“Looks good,” he muttered. As she backed away, ready to flee, his big, red-haired hand snaked out and grabbed her wrist, easily encircling the small bone. Roxie attempted to jerk free without making a scene but failed to extricate herself.
“Would you come out with me? I’m kinda gettin’ lost in LA. Big place, you know.”
When hell freezes over. How do I extricate myself from him?
He scratched his long, untrimmed beard and the blank, almost lifeless look he gave her caused a shiver to run down her spine.
“No,” she told him firmly and quietly.
His hand clamped over hers again, tighter this time. Her gaze met his bloodshot eyes. Had he been drinking or shooting up? None of that was her style.
“I was really hoping we could become friends.”
Pain roared through her wrist, making it hard to think clearly. There was no use in mincing words with him.
“Let me go—”
A smooth, confident, very masculine voice intervened. “The lady said to let her go, chum.”
A feminine thrill shot through Roxie. The sexiest man alive was coming to her rescue. She dared to transfer her gaze to him. His face was impassive. The midnight-blue Armani suit moulded his physique precisely, showing off bulging biceps, a trim waist and sculpted thighs. Those smouldering gray eyes meant business too, with a glare that would have left most men fleeing in fear. Not her tormentor, though.
Deliberately, Plaid Shirt laboured to his feet. “Or else what, asshole?”
Uh-oh.
Roxie didn’t want the diner to become a battlefield between two male egos—or worse, two male bodies. She had no doubt who would be the winner in a physical contest even though Red had an extra hundred pounds on Charles. Besides, she could stick up for herself and didn’t need Charles’ help, although the feminine side of her revelled briefly in the knowledge that he was standing up for her.
She had a few tricks of her own. Straightening her shoulders, she said in a breathy whisper that meant business, “I can handle this.”
Charlie’s arms rested easily at his sides, his fists unclenched. It was as if he didn’t see her. He kept his eyes on the other man. “When a lady speaks, you listen.” His voice was terse and lethal.
Roxie gave a deep sigh. Either this brewing battle would play out by itself, or she had to intervene. In the back of her mind, she sensed the diners staring, perhaps wondering what the heck was going on. She had to end the momentum toward disaster in a hurry. She thought quickly. If she inserted two fingers between her lips, she could hope the loud whistle would bring the men to their senses, but she didn’t think so. Or she could pretend to faint which was, in her opinion, a rather lame action. Or she could wait the two out. None of those seemed like good options.
In her best no-nonsense tone, Roxie warned, “Whoever wants to throw the first punch, use this as your target.” Daring both men, she pointed an index finger at her chin.
Charles’ eyes widened in dismayed surprise. Plaid Shirt cursed under his breath as his bloodshot gaze fell on her face. “Naw, I ain’t never hit a woman before. Not about to start now.” Stiffly, he turned and limped away, shoving open the diner’s front door with such force that the glass rattled dangerously.
Charles pressed his lips together in a tight grimace and focused stormy gray eyes on her. “LA is more than I bargained for.” With that said, he turned on his heel and strode out.
Her lips parted in astonishment, Roxie watched him go, fighting for something to say.
Would “thank you” work? Or what about “you forgot your order, sir”?
Eileen sidled up to her and whispered unctuously, “Talk about killing two birds with the same stone.”
Dumbstruck, Roxie stayed silent. She’d just managed to chase away the sexiest man on earth. She should have known Charles Vernon was a man she could have in her fantasies but never in real life.
She returned to her work. Time dragged on and on, interminably. When the bell above the entrance jangled, she looked up to check if it was Charlie coming back, but on each occasion the patron was someone else, someone less interesting, less handsome. Maybe she’d have to seek him out at his office…but she dismissed the hasty thought. What would she say to him anyway? I want to have sex with you? She was a waitress in a diner that served the courthouse and its vicinity. Charlie was mega wealthy and probably had his choice of women at any time. The rumination did nothing to soothe her. Unless she divulged her true identity, Charlie was one of the few unattainable men in her world and she’d have to accept that.
Chapter Two
LA is more dangerous than I bargained for? Of all the stupid things to say! And I still haven’t had lunch.
Charlie turned left instead of right and headed toward a park, far enough away from the wooden burger that he wouldn’t crane his head to see it and wonder about Roxie. Still, he pondered, gazing emptily out onto the fountain in which several people from nearby high rises waded in the warm water. What if the man in the plaid shirt came back to toy mercilessly with her? Had Charlie done wrong by leaving her undefended? How had she managed with scumbags before? Surely any waitress knew how to deal with men like that? Did Roxie enjoy her job? She appeared to like her coworkers and the diner patrons.
More questions roared through his mind. Where did she come from? How had she learned to handle herself in such a genteel yet forceful manner? He grinned with amusement. He was willing to bet he wasn’t wrong about her, that she came from a higher social circle than the one she currently worked in.
