Outrageous
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Lori Foster
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17,0K
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10
Chapter One
SHE HAD THE biggest brown eyes Judd had ever seen.
She also looked innocent as hell, despite the ridiculous clothes she wore and the huge, frayed canvas tote bag she carried. Did she actually think she blended in, just because her coat was tattered and her hat was a little ratty? Did she think anyone would ever believe her to be homeless? Not likely.
So what was she doing here at this time of night? The lower east side of Springfield was no place for a lady like her. She strolled past him again, this time more slowly, and her eyes were so wide it looked as if they could take in her surroundings in a single glance. They took in Judd.
He felt a thrill of awareness, sharper than anything he’d ever felt before. She looked away, but not before he detected the faint pink blush that washed over her fine features. That blush had been obvious even in the dim evening light, with only the moon and corner street lamp for illumination. She had flawless skin.
Dammit. He had enough to worry about without some damn Miss Priss with manicured nails and salon-styled hair trying to fob herself off as a local. Judd had only stepped outside the bar to get a breath of fresh air. The smell of perfume inside was overwhelming, and enough to turn his stomach.
He could hear the music in the bar grow louder and knew the dancers were coming onstage. In less than ten minutes, he’d have to go back in there, baring himself in the line of duty.
Damn. He hated this cover. What decent, hardworking cop should have to peel off his clothes for a bunch of sex-starved, groping women? For nearly two weeks now he’d been entertaining the female masses with the sight of his body, hoping to uncover enough evidence to make a bust. He was now, at thirty-two, in his prime, more fit than ever and completely alone. Not only did he meet the necessary requirements to pull off such a ludicrous cover, he had a vested, very personal interest this time. He knew for a fact the room above the bar was the site for shady business meetings, yet he hadn’t seen hide nor hair of a gun deal. Clayton Donner was lying low.
It was discouraging, but he wasn’t giving up.
He was definitely going to get Donner, but that didn’t mean he enjoyed displaying himself nightly.
Each of the strippers had a gimmick. He thought his was rather ironic. He played out the tough street cop, complete with black pants held together with strategically placed Velcro. They came off with only the smallest tug. He even had Max’s original leather jacket—a prized possession, to be sure—to add to his authenticity. The women loved it.
He wondered if old Max had known how sexy the cop persona was to females. Or if he would have cared.
God, he couldn’t think about Max and still do his job, which was to appear unscrupulous enough that Donner would think him available. Clayton always needed new pigeons to run his scams. Judd intended to be the next. It was the only way he could get close enough to make a clean bust.
And the last thing he needed now was a distraction with big brown eyes. Despite his resolve, his gaze wandered back to the woman. She was loitering on the corner beneath the street lamp, holding that large, lumpy bag to her chest and trying to fit in. Judd snorted. That old coat was buttoned so high she was damn near strangling herself. What the hell was she doing here?
He’d just about convinced himself not to care, not to get involved, when three young men seemed to notice her. Judd watched as they approached her. She started to back away, then evidently changed her mind. She nodded a greeting, but it was a wimpy effort. Hell, the men looked determined to get to know her, without any encouragement on her part. She, on the other hand, looked ready to faint.
Walk away, he thought, willing the woman to move. But she stood her ground. He sensed, then he knew for certain, she was getting in over her head. His body was already tensing, his eyes narrowed, waiting for the trouble to start. They seemed to be talking, or, more to the point, she was trying to speak to them. She gestured with her hands, her expression earnest. Then one of the men grabbed her and she let loose a startled screech. In the next instant, those huge brown eyes of hers turned his way, demanding that he help her.
The little twit thought he was a regular street cop. At this rate she’d blow his cover.
Well, hell, he couldn’t allow her to be manhandled. He pushed himself away from the doorway and started forward. The men were obviously drunk. One of them was doing his best to pull her close, but she kept sidestepping him. Judd approached them all with a casual air.
