Friends and Lovers Trilogy 02 - Charmed (16 page)

Chapter Sixteen

“Are you okay?”

Lulu sat down across the table from Murphy. “I’m fine.”
I’m a nervous wreck.
But she was also a good actress and a pro at keeping her feelings bottled. Amazing that she’d spilled her guts to her sister. Not so amazing that Sofie had come through with an encouraging smile in her voice and a bold suggestion. She’d been pushing Lulu to get busy with a man, any man, for months.
“There is life after Terry,”
she was fond of saying. At long last, for Lulu those words rang true. Colin Murphy colored her world with vibrant images of chivalry and adventurous lovemaking. He inspired her to chase after the happily-ever-after she’d dreamed of forever-and-always.

Embracing Sofie’s fail-proof (at least Sofie assured her it was fail-proof) plan of seduction, Lulu had showered and changed into faded jeans and a fuzzy pink pullover sweater. High on anticipation, she was ready to attack the day and take life by the horns.

Murphy, on the other hand, looked as though he’d been through hell. Clearly Mr. Moral had been at war with his conscience the past hour. His remorseful gaze and clenched jaw were a dead giveaway. The fierce stubble shadowing his cheeks and the streak of charred residue on his forehead accentuated his current dark and dangerous vibe. All he was missing were the battle fatigues. He looked just a little too sexy for her comfort, seeing as she wasn’t supposed to jump him until later.

She cleared her throat. “You look like you could use a shower.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“I mean …”

“I know what you mean.” His lips curved briefly, and then flattened into a grim line. “I’m sorry about coming down on you so hard.”

She poured a bowl of corn flakes. “That’s all right. I had it coming.” She snorted and rolled her eyes to lighten the tone. “I almost burned down your house.”

“My birth parents, Maureen and Charlie Murphy, died in a fire.”

Lulu’s head snapped up. She gently set aside the cereal box, her appetite gone. No wonder he’d freaked out. “I’m so sorry. That’s … awful.”

“I was ten. Bogie, Joe Bogart, was,
is
my best buddy. We bonded in the first grade. I didn’t have any siblings or cousins, no fawning relatives to speak of, so over the years his place became a second home.” He scraped a hand over his chin, down his neck. “Anyway, that specific weekend Bogie had invited me along for a family camping trip to the Poconos. Otherwise, I probably wouldn’t be here now.”

Lulu swallowed, held her voice steady. “What caused the fire?”

He leaned in and rested his forearms on the table and clasped his hands. “A faction of the Mafia infiltrated our neighborhood, offered their
protection.
My Da, an honest, hardworking, and extremely stubborn man, refused to pay. Not only that, he encouraged other area businessmen to resist. The mafia torched my Da’s pub in order to set an example. We lived upstairs, a second floor apartment.”

Lulu’s stomach churned as her imagination ran rampant.

Murphy worked his jaw. “According to neighbors, my Da carried my Ma out of the inferno, and then rushed back in for Freddy.”

“Freddy?”

“Our cat.” He shook his head, spread his hands. “I know. But Freddy was a part of our family. He was a living creature, and Da considered himself invincible, so I’m sure he thought the rescue would be a cinch.” He looked out the bay window, toward the towering pines. “I’m guessing he succumbed to the smoke or got hit by a falling rafter.”

After a moment, he turned back to Lulu, met her gaze. Sadness and anger swirled in his eyes causing her gut to clench. “By that time the fire department showed,” he said. “Ma was frantic. When Da didn’t come back, she got past a fireman.”

Her heart pounded with admiration and grief. “She went back in to save your father.”

“Pretty dumb, huh?”

“She must’ve loved him very much.”

“Yeah.” Stone-faced, he eased back in his chair and folded his arms over his chest. “I just thought I owed you an explanation.”

“You don’t owe me anything.” She wanted to run over and hug him, but his body language screamed
back off.
“But I’m glad you told me.” Knowing he was a man of few words, she felt privileged that he’d shared such a painful part of his past. Dare she push her luck? “Colin?”

