Dirty Trick (5 page)

So, they’d become friends. Then one day, six months later, he’d woken up with another blonde in his bed and found himself wishing she was a brunette. And that her negligee was a crappy old tank-top like the one his Gracie wore late at night when they sat on her porch drinking cheap beer or in the morning when she came out to get the paper. And that the woman next to him would wake the hell up and go home. Since then, sex had been on an as-needed basis and he hadn’t invited another woman to stay over, not that Grace had noticed. She still made the same old playboy jokes that he’d more than earned to that point. Now was his chance to start with a clean slate.

They stepped onto the portable dance floor that took up one corner of the room, and she looked up at him. The hat that had sat on top of her curls had worked its way forward and pushed a fat ringlet over one eye. God, she was lethal. So sexy and not a clue. He noted several guys glancing their way, sizing him up. He waited until her head was turned to give them the stare down. He had one shot at this, and he wasn’t about to let anyone screw it up for him.

The mid-tempo song that played faded out, and he said a silent prayer for a little help from the gods of bump and grind for a slow one.

“This one goes out to all the ladies,” the DJ crooned. “With love, from your host, Chaz.”

Their host, Chaz, was a total dickwad, but Trick could’ve kissed him on the mouth right then as the strains of Marvin Gaye’s “Sexual Healing” poured from the speakers.

Grace tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and let out a weak chuckle. “Well this just got sorta weird.”

Weird was one way to put it. He would’ve said fucking awesome. He held out his arms and hoped he looked harmless. No easy task when he wanted nothing more than to flip her around and bury himself into her sweet heat from the back until she screamed his name.

He closed his eyes and forced the images out of his head. “I think it’s a great song. Don’t quit on me now.”

“Okay, Catman.” She nodded and took a deep breath. “Let’s do this.”

…

Coming home.
That’s what it felt like. The tingles were firing like Donald Trump on double-elimination day, like pistols at a redneck family reunion, like hippies at a ceramics convention, as his arms wrapped around her, one hand cupping her hip, the other resting lightly on her waist. He smelled like pumpkin beer and vanilla soap, and she leaned in closer, circling his neck with her arms. Luckily, the boots she wore gave her a couple inches, or she wouldn’t have been able to reach. He was almost as tall as Tr—

“Your hair smells nice. What is that?”

“Gardenias. It’s my, uh, shampoo. I—I got it at Bath and Body Works.” Because that part was important to note? He tilted his head closer, and she thought she felt his chest rumble against hers. Was he laughing or purring? She swallowed hard, choking back the nerves that had resurfaced the second he spoke.

Don’t sell yourself short, Grace. He picked you out of this room full of beautiful women.

Besides, when was the last time she’d felt like this around a man? Probably never. Sure there were the weird misfires around Trick, and Victor had inspired some sort of visceral reaction the day she’d met him—although in hindsight she wondered if, in her desire to find a boyfriend at the time, she’d mistaken agita from a Chalupa earlier that night for tingles. Either way, this was major progress. Maybe tonight, with this nameless hottie, she could get the confidence she’d let her ex rob her of. It didn’t matter if her mystery man was a forever kind of guy. This was about finding someone who made her pulse skip and wasn’t her best friend. That was enough for now. She was only twenty-seven, for God’s sake. Surely that was still young enough to do something impulsive and fun?

And if he called tomorrow, all the better…

As Marvin begged his lady to “wake up, wake up, wake up”, she tucked in closer. Close enough that her breasts pressed lightly into his muscular abdomen. Oh, that was nice. Her woefully neglected nipples pebbled against the stiff silk of the corset and she drew back instinctively, hearing Victor’s annoyed rasp in her head.

“Is that all you ever think about?”

“Don’t pull away.” The gravelly voice dragged her back to the present. “You feel so good.” Her dance partner loosened his hold, giving her the freedom to back away if she chose. She liked that, and his earnest, sexy encouragement. Instead of backing up, she mustered her courage and pressed even closer.