“Here now, boys.” He kept his tone low and deep, deliberately commanding. “Why don’t you leave the lady alone.”
Judd could see her trembling, could see the paleness of her face in the yellow light of the street lamp. The man didn’t release her; if anything, he tightened his grip. “Go to hell.”
The words were slurred, and Judd wondered just how drunk they were. They might believe him to be a cop, but in this neighborhood, being a law enforcement officer carried very little clout and regularly drew vicious disdain. Damn.
He couldn’t get into a brawl—he might literally lose his pants. Not that he wouldn’t enjoy knocking some heads together, but still…. Where was a real uniformed cop when you needed one?
He turned his gaze on the woman. “Do you want their company?”
She swallowed, her throat working convulsively. “No.”
One of the men shook his fist in Judd’s face, stumbling drunkenly as he did so. “She’s already made a deal with us.” The man grinned stupidly at the woman, then added, “You can’t expect a little thing like her to run around here without a weapon to protect herself…”
One of the other men slugged the speaker. “Shut up, you fool.”
Judd went very still, scrutinizing the woman’s face. “Well?”
Again, she swallowed. “Well…what?”
“Why do you need a weapon? You planning to kill someone?” Whisper-soft, his question still demanded an immediate answer.
Shaking her head, then looking around as if desperately seeking a means of escape, she managed to pique his interest. He couldn’t walk away now. Whatever she was up to, she didn’t want him to know. Because she thought he was a cop?
Disgusted, Judd propped his hands on his hips, his eyebrows drawn together in a frown. “Do you want the company of these men or not?”
She peered cautiously at the drunken, leering face so close to her own. Her lips tightened in disapproval and disdain. “Ah…no. Not particularly.”
A genuine smile tipped his mouth before he caught himself. She had gumption, he’d give her that. She was no bigger than a ten-year-old sickly kid. The coat she wore practically swallowed her up. She was fine-boned, petite, and everything about her seemed fragile. “There you go, fellas. The lady doesn’t find you to her liking. Turn her loose and go find something else to do.”
“I got somethin’ to do already.” Her captor’s hold seemed to loosen just a bit as he spoke, and taking advantage, she suddenly jerked free. Then she did the dumbest thing Judd had ever seen. She sent her knee into the man’s groin.
Unbelievable. Judd shook his head, even as he yanked her behind him, trying to protect her from the ensuing chaos. He couldn’t do any real damage to the men without attracting more spectators, which would threaten his cover. And the woman was gasping behind him, scared out of her wits from the sound of it. But damn it all, he definitely did not want to lose his pants out here scuffling in the middle of the sidewalk with common drunks. One of the men started to throw a punch.
Judd cursed loudly as the woman ran around him, evidently not as frightened as he’d thought, and leaped onto his attacker’s back. She couldn’t weigh over a hundred pounds, but she wound her fingers in the man’s hair and pulled with all her might.
Enough was enough. A glimpse at his watch told him it was time for his performance. Judd grabbed the man away from her and sent him reeling with a firm kick to the rear end, then stalked the other two, every muscle in his body tensed. Too drunk to persist in their efforts, the men scurried away.
Judd turned to face the woman, and she was…tidying her hair? Good God, was she nuts? He saw her look toward her canvas bag, which now lay in a puddle on the sidewalk, but she made no move to retrieve it.
“You don’t want your bag?” he asked with all the sarcasm he could muster.
“Oh.” She glanced at him. “Well, of course…” She made a move in its direction, but he shook his head. He could see more raggedy clothing falling out the opening, and if there was one thing this woman didn’t need, it was hand-me-downs.
He took her arm in a firm but gentle hold, ignoring her resistance, and started her toward the bar. He automatically moved her to his right side, bringing her between his body and the building, protecting her from passersby. He held his temper for all of about three seconds, then gave up the effort.
