Windy City Romance: Boxed Set: Prequel - Book III

by Barbara Lohr

  “More! We want more, Pussycat!”

  What was she wearing under this suit?

  Underwear hadn’t been a consideration when she got dressed.

  Slowly she unzipped her left sleeve. Angry pink tracks throbbed from when she’d snagged herself getting dressed. With every click of the zipper, the applause grew louder. Chest heaving, she stopped under an air vent. Cool air rushing over her, she closed her eyes. Big mistake.

  “Gotcha.” Fingers tightened around one booted ankle and she glanced down at Pencil Moustache Man.

  “Stop that!” Harper jerked and the whip hit his cheek. Her heart stopped when an angry red line zipped across his skin.

  “Bitch.” He reared back.

  “Oh, I’m so sorry, sir. I didn’t mean…” When she bent over, she got dizzy.

  His buddies found the whole thing hilarious.

  “Randy, way to go!”

  “Got what you deserve, buddy!” They thumped on the tabletops.

  “Hands off, Randy. Let her dance.” The host’s voice sliced the darkness.

  Randy fell back.

  Baby Blues caught her eyes and tilted his head, like he was just waiting for the next mistake.

  Fine, she’d show him. Forget the sleeve teasing. Her hands moved to the front of her costume. Wrestling with the zipper, she didn’t see the wet patch on the bar. Before she could even think “white cotton,” she was sprawled on her behind. Hurt like heck.

  Baby Blues was there in a heartbeat. His nostrils flared and she could hear him breathing.

  “I’m all right.” She struggled to stand.

  “Well, I’m not.”

  “You okay, darlin’?” Beau lifted his head from the bar. “Cameron, ya tryin’ to kill my party?”

  A muscle twitched in Cameron’s jaw. “Sorry, Beau, but it appears our entertainment for the evening is a little under the weather.”

  “I am not,” she hissed, heaving herself upright.

  “You damn well are.”

  Beau’s eyes flagged. “You did great, Pussy…cat.”

  “Catwoman,” she squeaked.

  “No! She can’t go.” Bubba tried to stand again.

  “We haven’t seen anything yet!” The others joined the rowdy protest.

  Ignoring them, Cameron helped Harper down and steered her through the disappointed men. His grip would probably leave a bruise on her arm. She fought back tears.

  My rent. She wrenched her arm away. “I can…finish.”

  “The hell you can. You can barely breathe.” He marched her along.

  “I’m okay.” Twisting, she saw Bubba trying to climb onto the bar while Beau gave him a shove. She couldn’t help her giggle.

  But when she turned, Cameron’s steely blue eyes lanced her. “If you’re an exotic dancer, then I’m a….”

  They’d reached the stairs. He pushed a button, grabbed the ejected CD and jabbed it in her direction. Anger flamed in her cheeks. The night was not going to end like this. Not one more man rejecting her. Harper grabbed his belt and pulled. “You have to give me another chance.”

  His eyebrows rose and he glanced down. “No second chances.”

  “Geez.” She shoved him away and snatched the CD.

  How long would it take for Charlie Roden, her landlord, to evict her?

  Wails followed her up the stairs, Baby Blues right behind her, eyes about butt level. She was furious and heartsick. Rizzo had been asking if she wanted to earn better money. Maybe she misunderstood him. She thought he meant more gigs. Didn’t matter. She was finished.

  Upstairs, Cameron led Harper to the front door and yanked it open. “Thank you for your time but I asked Rizzo for a professional.”

  “I am a professional.” She got a glimpse of herself in a huge gilded hall mirror. Melting makeup, crooked mask and tangled curls. Harper swallowed hard.

  Cameron nudged her outside. The night air clung like cotton candy.

  “You could’ve let me finish.”

  “Trust me. You were finished.”

  Her lips quivered. “Well, aren’t you so… lah dee dah.”

  That was all she could manage? Harper clamped her lips shut. On the street, gaslights glowed. Leaves whispered overhead and she breathed deep. Felt so good when her chest loosened.

  Baby Blues’ lips tweaked up. “Lah dee dah, huh? Good thing the guys were too tanked to complain. Much.”

