Silver Sparks (27 page)

She didn’t bother to look at the dozen or so people scattered around the room as she kicked off both shoes and socks. If her announcement hadn’t gotten their attention, her next move would.

“Follow my lead,” she told Lara, who was already slipping out of fashionable, spiky heels. She hadn’t even asked why. Damn, you had to hand it to the
über
-wealthy—they knew how to leap at opportunity.

Gathering the long skirt, she stepped onto a barstool, and from there onto the bar. Two middle-aged men sitting nearby lifted their beers off her new runway, watching with interest. Hands on hips, she surveyed the room. “Let’s get this party started, people!”

Lara got a boost from a couple of helpful men, landing beside her. “Fucking brilliant,” she told Maggie.

A couple women stared in shock as two others raised their glasses in a toast to her. The men looked like they might be up for some entertainment, but several cast skeptical glances at her ankle-length skirt.

“Is that the best you can do?” one called.

She grinned back. “You’re right. These aren’t exactly party clothes.”

“Uh, miss?”

She looked down at the bartender. He held two frosty margaritas, a large pair of scissors dangling next to one. “Scissors first,” she said, stooping to snatch them from his hand. “And a drink for my friend.”

He held a margarita aloft, and Lara snatched it, drinking deeply.

“You’re not supposed to be on the bar.”

She ignored him. Lifting the hem of the skirt, she eyed the seam for guidance and began cutting a straight line up the side.

“Now, that’s a party,” her critic agreed, deserting his table for the bar. Several others followed.

When the scissors reached her upper thigh, she cut across, then down again. Tossing the strip of fabric to the floor, she pointed her toes and angled her leg toward the men in front of her. “What do you think?”

A six-inch-wide gap ran from hip to hem, revealing the full length of her leg nearly up to her panties.

Several men called out approval as her former critic slapped the bar with a happy shout of, “More!”

Others turned it into a chant, slapping and yelling for “More!” She cut more, swishing this way and that so they could admire her handiwork, adding a few bump-and-grind hip thrusts. Cheers and whistles rose over the thrumming music in the other room. Yes! She needed more of that. She’d do whatever it took to get it.

Lara took the scissors, not pausing as she ripped a slit up her skirt.

The bartender still held her margarita, a worried crease on his forehead. “Hey, it’s a party,” she called out. “Drink up!” She grabbed her margarita and took a healthy sip before setting it on the bar.

“Two beers over here,” someone ordered, finding a place at the bar. Someone else called for a refill. She turned a smile on the bartender, who shrugged and turned to fill the orders.

She quickly cut another strip up the side of the skirt, to the accompaniment of rhythmic clapping. Dancing around her margarita, she swayed down the bar, making use of the heavy beat pounding through the walls behind her. Her audience was getting into the spirit of the dance, clapping and yelling out requests, mostly to “Take it off!”

She’d known it would turn into a strip show the second she stepped on the bar. The consequences didn’t matter; saving Amber from a paparazzi feeding frenzy was worth it. She gave her T-shirt one last look of regret before raising the scissors.

Cal hung back in the shadows, furious with Amber and unable to take his eyes off her. As if watching could stop Rafe’s hand from roaming down to squeeze her ass in a firm grip as he did now. Cal clenched his fists and swore.

A cheer rose up from the front room, briefly rising over the music and noise in the lounge. He couldn’t imagine what Maggie was doing to arouse them. A few people broke off from the back of the crowd, wandering toward the bar. Most still didn’t seem to hear the whistles and shouts from the other room, or didn’t care.

Whatever she was doing, it wasn’t enough. He scanned the walls for a fire alarm.

Maggie had her T-shirt cut off just below her bra and her skirt shoved low enough to reveal her belly button. What remained looked more like a fringed belt than a skirt. Her small crowd was getting louder and larger. But not large enough. The people she needed were still in the other room.

