In Your Wildest Dreams Page 9

  "Right, chère. You're not what they came to see. And I wouldn't insist so much, but you're gonna recognize your sister a lot quicker than me. Same reason I took you everyplace else, too. Figured there might be questions only you could answer, or that somebody might say somethin' I wouldn't hear in the same way as you—know what I mean?"

  She nodded, the night air seeming to thicken still more around them. You're in the Big Easy now—don't be a prude. Do what you have to do to find your sister. "All right—let's go." Not wanting to give herself a chance to back out, she grabbed his hand and started briskly through the throng of Bourbon Street partyers until they reached the bright lights and cherry red awning of the Playpen.

  To her surprise, the place was large, crisp, and clean-looking. Two men in suits stood at the open door. Between them, in the distance, she caught sight of a woman in silhouette, dancing around a pole. Her heart dropped to her stomach, but she worked hard not to hesitate, dragging Jake right up the red-carpeted steps.

  This was even harder than going to Chez Sophia the first time. Perhaps due to the abject fear of walking through the door to see her baby sister swaying naked on a stage. If she'd found her at Sophia's, it wouldn't have seemed much worse than spotting her at a cocktail party. She suddenly missed the veil of dignity, however thin, that hung over Sophia's third floor.

  "Good evening, folks," a large, bearded man said. "Welcome to the Playpen. Ten dollars for you, sir. The lady gets in free."

  She watched nervously as Jake peeled a ten from his wallet, then placed his hand at the small of her back, gently propelling her onward.

  Inside, red and pink lights swirled, but soon her eyes adjusted, revealing, to her shock, that the room possessed more than just the one stage she'd seen from outside. Instead, there were five, six, seven—a lot—each holding a girl in a different state of undress. Frightfully young girls. Baring their bodies on small stages all over the room. The sense of being surrounded by crude sexuality that had no relation to romance or love overwhelmed her instantly, tightening her stomach. On impulse, she turned and ran smack into the hard wall of Jake's chest. "Sorry," she murmured.

  He gently curled his hand around her elbow. "You okay?"

  "Yeah. Can we sit down?" Given that she was hardly the main attraction in the room, she felt strangely in the center of the action and experienced a burning urge to blend in.

  "Sure, beb." Jake pulled her down into a small onesided booth and she breathed a short sigh of relief. "Take a look around," he told her easily, "see if she's here."

  What Jake had said was true; the room held a mixed crowd, both men and women. But she looked past them, scanning the various stages for Tina. Thankfully—or not, she couldn't decide how to feel—her sister inhabited none of them.

  It felt unbearably bizarre to be watching strippers at Jake's side. Unlike the other couples in the room, they barely knew each other. The girls on the stages were impossibly thin and beautiful, peeling off scant dresses and lingerie, down to nearly nonexistent flesh-colored

  G-strings. She watched in fascinated horror as they swayed with slow precision, tweaking their bared nipples, running their hands down perfectly flat stomachs and shapely thighs.

  Soon enough, though, her eyes were drawn to the men in the room. Jake was right about that, too. Not a bad sport jacket among them. They were ... guys she would date. They wore khaki shorts and golf shirts. They were corporate America after hours. But the most unsettling part was the expressions they wore.

  She'd once gone to see the Chippendale dancers with some women from work. They'd giggled all the way through it, laughing at the costumes, at the forced sexuality the men worked so hard to convey. It had been, for all of them, a silly, crazy thing to do.

  But this was not that. The faces of the men here shone with a raw, ugly lust she'd never quite witnessed before. Their eyes tamed the girls into nothing more than animals in an obscene zoo.

  "Any luck?" Jake finally asked, oblivious to all she was experiencing.

  She absently shook her head. "No." Then uttered her thought aloud. "These girls look so young." Eighteen or nineteen, maybe.

  "Yeah," Jake said, solemnly enough that she could hear a calm hint of concern in his voice. "College girls from Tulane or Loyola, most likely."

  College girls. She almost laughed with horror. At nineteen, she'd been studying hard and hanging onto the last shreds of her virginity. Things were different here.

