A Stranger's Touch

INCREDIBLE…

Quinn slowly drew the very tip of his finger along the sweat-dampened valley of Dee’s back, then down farther until he rested between the sweetly shaped cheeks of her bottom. She moaned in her sleep, instinctively rocking against his touch. He curved his fingers around her swollen sex and squeezed. Even in sleep she responded to him in a way that touched the most fundamental part of him.

He lay back beside her, thinking over the past four hours and wondering if he’d ever view the world the same way again. He didn’t even have to close his eyes to see her straddled across him, her face full of decadent wonder as she watched his flesh disappear into hers; or under him, her arms stretched up above her head, allowing him to take control; or with her tush grinding back against him, the mingling of her pale pubic hair with his dark, sheer ecstasy on her face when she reached climax again…and again…and again.

He glanced down to find his member pulsing back to life against his bare stomach. Of course, he’d essentially had an erection ever since she’d landed in his lap earlier. He had the feeling that if they continued for the next two days, he wouldn’t go limp. And he didn’t think his reaction had anything to do with his teenage tutelage in the hands of his older next-door neighbor, who had taught him the finer points of tantric sex. He’d simply never wanted someone as much as he wanted Dee. Which should have puzzled the hell out of him considering that normally he would be lying next to his latest conquest planning his escape route. Then again, he didn’t think he’d ever had sex with a woman who dropped off to sleep as quickly as Dee had. The action implied trust. And he found himself extending it to her, as well. He hadn’t encountered much of that in his thirty-four years. If the women he usually bedded weren’t making sure he didn’t sneak out, they were trying to come up with inventive ways to get him to stay.

Not that Quinn thought he was such a great catch. No. As he’d gotten older, so had his bedmates. And he was coming to notice a certain desperation in his partners where there had once been only a warm afterglow. He gazed at Dee leisurely, thinking he’d love to see all that pale hair and skin of hers resting against his black satin sheets. See her toned, turned-on body against the backdrop of his bedroom instead of a cold hotel room. He lazily drew his finger up along Dee’s side, over her breast, then her left arm. She shivered in her sleep, then shifted, bringing her side against his and draping her arm across his chest. He watched as her slender fingers tunneled through the hair there, then stilled. The rock on her ring finger seemed to flash at him in the dim light from the balcony door. He’d noticed it earlier in the bar. Engaged? He suspected so. He also suspected that the gathering with her friends wasn’t a birthday party, but was instead a bachelorette party. Which meant that the wedding wasn’t that far off. Might even be this weekend.

A pang of something he couldn’t immediately identify skated through his stomach. He couldn’t identify it simply because he’d never encountered it before. Jealousy. Pure and biting. The thought that the incredibly sexy woman lying next to him was about to marry another man filled him with a heat that had nothing to do with sex and everything to do with possessiveness. Which confounded him even more.

He’d bedded a couple of married women. Even an engaged one. On the day of her wedding. Was he proud of it? No. But, hey, sex was sex. And women committed to other men understood that more than single women. When he spotted the ring, he knew from the get-go that his time with the woman would be a one-shot deal. Which was all he was in the market for. The women from whom he’d wanted more had been few and far between. And they had always been single. New to him, however, was the desire to have a woman who already belonged to another man.

Dee murmured something. He shifted his head to watch her sleeping features. Her damp blond hair curled wildly around her heart-shaped face, her full, pink lips were swollen from his kisses, and when the tip of her tongue dipped out to lick the corner of her mouth, he nearly groaned. Oh, the incredible things she could do with that mouth. Just remembering made his blood surge through his veins triple time and his erection grow to painful proportions. He put her hand to rest on the bed and turned onto his side. If this was all they were to have, this one night, he was going to take his fill of her. And, he hoped, give her a memory she wouldn’t soon forget.

With a languid hand, he trailed a path down over one curved cheek, then slid it into the crevice beyond. She made a soft whimper as he flicked his thumb over her swollen bud. He reached down and nudged her thighs open, baring her sex to his gaze for only a moment before he positioned himself there, between her legs. Within moments he was sheathed with a condom and he rested the tip of his erection against her engorged portal. He grit his teeth against the desire to thrust into her to the hilt. Slow. Nice…and…slow.

