life with his face scarred? Then she thought of other kids—kids who might buy a duplicate of the same gun; kids who might be blinded rather than scarred. Or worse. The way the gun had exploded, it could easily have killed someone. And despite her parents’ wishes, Emily couldn’t stand back and allow that to happen. Her conscience wouldn’t allow it.

The show finally ended, the music fading with the lighting until the floor was in darkness. The applause was deafening. And seconds later, the officer was back, his leather jacket slung over his shoulder, his pants and boots in his hand. He thanked the bartender, then took Emily’s arm without any explanation, and rapidly pulled her toward an inside door. They narrowly missed the mob of advancing women.

Emily wanted to run, but she’d never in her life resorted to such a display. Besides, now that she knew he wasn’t really a policeman, a plan was forming in her mind.

He pulled her into a back room, shut the door, then flipped on a light switch. Emily found herself in a storage closet of sorts, lined with shelves where cleaning supplies sat and a smelly mop tainted the air. A leather satchel rested in the corner. He didn’t bother dressing. Instead, he tossed his clothes to the side and moved to stand a hairbreadth away from her.

“You gave me a fifty.”

Emily blinked. His words were nowhere near what she’d expected to hear. She tucked in her chin. “I beg your pardon?”

He pulled the cash from his briefs, stacking the bills together neatly in his large hands. “You gave me a fifty-dollar bill. I hadn’t realized my show was quite that good.”

A fifty! Oh, Lord, Emily. She had no intention of telling him it hadn’t been deliberate, that she’d been unable to pull her gaze away from him long enough to find the proper bills. What she’d given him was part of the money earmarked for buying information.

Maybe she could still do that.

Shrugging, she forced her eyes away from his body and stared at the dingy mop. “Since you’re not a law enforcement officer, I was hoping the money would…entice you to help me.”

He snorted, not buying her line for a second. Emily was relieved he was gentleman enough not to say so. He gave her a look that curled her toes, then asked, “What kind of help do you need, lady?”

It was unbelievably difficult to talk with him so near, and so nearly naked. He smelled delicious, of warm, damp male flesh, though she tried her best not to notice. But his body was too fine to ignore for long, despite her resolve not to give in to unladylike tendencies—such as overwhelming lust—ever again.

She licked her dry lips, then met his eyes. His gaze lingered on her mouth, then slowly coasted over the rest of her body. She knew she wasn’t particularly attractive. She had pondered many disguises for this night, disguises ranging anywhere from that of a frumpy homeless lady, to a streetwalker. Somehow, she couldn’t imagine herself making a convincing hooker. She was slight of build and her body had never quite…bloomed, as she’d always hoped for. She did, however, think she made an adequate transient.

She cleared her throat. Stiffening her spine, which already felt close to snapping, she said, “I need information.”

“Your little trio of drunks didn’t tell you enough?”

Since he appeared to have guessed her mission, she didn’t bother denying it. “No. They didn’t really know anything. And I had to be careful. They didn’t seem all that trustworthy. But it’s imperative I find out some facts. You…you seem well acquainted with the area?”

She’d said it as a question, and he answered with a nod.

“Good. I want to know of anyone who’s selling guns.”

He closed his eyes, his mouth twisting in an ironic smirk. “Guns? Just like that, you want to know who’s dealing in guns? God, lady, you look like you could go to the nearest reputable dealer and buy any damn thing you wanted.” He took a step closer, reaching out his hand to flip a piece of her hair. “I don’t know who you thought you’d fool, but you walk like money, talk like money…hell, you even smell like money. What is it? The thrill of going slumming that has you traipsing around here dressed in that getup?”

Emily sucked in her breath at his vulgar question and felt her temper rise. “You have fifty dollars of my money. The least you can do is behave in a civilized, polite manner.”

“Wrong.” He stepped even closer, the dark, sweat-damp hair on his chest nearly brushing against the tip of her nose. He had to bend low to look her in the eyes, but he managed. “The least I can do is steer your fancy little tail back where you belong. Go home, little girl. Get your thrills somewhere else, somewhere where it’s safe.”