He got that wary look, the one he adopted every time she called him by his first name. “Yeah?”

She shifted in her seat. “I get that the Bogarts adopted you. What I don’t get is why you didn’t go into the FBI like Joe. Seems natural that you would want to fight organized crime.”

He crooked a wry smile. “You need to be a college graduate to qualify for the Bureau. Manny and Rosa aren’t rich. I didn’t want to put them out financially. They raised me. That was enough. I joined the Marines when I was eighteen. The Corps provided me with a higher education and invaluable life lessons. My goal was to fight evil in every form, on every front. Mission accomplished.”

“About that—”

“I think I’ll take that shower now.” He stood, gestured to the cereal and milk. “Do you need anything else before I go?”

His reluctance to discuss his stint in the military only heightened her curiosity. She flashed a deceptively innocent smile. “Well, since you asked, yeah. Access to the Internet.”

Murphy’s assumption that Lulu had holed herself up in his library to check her email was fast falling by the wayside. She’d been abnormally quiet for the past couple of hours, and every now and then, she cast a furtive glance his way.

He zipped the Jag into the parking garage, making a mental note to check the history on his computer when they got back from the Carnevale. Her brain was buzzing with some sort of data. It made the hairs on the back of his neck stand. Not a good sign. Then again the entire morning had been a clusterfuck. Why should the rest of the day differ?

He rounded the car, helped her out, his palm tingling at the feel of her warm grasp. That same heat registered in her eyes as she gazed up at him with something akin to admiration. Or maybe it was pity. He must’ve sounded like a sentimental bonehead when he’d choked out his long-winded apology. He’d told her about his parents hoping to appease his conscience. Even though there was no excuse for his sexual misconduct, it was important that she understood where his behavior was rooted. The last thing he wanted was for her to be afraid of him. To properly protect her, he needed her trust.

Unfortunately, providing her with a piece of his past had only served to reinforce his mounting attachment to this woman. Bottom line, she was still in danger. He needed to think with his head, not his heart. He needed to detach.

She looped that damned poodle purse over her shoulder, smiled up at him all sunshine and sweetness, and he thought to himself,
good freaking luck.

“Are you ready for this?” she asked.

Now there was a loaded question.
His answer was a wry quirk of the lips as he escorted her toward the elevator. The moment they hit the bustling casino lobby, he developed eyes in the back of his head. Every dark-haired, olive-skinned man under fifty was suspect. Every sequestered, dimly lit area, a potential hot zone. Unable to perform an advance survey, he did an on-the-spot scan, noting points of entry and exit. Murphy kept his hand at the small of her back, calculating a primary and secondary escape route in the unlikely event that all hell broke loose, while Lulu weaved through the crowded concourse apprising him of her overall schedule.

“This is where we do our first and third show,” she said. “The second set involves a meet and greet at the buffet and then the bus lobby—
that’s
always an adventure. We close with a parade throughout the main casino, and a show in the hotel lobby.”

She navigated a portion of the casino floor, acknowledging the greetings of numerous uniformed employees. Near as he could tell the Princess, or Gemma as she was known here, was as popular with adults as she was with children. He wasn’t surprised. He was mentally singing her praises when she pulled up short at an unmarked double-door. “What’s wrong?”

She twirled one of her golden curls around her finger and shrugged. “I need to change into my costume.”

“Okay.”

“The dressing room is through here. Back of house. Employees only,” she added when he pushed open the door.

He smiled and gave her a gentle nudge.

“Seriously,” she whispered out the side of her mouth, “you’re not allowed back here. I assumed you’d wait for me in the concourse.”

“You know what they say about assuming. Just lead the way, and stop looking guilty.”

“I can’t help it,” she said as she race-walked toward a door with a push button security pad. “We’re breaking the rules. I never break rules.”

“Now there’s a shocker.”

She shot him an exasperated look, then punched in a combo, swung open the door and shoved him inside.