He fit the tip inside her slick flesh, then withdrew. She murmured again and turned her head, but still didn’t awaken. Gently grasping her hips, he slid his hands under her and slowly began to stroke her from the other side. He entered her again, this time a few millimeters deeper.

He knew the instant she awakened from her low, blood-stirring moan. She looked over her bare shoulder, her eyes sleepy and full of desire. He thrust again, this time even deeper. Her back arched, bringing her sex directly against his. Quinn stretched his neck and groaned as she began straining against him, seeking a deeper, more meaningful meeting. He was only too glad to oblige. Grasping her hips, he plunged in all the way, the explosion of light behind his eyes astounding him as he reached the edge of orgasm faster than he ever imagined possible.

4

DULCY JUGGLED HER BRIEFCASE along with her “grande” cup of Starbucks coffee and a small pot of African violets she’d picked up on Saturday—the day she was supposed to pick out china patterns. Instead, she’d lingered in the open-air market, choosing fruit she usually didn’t keep around the house and buying violets. There was something about the flowers’ raw beauty, their vivid colors, that drew her to them, although she told herself she simply thought they would look good on her desk. She turned the lock and shouldered open the glass-and-chrome door to Lomax, Ferris, McCade and Bertelli, Attorneys-at-Law. Monday morning. Two whole days since she’d kissed Quinn goodbye at the door to his hotel room…twice. The first time, she’d never made it into the hall. No promises. No regrets. No lingering what-ifs. She mentally braced herself, waiting as she’d been waiting all weekend, for one of the three to hit her. They didn’t. She sighed, wondering what, if anything, that said about her.

The door whooshed shut behind her and she took in the neat, rustic waiting area of the law offices. A colorful southwestern area rug covered the pine floor while rough-hewn furniture sat off to the right, including a coffee table that had legs as thick as tree trunks. In fact, they were tree trunks.

A glance at the empty secretary’s desk told her that Mona wasn’t in yet. Instantly, Dulcy relaxed her shoulders. Good. She’d been dreading coming to the office for fear that there was something…different about her. Something the no-nonsense fiftyish secretary would immediately home in on and identify. And the last thing she wanted right now was anyone scrutinizing her. Not when she was having a hard time figuring herself out.

She stepped toward the first office to the right that bore her name on a brass plate.

“Happy Monday, Miss Ferris.”

Dulcy gave a little squeak and nearly dropped the violets as she swiveled around to face Mona, who’d stepped out of Jena’s office. The older woman immediately narrowed her gaze. Dulcy bit the inside of her cheek. Well, how did you like that for keeping things normal? The first voice she hears and she nearly jumps out of her skin.

“’Morning, Mona.” She swung her door inward and laid her briefcase along with her coffee on the filing cabinet just inside. No matter how many times she’d asked, the older woman refused to call her by her first name. “Early this morning, aren’t you?”

Mona fingered through the folders in her arms. Jena had once asked the ageless secretary if she had an entire closet full of navy skirts and plain white blouses. Dulcy had balked at the personal attack. But since then Mona had begun varying the color of her skirts, though they were all cut the same. Straight. Long. Basic. Much like the woman herself.

“I was just going to make the same comment about you,” said Mona.

Dulcy waved her free hand, trying to come up with something witty to say, anything to divert the woman’s attention, but failing miserably. Instead, her gaze focused on the violets in her hand. She glanced back at the secretary. “Here—I brought these for you.”

Mona’s face immediately brightened, making the fact that she wore no makeup almost a nonissue. She put down the files and accepted the small pot. “For me?”

Dulcy smoothed her hair and checked the simple twist at the nape of her neck—a nervous gesture she hadn’t used for at least five years. She frowned and forced her hand back to her side, fisting it to make sure it stayed put. “Yes. I was, um, at the market the day before yesterday and thought they’d look nice. You know, on your desk.”

There it was again. The gaze.

Dulcy wasn’t sure if it was the severe way Mona pulled her salt-and-pepper hair back into a bun, or the fact that she’d worked in a law office for so long, but Mona Lyndell had a stare that any prosecuting attorney would envy. And under which any witness would cave.

And Dulcy would do well to remember her own advice to clients. Less was more when it came to answering questions.

