Leslie Kelly, Jennifer LaBrecque Read online

  Just as she’d liked seeing him touch himself. Intimately.

  She sucked in a breath, her heart flipping. Was he watching her with covetous eyes, the way she’d watched him? Had he been aroused, seeing her hands move across her body?

  Great Athena’s ghost, she’d strolled around the room bare-arse naked this morning and he’d barely even glanced at her. Nudity being such a natural thing, she hadn’t thought twice about it. Only, now, she began to realize certain movements, gestures, touches, could be very arousing indeed.

  Curious, she pulled the shower door handle, opening it, standing naked before him. Rafe didn’t leave the room. Instead, he merely lifted a hand to his jaw and rubbed, shaking his head as if he was trying to persuade himself of something.

  “So, seeing me naked like this is fine.” She closed the door again, now running her still-slick hand over her body, scraping her palm across her nipple, then lower, until she was touching that interesting spot of sensation between her legs. “But this, is…arousing to you?”

  She heard his groan, saw his shape grow bigger, but didn’t realize what he was going to do until he threw the door open again and stepped right into the shower closet with her. Fully clothed, down to his shoes, he didn’t seem to care that the water cascaded over him.

  “You are driving me completely crazy,” he told her. Then he grabbed her, one big, hot hand on her hip, the other sinking into her wet hair. He pressed her back into the wall and covered her mouth with a wicked, wild kiss.

  Olivia lifted her arms and curled them around his neck, tilting her head so she could invite him even deeper into her mouth. Their tongues crashed and thrusted and he tasted so good to her she wanted to drink him down.

  Without warning, he moved that strong hand, sliding it down her hip. Then further around, until his fingertips brushed the wet curls covering her mound. His other released her hair, dropping in a slow glide to her breast, toying with its tip.

  Olivia whimpered, feeling the strength slide out of her legs. Leaning against the wall, she could only let him do whatever he wanted to do, helpless against the pleasures battering her body.

  “Open,” he growled against her mouth.

  She knew what he wanted, and gave it to him willingly. Lifting one leg and wrapping it around his, she arched toward his hand, wanting that intimate touch.

  He slid his fingers closer, the rough pad of his thumb nearing the nub of flesh that had become so surprisingly swollen while she’d bathed.

  When he finally stroked it, she almost flew out of her skin.

  “Mercy,” she whispered, shocked by the bolts of pleasure that simple touch wrought.

  He cut off any further words by capturing her mouth in another devouring kiss. Keeping his thumb right where it was, he moved his other fingers between the soft, slick folds of her womanhood. She whimpered against his lips, needing more, crying out when he responded by sliding a finger inside her wet channel.

  She jerked toward him, thrusting instinctively, as she had last night. Rafe matched each stroke of his finger with one of his tongue, until she caught the rhythm he created and met every stroke. The steam rose, the smells overwhelmed her, and heat—such incredible heat—built like molten lava inside her.

  Then, suddenly, it erupted in a gush. Olivia actually screamed out. Closing her eyes, she gave herself over to the pulsing pleasure rocketing through her, from her sex down to her feet, and up to the top of her head.

  Rafe held her, pressing kisses on her jaw and her temple, nibbling her earlobe. His hand was still between her legs, and he continued to stroke, gently bringing her back to her senses. Her breaths slowed, as did her heart rate, and she finally began to think she could stand on her own two feet without his help.

  Not that she necessarily wanted to. Not if he continued to hold her just…like…this.

  When she finally felt capable of speech, she opened her eyes and looked up at him, seeing the blazing intensity in his handsome face. “What was that?” she whispered, needing to know.

  “That,” he replied, “was an orgasm.”

  “Oh.”

  She thought about it. Remembered what he’d said last night, when he’d challenged her on her kissing.

  Olivia suspected she’d done better this time.

  And with a tiny smile, she said, “I think I did more than breathe a little hard.”