  “They weren’t complaining.” Leering but not complaining. “I wasn’t that bad.”

  “Yes, you were.” The ghost of a smile softened his frown. Baby Blues was really handsome when he smiled. Handsome and hot. Jamming one hand into a pocket, he sighed and dug out a roll of cash she wished she could refuse. “Here, take this.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  A wail came from deep inside the house. “Good night,” he said, nodding politely—the perfect southern gentleman.

  “Okay, fine. Good night.” Turning on her heel, she limped down the stone steps. A cool shower waited for her at home unless Charlie had turned off the water.

  Her footsteps echoed on the pavement as Harper walked toward the car at the end of the side street. She hoped to heck it started. When her ex-boyfriend Billy had taken off for California, he’d left her with this heap of junk. Two years out of college and all her friends were pairing up like fruit flies.

  All except Harper.

  The beige sedan with the bumper held on with duct tape looked ridiculous on the elegant street. She slid inside. Even though the sun had set hours ago, the front seat heated her back and thighs. Thank God she’d never see any of those men again. Savannah was small, but she sure didn’t travel in their circles.

  The smell of money hit her when she fanned out the bills Baby Blues had given her. Generous but not generous enough. Reaching under the seat, she pulled out her beat up Coach bag and dug around for her inhaler. The first breaths were almost painfully blissful. Lungs expanding, she slumped back and tucked the money into her purse. What was she going to do? She’d think about that later. Right now she needed a shower and some sleep.

  But first one quick call. She whipped out her phone.

  “How’d it go?” Rizzo answered right away, like he’d been waiting.

  “You’re a rat, you know that?”

  She could hear him take a drag on his cigarette. “You were lucky to get a shot at this group. Elite customer and I hope you didn’t screw up with Mr. Bennett. Stop by on your way home with the cash.”

  “Oh, I don’t think so, Rizzo.”

  “Hey, Chicago girl, don’t get all uppity on me. Didn’t you say you were interested in career development?”

  He really was a trip. “What happened to the kids’ birthday parties? This was a bachelor party, for Pete’s sake. I am not a stripper.”

  His laugh was more of a bark. “They all say that. You dames are all alike.”

  The words hit her like darts. Harper blinked back tears, glad he couldn’t see her. “I quit.”

  “No, you’re fired. And you better get that money to me or you’re toast, little lady.”

  She ended the call. What a creep. Jamming the key into the ignition, she turned it. The click was like taking another dart. Resting her forehead on the steering wheel, she squeezed her eyes shut. If she started to cry, her chest would tighten up. She forced herself to take deep breaths. When the swelling in her throat subsided, she grabbed her phone again. Maybe Adam, her neighbor, would be home.

  But it was Saturday and Adam usually partied on Saturday nights. The phone rang and rang until his voicemail picked up. She didn’t leave a message.

  ~.~

  Cameron watched the taillights of the limousine pull away. Limo service was the only safe way home after a bachelor party, an unwritten rule in their group. But he’d never offer to host one of these parties again. Just not his thing. Unbuttoning his shirt, he welcomed the cool breeze. He didn’t know whether to laugh or put his fist through a wall.

  Str
ipper, my ass. Not that she didn’t look hot in the Catwoman costume. And the hair? Definitely a turn-on. But something felt off. Any minute he’d expected to have to give her mouth-to-mouth resuscitation.

  Cameron fought the mental picture that brought a warm rush.

  Turning back to the house, he yanked his shirt tails out of his slacks. Was she one of the local college girls? Something admirable about that. He’d put himself through school washing dishes, valeting cars, bartending, and just about everything in between.

  Gutsy girl who drew the line at stripping. At least she had principles.

  The beat up car parked at the corner caught his eye. Really? Irritation made his head throb. People were always leaving their junkers on the street. Looked like this one had a license plate.

  “Daddy?”

  He swiveled. Inside, Bella gripped the banister at the foot of the stairs, a small pale figure in her yellow Tinkerbell nightgown.

  Smiling at his four-year-old daughter, he stepped back inside. “Why aren’t you asleep, sugar?”