Next to her, Lara was getting into the mood. Stripped to a cami and eight inches of skirt, she thrust out her chest and wiggled for the boys.

Maggie grabbed her. “Turn your back to me.” When she did, Maggie plastered herself against Lara, shoulder to shoulder and butt to butt. Sensuously, she began moving against her.

Lara was obviously no slouch when it came to sex and seduction. She immediately began swaying in time with Maggie, reaching back to put her hands over Maggie’s hips, keeping them in perfect rhythm and keeping the audience hooting and cheering. Maggie thanked fate for uninhibited, happily tarnished rich girls.

Still swaying, she scanned the back of the room. Three familiar faces—finally, the right people had noticed. She didn’t have to wonder if the recognition was mutual.

“Hey, it’s Maggie and Lara!” The shout came from a man at the back of the room, a reporter she recognized from one of the cable TV stations. Excitement rippled through her audience eliciting several more yells of recognition.

“Maggie! I thought you gave up your wild life.”

So had she, yet here she was throwing gasoline on the flames.

She refused to think about the consequences. She had no choice. If the media vultures realized they were watching Cal’s sixteen-year-old sister throwing herself at Rafe in the next room, they’d trash her life in a way she’d never live down. Maggie had already been sacrificed on that public altar. This way there were no new victims.

A new voice called out from the back, “Our old Maggie’s back! Hey Maggie, where’s Zoe?”

Pain stabbed her, but before she could respond, Lara shouted, “We’re all you need, guys!” To prove it, she spun around and fused her pelvis to Maggie’s rocking backside.

Holy shit. Maggie nearly staggered, and Lara’s hands came up to steady her.

Landing over each breast.

Someone held up her margarita. Maggie tossed back a healthy gulp to loud cheers, feeling the burn as it went down while trying to ignore the warm fingers covering her breasts. She’d needed a distraction, and she got it. No turning back. “Woohoo!” she yelled, holding her drink aloft. “Let’s hear it for tequila!”

“Tequila!” the group at her feet chorused.

It was wonderfully raucous. She glanced to see if the bartender was getting upset, but he was busy pouring drinks. “Is that the best you can do?” she admonished her fans, while trying to ignore Lara’s hand as it roamed down to her hips. Raising her margarita higher, she yelled, “Tequila!”

“Tequila!” the room roared. The sound rolled over her in a deafening wave, while from the side a camera flashed. Then another. She tried not to think about it.

“Patrón!” Lara shouted, going for top-shelf. Maggie laughed. You can take the girl out of the penthouse, but you can’t take the penthouse out of the girl.

“Patrón!” they cried, stomping and whistling. A few independent thinkers called out their own preferred beverages, getting enthusiastic support.

She kept up her sinuous movements, letting Lara guide them. Who’d have guessed the girl had hidden leadership ability? Her hands caressed Maggie’s hips, skimmed her breasts, and threaded through her hair. The room went wild.

And on the fringes, a couple paparazzi drifted back toward the lounge. To call their friends or because they were bored? She couldn’t take the chance.

There was only one way to hold them. Her stomach rebelled at giving up the last bit of respect she’d fought for. But it was either that, or let a sixteen-year-old girl suffer an even more widespread public humiliation.

It was no contest.

It had taken Cal several minutes to locate an alarm on the back wall, and another one to pry off the cover. Rafe was getting bolder by the minute. Cal’s breaths came hard and fast as he pulled the alarm.

Nothing happened.

What the fuck? He flipped the switch several times with no result. Shit! As soon as this was over, he’d make sure the Alpine Sky got slapped with a heavy fine.

Still fuming, he turned back to Amber. It was bad enough when Rafe’s hands were on her waist, pulling her against him. The little pervert had to be hard as a rock by now. But now his hands slid up to cup the sides of her breasts. Only a thin layer of material kept him from crossing the line from bold to lewd. Even Amber looked more cautious than before as Rafe slowed their dance, making his moves seem all the more intimate.

