2
“YOU’RE NOT GOING out like that, are you?”
Phoebe Jayne Hollinger burst through the open door of Rei’s house in Miraloma Park at exactly nine o’clock. P.J. was always prompt about her lateness. Stepping aside, Rei looked down at the white dress shirt and plain black skirt she wore with low-heeled pumps. Judging by P.J.’s incredulous tone, her best friend didn’t like the outfit as much as she did.
“I think I look nice, thank you very much.” Rei turned and walked toward the living room where she’d been reading in her favorite chair near the gas fire.
P.J. followed, her heels clicking on the hardwood floors. “That’s the problem. You’re supposed to look sexy. We’re going to a nightclub, not a Bar Association function.”
“I’m not good at sexy.” A fact that had disappointed some of the men she’d dated. Apparently they’d expected an Asian woman to be a voracious circus acrobat in bed and a bowing doormat everywhere else.
P.J. unfastened her black satin trench coat. “You never let yourself be sexy. When we were growing up, you were always afraid your father would disapprove. Later, you were too focused on school and corporate raiding—”
“That’s the second time this week you’ve mentioned my father and I hope it’s the last.” Rei felt the muscles around her eyes tighten.
P.J. smirked and sank into the couch. “Don’t pull the Judge Face on me. I’m immune. You know you’ll have to deal with him sometime.”
“Not tonight, I don’t. He pushed me out of his life twenty years ago so I’m in no rush to schedule a family reunion.”
Her mother had died in a car accident when she was twelve. With Keiko gone, the stately Queen Anne style house in Pacific Heights had echoed with reproving silences. Only to be interrupted by frightening drunken outbursts from a father who’d been as miserly with hugs as he had been with praise.
After two agonizing years, Gordon Davis had finally decided to move on with his life. Rei had spent all of her time with her beloved maternal grandparents in Japantown while he pursued a seat on the high court bench and a young trophy wife. Once Rei left for college, they saw each other only at the holidays.
“You’re right, honey. I’m sorry. We’re supposed to be celebrating.” P.J. twisted on her seat and dug into the pocket of her coat. She set a small silver box on the bleached wood coffee table. “Happy Anniversary.”
Rei let out a half laugh, half sob and pressed a hand to her mouth. Her vision wavered as tears filled her eyes and a knot of emotion formed in her throat. She sat down next to her friend and reached for her hand. “Thank you for remembering, Peej. And for a lot of other reasons as well.”
P.J. squeezed her fingers in return and offered a watery smile. “I’m just so glad that you’re still here. There were so many days when you didn’t think you’d make it this far, but I wasn’t about to lose my best bud.”
“God, I still can’t believe it’s been a whole year since the diagnosis….”
Ductal carcinoma in situ.
Her doctor had said she was lucky—lucky?—the tumor was less than one centimeter, they’d found it early, and the cancer hadn’t spread to the lymph nodes. Rei’s immediate reaction had been disbelief—the ultrasound tech must have screwed up because there was no history of cancer in her family. She’d been stunned and confused and sorry as hell that she hadn’t gotten regular mammograms as she was supposed to.
Then she’d been terrified. She would never forget the knife jab of fear that wouldn’t go away. Sure, in the abstract, everybody had to die sometime. But, not her. Not now. After that came anger, a lot of anger. At her body, at the universe, at her father who acted like it was contagious and at Jack, another of her arrogant, opinionated ex-boyfriends, who had walked out when she most needed comfort and reassurance.
After lumpectomy surgery she’d endured radiation treatment and chemotherapy sessions that had left her exhausted and nauseated. The glossy black hair she’d always been so proud of had thinned out and she’d lost fifteen pounds from lack of appetite….
Then, as suddenly as she’d been diagnosed, she’d finished with the treatments. There had been no formal exit from sick to well, just the slow physical and mental recovery until one day she woke up and the cancer wasn’t the first thing on her mind. Of course, she would continue to take the Tamoxifen for another four years and have a follow-up visit every six months.
Rei had survived and in surviving had reevaluated her priorities. She’d gotten rid of a soulless renovated flat in North Beach and bought her house; taken up yoga and a healthy diet and tried to appreciate every day of the rest of her life.
Not to mention the people in it. Rei kissed P.J.’s cheek and tucked one leg up on the couch. Reaching for the box, she unwrapped it to find a silver charm bracelet. Holding it to the light revealed that each of the twelve clear crystals had a tiny pink ribbon inside.
“Oh, Peej, it’s beautiful.”
“A little classier than a rubber band, I thought.”