They swayed to the groove until the crowd seemed to fall away. She let her eyes drift shut and the nice mellow of the wine take over. When she felt the need to run her hands down his shoulder to trace the hard contours of his chest, she didn’t let the voices in her head stop her. His fingers flexed on her hip and sent a bolt of heat to her belly. He liked it. He liked her. When the urge to stand on tiptoes and line her hips up with his slammed into her like a sumo wrestler, she didn’t think. She just acted, tilting her pelvis into his, nearly groaning out loud at the sweet pressure.

“Jesus,” he muttered, low and close to her ear. “If you keep that up, we’re going to need a cool down period before I can hobble off the dance floor.”

Joy bubbled through her like freshly poured fountain soda, and his warning felt more like a dare. She pulsed her hips against his, once…twice, and his growl felt like victory. The heat between her thighs spread, and she became aware of the thickening ridge in his pants, pressing insistently against her pubic bone. Every instinct clawed at her to grind against him, to take what shimmered so close she could almost touch it. She lifted her head and looked around. No one was even looking at them, and with the number of people and the dimness of the lights, even if they were, they wouldn’t see anything. Maybe—

“And if you do that exact thing right there one more time, we’re looking at a possible cleanup on aisle seven.” The Batman voice was gone. This one was straight Joe Manganiello. All warm, gritty need, and made her feel like the sexiest woman in the world.

She tilted her head back to meet his panther-gaze and wet her lips, suddenly starved for that firm mouth. “Do you think it would be okay if I kissed you, at least?”

He nodded and slipped a hand into her hair. “How about I kiss you instead…at least?” He swooped down, and she steeled herself for the onslaught. Victor had always latched on like a sea slug, and her kissing style had naturally morphed into an exercise in defense. Tense up and weather the storm. But when this man’s lips touched her, it was deft and delicious. He flicked the tip of his tongue against the seam of her lips, and she parted them. Heat. So much heat when he slipped inside, touching his tongue to hers. The lips she’d been dying to taste felt like heaven, and she melted against him.

Dimly, the pulsing beat of a hip hop song penetrated the fog, and she pulled away to find that her hand had traveled south and was firmly gripping his hip, all but pinning him against her. She released him like he was covered in acid and stepped back. Before she could apologize, he was back in close.

“Don’t run away on me now, Ms. Love.”

Batman was back, with enough labored breathing to remind her how much she affected him and how much she liked that fact.

“Want to go find a quiet place where we can make out some more?” He breathed against her ear. The puff of air sent a shiver through her and she bit her lip. “No pressure. You’re driving, and I’m at your mercy.” His tone dropped even lower. “Just don’t go yet.”

She didn’t know how he’d unlocked the secret place in her with those magic words, but unlock it he did. They could go somewhere, and she could do whatever she wanted to him. With him.

“Yes,” she croaked, when she could trust herself to speak. Her heart was beating so fast, she wondered that it didn’t simply explode from her chest as he pulled away and looked down at her. His costume was awesome, but for the first time, she found herself wishing she could tear it off.

Who was this masked man
? Semi-hysterical laughter bubbled in her throat and she swallowed it.
Stop it.

This was serious business. A sexy stranger wanted to make out with her. A sexy stranger who hadn’t even given Serena—or any of the other beautiful women at the party—a second glance. She had to keep it together so he wouldn’t realize that it had been nearly two ye—a long time since she’d done any serious making out with a guy.

He led her from the dance floor, toward the far side of the room toward a set of doors. He paused at one of the makeshift bars and talked to the bartender. She couldn’t hear the exchange over the music, but the server smiled and handed him a bottle of red wine which earned him a twenty-spot. She took note, the generous tip reminding her of her Gram’s philosophy on men.

“Wanna know the secret to getting the true measure of a man, girlie? Pay attention to three things: how he acts at a four-way stop sign, how well he tips a waitress, and how he treats his grandmother. You find a guy who hits the mark on all three, hog-tie him and drag his ass back home, because if you don’t want him, I’ll sure as hell take him.”

