Cruising the Strip (21 page)

“Now,” she said quietly, “we look like we’ve been up to no good.”

Wahine’s eyes were slightly glazed. “I like my shade of lipstick on you.”

“That’s not the only thing of yours I want on me,” Kitty said as she opened the door.

The men noticed their return but said nothing, thank goodness, or Kitty would have been tempted to let them see just what it was they’d never, ever have.

Once they were seated, Wahine leaned close enough to ask, “Was that comment for them or me?”

Time for a little honesty, Kitty thought. “I don’t give a crap about them. I was just trying to figure out a way to kiss you.”

Wahine’s lips quirked to one side. “Pretty quick thinking for a UCLA girl.”

“That means the ball is in your court, USC girl.”

The second half of the broadcast was even more exciting than the first. By the time the last hand was on the table and only the final bluff and the final call was left, Kitty’s heart was beating so loudly she couldn’t hear the announcers.

It wasn’t the hands on the screen that had her enthralled; it was Wahine’s hand in her pants.

The motion had started subtly, but now had a steady, flowing rhythm that Kitty had no trouble imagining on her own clit. Wahine’s breathing was growing increasingly shallow, and the outline of her nipples, large and full, was obvious. Subtle, responsive jerks of her thighs made it easy for Kitty to follow her rising excitement, and she envisioned her tongue alongside Wahine’s fingers, enjoying the journey. She wanted in the worst way to smell her.

There was a gasp and scattered applause from the others in the room as something happened with the game, but Kitty was caught by Wahine’s liquid gaze seeking out hers. A few more strokes and her hips shuddered in the chair. All the while she stared into Kitty’s eyes.

“That was the best finale ever!” The people in the row ahead of them were standing up.

Kitty had no idea who had won the tournament. Wahine pulled her hand back into sight, and Kitty swore she could see silken wetness coating the sleek fingertips.

Neither of them moved. Wahine had her hand on her abdomen, looking disoriented. Kitty was dizzy because all the blood in her body had drained right to her clit. She wasn’t sure she could stand up.

How strange, she thought, that every time with a woman I feel like I’ve not really ever been turned on before. It’s not that strange, she answered herself back. Escort service is with men. And you love women. It had been a long time since pleasure had been a part of the equation.

Wahine finally stirred. With the room now mostly empty, she said, “I think the ball is back in your court.”

“How about in my room?” She managed to get to her feet without revealing how dizzy she was, but she was afraid when she moved that Wahine would hear how wet she was.

Well, what if she did? She fully intended Wahine to
feel
how wet she was. And soon.

They passed the three losers on the way to the elevator, but if they had anything to say, Kitty didn’t hear it. The fountains in the corner of the grand lobby, the paintings, the murals, all of which had delighted her for the last several days—she saw none of them. She was going to love a woman tonight and had no attention to spare on irrelevant things.

Kissing a woman was full of sound. The resonant
oh yes
in her head, the pounding of her heart, the rustle of eyelashes brushing against a rounded cheek. Though she knew those sounds, Kitty recorded them again in her memory, because being with a woman didn’t happen often enough.

Though Kitty wanted to get to the bed, at the moment there was no reason to move from the wall just inside the door. She leaned into Wahine as their kisses explored and deepened. When Wahine’s hands moved to her hips, pulling them closer together, Kitty felt the heat flowing into her pelvis, through her skin and her bones. Firm, gentle hands, the fingers long and purposeful—a woman’s touch.

“It’s been way too long since I’ve done this,” Wahine murmured. “Can we take our time?”

“I was hoping to take all night.”

They kissed again to seal the agreement. Kitty ran her fingers the length of Wahine’s hair, anticipating the heavy silk of it on her stomach, against her thighs.

Each button undone on the blouse displayed new skin to be licked, and at last she tasted the faint hint of salt as her nose appreciated the cologne Wahine wore, with its faint notes of sandalwood, oak, and rose.

