Surrender, Baby Page 11

  When he seemed satisfied that he had her undivided attention, he gave her the urgent thrill she’d been imagining. He slipped his hand inside the bodice of her dress and cupped her naked breast. The audacity of it sent a shock of pleasure flowing all the way to the soles of her feet.

  “Nobody, baby,” he whispered, giving her a possessive little shake with his hands. “Nobody but me.”

  Randy felt grounded to the floor by the painful currents of excitement running through her. Samba music throbbed around her, hot and heavy, and the musky perfume of roses was nearly suffocating as she breathed it in. She swayed toward Geoff, drunk with the sensations of the moment. He bent to kiss her and as their lips touched, a kind of chaos broke out around them. The room went wine red with light, and the band’s brass section launched into a fanfare of trumpets.

  Bewildered, Randy noticed the curtain rising on the stage next to their table. Apparently the show was starting. Or were they the show? She glanced around the room and saw all eyes trained in their direction. A flicker of amusement crossed Geoff’s lips and Randy realized he wasn’t embarrassed in the slightest. Like an incorrigible kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar, he seemed to be finding the situation quite entertaining.

  Randy didn’t share the sentiment. Furious, she slapped his hand away, then twisted around and straightened her dress. But if she was angry with him, she was even angrier with herself. How many kinds of idiot was she for getting herself into these predicaments with him? He took advantage again and again, but she couldn’t seem to get it through her head that he was the enemy. He might be the only man who could find Hugh, but he was also the one man who could ruin her life!

  She turned to the entrance, intending to get some air, and was alarmed to see a guard posted by the door.

  “You might as well sit down,” Geoff said, his hand on her waist. “They don’t let people in or out during the floor show.”

  “Why?” she demanded. “Is it so bad, people try to escape?”

  He merely smiled. “You’ll see.”

  Randy sat down, still fuming. Her jaw ached like fire and she was already regretting her eagerness to check out the club. Some investigation this was turning out to be. They hadn’t even asked about Hugh yet.

  The band was going full tilt with the torchiest music imaginable when Randy finally got around to glancing at the stage. The set consisted of nothing more than a streetlamp with a smoldering Latin male leaning against it. A female temptress, writhing to the music behind him, was tugging his white T-shirt out of his jeans and brushing herself up against his backside.

  For all of the woman’s diligence, she didn’t look as if she wanted to do his laundry, Randy decided. The straps of her sliplike dress were hanging off her shoulders, and her breasts strained against the sheer material. She was wanton seduction itself, yet somehow the man managed to feign indifference, even as she pulled up his shirt and exposed his muscled chest to her roaming hands.

  Feigned was the key word, Randy realized when she noticed the burgeoning in the man’s pants. That wasn’t supposed to happen in floor shows, was it? The woman began to unbuckle his belt, brazen in her eagerness to touch him. As she unzipped his fly, the man glanced down, watching her hands work their seductive magic.

  Randy looked away, as startled by the act as the memory it evoked. It forced her to think about what she’d done to Geoff that night years ago. She shifted in the chair and rearranged herself, crossing her legs and tugging down her skirt. But nothing she did could stop the flood of images or the soft aching that stirred inside her. Some experiences were indelible, so sharply engraved on the nervous system, they could never be erased. That night was everywhere, past flowing into the present like an erupting volcano.

  The music hit a resounding crescendo. As Randy looked up, bongo drums throbbed and the man on the stage came alive. He grasped the woman’s hand and swung her around in front of him, bringing her to her knees in an erotic, dancelike move.

  Seemingly crazed with desire, the woman strained toward him, letting out an anguished moan as he pulled her to her feet and pressed her to the back wall of the shallow stage. As she writhed against his imprisoning hands, her dress inched down her shoulders, freeing one of her breasts to the man’s gaze, and to his mouth as he bent to taste her.

  It all happened so quickly. Randy couldn’t look away. Her breathing went high and shallow, coming from some tight corner of her throat. These people weren’t playacting, she realized as the man tangled his hands in the woman’s skirt and drew the silk up her thighs.