Sitting on the grass, he glanced back toward where he had come from. He could barely make out the highest point of the top of the big roof burger. Should he return and make certain Roxie was all right? Sometimes incidents like the one she’d been through left women rattled. He needed to go back and, if for no other reason than to reassure himself, ascertain that she was okay. He couldn’t get her out of his mind, how the candy-pink uniform clung to each inch of her body, outlining every curve, how the pearly white buttons lying on her breasts begged to be unfastened with a gentle touch to reveal the delicious, tempting skin underneath.
He was having trouble breathing thinking about her, naked, without her uniform. His heart clutched in his chest. He filled his lungs as deeply as he could with the hot, humid air. How could he be in such a state over a woman whom he hardly knew? And for the second time that day. Southern Californian chicks were
hot
.
In his imagination, Roxie faced him in a flowing black, strapless gown, her eyes shiny and her arms wrapped around his neck. He lowered his head and kissed her glossy, parted lips with a featherlight touch. Her bosom, pressing erotically against his chest, heaved up and down with need. Her fragrance enveloped him in its subtle cocoon, drowning out his own musky scent. Lifting the left side of the gauzy gown, he edged her knees apart. His cock hardened so painfully that he could barely draw in a breath. Roxie moaned under his tender assault and that one sound of longing almost drove him over the edge. Yet he hung on, his overwhelming desire to pleasure her warring with his wish to have her quickly, to put an end to his torture.
“Do you want me?” she asked in a hoarse whisper, her liquid blue gaze assessing his face.
He laughed softly. “Need you.” He took her small wrist and settled her unresisting hand over his erection. Her fingers brushed lightly against his rigid shaft through the silk of his trousers. Every nerve ending in his body fired up, shooting darts of passion through him and into his penis.
She smiled that even-toothed, cheerful smile that dazzled him and comforted him. “Words could never let you know how beautiful and tempting you are,” he murmured on a groan.
Her laugh was as musical as her voice, stroking him, arousing him, taking him higher sexually than he’d ever been before. His balls were tight and painful now. He swallowed hard, attempting to ease the fierce ache. Slowly, he pushed the satin from her shoulders just enough to reveal the swell of her breasts. His intake of air rasped in a dry throat as Roxie’s warm breath fanned his cheeks.
She arched one eyebrow and said with a crooked smile, “You’re not so bad yourself.” Leaning against his thighs, she trembled like the most delicate of butterflies.
Her words made him chuckle ever so softly. He wasn’t used to women complimenting him. He accepted with good grace. “You’re an angel,” he remarked, his ears ringing loudly. His angel of mercy, who would soon put him out of his misery…but more torment would come before that.
The black satin against the pale alabaster of her throat and shoulders aroused him to fever pitch. Around them in a wide circle, the dancers performed a slow, sensual waltz. The women sparkled in their multicolored finery and glimmering jewels and the men held them as carefully as crystal wineglasses. Roxie and he stood in the midst of grandeur and yet were somehow apart from it. He ordered a canopied bed with netting to be brought forth.
Roxie was oblivious to the dancers surrounding them, her blue eyes gleaming with heat and passion. She moved a few steps back and, with her gaze intently fixed on his, she slid the gown’s bodice from her breasts. As he bent forward, the gown rustled the rest of the way down her body and pooled around her feet to the polished floor, hiding her high heels and her crimson-red toenails. Her breasts jutted forward and her lovely lips gave a wide, playful smile. She twined herself into the diaphanous material hanging from a bed’s canopy. Silk rasped against netting. Charlie sucked in a deep breath. Lord have mercy, but she was more beautiful than he’d imagined. If only he could reach out and touch her flawless skin, those globes that tempted him to lean forward and kiss them one by one, ending with his hungry lips on her extended areolas, to greedily suck on them, to savor their sweet taste.
“It’s all yours,” she said, running her tapered fingers down the inside of her breasts, down to her navel and into the thatch of curly hair covering her mons. Clearly she was all blonde, and the knowledge left Charlie panting heavily.
Stop!
His heart hammered in his chest and he shifted against the concrete wall in an attempt to find a modicum of relief. Cold, hard reality returned and a sudden emptiness filled him. If he was at the top, what was there left to achieve? He was going on thirty-six and there was nowhere to go. He had fifty years left to do what? Unaccustomed panic set in. He’d never envied other men their wives and children, but now, for a fraction of second, he wanted the kind of love that went beyond words, a woman with whom he could share his—his what? He’d set out and conquered his hopes and dreams. The vast future was dishearteningly bleak. There would be plenty of court cases to win but what did he go home to at night? A big house with an indoor swimming pool and lots of space…and the feeling he’d missed out on something. The whole world was abruptly a different place. Barren and futile.
With a drawn-out gasp, Charlie realized that no matter how many awards and accolades he’d received for being the best in his profession, he’d always feel like an outsider looking in on his own world. How did he go about fixing that? He rose, dusted off his thighs and stomped off toward the building in which Kyle’s law firm was housed.
* * * * *
Charlie settled down at his borrowed desk but couldn’t work. Roxie might be in danger, and he was sitting on his ass and doing nothing about it. He knew he was being silly, but he couldn’t shake the feeling. And besides, his stomach rumbled with hunger pangs. He didn’t see the legal pad and his laptop on the desk. All he saw was the candy-pink uniform hugging Roxie’s curves with each move she made.
