Strip. Delta Dupree

      Galaxeé closed the door to the office. “I’m beat. Drunk.”

      “Should’ve thought about that after the third martini,” Rio said. She shuffled a few invoices together and stuffed them inside an accordion folder. In the last few hours, she’d completed a good bit of work.

      “Think I need a cab.” Galaxeé fell into her chair, knees spread apart, dress drooping between them, sitting like a two-bit streetwalker.

      “I’ll call Randy or I’ll take you home myself.”

      “Nah. Randy’ll want more than I can give tonight. Don’t wanna hang around to wait for him, either.” She had the weirdest-looking smirk on her face, lopsided. “I locked down the place tight. Waiters are gone. There’s no sense in you driving to West Hell and back. Call me a cab. I can’t read the numbers on the phone.”

      “Jesus, Galaxeé. You really need to stop drinking. You can’t get loaded when I’m not here.”

      “No problem. I won’t. Even when I do get a buzz, which only happens on Fridays, the peroxide-blond heifer would watch over me if you asked her anyway.”

      “Don’t start with me.”

      “Perino’s kissing ass every damn time I look around.”

      “It’s her nature to be kind.”

      “Well, it gets on my last nerve. She’s sneaky, and I refuse to put my hands on her when I know she’s hiding a secret. Tonight, her aura was blue-green then jumped blood-red. Hell of a combination.”

      Rio wished Galaxeé would lighten up. She was taking this fortune-telling too far. Blue-green and blood-red fits better in an abstract painting.

      Rather than argue, she dialed the usual cab service. They’d called one a few times for a tipsy patron. No one left the club stinking drunk without assistance. She’d take them home herself if necessary. “Couple minutes. I’ll walk you down to the curb.”

      “I do not need help,” Galaxeé snapped. “Later.” She stood, snatched the red-fox jacket from the hanger, left it clanking its own melody, and marched out of the office, sweeping the floor with her fur.

      “Call my cell when you get there.”

      Rio tried to glare a hole through her back. Her partner hadn’t stumbled, tripped or bumped into a wall. Or slurred her words, come to think about it.

      She listened to each step on the staircase. Even. Smooth. Steady. What game was this woman playing now?

      Galaxeé hadn’t mentioned any problems with Randy. Their relationship had seemed stable and secure during the four months of complete and utter bliss they’d shared. She’d say if they’d had a situation, wouldn’t she? They were best friends.

      Minutes later, Rio looked down at her watch. Quarter to three. Surely, Galaxeé was safely on her way to her cozy West Denver home.

      Then, she heard a noise and looked up. Someone was making his or her way deliberately up the stairs.

      “Galaxeé?”

      Without an answer, Rio grabbed the phone base and rolled the stool back toward the corner of the room. As the footsteps closed in, grew louder and louder, her heart pounded just as noisily. Galaxeé had said she’d locked down the club. Had she been too drunk to remember? Rio knew she should’ve checked the doors before her partner left the premises.

      Swallowing first, she forced out a whisper. “Who’s there?”

      The desktop phone unit contained a panic button: five-second notification. Five seconds for an intruder to kill her. Five more seconds and she’d die of a heart attack. The police would find her on the floor, unable to help, unable to bring her back to life. They’d arrive five minutes too darn late.

      She should’ve listened to Galaxeé and bought a pistol for protection when she spent late nights in this big building. She should’ve had Cockroach stay with her until she’d finished working. She should’ve left with Galaxeé!

      But, darned if she’d go down easily. She owned this club. She’d put everything she had into this place. Killer’s was her life!

      Silently, Rio replaced the receiver. She stood and snatched up the letter opener, drew it back over her shoulder. Whoever thought they’d get away with her murder may get a dinner, but she’d sure get a sandwich.

      I’ll leave a permanent mark on their behind.

      As the footsteps drew closer, her heart worked to burst out of her chest. She’d bleed on everything—stain the floor, the walls, and even change the color of the expensive red dress she still wore.

      She readjusted the weapon in her hand, ready to spring forward, ready to defend herself and her thriving business.

      The footsteps halted at the top of the stairs. She heard breathing, heard every sound inside the building and every noise outside.

      Why was the person waiting? She was ready, alert, most of all, capable.

      And, scared, on the verge of panicking.

      Bryce stepped around the corner. “Rio?” The letter opener clanged on the wooden floor. “Are you all right?”

      Her eyes were huge, clear and vivid gold with wild fear.

      “My God.”

      He crossed the floor of the small office in a few long strides and gathered her into his arms. Holding her rigid body tightly against his, she trembled almost violently while he stroked her satin-smooth hair, bare back and arms. Her breathing sounded as ragged as if she’d run a mile, but her hot breath caressed his neck like a dove’s soft feather.

      When he climbed the stairs, he’d wanted to ensure she’d heard him coming. He’d stopped to take a calming breath and ebb his heart rate before he faced her, certain she was upset after seeing the silly fiasco with Shannon.

      He’d scared the shit out of Rio instead.

      Soothing her was easy. Her supple body molded perfectly to his. He could stand here for hours, holding her, caressing, inhaling her intoxicating scent, filling himself with her. But containing the rapacious lust screaming through his veins presented a problem and his pulse rate strummed a new beat.

      Now, his cock was at attention. Potent, hard and throbbing, flagrantly pressed against this luscious woman, poised and needy as they come.

      Relaxation forced the tension in her body to seep away slowly. Bryce leaned down and brushed a kiss over her earlobe, then to a place behind her ear he remembered was sensitive.

      She responded with a shiver, accompanied by an audible gasp.

      Oh, yes, she liked that. And he pressed a lengthy kiss to the very same place as his hand traveled down her back, splaying his fingers over the tight muscles, kneading. He stopped the forward progress at the base of her spine. He wasn’t foolish enough to push her too far or rush too soon after a traumatic episode. He’d simply hold her as long as necessary.

      “Don’t,” Rio whispered, but her arms lifted, fingers curling into his shirtfront. She held him in place, held him immobile.

      He’d heard the unsteadiness in her voice, felt the subtle movement of her body. She was fighting him, warring within herself. Cupping her chin, he forced her to meet his gaze. “Tell me to stop and I will. I’d never force you into anything you don’t want.” Studying the bewilderment in her beautiful eyes, he cupped her chin, ran his thumb over her unpainted, silky lips.

      “But I want you, Rio,” Bryce said softly. She didn’t move out of his embrace. “I want to kiss you everywhere, caress every inch of your body. Chase the fear away.”

      “I…you can’t,” she stammered, breathless, trembling. “We can’t.”

      “Why?” When she frowned, he smoothed the furrows away with