What had begun as an evening watching a competition of nerves had turned into a deeply welcome exploration of different nerves, nerves that sent shivers of delight, shocked awake memories and created fantasies. Her imagination painted lusciously evocative pictures of Wahine in a hundred poses, and composed a symphony of cries and moans as Kitty explored the inside and outside of her.

Wahine rolled her onto the bed, removing clothes in between languid kisses. They were both naked now, and Kitty relearned the difference between the muscles of forearms and the melting softness of breasts. The bumps of ribs under her fingers made her mouth water with the desire to count them with her tongue. She pushed Wahine onto her back to brush her nose against a gloriously full nipple, and marvel at how the tender underside of a breast could yield to tightly puckered skin that begged for her teeth to tease, her tongue to lick, her mouth to close down and lightly suck.

The crass frat boys, the rude woman—dealing with people was an everyday trial, sometimes, and the irritations of daily life had conspired with the stress of living to blot out how wonderful, how natural it was to pause in reverent anticipation just before dipping her tongue into a wet, full cunt. She inhaled the sensual smell, and drank in the sight of gleaming, wet folds, red and ready. Men tried to wound with the word, but their opinion of her, and her cunt, was of no importance. She knew its beauty, though sometimes she forgot. She was reminded of it now, gazing at the tight, sleek folds of Wahine’s cunt. She kissed it wetly, rubbed her lips along the beckoning, opening slit until the inner folds were revealed, and then she used her tongue.

Wahine’s groan of welcome was exactly what Kitty wanted to hear, and she tasted, savored, licked up the wetness that was only found in the beauty of a woman’s cunt. She rolled it around on her tongue, savored the sweetness, the hint of salt, and went back for more.

She sank fully to the bed, pulling Wahine’s legs over her shoulders, slipping her hands under Wahine’s ass to tip her up. The more she feasted the more there was to enjoy until Wahine’s cries peaked. Less direct attentions, wet kisses on the still pulsing clit, appreciative noises—Kitty didn’t stop her adoration until fingers brushed her hair.

After a long minute of ragged breathing, Wahine said, “I think you really wanted to do that.”

“I did.” She gave Wahine a philosophical smile. She remembered the first woman she’d ever touched, the last woman she’d been with, and kneaded those memories together to unveil her fantasy of a future where time and mutual inclination brought her nightly to the same bed, with the same woman. “This is the food of my life and I forget that I’m hungry.”

Wahine pulled Kitty up to feather her fingers over her face. “Then I think you’ll be pleased to know that I’m starving.”

“Excuse me, I can’t believe I’m doing this, but can I ask you a question?” Pepper paused for breath and hoped she didn’t sound like an insane person. She didn’t often walk across a hotel lobby to approach a beautiful woman standing at a bar.

The cool, elegant redhead gave Pepper an exaggeratedly patient look. “Sure, go ahead.”

“Are you doing anything tonight?”

“What?” She began to turn her back, but paused when Pepper tried to explain.

“See, there’s this fancy awards thing tonight, downstairs. It’s like the Year of the Lesbian or something. I mean, I just found out who’s getting the Lamplight Award and who’s giving it away, and I want to get published. It won’t hurt for people to see me with a gorgeous date, you know?”

The redhead blinked at her.

“I really am a lesbian.”

Leaning slightly closer, the redhead asked, “Are you drunk?”

“No! Seriously, I want to out myself. Tonight.”

“And what does this have to do with me?”

“I need an escort. Or to be with someone I’m escorting. Your name badge says you’re with ESI. That’s the escort service people, right? How does that work exactly?”

With a narrowed gaze, the redhead said carefully, “I charge for my time according to what kind of escorting you want. Strictly legal—I’ll even give you a receipt.”

“Well,” Pepper explained, “you’d need to look gorgeous and lesbian and maybe act like we were the hottest couple ever.”