  5

  THEY GOT TO THE CLUB at a few minutes before eight, and Rafe kept an arm around Olivia as they entered. Though conscious of a lot of stares, he wasn’t sure whether they were for him—more likely given the clientele and his body double—or for her.

  She did look absolutely amazing.

  Then again, she always looked absolutely amazing, no matter what she was wearing. Or what she wasn’t.

  He shifted, uncomfortably aware of how easy it would be to get all hot and bothered again, just thinking of what had happened between them this morning.

  Honestly, he didn’t know how he’d stopped himself from jerking his pants open and taking her up against the wall of the shower. He’d wanted to, desperately, especially once he’d put a hand between her legs and felt how dripping hot she was.

  But he’d stopped at some heavy, intimate petting, giving her what he suspected was the first orgasm of her life.

  Unbelievable.

  Oh, after that, he had definitely wanted to start things all over again and slide into her. But he still had a lot of questions about Olivia. And even if every single word she had ever said to him was true, there was still that pesky issue of her celibacy to deal with.

  If she had been completely clearheaded, not under the influence of steam and lust and drugging kisses, and she’d asked him to make love to her, he almost certainly would have done it.

  Especially if she’d used those words. Make love. He had the feeling the woman needed to be made love to more than anyone else he’d ever known.

  For all her swagger, she had no idea what she was missing.

  But she hadn’t asked, and he hadn’t pushed. Somehow, he’d managed to step out of that shower, stagger to his bathroom and dive into a cold one of his own.

  “I feel constrained,” she muttered as they followed a friendly host, who chattered as he led them on a curving gauntlet around dozens of packed tables. “This clothing is tight.”

  Yeah, it was. He had been close on her size but had underestimated the fullness of her breasts and her hips. He would pay for that mistake every time he looked her way tonight.

  He’d gone shopping with the intention of getting her clothes that would enable her to blend in. But he’d also known he had to get her something that would be somewhat familiar, or else she’d refuse to wear it. A woman’s black leather skirt had seemed a simple solution. He just hadn’t counted on it fitting her like a second skin, hugging her backside like it was Super Glued on.

  Nor was the soft, lightweight sweater much better. It dipped low, revealing that incredible cleavage, the fabric doing sinful things to the bare nipples thrusting against it.

  He’d remembered underwear. But not a bra.

  “I couldn’t possibly run or climb in these things,” she muttered, sounding disgruntled as she looked at her feet.

  Okay, yeah. The boots had definitely been an impulse buy. They were also black, and snug against her calves, with three-inch heels that clicked like tiny shotgun blasts with every step she took across the club.

  “Sorry,” he admitted as they reached an empty table in the back and sat down.

  “The prince will not be impressed to see me in this outfit.”

  “Most men would,” he assured her. But thinking of the prince, whose preferences seemed pretty clear, he suspected she was right. “Why do you need to impress him anyway?”

  “He must take me seriously. Queen Verona fears he doesn’t wish to come back and I might be forced to…take him.”

  “Like you tried to take me last night?”

  “He’ll be easier to take,” she admitted, her tone dry.r />
  “I dunno,” he said with a tiny smile, “I think you could have had me pretty easily.”

  Her eyes narrowed as she peered at him. “Do you mock me?”

  “No, of course not!”

  “Why, then, do you sometimes get that amused look and tone in your voice when we speak?”

  “It’s called flirting,” he told her. “Which I guess you’re not used to. It’s a light, suggestive word game men and women play when they’re getting to know each other.”

  Sighing deeply, she admitted, “I’m not used to a lot of things in this place.” Her lips curled a bit, but she looked only at her hands, not at him, as she added, “Though I think I could come to like certain ones…like showers.”

  Grinning, he realized she was trying to flirt back.

  “And orgasms.”

  His grin faded and he swallowed hard, wishing he hadn’t started this.

  “I also like the days here—they last longer,” she said.

  “Daylight savings time,” he said, glad they’d moved on to less sexy things she liked.

  “And I greatly enjoy the entertainment provided by television.”