A door from the opposite side of the offices opened and Barry Lomax’s substantial frame filled the empty space. “I thought I heard your voice. How’s my girl doing this morning?”

Dulcy’s tense smile relaxed into a genuine one. She crossed the area rug and fondly kissed Barry’s cheek. He’d always reminded her of a cross between Kirk Douglas and Sean Connery in his bearded days. And he always made her feel good about the choices she’d made in her life.

Barry had a large hand in her ever making it as a practicing attorney, and was the sole reason she, Jena and Marie had been able to form their own partnership. At sixty-seven, the renowned trial attorney was long overdue for retirement. But with no children of his own and his original partners having retired long ago, he wanted to guarantee that everything he’d built up wouldn’t disappear along with him. When Dulcy, Jena and Marie signed on as partners six months ago, they’d done so with the express stipulation that the firm would always hold Barry’s name. In return, they received a boatload of wealthy, established clients, a swanky downtown address and the best working environment they could have hoped for.

Her smile widened. “You know, you’re going to have to watch that ‘girl’ and ‘honey’ stuff from here on out. We wouldn’t want anyone getting the wrong idea,” she admonished.

Thrice divorced—twice to women who had started as paralegals at the firm—Barry wasn’t a newcomer to the gossip mill. He pulled at the waist of his slacks, a habit he’d picked up a while ago after dropping twenty pounds. “Actually, I think that’s more incentive to keep calling you ‘girl.’ There are worse things I can think of than having everyone believe there’s a little hanky-panky going on behind the scenes here.”

Dulcy crossed her arms. “Oh, that’s just what I’ve always aspired to. To have everyone think I slept my way to the top.” She laughed. “Anyway, that’s not what I’m talking about. If you call me those cute little endearments in public, the entire legal establishment will be calling me ‘girl’ in no time flat. I can hear it already. I’m arbitrating an important case and the opposing attorney asks, ‘Is that all, honey?”’ She shuddered. “No, thank you.”

“Oh, I don’t know. You could try what you did with me the first time I slipped and called you ‘honey’ in public.”

Dulcy’s face went hot as she recalled the incident. She’d been all of twenty-one, participating in a mock trial. With solid ties to University of New Mexico School of Law, Barry had been visiting counsel and had agreed to sit in as the judge. “Any more questions, honey?” he’d asked. She’d bristled, then shot back, “No, I think that about covers it, pookems,” and the entire room had erupted in laughter. Including Barry.

It was the beginning of a mentor-student relationship and, even more important, a friendship that Dulcy cherished.

“Can I get you two some coffee?” Mona asked.

Dulcy uncrossed her arms. “Thanks, but I can get it myself,” she said as she had nearly every morning for the past six months.

Barry held out his white handmade ceramic cup with a real antler as the handle. “Mighty fine of you to offer, Miss Lyndell.”

The instant Mona had taken the cup and disappeared down the hall, Dulcy lowered her voice. “I still think she has the hots for you.”

Barry’s deep laugh boomed through the room. “And I still think you’re off your rocker, Dulc. Mona’s been my secretary for thirty years. Don’t you think I’d know if she had the slightest bit of interest in me?”

Dulcy patted the front of his starched shirt. “I don’t think you’d notice if the woman stripped down naked right in front of you.”

“Which would never happen.”

She started to walk toward her office. “How would you know? You never look up from your latest case file long enough to see if it already has.”

Another chuckle. “Did I know what I was letting myself in for when I signed you gals on as partners?”

Dulcy winked. “Actually, I still suspect you did it just to give half your clients a heart attack.”

“Speaking of partners in crime, where are yours this morning, anyway?”

Dulcy glanced at her watch. “I’d say Marie’s doing the parking spot hunt outside the county courthouse right about now. And Jena…” She smiled. “Well, Jena’s probably running late, as usual for a Monday morning.”

Which was exactly what Dulcy had been counting on. She hadn’t dared breathe a word to either of her friends about what had happened two nights ago. And, thank God, neither of them had pursued the matter. From what she understood, Jena and Marie had closed the club down. By the time they’d made their way upstairs and knocked on her door, they’d figured she was dead to the world and had let her be. After all, everyone knew Dulcy was as boring as they came.

If they only knew… She tightened her hand on the door frame. Yes, well, if she had a say in the matter, they would never find out.