Kyle rapped lightly on the door and strolled in. “How was the burger?”
Charlie frowned and stabbed the eraser end of his pencil at the desk. How had his life changed in only an hour? He couldn’t think of anything but Roxie, and when Plaid Shirt came to mind, anger boiled in his chest. Why did the big hulk think he could push women like the waitress around?
“Indigestion?” Kyle asked kindly, seating himself facing the desk.
Charlie observed the other man watching him drum the pencil repetitively. “No,” he answered sullenly. He’d never felt worse. Or better. Worse since he believed Roxie might need his help, even though she hadn’t asked for it, and better since he’d met such a beautiful and apparently competent woman. Could she take care of herself in bed while they made love? He’d bet she could.
“It’s not the burger, then,” Kyle continued conversationally.
Charlie had known him for long enough to realize that he was fishing for information, which he wasn’t about to give. He grunted.
“It’s hot here in LA. You might want to run off and buy yourself some cool clothes. Or my secretary can do it if you like.”
Now there was an idea. Less restrictive clothes might mean a cooler head with which to think. Charlie scrambled to his feet, leaving the pencil lying forlornly on the desk. “You’ve got good ideas,” was all he said before he took off as if he’d been bitten. He suspected Kyle was looking after him with suspicion. Maybe, if the situation warranted it, he’d explain later.
* * * * *
The fantasy returned several minutes later as Charlie sat back in the rented limo, which smelled of new leather. Sleep eluded him, so why not indulge in some harmless erotic daydreaming? Where had he left off when his gloomy thoughts had interrupted his dream next to the running fountain? Oh yes, with Roxie standing naked in the middle of the ballroom floor. His every nerve sizzled and his heart began pounding erratically again. It hadn’t taken long, he mused, to slip back into the sensuality she invoked in him.
The phantom dancers on the floor kept twirling and swaying to the waltz and he saw a few of the men begin to eye Roxie and her luscious, nude body surrounded by tulle netting, leaving so little yet so much to his mind’s eye. She was like Venus rising from the clam shell, a pearl of priceless value. He’d itched to pull the pins from her hair in the diner and now he leaned forward and, one by one, dragged them out. Her hair cascaded in wavy tendrils over her shoulders and, amazed by its silky softness, he twined his fingers in the lazy curls. Roxie smiled at him, her blue eyes twinkling with the zest for life.
The ghostly dancers didn’t hesitate in their steps, almost as if they were oblivious to the naked woman. Did they envy her, he wondered? Her fresh-faced appeal, her rounded, firm breasts, her long, smooth thighs?
The lights were dimmed in the center of the floor where the footmen had placed the bed. One thigh was completely bare and pressed against his trembling leg. She murmured, “Do me with your clothes on. I always wanted to be fucked by a man in a suit.”
The notion appealed to Charlie. Mutely, he nodded. He’d do anything to satisfy Roxie, to see her gaze lazily shuttered by her eyelids, to watch her long lashes flutter against her cheek.
She seized his tie and pulled him to her, creating their own dance of desire. His neck muscles clenched. He knew he was at her mercy, his wicked angel of lust. “All I need to complete this feeling is your cock thrusting into my pussy.” She tipped her chin upward. “Kiss me. Take me. Make me yours.”
Charlie sighed, edged the backs of her knees against the mattress and tumbled downward with her into luxurious warmth. Her nipples puckered tightly and he ministered to them, laving, sucking, as she arched her back and gave him more. He caressed the slopes of her breasts and his hand trailed toward her burning hot core. She was, he reminded himself, completely his.
She unfastened his belt and the buckle clinked. “Oh God,” he murmured, pressing his lips harder around her areolas. Then his shaft was suddenly, thankfully, free of its constriction.
“You naughty boy,” Roxie teased him. “You’re not wearing anything underneath.”
He chuckled softly and helped to liberate himself fully, pulling the zipper down quickly, remembering that she was innocent and although she was prompting him he’d have to be careful, not too hasty when he entered her. His penis bobbed toward her.
She swept a delicate digit across the tip of his glans, over several beads of cum, then she licked the index finger with a look of wonder. She closed her eyes, and swallowed. “You taste—”
“Masculine?” he supplied, wanting to savor her yet knowing that, like the ghost dancers around them, she might easily disappear. If he made one misstep she’d vanish and he’d have to satisfy himself. He’d done that too many times to relish the thought, let alone the action.
She giggled. “That’s it.” She edged her legs apart and her gaze bored into his, inviting, urging him to take her, to meld his body with hers.
His chest heaved with male pride and protectiveness. He could easily fall in love with a woman like Roxie—quiet, smart, capable.
His cock was lodged in her pussy. It was where he belonged, as if he were home.
Then the present reasserted itself. Roxie needed his help, not his lust-addled mind. More than likely, Mr. Plaid Shirt was no danger to her at all. And in any case, it wasn't as though he knew her, or her situation. But something about the scene in the diner had left him feeling uneasy. He’d always trusted his instincts before. Here he was dreaming about her naked, pliant and willing—but what if she really did need his help?