  "Something to drink?"

  Stephanie looked up to find another college girl, this one wearing a red sequined bikini top and a matching micromini. The coed smiled down at her as if they were chums.

  "Chère?" Jake deferred to her.

  She started to order a glass of wine, but felt desperately hot inside and, for the first time, realized Shorty had been right—the hurricane had made her a little drunk. "Just a glass of water."

  "Bottle of Bud," Jake said.

  "I'll have them right up," the cheerful waitress replied.

  But as she started to walk away, Jake called her back. "Hang on a minute."

  She smiled down at him. Still chummy, sweet, as if they weren't all surrounded by naked young girls and a lust that permeated the air. "Something else?"

  He turned to Stephanie. "Chère, your pictures."

  She scrambled to open her purse, glad for the brief distraction.

  Jake held them up for the girl to see. "This girl work here? Name's Tina."

  The waitress looked closely at each photo. "Pretty," she mused. "But no, I don't think so."

  Jake nodded, murmured his thanks, and let her go on her way. "Merde," he mumbled under his breath, passing the pictures back to Stephanie. "Thought sure I might be onto somethin' comin' here."

  "What now?" She concentrated on getting the photos back in her purse without looking at Jake, somehow unable to meet his gaze given all the gyrating nudity in the room with them.

  "Tempted to try talkin' to one of the doormen," he said on a sigh, "but I'd have to be careful—unless I give it the right finesse, they'll think I'm a cop and that she's in some kinda trouble. Let me think about it a few minutes."

  At that moment, her eyes landed on a naked girl straddling a guy in a small, plush easy chair, undulating in time with the sexy music that played, her firm breasts swaying dangerously close to his mouth, his eyes gaping up at her, lost in vulgar desire. And somehow she saw the girl who writhed on a total stranger for money as Tina—and broke out in a cold sweat.

  She couldn't stay in this room any longer. There was too much sin here, too much ugly lust. Just like at Sophia's, veiled or not—it was more sex for money. It was just harder to handle here because there was no jazz or expensive furniture to mask it. Here it was more raw— on the table for everyone to see. Shared, public sin.

  "I have to get out of here."

  Jake tamed his eyes on her, clearly confused. "What?"

  She swallowed past the lump that had grown in her throat. Her body had gone so tense that her chest ached. "I have to go. I can't be here. Let me up." The booth set against the wall and Jake blocked her exit.

  He simply gaped at her. "What's wrong?"

  She widened her eyes on him, wondering if she was going to have to climb over him. "Please get up. I have to get out of here."

  Dark eyebrows knitting, he finally pushed to his feet, eyes puzzled. "You don't want your water?"

  "No, I don't want my water." She thought she probably sounded a little hysterical, but that's how she felt, suddenly—as if it had all come tumbling down on her at the sight of that lap dance, twenty dollars for simulated sex.

  She bolted for the door, not giving a damn if she looked hysterical, too—she had to get out now or she'd smother.

  By the time she'd rushed past the doormen and hit the busy street, tears streamed down her face. She wanted to hide, but had no idea how in such a crowd. The scents of pralines and beer met her nose as she wove a jagged path across the street, desperately seeking someplace quiet, private.
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  Her eyes were drawn to a darkened storefront, big glass windows filled with junky-looking antiques on either side of a deeply receding doorway. She made a bee-line toward it, figuring the little alcove was as good a retreat as she would find.

  She'd just reached it, taming to lean back against the peeling paint of the wide wooden door frame, when Jake arrived, hot on her heels. His expression remained baffled. "What's wrong, chère? What happened?"

  She shook her head, unable to look at him, since she had no explanation that would make sense to most men. Not even some women, she supposed, since there'd been plenty of females inside the Playpen in addition to the strippers.

  "Talk to me," he insisted.

  She simply kept shaking her head. She wanted to be at home. She wanted Tina there with her. She wanted her safe life in her safe world, where she could keep everything under control. "I can't," she said.

  "This guy bothering you?"

  They both tamed to find a tall, thin, dark-skinned man. Ironically, the guy trying to come to her rescue carried neon pink flyers for the Playpen. "No," she said, "he's fine. We're fine."