Amber gave a sudden jerk and pulled back. It was enough to let Cal see what had startled her—Rafe’s thumbs had crept beneath her top to stroke the underside of her breasts.

That was it. Paparazzi or not, the creep was going down.

He started forward, barely aware of a sudden increase in the whoops and whistles from the bar. Someone yelled, “Do it, Maggie!” and others took up the call of “Do it! Do it!”

Whatever
it
was, it worked. The last of the crowd around the dancers made a mass exodus for the bar. Cal paused impatiently as the dancers followed—all except Rafe and Amber, who stood locked in a kiss.

No one was in his way. Cal surged forward and went in low, hitting Rafe in a leg tackle. The bastard didn’t even have time to yell as Cal hit hard, knocking him sideways to the floor. Amber staggered back with a small sound of surprise. He didn’t bother to look at her. Rising up to his knees, he flipped Rafe onto his back.

Rafe blinked groggily. “What the fuck?”

Cal hauled his fist back and punched him in the face. His knuckles collided with Rafe’s jaw, hurting like hell but making a satisfying smack. Rafe’s eyes rolled, then closed as his head sagged.

Damn it! The wimp had a glass jaw. How could he beat a man when he was unconscious? He slapped Rafe’s slack cheek, hard. “Wake up. I’m not done with you.”

“Cal! Get off him, you stupid idiot!”

Amber clutched his shirt. Since Rafe wasn’t responding, he let her pull him to his feet. She stood with her hands fisted on her hips, glaring and all but breathing fire. “What the hell are you doing? Stop being my freakin’ watchdog!” She emphasized the last word with a sock to his biceps. “You’re a goddamn control freak! You ruined everything!” One tear slipped down her cheek and she swiped it aside angrily.

Her language wasn’t helping his disposition. “You’re out of here.” Wrapping a hand around her arm, he turned her toward the bar.

She grabbed a pair of red shoes from a table, slipping them on, then doing her best to stalk ahead of him as she tottered on four-inch heels. “Fine! Everything’s gone to hell, so what difference does it make?”

At least she was walking on her own; he’d been afraid he’d have to drag her out, which wouldn’t look good as they passed by all the reporters and photographers in the next room. Rick should be with them, but he hadn’t noticed him in the crowd. “Where the hell is Rick?” he grumbled. “He’s supposed to be watching you.”

“He’s waiting for me upstairs in our room, what do you think?”

Alarm jolted through him as he stared at the back of Amber’s head. In five quick strides he caught up and blocked her path. “Hold on!” The hand he laid on her shoulder earned him another pissed-off glare, but he didn’t care. “Did you say
your room,
as in both of you together?”

She planted her feet in a furious stance. “Of course. What did you think we were doing? We checked in just like regular guests.”

“Son of a bitch.” This was how she handled grief? Grabbing Amber’s hand, he pulled her into the bar.

“Wait!”

He ignored her protests, cutting through the empty aisle along the booths. Everyone was across the room, cheering and pounding their fists on the bar. He thanked God for the efficient job Maggie had done in distracting them. No one so much as turned around to see him drag Amber out of there. Everyone’s eyes were on the bar.

He looked.

It took a couple of seconds to realize that the woman in the tattered skirt-thing was Maggie, partly because he couldn’t see her face and her distinctive red hair. They were hidden by the scrap of T-shirt she was lifting over her head. With a victorious tug she whipped it aloft and faced the madly cheering crowd in nothing but a barely-there skirt and a lacy black bra.

Her mouth opened in shock as she met his eyes.

Chapter
Sixteen

M
aggie couldn’t move. Knowing this moment would happen and living through it were two different things. She couldn’t even wipe the humiliating smile off her face. All she could do was stare as her life crashed around her like shattered crystal.

The man she might possibly love aimed his startled glance at her bra, then down to the tattered remnants of her skirt. He blinked. That’s all she had time to note as he tugged Amber through The Aerie’s front entrance and hurried toward the lobby. He didn’t look back.