The scene that greeted him was chaotic and fascinating. Women and men coming and going through two separate doors, tugging on various parts of sparkling costumes and feather headpieces while trading sexual-innuendo-laced banter, and everything from run-free fishnets to spare body sparkle.

“Who’s the hunk?” This from the man resembling a purple and gold jester, sitting on the make-up counter, and strapping on a pair of stilts.

Lulu tugged Murphy toward the elfish-man and the panel of lit mirrors. “My boyfriend.”

Impressive,
Murphy thought. She’d told the lie without blushing. He offered a hand in greeting. “Colin Murphy.”

“Mortimer.” The man shook his hand, and then winked at Lulu. “Nice.”

She cleared her throat, tossed her purse on the counter. “I know he’s not supposed to be in here, but—”

“Who cares, sweetie?” A bombshell of a woman with big eyes and lush lips, snapped on a curly, blonde hairpiece. “Like we haven’t snuck people in here before. Well,
you
haven’t. Then again you never do anything wrong.” Red lipstick poised to her mouth, she glanced over her shoulder at Murphy. “You corrupting our girl?”

Lulu rolled her eyes and opened a pink tackle box filled with various tubes and pots and brushes. “This is Trixie,” she told Murphy, gesturing for him to take a seat on a worn arm chair. “She’s a juggler, too.”

Trixie.
Murphy smiled. The name fit. His smile faded when Lulu peeled off her sweater and draped it over the back of her chair. He sat rigid in the armchair, stunned that Miss Goody Two-shoes was sitting in a room full of people, half of which were men, in her tight jeans and teeny bra.
A very sexy, pink satin bra. Holy shit.
He stared at her reflection in the mirror, admiring her perfect 34C breasts, the same breasts he’d pawed this morning. His mouth practically watered.
Okay.
So was he the only pig in this room? Looking around, his mind screamed a resounding yes! Not one of the male performers even glanced in her direction. Maybe they were all gay. Now
there
was a comforting thought.

Lulu dipped into her tackle box and started applying—what the hell did they call it—foundation while making further introductions. “Of course everyone has additional, personalized schtick, but in a nutshell, that’s Eugene the unicyclist, Wizard the magician, Raven the stilt-walker, Jingles the acrobat, and Enri the clown. You’ve met Mortimer and Trixie. Everyone, this is Murphy the bodyguard.”

They rang out a welcome in unison, not paying him, or Lulu’s breasts, any heed, as men and women alike spackled on more make-up and rhinestones.

“Dammit,” Trixie complained as she wrestled with a false eyelash and glanced up at the clock on the wall. “He’ll be here in ten minutes.”

The energy-level kicked into high-gear as the team scrambled for shoes and props. In Murphy’s eyes the scene resembled that of a regiment scrambling for a surprise training op.

“Who’ll be here?” Lulu asked as she lined her eyes with a bright blue pencil. “And why is everyone in a rush? We have forty-five minutes ‘til show time.”

“No, we don’t.” Mortimer adjusted his gilded half-mask. “Peterson said the shuttle would leave at 11:15 a.m. on the nose. He called everyone last night, said he needed us in an hour early. Didn’t you get the message about the special appearance?”

“No. I …” She glanced at Murphy. “I wasn’t home last night.”

Mortimer and Trixie smiled. “
Reeeeally?
“

Lulu sprang out of her chair and raced for a locker. She flung open the dented metal door and tossed out three juggling clubs, curly-toed shoes, and … what the hell were those? Sheer purple bloomers?

Please, Jesus, Murphy thought, don’t let her strip down here and now. She disappeared through a door marked with a makeshift sign reading:
Femme Fatales.
Saints be praised. Telling himself to suck it up and get back to business, he turned to Mortimer. “Who’s Peterson?”

“The entertainment director. A real stickler for rules.”

Eugene slapped on a black derby with a sparkly gold band and snatched up three rubber chickens. “If Peterson finds you in here, we’re screwed.” He pointed one of those chickens at Murphy. “Sorry, man, you have to leave,
now.”