Wicked. Tori Carrington

right.

      What had once begun as a traditional one-showroom retail shop had slowly expanded to take up four units in the strip mall that had once been Strip Joint Central. While a couple of men’s clubs remained, Women Only was quickly growing to crowd them out and the area was becoming better known for catering to the positive needs of women rather than the baser needs of men.

      To the left of the showroom were the cushy massage rooms and a comfortable class area designed to look like a large, inviting sitting room where everything, from how to give a blow-his-mind blow job to educating women on their G-spot, was discussed. To the right was the open studio room lined with mirrors where Renae and others taught belly dancing and, yes, even the art of stripping. But rather than for dollars, they taught them the skills to perform in private for their mates.

      “Renae?” Lucky moved her hand in front of her eyes. “Are you all right?”

      She considered the way her blood still thrummed through her veins, and the dampness of her thighs, and smiled. Oh, yes. Everything was more than all right. It was great.

      “Fine. I’m just fine. Have you seen Ginger?”

      Lucky wrote something down on a pad she held, seeming more than a little distracted herself. Which was normal, Renae thought. If she had a guy like Colin McKenna waiting at home for her every day, she’d spend the rest of her life with her head in the clouds.

      “She was in and out already. Said she might be back after lunch.” Lucky looked at her. “Did you want something in particular? You could always call her cell.”

      Renae made a face as she adjusted the top of her costume. What she had to discuss with Ginger couldn’t be done over the phone. And she didn’t want to make an appointment, either. Because to do so would indicate something was on her mind.

      No, she wanted to catch Ginger when she had a free moment.

      “No. I just wanted to ask her about some new stock, that’s all,” Renae fudged.

      “Hmm.” Lucky didn’t appear to believe her. Which was odd, because there was no real reason why her friend should think her motives were other than what she professed. Were they that tuned in to each other?

      She heard music from the other room and looked in that direction.

      “The natives are getting restless. I’d better get in there.”

      She moved toward the curtained-off area, then paused at the door. “By the way, what do you know about Colin’s friend Will?”

      Lucky’s pen stopped moving where she’d returned to writing something on her clipboard. “That he’s a doctor.”

      “Very funny. I meant what specifically?”

      Lucky squinted at her and smiled. “Like what is his favorite color?”

      Renae gave her an eye roll. “As in is he seeing anybody?”

      Lucky’s eyes widened. “Oh.” She put the clipboard down on the counter as the sound of Middle Eastern music grew louder in the other room. “I think he’s dating a resident at the hospital.”

      Damn.

      Of course, it was just her luck that the instant the dynamic between her and the sexy doc changed, he’d already be involved with somebody.

      Then again, she wasn’t looking for involvement with him. She was looking for sex.

      But she also didn’t relish the idea of being the other woman, no matter how briefly.

      Well, first things first, she had to decide if she really wanted more of those fireworks that had shot off between them that morning.

      She blinked to find Lucky still staring at her. “What happened?” she asked.

      Renae merely grinned. “Nothing. And everything. Remind me to tell you later.”

      She stepped into the room and drew the curtain closed behind her, ignoring Lucky’s, “You can bet I will!”

      THE BALCONY DOORS and heavy white vertical blinds were drawn tightly against the late-morning sun, casting the room in shadow, nothing but the ticktock of the clock his mother had sent him from England last Christmas and the central air-conditioning unit breaking the silence. At this time on a Saturday the complex was quiet, and now was no exception. Will knew from experience that the usual weekly hubbub of grocery shopping and errand running had yet to begin, and those seeking the community pool had yet to rouse from sleep.

      Still half asleep, he dragged his wrist across his damp brow wondering if he should turn down the temperature of the thermostat. But he was all too aware that the summer heat wasn’t to blame for his sweaty condition. Rather Renae Truesdale and the naughty dream he’d just had about her was responsible.

      He rolled over then groaned when he nearly permanently injured himself. Holding up the top sheet, he stared at his erection, a hard-on that could rival Big Ben.

      “At ease,” he muttered, letting the sheet settle back down.

      This wasn’t going to do at all. Five months of waking to pulsing hard-ons. Dreams filled with pImages** of women he shouldn’t be lusting after. Hell, he was plowing through his supply of sheets because no matter what chilly temperature he kept the room at, he woke up soaked with sweat. For a short time, vigorous tennis matches with his mate Colin worked out much of the frustration. But lately not even that was working.

      Especially since Colin had called the brutal matches to an end a couple of weeks ago claiming Will’s unrelieved frustration was making the games too intense. Worse, Colin had tried to hand him money to buy a little female company. Five minutes, Colin had told him. That’s all it would take.

      But just as Will hadn’t masturbated since he was twelve, he’d never paid for it. And he wasn’t going to start now.

      He stared at the face of his alarm clock, surprised to find that he’d managed a few hours rest and that the buzzer was about to go off to wake him for his lunch date with Colin. He switched off the alarm, tossed off the top sheet then headed for the shower, turning on the water full blast and as cold as he could stand it. He climbed inside and gritted his teeth, waiting for the punishing spray to weaken his erection. After a few long moments, he cracked his eyelids open to find that the water was having absolutely zero effect on Ben.

      Well, Christ. What was he supposed to do? Walk around all day trying to hide a hard-on the size of a baseball bat?

      Unable to take the cold water anymore, he adjusted the knobs until the spray warmed, then leaned his hands against the ceramic tile and took a deep breath. Damn Renae Truesdale and her wicked belly-dancer costume. He put his face into the spray, remembering the soft globes of her breasts, the sleek smoothness of her skin, the defined muscles of her abdomen. Then there was her kiss…

      His erection twitched and he groaned. It wasn’t fair, being offered up a temptation of Renae’s caliber while he lay in wait for the woman who was supposed to end up the love of his life. Then again, he’d learned pretty early on that life was anything but fair. After all, what was the difference between him and Prince Charles but for the legs they’d popped out from between? While his mother had been trying to rub the ever-present mud from his face, Charles had been photographed on the finest of thoroughbred horses in his chaps, mud everywhere but on his elite person.

      But when all was said and done, he and Charles weren’t really all that different, now, were they? After all, Chuck had ditched a perfectly good princess in order to shag a woman he hadn’t been able to exorcise from his system.

      And Will was obsessed with the idea of banging the hell out of Renae Truesdale when the only woman he should be wanting was presently on the other side of the country.

      He grabbed the soap and lathered up his hands, thinking even as he did so that no amount of soap would be able to cleanse the mud from his mind.

      “Face it, you’re not going to get her out of your head until you sleep with her.”

      That