Sensation slowly returned to her frozen body. At her feet, men whooped and whistled and shouted her name. At the other end of the bar, two women who had been dancing in the lounge climbed up to join Lara. Jumping into the spirit of things, they threw off their snug crop tops. They weren’t wearing bras.

The roar from the crowd brought Maggie back to her senses. Her impromptu party was out of control and she no longer needed to be here. In fact, if she didn’t want to add an arrest to her new reputation, she’d better move fast. In one lithe move she jumped down behind the bar. The bartender grinned at her over his shoulder as he drew a beer. “Nice show. Hey, are you leaving? Don’t forget your tips.”

He nodded at a shelf below the bar. A pile of crumpled dollar bills lay next to a bowl of sliced limes. “I pulled them off the bar so they wouldn’t fall on the floor.”

A new low—men were now paying her to strip in bars. Grandma would
not
be proud when she heard about it. And she would hear. With the number of cameras that had been flashing, everyone would hear about it.

“Keep it,” she said. Tugging her T-shirt over her head, she turned to go but was brought up short by a hard stare from twenty feet away.

Zoe.

Her sister stood at the entrance to the bar, hands on hips. The fitted navy blazer and name tag meant she was on duty. The furious look on her face meant Maggie wasn’t leaving the premises anytime soon.

Maggie tugged her T-shirt in place and did her best to look dignified as she opened the side panel and walked over to Zoe.

“I can explain.”

Zoe keyed the microphone on her lapel and spoke in a clipped voice. “Send extra security.” She looked Maggie up and down, then settled her tight gaze on Maggie’s eyes. She stepped aside and gestured down the hall. “In my office.”

Maggie nodded meekly and held up a finger. “Just let me get my boots. They’re new.”

Cal couldn’t process what he’d seen. Maggie stripping on a bar? Was that what she’d resorted to in order to provide a distraction for Amber’s escape? Since he’d first met her she’d been doing everything she could to defend her reputation and convince people that the old Maggie was gone for good. Now it seemed she was back, her reputation so thoroughly trashed she’d never live it down. It wasn’t the Maggie he thought he knew.

He couldn’t process it now. Right now he had to deal with a forty-year-old who’d possibly tried to sneak off for a quickie with Cal’s sixteen-year-old sister. As soon as he beat Rick to a pulp he could find out if they still had nunneries. It was the only solution he could come up with for a girl who just didn’t get it.

“What are you so upset about?” Amber asked in that snotty tone that teenagers do to perfection. She tottered after him, apparently having a difficult time keeping up in her high heels.

“How about the fact that you keep daring Rafe De Luca to kill you, like it’s some kind of game? I find that just a little upsetting, not to mention a whole lot stupid!”

She made him crazy; he couldn’t deal with Amber and Rick at the same time. As they crossed the lobby he spotted a security guard hurrying toward them. He stepped into his path, forcing the man to stop. With one hand he reached into his pocket for his ID, while with the other he thrust Amber at the man. “Here. Watch her until I get back.”

He talked over her protest. Flipping open his ID, he flashed the shiny badge. “This girl is a possible escaped felon. Don’t let her get away.”

“Uh, yes, sir,” the man stammered. “What are you . . . I mean, where are you going?”

“I have to arrest her partner upstairs. I won’t be long.”

“You can’t do that!” Amber yelled, then turned her pleas on the guard who had a firm hold on her arm. “I’m not a felon. He’s lying. Let me go!”

“You got a badge?” the guard asked.

Amber wrinkled her nose indignantly. “No.”

“He does.”

Cal jogged across the lobby. One problem down, one to go.

He used the badge again at the registration desk, flashing it long enough for the young woman to notice the silver shield but not long enough to read it. “State police,” he said, which wasn’t technically a misrepresentation. “What’s the room number for a Rick Grady?”