  Oh, geez, had he ever noticed that. After their wild interlude in the shower, Olivia had gone back to treating him with friendly cordiality, as if he hadn’t had his hand between her legs that morning. Just like a visiting buddy, she’d harassed him into sitting down and watching the idiot box with her for most of the afternoon.

  Wherever this country of hers was, they obviously had never gotten reruns of NYPD Blue. Olivia hadn’t been able to get enough of the show, seeming fascinated by the tough female cops depicted on it.

  She’d been like a kid, almost bouncing in her seat, leaning forward to yell at the flat-screen, gobbling handfuls of popcorn. It was like she’d never seen a TV show before. Somehow he hadn’t minded wasting an entire beautiful Sunday afternoon explaining all about the NYPD and why the good guys couldn’t just shoot the bad guys dead when they caught them in the act.

  Tough woman.

  Tough woman who was also incredibly soft, sexy and, though she’d never want to admit it, vulnerable. Emotionally, anyway.

  He’d been raised by a single mom whose outer shell had been hard as steel. Trying to prove to the world that Rafe’s father’s abandonment hadn’t determined the course of her life, she’d never showed weakness. Yet she’d missed her ex, who’d remarried and had another family, for years. Rafe knew it. As he grew older and saw she was driven by loneliness and regret, not toughness and anger, he began to understand how hard it would be to love someone who didn’t want you. Eventually, in the last few years, she had told him more than once that it was better to not even let that emotion creep into your heart if you were going to end up alone and broken.

  Maybe that’s why he’d never allowed himself to fall completely in love. In like, yes. In lust, oh, certainly. But love? Hadn’t happened.

  In that respect, he imagined he and Olivia were a lot alike. Both used to wearing a facade, not letting anyone get too close, never showing any emotion, even if they felt it.

  Now, though, he suspected they both were feeling something. Desire, and maybe more. She definitely felt it, and so did he. He just didn’t know what they were going to do about it.

  “This place is, indeed, merry,” she said, interrupting his thoughts. “Better than the one last night.”

  He looked around, seeing the laughing clientele, and realized she was right. Last night’s performance had been at a meat market. The atmosphere here was decidedly more… “Merry?”

  “Yes. As you said last night. It’s a very gay club.”

  Closing his eyes, he shook his head, wondering yet again if she was for real.

  “Here you go,” a voice said. Their waiter set down two large glasses of beer, which Rafe had ordered.

  Nodding her thanks, Olivia lifted one to her mouth and downed half of its contents in a long, deep gulp.

  “Guess I don’t have to worry about you ordering froufrou chick drinks,” Rafe said with a grin, liking that she was so earthy, without an ounce of superficiality about her. Unlike any woman he’d ever met.

  “That’ll be eight-fifty, unless you want to run a tab,” said the waiter, watching Olivia with shock and amusement.

  Rafe reached for his wallet. Before he’d pulled it out, though, Olivia dug something out of the leather bag she’d insisted on tying around her wrist, and slapped it down onto the table.

  The waiter picked the coin up and stared at it, puzzled. “What’s this? Some kind of Disney dollar?”

  “Here,” Rafe said, handing the guy a ten and taking the coin back. Once the waiter had gone, he looked at the thing himself.

  It was heavy, thick and a brackish-gold. Old and well-used, the coin had passed through many hands. None, he would venture, in this country. Not even at Disneyland.

  “You act as if you have never seen money,” Olivia said.

  “Not this type of coin, I haven’t.”

  “You have coins here, though,” she insisted with a frown. “An unpleasant little man on one of your extremely large public conveyances demanded that I provide him with something called ‘exact change’ which, judging by what I saw other passengers use, I took to be some type of coinage.”

  He slowly lowered the coin to the table, unable to do anything but stare at her, so serious, not wavering one inch from her story. So far, this whole adventure had seemed a bit nutty, but he’d always figured there was some rational explanation. Like she was from a teeny country that he’d never heard of, one that hadn’t entered the Internet age. Or even that this whole thing was a big, convoluted practical joke…one that included some seriously sexy side benefits.