  Unable to free herself, Randy felt a sickening flash of shock and excitement as she watched the erotic spectacle. The dancers’ naked desire left her dizzy and fighting to breathe. She glanced at Geoff and saw a glint of green through his black mask. He’d been watching her rather than the show, she realized. But for how long? He looked sinister now, like some kind of demon god presiding over the festivities. His gaze made her feel like a sacrificial virgin being primed for her own ravishment.

  A screech of laughter struck at Randy’s fraying nerves. She came out of the chair, bewildered, frightened. As she pulled off her mask, she noticed the furtive eyes of the crowd glancing her way. Their smiles seemed to taunt her and leer, and the blaring orchestra music throbbed in her head. Had she gone crazy or was everyone in the room watching her with some kind of demonic amusement?

  Panic galvanized her. She started for the entrance, her only thought to get out of the room. The guard was so absorbed in the show, he made no attempt to stop her as she rushed past him. She burst through the door to the club’s foyer and then out the next door to an even more chaotic scene—tribal drums, samba bands, and careening floats.

  Clowns teetered by on towering stilts, nearly naked women quivered blissfully to the music, and conga lines of revelers danced in the streets, whirling dervishes of primal energy and sensuality. It was Carnaval, Randy realized. There was no escaping the madness!

  Someone jostled her from behind, and she stumbled forward toward the street. Before she could catch her balance, a grinning Dracula caught hold of her hand and dragged her with him into a conga line. She was swept along with the crowd, sucked deeper and deeper into the frenzied crush.

  Costumed bodies slammed into her, anonymous hands groped her, and the musk of overheated human flesh assailed her senses. A heel snapped off her shoe and one of her shoulder straps tore free of its moorings. She clutched the bodice of her dress as she fought to stay on her feet. It was raw fear that kept her going. The only rule was survival—move with the teeming masses or be trampled by them.

  “Randy!”

  She heard Geoff’s voice through the din, but she couldn’t see him. As the parade swung around a corner, the pack that surrounded her became even more compressed. For several seconds, she was lifted off the ground as the press of bodies threatened to crush the wind out of her. “Geoff!” she screamed in terror.

  Another shift in the parade’s direction dropped her to the ground like a rock. Her feet collided with the pavement and she pitched forward, landing on one knee. Pain jolted through her as revelers swarmed around her, knocking her off balance again and again.

  “Randy! Here!”

  She heard Geoff calling to her and as she fought to get up, then strong hands lifted her free of the melee. A moment later he was pulling her with him into the safety of a narrow alleyway, drawing her into a recessed doorway.

  She’d never been so glad to see anyone in her life. Sobbing with relief, she threw her arms around him and buried her face in his hair. He held her protectively, cradling her head in the curve of his throat. “Randy, Randy,” he crooned harshly, “don’t ever do anything crazy like that again. You could have gotten yourself killed.”

  For once Randy hadn’t the slightest inclination to argue with him. It felt too good being safe in his arms. It felt like heaven after the nightmare of purgatory. And that was all she wanted for now, just the solace of being held and stroked and loved until she c
ould stop shaking.

  Loved? she thought ... loved? Was that what she wanted?

  Yes, just for now.

  He seemed to understand her need. The sheltering strength of his arms conveyed that he had no intention of letting her go until she was ready. If she wanted to be held until the sun ceased to shine, he’d be there.

  For Randy it was a new experience. She’d never let herself receive comfort from a man before, simply taking what was offered. She’d always thought women had to barter with men, as her mother had: An act of sex equaled some affection; tears were good for an apology; a hint of contrition, maybe even dinner. It was all coercion, giving to get. But this kindness felt blissfully undeserved. She’d given Geoff Dias nothing but grief so far.

  It took her some time, but finally she was able to separate herself from the muscled warmth of his body long enough to glance up at him. “I think I’m going to live,” she told him.

