Bodyguard: Outrageous / Riley - Lori Foster

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and disbelief. He held her gaze, and slowly, backing into the center of the floor, slid the zipper down on the leather jacket. He saw her gasp.

      Her intent expression, of innocence mixed with curious wonder, annoyed him, making him feel more exposed than he ever had while performing. That he could feel his face heat angered him. He was too old, and too cynical now, to actually blush. Damn her.

      Purposefully holding her gaze, determined to make her look away, he let his fingers move to the top of his pants. As he slowly unhooked the fly, one snap at a time, teasing his audience, teasing her more, she reeled back and one dainty hand touched her chest. She looked distressed. She looked shocked.

      But she didn’t look away.

      

      OH, LORD. Oh, Lord. This can’t be happening, Emily! It’s too outrageous. There can’t possibly be a large, gorgeous man peeling his clothes off in front of you.

      Even as she told herself she was delirious, that the scene in front of her was a figment of her fantastical imagination, Emily watched him kick off his boots, then with one smooth jerk, toss his pants aside. She wouldn’t have missed a single instant of his disrobing. She couldn’t. She was spellbound.

      Vaguely, in the back of her mind, she heard the crowd yelling, urging him on. He looked away from her finally, releasing her from his dark gaze. But still she watched him.

      He was the most beautiful man she’d ever seen. Raw, sexual, but also…gentle. She could feel his gentleness, had felt it outside when she’d first walked past him. It was as if she recognized he didn’t belong here, in this seedy neighborhood, any more than she did.

      But they were both here. Her reason was plain; she needed to find out who had sold her younger brother the gun that backfired, nearly causing him to lose an eye. He would recover, but that wouldn’t remove the fact that he’d bought the gun illegally, that he was involved in something he had no business being involved in and that he would probably be scarred for life. Emily had to find the man who’d almost ruined her brother’s life. She couldn’t imagine what kind of monster would sell a sixteen-year-old a gun—a defective gun, at that.

      Her parents refused to take the matter to the police. Luckily, John had only been using the gun for target practice, so no one even knew he had the thing. And more important, no one else had been hurt. When she thought about what could have happened, the consequences…

      But that was history. Now all she could do was make certain that the same man didn’t continue selling guns to kids. She had no compunction about going to the police once she had solid evidence, enough that she didn’t have to involve her brother.

      Her parents would never forgive her if she sullied the family name. Again.

      Her heart raced, climbing into her throat to choke her when the officer—obviously not an officer—started toward her. She couldn’t take her eyes off his bare, hair-brushed chest, his long, naked thighs. The way the shiny black briefs cupped him…Oh God, it was getting warm in here…

      Well-bred ladies most definitely did not react this way!

      There were social standards to uphold, a certain degree of expected poise…The litany she’d been reciting to herself came to a screeching halt as the man stopped in front of her.

      His eyes, a fierce green, reflected the spotlight. He stared directly at her, then moved so close she could smell the clean male fragrance of him, could feel his body heat. And God, he was hot.

      Panting, Emily realized he was waiting for her to give him money. Of all the insane notions…but there were numerous dollars sticking out of those small briefs, and she knew, with unwavering instinct, he wouldn’t budge until she’d done as he silently demanded.

      Blindly, unable to pull her gaze away, she fumbled in the huge pockets of her worn coat until her fist closed on a bill. She stuck out her hand, offering the money to him.

      Wicked was the only way to describe his smile. With a small, barely discernible motion, he shook his head. She dropped her gaze for an instant to where his briefs held all the cash. She’d watched the women put the money there, trying to touch him, but he’d eluded their grasping hands. He’d played up to the audience, getting only close enough to collect a few dollars, then dancing away.

      She didn’t want to touch him.

      Oh, what a lie! She wanted to touch him, all right, but she wouldn’t, not here in front of an audience, not ever. She was a respectable lady, she was…She squeaked, leaning back on her seat as he put one hand on the light frame over the bar, the other beside her on the bar stool. She was caged in, unable to breathe. She could see the light sheen of sweat caught in his chest hair, see the small, dark tuft of fine hair under his arm. It seemed almost indecent, and somehow very personal, to see his armpit.

      Her body throbbed with heat, and she couldn’t swallow. He stood there, demanding, insistent, so very carefully, using only her fingertips, she tucked the bill into his shorts. She registered warm, taut skin, and a sprinkling of crisp hair.

      Still holding her gaze, he smiled, his eyes narrowing only the slightest bit. He leaned down next to her face, then placed a small, chaste kiss on her cheek. It had been whisper-light, almost not there, but so potent she felt herself close to fainting.

      The audience screamed, loving it, loving him. He laughed, his expression filled with satisfaction, then went back to his dancing. Women begged for the same attention he’d given her, but he didn’t comply. Emily figured one pawn in the audience was enough.

      Though his focus was now directed elsewhere, it still took Emily several minutes to calm her galloping heartbeat. She continued to watch him, and that kept her tense, because despite everything she’d been brought up to believe, the man excited her.

      His dark hair, long in the back, was damp with sweat and beginning to curl. With each movement he made, his shoulders flexed, displaying well-defined muscles and sinew. His backside, held tight in the black briefs, was trim and taut. And his thighs, so long and well-sculpted, looked like the legs of an athlete.

      His face was beautiful, almost too beautiful. It was the kind of face that should make innocent women wary of losing their virtue. Green eyes, framed by deliciously long dark lashes and thick eyebrows, held cynical humor and were painfully direct and probing when he chose to use them that way. His nose was straight and narrow, his jaw firm.

      Emily realized she was being fanciful, and silently gathered her thoughts. She needed to concentrate on what she’d come to do—finding the gun dealer. According to her brother, who at sixteen had no business hanging out in this part of town, he’d bought the gun on this street. It had been a shady trade-off from the start, cash for the illegal weapon. But John was in a rebellious stage, and his companions of late had ranged from minor gang members to very experienced young ladies. Emily prayed she could help him get back on the straight and narrow, that he could find his peace on an easier road than she’d taken. When she thought of the scars he’d have to live with, the regrets, she knew, deep in her heart, the only way to give him that peace was to find enough evidence to put the gun dealer away.

      Though Emily planned to change his mind, John thought his life was over. What attractive, popular teenager could handle the idea of going through life with his face scarred? Then she thought of other kids—kids who might buy a duplicate of the same gun; kids who might be blinded rather than scarred. Or worse. The way the gun had exploded, it could easily have killed someone. And despite her parents’ wishes, Emily couldn’t stand back and allow that to happen. Her conscience wouldn’t allow it.

      The show finally ended, the music fading with the lighting until the floor was in darkness. The applause was deafening. And seconds later, the officer was back, his leather jacket slung over his shoulder, his pants and boots in his hand. He thanked the bartender, then took Emily’s arm without any explanation, and rapidly pulled her toward an inside door. They narrowly missed the mob of advancing women.

      Emily wanted to run, but she’d never in her life resorted to such a display. Besides, now that she knew he wasn’t really a policeman, a plan was forming

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