  Rational. Logical. Something he’d get to the bottom of sooner or later.

  But he had begun to wonder. She was so unusual, everything about her, from her manner to her dress, to her speech, to the descriptions of her life. Olivia sometimes seemed to be from an entirely different world.

  Or century.

  He’d never been a big science fiction fan, but for a brief moment, he began to wonder about that whole time travel thing.

  “Is the program about to begin?” she asked, interrupting his pensive thoughts.

  Realizing the emcee had taken the stage, he replied, “Yeah. Let me know if it’s Ruprecht when he comes on, okay?”

  “Very well.”

  They fell silent, watching the first few performers. Olivia seemed fascinated by them, the brightly colored gowns, the wigs, and she clapped for one particularly good rendition of a Cher song performed by some guy calling himself Cher-ry.

  “And now, one of our most popular newcomers to the San Francisco stage,” said the emcee, revving up the crowd. “Please give a warm welcome to that super-sexy royal, who gets down with the crown, it’s that wastrel from the castle…Prince Rupie!”

  They both watched as a spotlight appeared on the center seam of the black curtain. The music started, some old torchy song, and a stockinged leg wearing a high-heeled shoe appeared in the pool of light.

  “What is this?” Olivia asked, appearing confused.

  “Shh,” someone hissed.

  Stepping out from behind the curtain as he sang the first few notes of the song, “Prince Rupie” immediately wowed the crowd. He wore a silky purple gown, glittering gold shoes and a big, dark wig. His every move was over the top and grandiose.

  If people thought he looked like this guy, Rafe really needed to join a gang and get some tattoos and scars or something. Then he forced himself to remember the dude was in full makeup, and costume. He suspected the state’s own intimidating governator could put on a dress and not be recognized immediately.

  “I don’t understand,” Olivia whispered, looking at the stage. “Why is this woman calling herself Prince Rupie?”

  That was when he realized she had no idea they were at a drag show. Or that all the other performers had been men, too.

  “He’s playing a woman,” Rafe
told her, keeping his voice low. “Pretending.”

  She didn’t react at first, then her eyes grew hugely round. “Great Athena’s ghost, you’re saying that’s a man?”

  “Quiet,” a voice snapped.

  She turned her head and glared, her hand dropping to the sheathed knife at her hip. “Guard your tongue,” she ordered.

  “Whoa there, warrior woman.” Rafe scooted his chair closer and put a hand over hers. “Relax. People just want to hear because they’re enjoying the show. And yes, the performers are all men.”

  “All…you mean everyone who’s gone before?”

  “Uh-huh. Like Prince Ruprecht there.”

  “The devil you say!”

  “I don’t know for sure. Do you recognize him?”

  She forced her attention back toward the performer. “I do not know.”

  “It’s okay. Let’s watch for a while, see if it comes to you.”

  Falling silent, she did as he asked, never taking her eyes off the stage. Rafe had to admit, the guy was pretty good. He got the crowd worked up with his song. But it wasn’t until he finished singing and began to do a comedy schtick that he really got them rolling in the aisles.

  “No,” she said, her mouth hanging open. “He’s…That’s…”

  “Prince Ruprecht?”

  She shook her head. “That’s Queen Verona. Only, it’s not, of course, it’s like a royal fool mimicking her!” Appearing bemused, she added, “And doing a good job of it.”

  Rupie continued to crack jokes, doing an entire routine based on this vain, awful woman. Every word he said made Rafe glad she lived far away and he would never have to meet her. And the audience ate it up, hanging on his every word, bursting into loud peals of laughter several times.

  Which apparently displeased the royal guard.

  Murmuring a low curse, Olivia said, “It’s truly him, and they’re mocking him.” Her body had tensed and her chair squealed as she pushed it back from the table. “This cannot be tolerated.”

  He grabbed her hand again. “Don’t do anything,” he insisted, knowing she was about to go all warrior bad-ass because the audience was roaring with laughter. She hadn’t realized they were doing it with her prince, not at him. “They love him.”