Rei fastened the delicate chain around her wrist. “I love it. Thank you so much.”
P.J. cleared her throat then cheerfully clapped her hands. “So, are you ready to go party with wild abandon?”
She sighed and rubbed her neck. “Actually…I had a bad day at court and I don’t think I’m up to screaming to be heard over a syncopated drumbeat. Why don’t we just go out for a late supper and talk?”
“Nope. You don’t need talk, you need action.” P.J. wiggled her brows suggestively.
Rei responded with a tiny twinge of interest. It had been awhile—a long while—since she’d had any “action.” Lately there’d been an almost constant tension inside her, a restless frustration that she couldn’t meditate away. Like her body was too small for the spirit within.
“We are overdue for a night on the town, but I’m not sure a nightclub is such a good idea. I’ve got an early day tomorrow.”
P.J. crossed her arms beneath her ample bust, straining the limits of her bra top. “The whole point of this Break Away Night is to celebrate our friendship, to be a little daring and have some irresponsible fun.”
That sounded so tempting. It wasn’t as if she were a nun or anything. However Rei was never anything but responsible—to her family, to her kids at court and to herself. She had to be taken seriously in order to succeed. But maybe throwing caution to the wind was exactly what she needed. Just for tonight.
“I bought a mango.” P.J.’s forehead crinkled. “You what?”
“I bought a papaya, too.”
“Oo-kay…” P.J. sat on her coat, bewilderment clouding her light eyes.
Rei felt warm spots of color on her cheeks. “I read an article in a women’s magazine that suggested taking two risks a week. You know, creating a little adventure in your life. Well, I never tried those fruits before so I bought them.”
“What did you think?”
She shrugged. “I liked the mango, but wasn’t crazy about the papaya.”
“I’ll bet it felt terrific to get out of your apple-grape-banana rut.”
Rei laughed. “It was oddly satisfying. Silly yet audacious. I can cross ‘try exotic fruit’ off of my List now.”
“You’re starting with the safe ones, I see.” P.J.’s expression became as quiet as her voice. “How long is that list now? Wouldn’t you like to shift some more items into the Done That column?”
The list was actually written in a bound journal her support group had given her after the lumpectomy. On the cover was a quote from Thoreau, ‘Go confidently in the direction of your dreams.’ Each woman in the group had received one; the idea being to create a Life List and believe those dreams could come true. Rei’s book was half filled already, but with almost no check marks beside the entries.
“So, how about it, Rei? You need to cross ‘dance like you don’t care if anybody is watching’ off the List. But not in that outfit.”
And just like that she realized it wasn’t only her clothes she needed to change, but also her attitude.
When she’d gotten sick, she had withdrawn into herself, organizing her life to the minutest detail. She’d thought if she could control her environment, that if she scheduled each day and always knew what she was doing, somehow she could control the rapidly dividing cells inside of her.
It was time for her to lose a little of that self-control. Over 365 days had passed since her diagnosis, six months since her doctor had declared her in remission. She deserved to celebrate. She’d earned it. Her hesitation vanished, quickly replaced by an eagerness that surprised her.
“Oh, what the hell. Let’s go out and get a little wild.”
With a victorious grin, P.J. grabbed her hand and pulled her off the couch. Together they went upstairs to the master bedroom and P.J. headed straight to the closet. “Take all of that off while I find something more like my outfit.”
Rei looked at P.J.’s hot pink bra, sheer black blouse and hip-level skirt that barely covered her butt. “There’s a fine line between ‘sexy’ and ‘slutty’ that I’d rather not cross.”
“No guts, no conquests, I say.”
“Hey, I just broke up with Derek yesterday.” Rei unzipped her skirt and stepped out of it.
“So? It’s the twenty-first century. We’re not only allowed to have sex with men, but also like men.”
“You mean without commitment or guilt? Do it then roll over and fall asleep?” She unbuttoned her shirt and tossed it into the laundry hamper.
P.J. turned to stare at her, obviously seeing through her sarcastic humor. “Are you telling me you’ve never had an orgasm?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You implied it.”
Rei climbed onto her bed, sitting cross-legged in her white lace bra and panties. “Okay, maybe sex hasn’t been that great for me. Sometimes it was nice, but in the end it always felt like there was something missing.”
“Yeah, a lover who made an effort to please you.” P.J. went back to rifling the clothes hanging in the closet. “You need to add ‘have amazingly fantastic sex with multiple screaming orgasms’ to the List.”
“It’s already on there.” Rei reached for the journal on the bedside table and opened it on her lap. Knowing that she’d be the only person to ever read the List, she felt free to express her secret desires.
