Strip. Delta Dupree

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ The cheesy grin on her face said it all. “Be back shortly. I’ll tell you all about it later.”

      Rio tsked, tossing the pen onto the secondhand drafting table she used for a desk. She needed earplugs.

      No, what she needed was a good man to hold her, a gentle companion to ease the aching deep inside her body, a special guy who looked for the same contentment as she—simple companionship.

      Fantasy.

      All the decent men in this world were married, dead or gay and most of them were far from Thoroughbred stallions. She held up one hand. Were there even five decent ones in the vicinity?

      Doubtful. She went back to her daily duties.

      An hour and a half later, Galaxeé hung her new red fox-fur jacket on the coat rack. She flopped down on her desk chair. “I called Bryce.”

      “And?” Rio asked.

      “The man is excited, but he tried to conceal it. Vibes, you see. He’s got a powerful energy that travels through the phone lines, even in this raggedy weather.” She crossed her legs, tapped the toe of her high-heeled, tan-colored boot against the metal file cabinet. “It’s gotten cold, perfect for your birthday.”

      “What’s that supposed to mean?” She kept her gaze glued to the document she held, bracing for Galaxeé’s unveiling. Lord. What in the world was filtering through her mind at this particular moment?

      “It does fall on Thanksgiving this year. Got any plans? Randy and I decided to go to an island and soak up some heat. Fiji, Caymans, maybe some place called the Seychelles that he wants us to visit. I still have a bunch of air miles to burn. You’re welcome to—”

      “And do what?” Rio glanced over her shoulder. “Fry in the sun while you and Randy engage in orgies? No, thank you very much.”

      “You can’t sit around by yourself on your birthday. That’s illegal.”

      “In whose eyes?”

      Fat grins always grew wider. “Mine, Venus’ and God’s. Remember, I worked up your chart. Turmoil in your future calls for companionship.”

      Rio snorted inelegantly. This woman always came up with the most absurd revelations. “Nothing can happen if I’m completely alone at the cabin. No turmoil, no havoc.”

      She’d purchased the remote bungalow for when she needed time away to tame the funky emotions invading her well-being. Hormones, she’d told herself. The way she’d been feeling lately, an extended leave of absence had moved high on her list. Alone, secluded, a good distance away from Denver’s fast pace.

      “What if a bear breaks in? You won’t have anybody to protect you.”

      “I don’t need protection, and no one’s spotted a bear up there in years. Besides, bears hibernate during winter. I don’t plan to be outside, either, romping around like a snow bunny in my new snowsuit. It’s too cute to get wet. I don’t ski, sled, or build snowmen. If a blizzard socks me in, bring it on. I’ll have a couple books to read, a roaring fire, soulful music and plenty of food. Best of all, excellent wine.”

      A robust French Bordeaux and any top-of-the-line cabernet were favored. At the loft, the petite wine cooler was filled to near capacity for intimate gatherings. Those, however, were house parties with friends.

      Lifting one eyebrow, Rio asked, “What else could I possibly need?”

      “A man—a big, hot body to absorb the chill from your frigid heart.”

      That statement dragged out another snort. So maybe she had chilled, but she had good reason. An unfaithful husband normally changed the temperature of a woman’s heater. It had hers. “The fireplace, thermostat, and blankets provide heat.”

      Galaxeé glared, her eyes thin slits. “I hate that tacky-assed snorting sound you make.”

      Another explosion sent shivers racing through Rio’s body. “I hate your gum popping, but my complaints never have stopped you from detonating a bomb.” They argued daily.

      Planting both feet on the floor, Galaxeé said, “Listen to you—evil, bitchy. No wonder you don’t have a honey.” She crossed her arms under the pair of 750-milliliter implants she’d purchased last year, against Rio’s motherly objections and outright horror, and clamped one leg over the other, swung it like a hypnotic pendulum. “You do need a good dick, just to—”

      “E-O-D, Barnett. End of discussion.” Good lord. “I’ve got a ton of bills and payroll.”

      “Don’t change the subject.”

      “I already did, and you and Luanne have an inventory to complete.” She swiveled her stool around, opened the metal file cabinet’s top drawer and picked through file folders.

      “Guess I’ll have to work out…”

      Rio closed her ears to whatever Galaxeé finished saying. What next, tarot cards? Not again, but she hoped her best friend hadn’t gotten into séances, crystal balls and Aladdin’s lamp.

      Abracadabra, she thought, as her partner left the office, boot heels clicking noisily down the stairs.

      There was plenty of work to do before the club opened its doors for tonight’s show. She looked up at the octagonal wall clock, a gift from Galaxeé’s mother the day they signed their life away on Killer Bods. Mama Barnett had always said, “Time is short. Don’t waste it away.”

      Fours hours until showtime.

      The phone rang. Sighing, Rio secured the receiver between her shoulder and ear and grabbed her favorite pen. Another holiday party reservation would be great. “Killer Bods.”

      “Hey, it’s Phillip.” His voice sounded scratchy, sickly. “Can’t make it tonight. Bad cold. Flu.”

      ’Tis the season. “Don’t worry about it, sweetie, just stay in and take care of yourself. We’ll manage. Need anything?” She took good care of the dancers, considered them all close as family members. When they suffered from outside forces, she worried as much about the boys as the mothers who had sheltered them for nine months.

      “Jewel’s here.” His latest conquest was a shy woman, so different from the wild young lady he’d dated three months ago. “She’ll make sure I stay alive. Thanks for the offer.”

      “Call if you need me.” Rio hung up. “Well, shoot.”

      She chewed on her bottom lip, knowing she should call Bryce Sullivan and ask him to work tonight if possible. With Saturdays typically designated as date night, Fridays drew a big crowd. And after the performance she had seen today, he was no doubt ready.

      She dialed the bar’s extension. Galaxeé answered.

      “Got a problem. Phillip’s home sick and can’t make it.”

      “Call Bryce.”

      “You call him.”

      “I’m busy, Rio.”

      “So am I.” She shuffled СКАЧАТЬ