  “I’m glad to hear it.” He continued to smooth her hair as if that were his sole purpose in life. “Why did you run away?”

  “I had to.” She was surprised he didn’t understand. “That floor show! And you, the Prince of Darkness himself, leering at me like I was some kind of virgin sacrifice—or a peach ripening to be plucked.”

  His expression was one of droll self-restraint. “You have quite an imagination, lady.”

  “Don’t lie. You weren’t thinking about plucking me?”

  “I think about that a lot, but I’d rather do it privately, just the two of us. Say ... back at the hotel? It’s short notice for a virgin sacrifice, but I’ll see what I can do. Of course, we’ll need a virgin.”

  “Cheeky bastard,” she said, laughter bubbling in her reproach. Still suspicious of his sexy grin, she leaned back, letting herself be supported by the circle of his arms. “You had no ulterior motives in mind taking me to the club?”

  “Randy, you insisted on going.” He lifted the dangling rhinestone strap of her dress, drawing the bodice up to cover the creamy fullness of one nearly exposed breast. “If I had ulterior motives, would I be doing this?”

  He’d picked the wrong area of her body to be gallant about, especially considering the liberties he’d taken earlier—and in his office. “Don’t play games with me, Geoff Dias,” she warned, surprised at the emotion in her voice. “I’m not an easy mark, whatever evidence you may think you have to the contrary. I won’t be trifled with like all those other women you’ve conquered—the ‘babies’ on your bike.”

  She pressed her hands to his biceps and pushed, making a halfhearted attempt to extricate herself. He countered by slipping his fingers into her hair, by stroking the tautness below her cheekbone with his thumb. Finally, reluctantly, she met his eyes and felt her pulse rate soar.

  “I’m not trifling,” he insisted quietly. “If I wanted to trifle, I could have had that crazed woman back at Cheiro de Amor. And the ‘baby’ on my bike is singular, just one woman.”

  His voice dropped low, but there was something passionate in its tone, something male and possessive. “It’s you ... Randy. Baby, it’s you.”

  Randy was more than astonished, she was fearful. He’d sounded as if he meant it. But surely that was impossible. Men like Geoff Dias didn’t squander themselves on just one female, not with so much testosterone to spread around, not with so many worlds to conquer, so many women. “What are you saying?” she demanded, covering her alarm with questions. “What do you mean, it’s me?”

  He shook his head, as if a little confused himself. “I don’t know, maybe I want to give this thing a chance.

  See what happens—if anything can happen between us.”

  Randy was shaken by the way her blood was rushing and her mind was racing. She didn’t want to hear what he was saying to her, and yet she didn’t want him to stop. Give this thing a chance? God, how that idea frightened her. It was impossible.

  “No, I can’t take chances, Geoff,” she told him. “I need something solid. I have something solid.”

  He tipped up her chin and stared at her hard. “Right, you’ve got a solid guy who hangs out at places called The Smell of Love?”

  “Oh—and you don’t hang out at places like that?”

  “Sure I do, but I admit to it, Randy. I’m not pretending to be Mr. Clean. I’m not lying to you.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” she asked him. “That Hugh is lying to me? About what?” She could hardly believe it. Geoff Dias was setting himself up as morally superior to her fiancé? The man who rode bikes like a banshee and carried a flask in his hip pocket? Hugh was a fine man, a conscientious man who’d worked his whole life to get where he was.

  “There are plenty of things your fiancé could be lying about,” Geoff pointed out. “Like what he was doing at that nightclub, why he met with Santeras.”

  She met his emerald gaze head on. “Are you asking me to believe that Hugh was doing something wrong, something illegal?”

  “I’m not asking you to believe anything about Hugh. I’m telling you something about me. I’ve never lied to you, and I never will. Maybe you’re not used to that in a man.”