P.J. shot her a mischievous look. “Really? In those exact words?”
“Um, no.” Multiple screaming orgasm sex probably required that both partners be fantastic lovers. She didn’t qualify. “Something more along the lines of ‘get swept into a passionate affair.’”
“So why don’t you make that the next dare?”
Rei shook her head before P.J. even finished. “I doubt that’s what the magazine article had in mind.”
“Oh, come on. What could be more of an adventure than acting out a sexual fantasy?”
With the men she’d dated, lawyers in a relatively small community where her father was an Associate Justice for the Appellate Court, a part of her had held back, unable to fully give or accept pleasure. The last thing she’d needed in her bid for Commissioner was any kind of locker room talk about how she acted in bed.
But with a sexy stranger who didn’t know her and therefore couldn’t judge her, maybe she’d be able to let go and lose some of her self-control. With her fantasy man, she could discover and explore her sensuality. She could be a bad girl indulging in decadent pleasures.
Just the thought made Rei’s pulse jump and her nerves tingle. She wanted to feel the sensual thrill of a man’s hands and tongue and body touching her, stroking her, pleasing her in exactly the way she desired. To finally experience the hot, primal excitement of wild, uninhibited sex. That would be the most daring adventure of all….
Rei set the List aside. “I don’t know if I could actually go through with an affair, but I’ll at least be open to the possibility.”
“Okay, that’s a good start.” With a surprised gasp, P.J. pulled a red and black outfit from the closet. “Oh, yeah. I forgot about this. This is what you should put on for tonight!”
“That was my costume three Halloweens ago, Peej.” She laughed uneasily. “Judge Shuford’s personal misconduct has the Ethics Committee on a witch hunt and it would be my luck to run into somebody from Court. I can’t wear that.”
“Sure you can. It counts as a risk for this week and, trust me, going out in this will be a lot more fun than buying fruit.”
Fifteen minutes and several halfhearted protests later, Rei had changed into the red and black satin corset. It gave her small breasts the illusion of cleavage and gently nipped in her waist to create an hourglass of her slender figure. The short black satin skirt with a split over the right thigh made her legs look longer while stiletto heels added three inches to her five foot five frame.
She’d let her hair down, literally, so that the dark strands fell past her shoulders. P.J. had done some kind of makeup magic, crafting smoky shadows around her eyes and enhancing her cheeks and lips. She had to admit that maybe she could do sexy. Right now she felt daring and most definitely like a woman who indulged her inner bad girl.
Tonight, just this once, she was going to follow her impulses and see where they might lead her.
LOUD, SENSUAL MUSIC with a Latin overtone and a hard-driving bass spilled out into the night as the bouncer opened the front door to the club. Rei followed P.J. inside to pay the cover charge and get a bright red kiss stamp on the back of her hand before pressing through the crowd toward the bar. She looked around while they waited for one of the bartenders to take their orders.
The boutique Hotel Liaison was located off of Union Square, in the heart of downtown San Francisco. The nightclub had originally been a small Victorian playhouse. The stage now served as an upper dance floor. Above it, the word Divas was spelled out in bright red neon with an upside-down tube of lipstick as an exclamation point.
The main dance floor occupied what had once been the orchestra pit. The balconies were used for VIP suites. Paintings of legends like Cher and Tina Turner decorated the red velvet upholstered walls and the theatre seats had been grouped around glass tables shaped like lips. Twirling spotlights and strobes illuminated the sheer yards of fabric draped from the frescoed ceiling. Even on a Thursday night, the club was packed.
“This place is awesome, isn’t it?” P.J. had to lean close to her ear to be heard as she handed over a shot glass of green liquid.
Rei eyed the drink suspiciously. “What’s that?”
“A melon ball shooter.” She raised her glass. “To you, my friend, and living to fight another day.”
“To survival.” Rei tilted her head back and swallowed the sweet cocktail. P.J. smacked her glass onto the bar and signaled for another round. “Wait a minute, you’re driving.”
“We’ll burn these off long before we leave, don’t worry.” P.J. indicated the gyrating bodies on the nearby dance floor.
Just then two men sidled up next to them at the bar and tried to strike up a conversation. While P.J. seemed interested, their tired pickup lines and alpha male arrogance turned Rei off. Sure, she entertained a fantasy about sex with a stranger, but in reality she didn’t want to be viewed as an easy score.
The next five or six men were no better and she got the distinct impression that this new nightclub was something of a meat market. To P.J.’s credit, she subtly accepted a couple phone numbers but stayed by her side. Finally the second round of shot glasses arrived. Rei accepted the drink, but decided it was already her last.