  “Too much noise, Daddy.” She rubbed a small fist into her eyes.

  “Yeah, I’m sorry about that.” When he scooped her up, Bella felt so frail. His heart turned over. “You should stay in the air conditioning. Too much pollen out here.”

  Batteries of tests and the doctors still didn’t know what made his daughter wheeze and turn pale. Scared the hell out of him.

  At the end of the hall, Connie appeared in the doorway of the kitchen.

  “Connie, can you take her back to bed? I have a situation outside.”

  “You bet. Come here, you little munchkin.” Connie opened her arms and he handed Bella off. The dark rings beneath his daughter’s eyes wrapped around his heart and squeezed.

  “Night, Daddy.” Bella leaned over for a kiss, her wiry dark hair smelling of baby shampoo.

  “See you tomorrow, darlin’.” He watched them mount the stairs before stepping back outside and pulling the door closed behind him. The car was still there. His loafers scuffed the warm pavement as he walked down the middle of the road. When he got closer, a head of thick sherry-colored hair eased its way up. Mardi Gras beads dangled from the mirror.

  Perfect. Just perfect.

  “Why are you still here?” he asked when he reached the open window. “You can’t park on this street overnight.”

  Her back was toward him. Was she slipping the damn mask back on? When she turned, those green eyes sparked. “My car wouldn’t start.”

  What a surprise. “Have you called a service station? AAA?”

  “I’ve left messages for a friend. Somebody will call back.” Her hands white-knuckled the steering wheel. “Any minute now.”

  Jamming one hand through his hair, Cameron stared down the dark, empty street. Thank God his neighbors were well asleep by this time. A clunker was a red light for everyone, and he didn’t want them calling the police about his stripper.

  Well, the girl who wasn’t a stripper.

  Maybe he should just let the police handle it. Wasn’t she loitering or doing something illegal?

  Then he saw the inhaler on the seat.

  Damn. But not a total surprise.

  “Give me a minute.” He headed back to the house.

  “Look, you don’t have to do anything.”

  Like hell he didn’t. He broke into a jog.

  Two minutes later, he pulled his Porsche up next to her beat-up piece of crap. Leaning over, he pushed open the passenger side door. “Get in.”

  Mumbling something under her breath, she got out of the car and slammed the door behind her. As she slid into the Porsche, she gave him the name of her street. Then she folded her hands into her lap like a school girl, a Coach bag plopped at her feet. Must be a knockoff.

  He pulled away. For a while, all he could hear was the sweet, low rumble of the car. Time for some music and he punched buttons until Billy Holiday filled the small car with “The Very Thought of You.”

  “Oh, I love this song.” When she leaned forward a little, her reddish brown hair fell over one shoulder. The curls looked soft, like Bella’s. She started to hum along.

  “So, do you do this often?” he finally asked.

  “Have a broken down car? Not if I can help it.”

  “No, I mean do you work for Party Perfect often?”

  What he could see of her face turned sad. “Just worked some children’s parties for him.”

  “Worked? As in the past?”

  The soft hollow at the base of her throat pulsed. “Right. I just quit.”

  “Sorry. You didn’t really do anything wrong. I mean, your kicks were good.”

  He caught her eye. They both burst out laughing, probably thinking of that bowl of pretzels.

  “I am so sorry about your trophies.” Her luscious chuckle hit him right in the gut.

  “Not the first time they’d been knocked off that shelf.” Damn, he needed to laugh. His latest restoration deal had fallen through that afternoon. He hated the thought of the wrecking ball taking that house down. For him every old structure in Savannah carried a precious piece of history. The stripper who didn’t strip was just a bad end to a bad week. “Trophies only matter the day you win them. Besides, the football only broke off one of them. It’s been glued before.”

  “Well, I won’t be dancing on bars anytime soon.” The sadness in her voice tugged at him.

  She must have unzipped her costume to get some air. When she leaned forward and peered out the front windshield, he tried not to stare at the dusky valley between her breasts.

  “Stop. Right there.”

  He jerked his eyes away. “Look, I didn’t mean anything.” What was wrong with him, ogling her like that?