  Randy had a moment of true confusion. His thumb was still stroking her face lightly, and the conviction in his voice pulled at her. It reached into her mind and made her want to question the things she’d taken for granted as true. He seemed to be saying he wanted a relationship with her. But maybe he was just playing with her head, her hopes, trying to convince her that he was a man who didn’t lie, a man who would hold her simply because she needed holding. But why would he do all that? What was his motive? Surely he had one. All men did.

  He bent to kiss her and she whispered something as his mouth neared hers. “Is the deal off, then? The night of sex?”

  “No, sweetness,” he said, tasting her lips, sipping, sampling, tantalizing, “the deal isn’t off. You’re not going to leave Hugh for me. You’re too frightened. And if I can’t have anything else, then I want that night. I mean to have that night.”

  His lips continued to touch hers, light, sexy, wickedly sweet. His hand went to the breast he’d covered, and she felt a shock wave of desire as his skin touched her bare flesh. He was right. Everything he said was true. She wasn’t going to leave Hugh, she couldn’t. It would kill her to give up her dreams.

  But there was one thing Geoff Dias didn’t know, must never know. She wanted that night of sex with him. She wanted it badly.

  Nine

  GEOFF, WEARING ONLY his tuxedo pants, stood alone in the darkness of his bedroom gazing out the open terrace doors. The low vibrant music of the grandfather clock echoed from the foyer, followed by four lonely chimes. The sound was haunting. Even the chaos of Carnaval, roiling up on sultry waves of heat, couldn’t offset the sad beauty of the chimes.

  They reminded him of her.

  He’d been sketching her in his mind again, the gypsy bride in her lacy white wedding gown and her shattered dreams. It was the same image, always the same, her eyelashes quivering with tears, her features suffused with a young girl’s pain, a young woman’s stung pride.

  Why did he always think of her that way? There were a million other images that could have obsessed him—their white-hot coupling on the bike, their abandoned sex in the roadside motel he’d found. She’d been crazy enough to try everything that night, perhaps a little too desperate. At one point she’d thrown herself against the wall, facing away from him, begging him to take her that way. And then in the heat of it, before either of them were finished, she’d freed herself and knelt before him, bringing him to the most explosive climax he’d ever had.

  His gut knotted up violently with the memory. Aware of the heat pooling in his groin, he went to the dresser and poured himself a splash of brandy from a crystal decanter. That session had sure as hell left an impression on him. Why couldn’t he draw it? Why did he keep re-creating a sad and beautiful child-woman, full of melancholy, shadowed with yearnings?

  Why couldn’t he get her out of his system?
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br />   He walked out onto the terrace, drink in hand, barely aware of the sweltering heat. There was an aching sensation between his ribs that intensified whenever he took a breath. It was associated with her, he knew, and it would only get worse. She was slowly but surely driving him nuts. She could have been crushed in that mob scene, and the thought of losing her that way had churned up feelings. It had made him realize that he cared about her, maybe even enough to think about the consequences of hurting her.

  He took a quick slug of the brandy and grimaced as it set fire to the roof of his mouth. If he were a better man, he’d find her Prince Charming for her and get out of her life. There was no way to get the satisfaction he wanted from her short of destroying her dream. If she wanted a loveless marriage to a buttoned-down desk jockey—permanence over passion—that was her choice.

  He glanced down at her balcony and saw that the doors to her room were open. Something tugged deep inside him, tempting him to think of it as an invitation. Hell, she’d invited him in the club, surrendering her mouth to him, her breast, then pulling back abruptly when they were interrupted. He wanted to believe that if they’d been somewhere else, with nothing to stop them, she would have surrendered it all.

  He drained the rest of the brandy in his glass, fighting fire with fire, trying to put out the blaze in his gut. If he were a better man, he wouldn’t even be thinking about such things. If he were a better man ...

  Where had he gone? Randy crumpled the note she’d found on her pillow that morning and tossed it into the basin of a green marble birdbath that stood in the midst of the terrace garden. With a sigh of frustration, she picked up her dripping glass of iced tea and took a drink, ignoring the fruit salad that sat on the table next to her.