“What are we toasting this time?”
“To new adventures.” Her friend’s eyes covetously followed a hot guy walking past.
She touched her glass to P.J.’s then drained it. Almost immediately, she felt the alcohol’s fire spread through her, easing the tension in muscles she hadn’t realized were tight with stress. She felt light-headed, but in a good way, as if all the censuring voices in her mind had been momentarily silenced.
Rei closed her eyes, focusing on the music and chatter, the press of bodies, the faint odor of sweat and perfume. Her heart had taken on the rhythm of the music and, though the setting was incongruous for yoga, she allowed herself to be truly in the moment. Nothing mattered except being right here, right now.
“Let’s go dance!”
Laughing at the stunned expression on P.J.’s face—usually she had to be coaxed out to the floor—she began weaving her way toward the stage. Once she reached the orchestra pit, she created a space and made room for her friend. P.J. easily got into the groove, her curvy body wriggling to the up-tempo music. Rei wasn’t nearly as athletic, but quickly found her own shuffle-step-shimmy routine.
She became aware of men approaching from the sidelines and started to turn so that P.J. could shield her, then mentally shrugged. She didn’t know anyone here, would probably never be in this place again. Through the mega-watt sound system, Christina Aguilera invited her to get “Dirrty.” Rei gave herself over to the idea. The music was hot and so was she. Why not take a risk?
Why not let go and “dance like she didn’t care if anyone was watching”?
“I’M GLAD YOU CAME with me, man. I can’t handle all those babes by myself.” Grant Bronson shoved a hand over his hair, making the already chaotic strands arch into spikes.
As they walked across the hotel lobby from the parking garage, Chris reached over to subtly knock Grant’s hand down. “First off, don’t think of them as ‘babes.’ They’re people, just like us. With the same anxieties and hang-ups and goals. Come on. It’s a night out at a club, not the Inquisition.”
“I’m terrible at this stuff, though. I get all tongue-tied and say something stupid or make an ass of myself.” He tugged at the hem of his shirt.
“Relax. There’s no agenda for tonight.”
Grant flinched then covered it with a grin. “I thought we came here so I can pick up babes?”
Chris held back a sigh. He’d known Grant vaguely in college, but tonight he was a client. He was a good-looking guy but it was obvious why he had trouble with relationships. He wasn’t getting it that his attitude could make or break him.
“We came here to have a few drinks and meet some new people. The idea isn’t to have sex, ask for a date or even get a phone number. All we want to do this first time out is assess your technique and make any necessary adjustments.”
He tried to remember the last time he’d gone out for something other than work. Whether it was with a friend or a client, he seemed to spend more time giving advice than making use of it. Rachel had labeled him as only good for sex, but he hadn’t been with a woman in months.
Grant’s head swung around to ogle a young woman walking out of the elevator. “Wow, did you see her?”
“Yes and unfortunately she saw you, too. Put your tongue back in your face.” Chris pulled up short of the nightclub’s side entrance, dragging Grant over to a potted plant by the hotel concierge desk. “Listen to me. You’re blowing it before you’ve even begun.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I know it’s hard to be yourself when you think ‘yourself’ isn’t good enough. But you only get one chance to make a first impression. It’s true in business and even more important in potential relationships. That is what you want, right? Because I’m not a pimp. If all you’re looking for is an easy lay, you’re on your own.”
Grant’s eyes had widened at the tersely delivered lecture, but now he looked at Chris with respect, as if he were somehow surprised. “Okay, you’re right. Okay. I’m just nervous, that’s all. I told you I always make an ass of myself by saying something stupid.”
“In that case, rule number one is don’t talk.”
“Huh?”
“Women appreciate being listened to. So introduce yourself, ask about her then shut up and listen. Okay? Let’s go.” Chris walked toward the side entrance to Divas.
Grant caught up to match his stride. “I think it’s cool that you’re doing this.”
“It’s part of the job. No big deal,” Chris offered.
“Do you give all your clients this kind of personal attention?”
“Of course. We make every effort to help people identify what makes them unique and—”
“No, I don’t mean the party line. I’m talking about tonight’s field trip and the clothes shopping last week. Does everybody get that or am I special somehow?”
From the minute he’d signed up for Lunch Meetings services, Grant had been full of questions, more so than most. It was starting to get on Chris’s nerves…and to make him suspicious. “I can’t discuss my other clients with you.”
“Okay, it’s cool. Let’s talk about you then. Where’s your other half tonight?”