The woman was going to laugh at her and tell her to get lost; Pepper could see it in her eyes. She didn’t know why she was having this conversation except, well, Carly Vincent was
the
one, the one who’d set them all free, and she hoped by the end of the night that she’d be able to say she’d shaken Carly Vincent’s hand. And if Amelia Wainwright was presenting the Lamplight Award like it said in the copy of the program she’d pinched from the boxes being carried into the ballroom, well, that was incredible. Amelia Wainwright and Bryce Ambrose were an item, and everyone was buzzing about it. Not to mention that incredibly sexy Barrett Lancey and her terminally hot girlfriend Racie Racine. The lesbians were freakin’ taking over and Pepper wanted to stand up and be counted.

“I’ll pay you; I mean, I don’t know what you charge. But even if all I could afford is to have you mingle at the cocktail party before you get called away—maybe we could say you were a doctor or something. What do you think?”

“I think you’re crazy.”

“That’s okay,” Pepper assured her. “I get that a lot.”

“I’m sure you do.”

“So what do you think?”

The woman shook her head in disbelief. “Well, I’m already dressing for the night, so I suppose we could do the cocktail party thing. An hour of glamorous lesbian flirtation for fifty bucks.”

“It’s a deal. Just the insurance I needed. Thank you.” Pepper hurried away, really embarrassed and all, and not really believing she’d just hired an escort, then she turned right around and went back to where the redhead was still standing, all long legs accentuated by linen crop pants, and a sexy wrap shirt that really, Sophia Loren would envy. “What’s your name?”

“Cara.”

“I’m Pepper. You should probably call me that so people will figure we’re on a date.”

“What time and where should I meet you, Pepper?”

“Oh yeah, hey, can you tell I don’t do this very often? It’s a good thing you’ve got experience.” Pepper gulped. “That didn’t come out right. I’m sorry, how about over there, next to the reader board?”

“Time?”

“Oh, make it seven.”

“I’ll be there.” With that, Cara turned on her lovely sandal heels and walked away.

Pepper stuffed the purloined program into her goodie bag. Crisis handled. Imitating Cara’s elegant departure, Pepper spun around. There was a thud on her head and a shock of bright lights.

“Ow!” Pepper tried to pick herself up off the floor because nobody looked good knocked flat like that, but her head smarted too much to get back on her feet quite yet.

“Are you okay?”

“I will be. I’m sorry; I wasn’t watching where I was going.”

“No, I’m sorry. I was reading while I walked, and that has gotten me in trouble from the time I was eight.”

Pepper looked up at her victim. Short, curly brown hair was the first thing she noticed, but then the brown-yellow eyes—was that topaz or amber, she wondered—had all her attention. Nice eyes, really warm. “What were you reading?”

“Bryce Ambrose’s latest.” The woman showed Pepper the cover.

“Oh, so you’re a romance fan here for the book signings?”

“No, actually, I’m a librarian, but when I saw who was there, I got in line. There’s a lot of overlap between librarian and reader. Do you need help getting up?”

“I got it.” Pepper hoped she looked more graceful than she felt. “I really am sorry.”

“It’s okay. You got the worst of it, I think.”

Now that they were eye to eye, Pepper could see that they were, well, eye to eye. That made the librarian the same height as she, around five-three. Wait—she was wearing two-inch heels and the librarian had on sensible shoes. So the librarian was taller. Not that it mattered. If this meeting was something she used in her writing she could make up anything she liked. She could make the librarian into the six-foot raven-haired beauty so popular of late. But she hadn’t a clue what it would be like to kiss someone that tall.

Would finding out come under the topic of research?

It was a matter she was struggling with. How could she write a love scene when she hadn’t actually done most of the things she’d write about?

“I’m Sally.” The librarian held out her hand.

“Oh, sorry. I’m Pepper. Pepper St. Laurent. I think.”

“How hard was that bump on the head?”

“No, it’s a pen name. My first name really is Pepper, but I can’t decide on the rest.”

“Ah. Are you going to a session right now?”