She consulted her computer. “Four thirty-seven.” When he turned and hesitated, she added, “West elevators, to your right.”

“Thanks.” He sprinted for the elevators.

Maggie walked fast to keep up with Zoe’s angry stride. She hadn’t said a word as they walked toward the lobby and the administrative offices, but whatever her sister was holding back was going to make a big explosion once she closed her office door.

The fountain splashing in the center of the lobby atrium created a soothing white noise, but it wasn’t enough to drown out the angry voice of a young woman whose tirade was slipping into the profane.

Maggie gave the argument a curious glance, privately commiserating with whoever else was having a bad day. With a start she recognized Amber. Clutching Zoe’s arm, she said, “It’s Amber.”

Zoe took one glance, changed course, and marched up to the guard. “What’s this about, Marvin?”

“Some cop told me to hold this girl until he got back. He went after her partner upstairs.”

“He’s being a jerk,” Amber declared. “Do something!”

Zoe said decisively, “I’ll take her. When the officer gets back, tell him she’s in my office.”

Amber tugged, but he didn’t release her. “Miss Larkin, that might not be a wise idea. The cop said she might be an escaped felon.”

Maggie choked back a laugh. Zoe kept a straight face as she said, “I know the girl and the situation. It’s okay.” She looked at Amber with a glare that dared her to try anything. “Come with us. And don’t try to run—I know every cop in this town.”

Amber nodded meekly as the guard’s hand fell away. She sidled close to Maggie. “I didn’t think she was such a bitch,” she said in a low voice.

“Not usually. This is a special occasion.”

Cal ground his teeth impatiently as the elevator stopped at the second floor and an elderly couple got off. He should have taken the stairs. It would be just as fast and he might work off some of the nervous energy that had his muscles jumping.

When the doors opened on the fourth floor he burst out, pausing only long enough to read the signs. Room 437 was down the hall to the left. He jogged, scanning numbers until he pulled up at Rick’s room. Rick and Amber’s room, he reminded himself. As if he needed any more motivation for what he was about to do.

He knocked. Faint shuffling sounds came from inside, followed by silence as someone looked through the peep hole. The door opened.

Rick had a surprised look on his face. “Cal! I wasn’t expecting you.”

“I’ll bet.” Cal punched him in the face.

Zoe had sent someone to the spa to fetch a robe, so at least Maggie didn’t feel half naked. That didn’t mean she felt comfortable. Zoe’s expression was hard as stone as she listened to their explanation.

Amber had gone first, explaining how Rick had waited for her down the road from the commune, then driven her to the Alpine Sky, where they’d cooked up a plan to trap Rafe into revealing his true character. They reasoned that if Amber looked like a guest and took Rafe back to her own room, Rick could be hiding there, ready to record incriminating evidence or stop Rafe if he got violent.

“And you thought that was going to work?” Zoe asked.

Amber huffed her disgust. “Traitor. You liked the idea a few days ago.”

“This is different.”

“It’s stupid,” Maggie said flatly. “You can’t push Rafe to the edge of violence to catch him in the act. It’s not like he kills every girl who makes him mad, and all you have to do is push the right buttons.”

Zoe rocked back in her chair. “Sounds more like a plan to get Amber raped and get Rick beaten beyond recognition.”

“Which is why we had to stop her.”

Zoe turned her attention to Maggie. “And how does stripping on The Aerie bar accomplish that?”

Maggie was impressed with Zoe’s restraint, knowing she’d rather have her hands around Maggie’s neck right now than folded on her lap as she waited patiently for an explanation. The resort cultivated a reputation for being sophisticated and upscale. Bar strippers and topless dancers were not going to go over well with Zoe’s boss.

“Stripping?” Amber shot a startled look at Maggie.

Thank goodness—she must have been so angry with Cal that she hadn’t looked at the bar when they passed through the room.