Chris felt his jaw clench as he prepared to lie. “She had other plans.”
Grant looked him in the eye and smiled. “Too bad. I’d love to see what kind of woman dates a date doctor.”
So would a lot of other people. Chris was beginning to wonder if he should ask some good-looking friend to act as his girlfriend. Then he could stop hiding his single status and take advantage of the publicity that legitimate newspaper interviews would garner. Word of mouth would only take Lunch Meetings so far, and he really wanted to open those other locations.
They went inside and Chris led Grant to the bar where he ordered two bottles of domestic beer. The ice-cold brew was welcome, considering the heat generated by the lights and the press of bodies. He returned the smile of a woman who passed by, but made no effort to follow her. He was on the job.
Raising his voice to be heard, Chris asked Grant to point out a woman he found attractive and tell him why. Then he sent him off to try and engage her in conversation. Over the next half hour, he crashed, burned and recovered with Chris’s help. Finally Grant ended up with a hot looking blonde in a pink bra and black mini-skirt, leaving him alone at the bar.
With a sense of both pride and relief, Chris ordered another beer and turned his attention to the blonde’s friend. Now there was a man-eater if ever he’d seen one. The petite Asian woman was dressed to kill and her exotic appearance set her apart from the crowd, even in multi-cultural San Francisco.
Funny, though, she’d suddenly looked very lost when her friend went off with Grant….
Then the music changed, a slow seductive number that brought a delighted expression to her face. She began to move to the tempo, her hips rocking in time, while her eyes drifted shut and her lips parted to sing along. The way she danced was hypnotic and very, very arousing. She danced like she was making love.
Chris took a long pull from the beer bottle, trying to quench his sudden thirst. What he really wanted to taste was her—the golden skin, left bare by her outfit and begging to be licked. Her small but beautifully rounded breasts and that beauty mark near her mouth. Lord have mercy, just the thought of where he wanted those perfectly bowed lips left him aching.
As she dipped and turned, he admired her well-toned legs and sweet little butt. The back view was just as enticing as the front. She continued to dance, her curtain of dark hair swaying as her slim curves arched and retracted. The woman had a blatant sexuality that let him imagine how fluidly she’d move in bed. He set down his bottle and continued to watch her, not even aware he was in motion until he was halfway to the dance floor.
Unfortunately he wasn’t the only male in range of her with the same idea. A guy the size of a San Francisco 49ers linebacker got to her first and tried to press himself up against her. Her dark eyes flew open and Chris had just resigned himself to several broken bones when the guy backed off on his own. He was three times her size, but she’d squared her shoulders and given him a look of cold fury before grinding her heel into his instep.
Chris couldn’t hold back a smile. What a little spitfire. She tried to get back into the mood but, clearly thrown off stride by the interruption, her movements lost some of their grace. Although he remained at the edge of the dance floor, still admiring her, he made no attempt to get closer.
When another guy thought to try his chances, Chris simply thrust out an arm and shook his head. “Don’t waste your time, buddy.”
The other man tried to stare him down, the human equivalent of wolves preparing to fight for territory, then he shrugged and walked away. Chris allowed himself a smirk. Yeah, that’s right. I saw her first. Then he realized how out of character it was. What the hell was wrong with him? Tonight was about work, not picking anyone up. He didn’t consider himself a caveman type, so why was he staking claim to a woman who had yet to acknowledge his existence?
He looked back to find her watching him. Her full lips curved slightly and she nodded once before she closed her eyes again. When the song ended, replaced by a romantic ballad, she started off the dance floor. Chris figured she didn’t want to be adrift in a sea of couples. He was debating whether to offer her a drink when she came directly toward him.
She looked up at him, her gaze roaming over his face, a slight flush coloring her cheeks. He got the strangest feeling she was challenging him to be worthy of her attention. Her eyes weren’t as dark or as cold as he’d thought. Instead they were a warm chocolate brown fringed by long lashes and sparkling with unexpected invitation.
When she reached out to touch his forearm, his breath caught. He felt like he’d been hit by heat lightning, the kind that strikes without warning or sound. Their eyes met and sexual energy surged between them. The tingling warmth raced through his veins and straight to his groin. He stood there practically vibrating and feeling like a dork, but unwilling to break contact.
Then she slowly smiled at him, angling her head toward the dance floor. Forget what he’d told Grant about not trying to get laid. Chris returned the smile and took her hand—he would have followed her anywhere. Confidence was sexy. It was all about what you didn’t say and this gorgeous woman’s body language said it all. She wanted him and the feeling was oh so mutual.