They were on the move again, but before they reached their destination, from the corner of her eye, Grace caught sight of Serena talking to a group of women and tugged her companion to a halt. “Wait. I’m supposed to be helping my friend…” The whole reason they’d come here was to get some good buzz going for the company. Now she was running off with some guy, which was totally out of character.

Serena caught her eye then and grinned. Grace pointed to herself, gesturing if she should come over, but Serena shooed her away urgently adding an exaggerated wink for good measure. It seemed like she had things under control and was making some headway networking. And she did have the one on one scheduled with Chaz. Maybe it would be okay if she disappeared for a little while? The business had been her whole life for the past year and a half. Would an hour of fun be so terrible?

“You good?”

She turned her attention back to the man standing in front of her, with his broad shoulders and sexy mouth, and the decision made itself.

“Yup.” She nudged him forward, and they made their way through the doors into a quiet alcove. Not quiet enough, though. The couple they found tucked away there in the corner seemed intent on swallowing one another’s faces whole. Her date held up a finger signaling her to keep quiet as they scuttled by, undetected. The two were so engaged, they didn’t even break apart when the door on the opposite side of the room squealed as it opened.

They stepped through and closed it behind them. “Okay, so that was a fail.” They had come out the other side into a long, wide hallway and she peered down to the left and then to the right. “Come on,” he said. “I have a good feeling about this way.”

A part of her—albeit the teeniest, weeniest one—wondered if maybe he was a serial killer leading her to her ultimate demise, but the thought of being alone with him again and finding out what was underneath that leather jacket made mincemeat of her fears.

The part of the house they’d found themselves in wasn’t decked out in party regalia and the music had faded to nothing more than a distant thud. They passed one door and then another before he pulled her to a stop.

“Let’s try this one.” He turned the knob and swung it open. “Holy shit.”

She craned her neck to see around his shoulder and echoed his sentiment. Holy shit was right. They’d come in through the side door of what appeared to be a spa room. The walls were a warm knotty pine with inlays carved throughout to make space for plants so lush, they would’ve looked more at home in a rain forest than in Salem. The lights were off, but the ceiling was entirely made of glass, and the autumn moon glimmered off the small indoor pool, bathing the room in a wash of silver. White stone tiles cut a path through the darker pebble gray ones, leading to a ten-by-ten wooden structure. Sauna, she guessed. In one corner of the room sat three massage tables, lined up in a neat row.
For those massage parties that rich people always had?
she wondered, half in a daze. Along the back wall was a giant circular lounger. The plush red cushion was stacked high with throw pillows, making it look like the bed of a sultan from an old black and white movie.

She felt like she should say something…do s
omething
, but her feet were as frozen as her tongue.

He tilted his head down and shrugged. “Up to you.”

His tone was casual, but she had the distinct feeling a lot was riding on her answer. This was no salon with a love seat or masculine study with a big leather chair to cozy up on. This room wasn’t for making out. This room was for trouble.

Serious trouble.

Naughty trouble.

Delicious, mind-blowing, muscle-straining trouble. The kind she’d only dreamed about. The kind that Victor had almost convinced her was dirty and wrong.

She laid a hand on the deep dip of his spine and shoved him through the door.

Chapter Four

Trick didn’t know what had made him choose that particular room. Maybe instinct. Maybe the supernatural. Hell, maybe it was the Great Pumpkin. But after six months of waiting, he didn’t really give a shit. The stars had lined up, and it was going down. He was finally getting the chance to show Gracie Love what he was made of, and if he played his cards right, maybe she’d want to keep him around.

A sudden, unfamiliar bout of nerves hit him as they walked to the center of the room. “So, uh, you want to dip our feet in the—”

She must have been just as tense because she began talking at the same time. “Did you want me to lay on the be—”

He stared down at her, charmed by the twin flags of red on her cheeks.

She stared up at him with a bemused blink and ran a hand through her curls, knocking her hat off in the process. “Sorry. That was presumptuous. You said make out, and I assumed we could…would…” The rest became a mumble as she bent to retrieve her hat, promptly bashing her forehead against the wine bottle in his hand. “Ow, shit!”

“Are you okay?”