Stripped Bare

by Kalinda Grace

  Tesla places the bowl of frosting on the counter and slowly turns around.

  “You have a little frosting . . .” I whisper, trailing my finger along the tiny sliver of chocolate on her cheek. I wipe it away, and she reaches for my hand, pulling my finger close to her lips. Her tongue peeks out, licking the chocolate from my fingertip, and I don’t even try to hide my groan.

  “Kiss me,” she whispers.

  “Forgive me.”

  Forgive me for being such an asshole.

  Forgive me for not taking the time to realize how special you truly are.

  Forgive me.

  “I do.”

  Her words are beautiful.

  She’s beautiful.

  “I forgive you,” she murmurs, wrapping her arms around my neck.

  I dip my head and softly brush my lips against hers, and my body trembles as I struggle to hang on to my last shred of self-restraint.

  “You’re holding back. Kiss me, Jax. Please . . .”

  Her soft plea makes me come unhinged, and we swallow each other’s groans as I roughly pull her lips to mine. My entire body comes to life, breathing her in, tasting her tongue, feeling her body as I trap her between me and the counter. Her fingers weave in my hair, tugging me closer, and it’s heaven and hell and everything in between.

  Nothing scares me.

  Ever.

  But the way I feel about this girl fucking terrifies me.

  It’s been three nights since our first kiss. Three long, sexually frustrating nights filled with hot kisses and tender touches. We’re both dying to have sex, but something keeps holding us back.

  We want it to be special.

  We want it to be right.

  Most of the time, we want it to be right now, but one of us always comes to our senses.

  At this point, we’re just cock-blocking each other, and I don’t know whether to laugh or cry.

  But I can’t cry, because I’m at work.

  I hate my job. I’ve always hated my job, but the past few weeks have made me realize that the money really isn’t worth it anymore. When I moved to the city, I’d moved with the dream of becoming a prima ballerina. Once that dream was shattered, my options were limited. I could have moved back home and lived with my parents, but their one requirement was that I go to college, and I was just a little too tired of having to follow their rules. Besides, I wanted to prove I could make it on my own. Sure, I could have gone the more respectable route of teaching dance, but rent is expensive and teaching doesn’t pay shit. When I saw the ad for Rick’s club, I’d jumped at the chance. The fact that he runs a clean establishment always justified it in my mind, and I’ve never once felt ashamed for getting the chance to do what I love to do and make a living, too.

  But I want more.

  I live in a small apartment and save every dime I can. I have a goal in mind—my own, personal take-this-job-and-shove-it milestone—and I am this close to hitting it.

  Sometimes, when I close my eyes, I can see my bakery. It’s a small, cozy building, drenched in shades of sky blue and cream. I bake pastries and offer little samples on the counters for my customers.

  I’m so close.

  With that thought in mind, I slowly make my way up to the VIP room. Rick escorts me to the door.

  “You okay?”

  I nod. I haven’t had to step foot inside since that night with Jax. After promising my boss that I’m fine, I wait until he’s back downstairs before taking a deep breath and stepping inside.

  The man is tall with deep, ebony skin. His tie hangs loose around his neck, and there’s a drink in his hand. He offers me one, but I decline. Instead, I reach for the remote and turn on the sound system. A punishing beat floods the room, and his eyes travel up and down my legs before he finally sits in the chair.

  I close my eyes.

  Automatic pilot.

  Robotic.

  I sway to the music, and he follows the rules. He doesn’t touch me, but his eyes are wide and hungry. It used to make my skin crawl, but now . . .

  Automatic pilot.

  I move a little closer, placing my hand along the back of his chair, and he groans. That’s when I feel his hand on my hip.

  “You know the rules,” I warn him.

  They get one warning.

  “You’re so hot,” he murmurs thickly. “Come on, baby. I wanna get my money’s worth.”

  The smell of booze on his breath makes me want to puke. I glance at the black button on the bar. Our panic button. The silent signal that alerts Rick that we’re in trouble.

  I’ve never used it before.

  But when his hand starts to slide up the inside of my thigh, I remind myself there’s a first time for everything.

  I miss her.

  It’s been over twelve hours since I’ve seen her, and I miss her.

  Is that normal?

  Tara says it can be, but I don’t believe her. You miss soldiers who’ve gone off to war. You miss relatives you haven’t seen in years. You miss loved ones who’ve passed away.

  You don’t miss someone you kissed just last night.

  Do you?

  I do.

  I miss her smell. I miss her laugh. I miss the way her eyes light up when she calls me on my bullshit.

  I miss her.