Maggie turned to Zoe. “That lounge was full of paparazzi and they were starting to ask who Rafe’s dance partner was. If we hadn’t pulled her out of there, she would have been their next sensational headline. But we had to get rid of the reporters before we could rip Amber away from Rafe, and it’s not easy to compete with hot, sexy dancing, so . . .” She shrugged and let it hang there.

“You
stripped
?” Amber asked.

“Not all the way,” she corrected.

“Far enough,” Zoe said. But the anger was gone and she looked at Maggie with sympathy. “You sacrificed your reputation to save hers.”

“I took one for the team. It’s no big deal. I don’t have as much to lose.”

Amber frowned, trying to figure it out. Zoe didn’t say anything, but Maggie saw the pain on her face and knew she understood the lie. In ten minutes on that bar she’d thrown away everything she’d spent the last ten years fighting for. Maggie Larkin was once again the wild girl of Barringer’s Pass. Her personal reputation was trashed. She didn’t know how it would affect Fortune’s Folly, but it couldn’t be good.

“And what happened to Rafe?”

Maggie sent Amber a questioning glance. Amber shook her head. “Beats me.”

Zoe started to look worried. “Was he angry? Yelling threats?”

“He was unconscious,” Amber told her. “Cal knocked him out.”

“Really?” Maggie couldn’t help a smile.

“Oh, shit,” Zoe mumbled and snatched up her desk phone. Seconds later, she said, “It’s Zoe. Do you have Rafe De Luca there?” Maggie saw the corner of her eye twitch. “Right now?” She listened for several seconds, then mumbled “Thanks” and hung up. She cleared her throat before meeting Maggie’s eyes. “Security says Rafe is in their office, waiting for his personal physician and his lawyer. He thinks he has a concussion and a broken jaw, and is threatening to sue both the resort and the man who assaulted him.”

“The big baby,” Amber scoffed.

“Don’t worry, he won’t do it.”

Zoe didn’t look convinced. “The De Lucas aren’t afraid to throw lawyers at their problems to make them go away.” She studied Maggie’s serene expression. “What do you know that I don’t?”

“It’s what Rafe doesn’t know. Amber is only sixteen. I doubt he wants the world to know he was dirty-dancing with a high school girl when her older brother punched his lights out.”

Zoe looked thoughtful. “You may be right.”

“I am. In fact, I’ll go set him straight right now.” Shutting down both Rafe and his watchdog, Attorney Parker Jameson, had great appeal. She stood, pointing at Amber, who looked ready to follow. “You stay here.”

“No way! I had to let him touch me, Maggie. If Rafe is going to be humiliated because of me, I should at least get to watch.”

“I sympathize with your position, Amber. I really do. But if Rafe is at security, you can bet a dozen reporters are there, too. We can’t let them see you again, and risk them discovering your age and your connection to Cal. I’m already tomorrow’s big story, so it doesn’t matter if they see me talking to Rafe.”

Amber flopped hard against the back of her chair. “Great, lock me up again. What am I supposed to do here?”

“Cal should be back any minute. If I were you, I’d practice acting contrite.”

Cal ripped the cellophane wrapper off a glass and filled it with water. He carried it back to where Rick lay on the floor, arms out and mouth open. Why did these tough-talking morons always crumple like a used tissue when you hit them?

He kicked Rick’s foot. “Hey, Grady, wake up. We have more to discuss.”

Rick uttered a low moan but didn’t move.

Cal threw the water in his face.

Rick sputtered and coughed and finally propped himself on his elbows. Squinting, he looked around. “What happened?” His gaze found Cal and recognition sparked. “What the fuck did you do that for?”

“For using my sixteen-year-old sister for your own selfish purposes. Get up so I can hit you again.”

Rick’s face screwed up in disbelief. “It’s not like I was sleeping with Amber!” He sat up and probed his jaw gingerly. “She was supposed to . . . Ow! Christ, that hurts.”