“Of all the stupid, harebrained…lady, what the hell did you think you were doing back there?” He wondered if she could be a journalist, or a TV newswoman? She damn well wasn’t used to living in alleys, or going without. Everything about her screamed money. Even now, with him hustling her down the sidewalk, she had a certain grace, a definite poise, that didn’t come from being underprivileged.
She glanced up at him, and he noticed she smelled nice, too. Not heavily perfumed like the women in the bar, just…very feminine. Her wavy shoulder-length hair, a light brown that looked as baby soft as her eyes, bounced as he hurried her along. She was practically running, but he couldn’t help that. He was going to be late. He could hear the music for his number starting. Taking off his clothes in public was bad enough. He didn’t intend to make a grand entrance by jumping in late.
She cleared her throat. “I appreciate your assistance, Officer.”
Without slowing his pace, he glared at her. “Answer my question. Who are you? What the hell are you up to?”
“That’s two questions.”
He growled, his patience at an end. “Answer me, dammit!”
She stumbled, then glared up at him defiantly. “That’s really none of your business.”
Everything inside his body clenched. “I’m making it my business.”
Digging in her heels as he tried to haul her through the front door, she forced him to slow down. She was wide-eyed again and he noticed her mouth was hanging open as he dragged her into the bar. “What are you doing?”
There was a note of shrill panic in her voice as she took in her surroundings. Judd had no time to explain, and no time to consider her delicate sensibilities. Everyone in this part of town thought of him as a money-hungry, oversexed, willing exhibitionist—Clayton Donner included. It was a necessary cover and one he wasn’t ready to forfeit. Donner would show up again soon, and once he decided Judd was a familiar face in the area, the gun dealer would make his move. It would happen. He’d make it happen.
Still gripping her arm, Judd trotted her toward the nearest bar stool. “Stay right here.” He stared down at her, trying to intimidate her with his blackest scowl. The music was picking up tempo, signaling his cue.
She popped right back off the seat, those eyes of hers accurately portraying her shock. “Now see here! I have no intention of waiting—”
He picked her up, dropped her onto the stool again, then called to the bartender. “Keep her here, Freddie. Make certain she doesn’t budge.”
Freddie, a huge, jovial sort with two front teeth missing, grinned and nodded. “What’d she do?”
“She owes me. Big. Keep your eye on her.”
“And if she tries to pike it?”
Judd gave Freddie a conspiratorial wink. “Make her sorry if she so much as flinches.”
Freddie looked ferocious, but Judd knew he wouldn’t hurt a fly. That was the reason they had not one, but two bouncers on the premises. But the little lady didn’t know that, and Judd wanted to find out exactly what she was up to. Gut instinct told him he wouldn’t like what he found.
Suddenly the spotlight swirled around the floor. Cursing, then forcing a grin to his mouth, Judd sauntered forward into the light. Women screamed.
In the short time he’d been performing here, he’d discovered a wealth of information about his gun dealer…and become a favorite of the bar. The owner had promised to double his pay, but that was nothing compared to the bills that always ended up stuffed in his skimpy briefs. He refused, absolutely refused, to wear a G-string. His naked butt was not something he showed to more than one woman at a time, and even those exhibitions were few and far between. But his modesty worked to his advantage. The women customers thought he was a tease, and appreciated his show all the more.
As he moved, he glanced over his shoulder to make certain the lady was still there. She hadn’t moved. She didn’t look as though she could. Her eyes were even larger now, huge and luminous and filled with shock and disbelief. He held her gaze, and slowly, backing into the center of the floor, slid the zipper down on the leather jacket. He saw her gasp.
Her intent expression, of innocence mixed with curious wonder, annoyed him, making him feel more exposed than he ever had while performing. That he could feel his face heat angered him. He was too old, and too cynical now, to actually blush. Damn her.
Purposefully holding her gaze, determined to make her look away, he let his fingers move to the top of his pants. As he slowly unhooked the fly, one snap at a time, teasing his audience, teasing her more, she reeled back and one dainty hand touched her chest. She looked distressed. She looked shocked.