  But she wasn’t looking at him. She was stabbing one blue-tipped finger at an older home with a serious lean. The building was like so many in this district of Savannah. Rundown. Probably cut into four different apartments. He pulled to the curb. She cracked open the car door. “Thanks so much for the ride. I hope I didn’t ruin your party, Mr. Bennett,” she added softly.

  “You did fine.”

  “Yeah. Right.”

  What was he saying? She was terrible. But damn, that pinched look around her nose, the trembling of her soft lips—she was killing him.

  She reached for her handbag and make-up spilled out. They both grabbed for it and their heads bumped. Her hair brushed his cheek, unleashing a crazy warmth that took him by surprise. Totally inappropriate for so many reasons.

  “Sorry. I am so clumsy tonight. Thank you.”

  When he handed her a lipstick and a comb, their fingers touched and sparked. Damn. She sucked in a quick breath. He sat back. She stepped out until all he could see were those long legs.

  “Well, thanks.” One hand on the top of the car, she leaned forward.

  “No problem.” He trained his eyes on the empty bucket seat. It was hard.

  “Good night, then.” She pushed off and began to walk away.

  Something purple on the floor caught his eyes. “Wait. You forgot your inhaler.” Scooping it up, he handed the device through the open window.

  “Thank you.” She curled it tightly into her fist, backing onto the curb. “Aren’t you going to take off?”

  “Just waiting to see you in.” This wasn’t the safest neighborhood.

  “Right. That’s nice.” As she turned, her boots crunched on the gravel. She looked absurd and hot as she took the stairs with that tail swinging behind her, whip tucked under one arm. Took her a little time to work her key. The front door stuck but finally gave way to a hip. After she banged it shut behind her and the porch light was turned off, he eased away from the curb. The feeling that dogged him all the way home was ridiculous. Why did he care if the girl needed help? He had enough on his plate.

  But Cameron knew what it felt like to have no place to turn.

  Chapter 2

  Harper circled the block for the third time. Why go through an interview bound to be humiliating?
Overdue rent. And she’d be giving up. Despite what her former boyfriend Billy said, she was not a quitter. She pulled over and parked. At least this time she wasn’t wearing a black Catwoman suit.

  “Just come back with the job,” Adam had told her when he handed her the keys to his red Ford Focus. “Hey, girl, you can do this.”

  Sure. Right. In the morning sunlight, the pale brickwork of Cameron Bennett’s mansion glowed. But the black trim and shutters gave a no-nonsense touch. The house had an edge, just like its owner. Her stomach knotted. What if he recognized her and laughed when she walked in?

  But he wouldn’t. Cameron seemed like the perfect southern gentleman.

  Hadn’t he taken her home when her car wouldn’t start? He’d paid her something even though she hadn’t delivered. Cripes. She drummed her fingers on the steering wheel. How could she face him again? Chest tight, she dug in her pink peony purse, found her inhaler and breathed in. After her lungs expanded, her stomach settled. She could do this.

  Once out of the car, she marched toward the steps leading up to the house. The wrought iron railing felt warm under her hand. Harper hesitated on the bottom step, heart galloping.

  Still time to turn back but she’d run out of options. She wouldn’t be surprised to find everything she owned piled at the curb when she returned, her Frida Kahlo posters sandwiched between the drafting board and a box of dishes.

  On the way over in the car, she’d practiced a different voice so Baby Blues wouldn’t recognize her. Mary Ann Lacey, a classmate in college, had been from Charleston. How she teased Harper about the broad, Chicago vowels and her constant use of “yah.”

  Yah, today Harper would become Mary Ann Lacey.

  She pushed off from the bottom step.

  The eye-popping salary in the online ad for a nanny made her former jobs look like volunteer work. Harper had set her mug down so hard, the coffee slopped over the lip. Was she qualified? Her list of employers over the past two years was pretty pathetic. The Kirkpatrick clan had all chipped in for her education at the elite Savannah design school and she was working at Maisy’s Resale Shop? She owed her family more than a series of part time jobs, but she’d hated her New York internship. Her career plans needed a serious readjustment.