  "You sure?" Concern colored his deep voice. For such a skinny man, he looked deadly bent on defending her. She supposed all he could see was a woman in tears racing away from the man chasing after her.

  "Yes! Please. We're fine," she insisted.

  The man offered one last worried look before finally going on his way, and Jake muttered, "asshole" behind him. "He was trying to be nice." "He thinks I made you cry."

  "I know. I'm sorry." She peered up at him, guilty for making him look like a bad guy.

  His eyes were fraught with worry as he gazed down on her. He stood only a few inches away, closing both hands warm around her elbows. "What is it, chèreT he asked, his voice softer. "What's makin' you cry?"

  She shut her eyes, trying to squelch the flow of tears before meeting his gaze again. She could barely speak past the lump in her throat. 'The girls in there ... are like objects. Not people. I felt that."

  He looked sympathetic, worried. His fingertips caressed her arms. "Not much different than at Sophia's, beb. It's not pretty, but surely it's not a surprise."

  Yet that was just it. It was a surprise. She'd heard all her life about such places objectifying women, but she'd never really understood it so deeply as she did in this moment. "I just... somehow felt like an object, too. By default."

  He glanced down, then raised his gaze again. She read in his expression how hard he was trying to understand. "I'm not sure I completely get it, but I'm sorry. I wouldn't have talked you into goin' in there if I'd thought it would upset you so much."

  She could only look up at him and nod.

  His hands rose to her face, his fingertips playing about her ears before skimming down onto her neck. His touch made her heart beat faster as he blotted away the wetness on her cheeks with his thumbs, then smiled gently into her eyes. "Let's dry up those tears now, chère, hmm?"

  She nodded again, hating that she was crying in front of him. "I guess it's just. .. everything. Worrying about Tina. She's my little sister. When I imagined it being her in there, having guys look at her the way those guys looked at those girls .. ." She shook her head. "I'm sorry."

  "Nothin' to be sorry for," Jake said softly, remembering a time when he, too, had held all women in such high esteem. Working behind the bar at Sophia's had hardened him to such emotions.

  But no—it wasn't just Sophia's. It had happened before that.

  He'd quit caring, or had tried like hell to and was still trying like hell, and maybe he'd come real close to succeeding—because this was the first moment he got it, really got it. Tina was her sister. Her little sister.

  He'd never had a sister, but there'd been women in his life whom he'd loved, and the very thought of any of them having sex for money or stripping on a stage made his heart threaten to explode in his chest as he stood here before prim and pretty Stephanie Grant, who was getting initiated into this world the hard way.

  He'd met her at the bar, masquerading as an escort— and yet even then he'd felt in her that primness, that sweetness that flowed so freely from her now. Maybe that was how he'd known she wasn't what she claimed.

  It was the wrong time, he knew, but her face was so close to his, her hps so ripe and pretty, that he wanted to kiss her. Just to make her feel better. A comfort kiss. Hold her, kiss her, make the bad stuff go away for a minute or two—maybe for both of them.

  It was more than the wrong time; it was a terrible time. She would think he'd gotten turned on in the club. But the dark arousal expanding from his gut was about so much more than anything he could see on a stage—it grew from someplace deep inside him he couldn't fully understand.

  Which made it unstoppable.

  Not a decision. A compulsion.

  He bent his head, brought his mouth gendy down on hers. A soft, sweet melding of hps.

  When it was done, he leaned his forehead against hers. "Wanna make you feel better," he whispered.

  He felt more than saw her nod. Heard her soft murmur. "I know." Her voice trembled. It made him need more.

  Slanting his mouth back over her tender hps, he kissed her slow, deep, felt the power of it moving through him like a warm drink of alcohol spreading through his chest, arms, downward. Just to comfort her, that's all. Just want to comfort her a little more.

  A lot more.

  Don't think about the depths of it, where it's coming from, how much you feel it—it's only comfort. Simple comfort. Keep telling yourself that and it'll be true.