But she didn’t look away.
* * *
Oh, Lord. Oh, Lord. This can’t be happening, Emily! It’s too outrageous. There can’t possibly be a large, gorgeous man peeling his clothes off in front of you.
Even as she told herself she was delirious, that the scene in front of her was a figment of her fantastical imagination, Emily watched him kick off his boots, then with one smooth jerk, toss his pants aside. She wouldn’t have missed a single instant of his disrobing. She couldn’t. She was spellbound.
Vaguely, in the back of her mind, she heard the crowd yelling, urging him on. He looked away from her finally, releasing her from his dark gaze. But still she watched him.
He was the most beautiful man she’d ever seen. Raw, sexual, but also…gentle. She could feel his gentleness, had felt it outside when she’d first walked past him. It was as if she recognized he didn’t belong here, in this seedy neighborhood, any more than she did.
But they were both here. Her reason was plain; she needed to find out who had sold her younger brother the gun that backfired, nearly causing him to lose an eye. He would recover, but that wouldn’t remove the fact that he’d bought the gun illegally, that he was involved in something he had no business being involved in and that he would probably be scarred for life. Emily had to find the man who’d almost ruined her brother’s life. She couldn’t imagine what kind of monster would sell a sixteen-year-old a gun—a defective gun, at that.
Her parents refused to take the matter to the police. Luckily, John had only been using the gun for target practice, so no one even knew he had the thing. And more important, no one else had been hurt. When she thought about what could have happened, the consequences…
But that was history. Now all she could do was make certain that the same man didn’t continue selling guns to kids. She had no compunction about going to the police once she had solid evidence, enough that she didn’t have to involve her brother.
Her parents would never forgive her if she sullied the family name. Again.
Her heart raced, climbing into her throat to choke her when the officer—obviously not an officer—started toward her. She couldn’t take her eyes off his bare, hair-brushed chest, his long, naked thighs. The way the shiny black briefs cupped him… Oh God, it was getting warm in here…
Well-bred ladies most definitely did not react this way!
There were social standards to uphold, a certain degree of expected poise… The litany she’d been reciting to herself came to a screeching halt as the man stopped in front of her.
His eyes, a fierce green, reflected the spotlight. He stared directly at her, then moved so close she could smell the clean male fragrance of him, could feel his body heat. And God, he was hot.
Panting, Emily realized he was waiting for her to give him money. Of all the insane notions…but there were numerous dollars sticking out of those small briefs, and she knew, with unwavering instinct, he wouldn’t budge until she’d done as he silently demanded.
Blindly, unable to pull her gaze away, she fumbled in the huge pockets of her worn coat until her fist closed on a bill. She stuck out her hand, offering the money to him.
Wicked was the only way to describe his smile. With a small, barely discernible motion, he shook his head. She dropped her gaze for an instant to where his briefs held all the cash. She’d watched the women put the money there, trying to touch him, but he’d eluded their grasping hands. He’d played up to the audience, getting only close enough to collect a few dollars, then dancing away.
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.”
Suffused with heat at both his nearness and his derisive attitude, it was all Emily could do to keep from cowering. She clicked her teeth together, then swallowed hard. “You don’t want to help me. Fine. I’m certain I’ll find someone else who will. After all, I’m willing to pay a thousand dollars.” Then, turning to make a grand exit, certain she’d made him sorry over losing out on so much money, she said over her shoulder, “I imagine I’ll find someone much more agreeable than you within the hour. Goodbye.”
There was a split second of stunned silence, then an explosive curse, and Emily decided good breeding could take second place to caution. She reached for the door and almost had it open, when his large hand landed on the wood with a loud crack, slamming it shut again. His warm, hard chest pressed to her back, pinning her to the door. She could barely move; she could barely breathe.
Then his lips touched her ear, whisper-soft, and he said, “You’re not going anywhere, sweetheart.”