  The next kiss was just as slow, but it went hot on him, too—gut-wrenchingly, uncontrollably hot. He felt it in his groin, a sharp bolt of pleasure. He let his mouth linger over hers, hungry, so tempted, wanting to devour her the same way he'd wanted to in the red room.

  Her fingers curled into the cotton on his chest as he quit fighting the heat and lowered a scorching kiss to her responsive mouth. He wanted her so badly. Wanted to touch her, to taste her. Wanted to bury himself inside her and stay all night long.

  His hand drifted lighdy over her breast and she let out a ragged sigh just before he gripped her waist in a firm, slow caress. He needed to feel her curves, everything that was soft and female about her.

  He pressed into her, hip to hip, the contact dragging a ragged moan from her lips. She'd turned him rock hard and he wanted her to feel it, crave it, the same way he craved her. His fingers curved around her ass, pulling her tight against him, and she began to move, grind, press the soft juncture of her thighs against the solid stone between his legs. He tried not to groan at the sensation, not wanting to attract the attention of anyone on the street, and wishing they were someplace else, alone.

  When he dropped his kisses to her neck, she arched for him, inviting his mouth lower. He kissed a fine down the pale expanse of skin to her shoulder, then let his lips travel downward, along the neckline of her dress. He yearned for it to be cut lower, hungry for a taste of the ferriinine flesh he knew hid underneath.

  In response to his craving, he skimmed his hand upward, to the side of her breast. She trembled harder at the intimate touch, her arms locked around his shoulders, her hands in his hair, her breath labored above him. He pressed gently on the malleable flesh until the top curve of her breast swelled from the neckline—beneath his kiss. Mon Dieu, yes.

  His erection thickened, his chest throbbing with hot desire. He rained a trail of kisses across the soft ridge, knowing that if they were anywhere else, he'd be tempted to just rip the damn dress off her, straight down the middle.

  By the time his kisses returned to her lips, he felt ready to combust. He stroked his tongue deeply into her accepting mouth, loving the tiny whimper that escaped her, then pulled back to look at her—sweet, prim Stephanie Grant, who was responding so eagerly to his every touch and kiss.

  She bit her lip, appearing spent and passionate as she gazed up at him.

  He kissed her again, quick and hard, on impulse, becaus
e the very sight of her mouth had made him need to feel it under his once more.

  "My place isn't far," he breathed. "I want inside you. Wanna make you come."

  Chapter 8

  Stephanie was drowning. High school, college—no passion she'd ever experienced had been like this. Utterly consuming. Her breast pulsed at Jake's touch, her sex ached at the heavy sensation of his hardness there, their bodies fitting together like puzzle pieces. Her flesh turned liquid in his grasp, even as her skin sizzled at each point where he kissed her.

  The way they moved together was as steamy as the night itself and nothing mattered but the searing pleasure that begged for more. His words echoed through her. / want inside you. Wanna make you come.

  It was the red room all over again, but not a game this time. What was it, then?

  To think of where they'd just been was like a hook scratching at her heart. Was this happening because they'd just watched women dancing out of their clothes? How had they gone from that to this—pressing against each other in a dark doorway in this dark city of debauchery that seemed so adept at turning her into something she wasn't? It didn't seem real, couldn't be real. She couldn't be straining against this sexy man she barely knew, her body taking over her thoughts.

  His lips still whispered across her skin—her neck, shoulder. His hand closed gently over her breast, making her gasp. He murmured something French, and despite not having any idea what he'd said, she pooled with wetness just from the sounds.

  His kisses rose, skimming up her neck like an electric current until he nipped at her earlobe, his teeth capturing the sensitive flesh with a searingly tender bite that made her release a rough, hot breath. "My God," she whispered.

  "Come home with me, Stephanie."

  Why did that sound so intimate it made her flinch? Because he was inviting her deeper into his world, his life? Because she wasn't sure she'd ever heard him call her by her first name before? Or was it just his hot, deep voice delivering the words in that sexy Cajun accent that seemed to reach inside her and twist her soul into something unrecognizable? Something hungry. Something lonely. Lonely for what this man could give her tonight.