  She’s working tonight. The club isn’t something I like to think about, because then I have to think about what she’s doing, and who she’s doing it with, and while I know the club has rules, I also know there are fuckers out there who don’t give a shit about the rules, and it’s that possibility that drives me insane.

  Tara says it’s jealousy, but this is the one area where my sister and I disagree.

  It’s not jealousy.

  It’s rage.

  Mind-numbing fury.

  I don’t want anyone else to see her naked.

  I don’t want anyone else to touch her.

  Ever.

  But I don’t say it, because I know it’ll just lead to a fight. Tesla is headstrong and proud, and I know voicing any sort of opinion about her job is just going to cause an argument I can’t win.

  Besides, if everything goes to plan, maybe she won’t have to work at the club much longer.

  We have no plans to meet after work, but I miss her.

  I want to see her.

  I call my driver, and twenty minutes later, Gus drops me off at the club. There’s a redhead on stage, and the men seem to be enjoying the show. I don’t even glance in her direction. I just sit down at the bar. The bartender walks over.

  “Your usual, Mr. Monroe?”

  “No, thanks . . .”

  “Carlos, sir.”

  “Carlos. I’m just waiting for Tesla. I think her shift ends soon.”

  “Ah, she’s a sweet one.”

  “She certainly is. I guess she’s backstage.”

  “Actually, Rick just escorted her upstairs. I’m guessing she’ll be a half-hour or so. Are you sure I can’t get you something to drink while you wait?”

  I look toward the stairs just as Rick appears at the bottom. One of the dancers grabs him by the arm, leading him backstage.

  Upstairs.

  Half-hour.

  My hands shake and my vision blurs, because I know where she is.

  And I know what it means.

  I’m having a heart attack. I feel it. My chest is tight and breathing is impossible.

  I don’t make the decision. My feet just hit the floor. They weave me through the audience and up the staircase.

  There are two VIP rooms. I hear the bass streaming through one of the doors, and I turn the knob.

  It’s a second in time. A mere moment.

  His hand is sliding up her thigh.

  I see red.

  Suddenly, my hands are on him. My fist connects with his face, and the crunch is the most satisfying sound I’ve ever heard.

  I hit and curse.

  He groans and pleads.

  Somewhere in the fog, I hear her voice.
r />   Begging me to stop.

  Then suddenly, my arms are being twisted behind my back, and I’m being told to calm the fuck down.

  My vision clears.

  My heart pounds in my ears.

  Rick calls for a paramedic. The man lays on the floor. He’s bloodied and cut and moaning.

  I don’t give a shit, because at least he’s not touching her anymore.

  Her.

  She’s on the floor, kneeling and crying.

  Tesla should never be on her knees.

  She should never cry.

  I whisper her name, and she looks up at me with her wide eyes. They are big and teary and full of fear.

  And I know I’m the asshole who brought her to her knees.

  Me.

  Dawn arrives. Morning sunlight streams in through the blinds.

  My Chihuahua leaps into my lap, and I wrap us both in my blanket, holding him close.

  He knows I need love. Dogs can sense these things.

  I’m exhausted.

  I’m pissed.

  I’m all cried out.

  I’m unemployed.

  One thing I’m not? Alone. Because Kassidy won’t go away. She’s finally quiet, though. Sound asleep in my guest room.

  After the police and paramedics arrived, Kassidy insisted on bringing me home. It was, in my opinion, the perfect night to get drunk, but Kass just made me tea. She then led me to my couch and told me to cry. To purge my system and get it all out.

  All the sadness and fear and confusion.

  Just cry it all out.

  So that’s what I did.

  I can’t say it worked. I can’t really tell.

  Right now, I just have that numb headache you get after a night of crying. The kind where you’re just physically and emotionally drained and too tired to move.

  I’m so tired, but every time I close my eyes, I see that man. I see him bloodied and bruised, and while the paramedic promised he’d survive, and the man actually walked out of the room all on his own, I couldn’t help but feel responsible.

  But he’s not the only man I see when I close my eyes.

  I see Jax beating the shit out of that guy.

  Kassidy promises she’s seen far worse, and that Jax was only trying to protect me, but none of that makes me feel better. I don’t need protecting. I’m a stripper. It comes with the territory. This is the life I chose, and in doing that, I’ve had to deal with a lot of pervy guys who can’t keep their hands to themselves. But I deal with them. I handle it. And I was two seconds away from handling it when my knight in shining armor came charging in with fists flying.

  Minutes later, Jax was in cuffs and escorted out of the VIP room.

  Is he in jail?

  The possibility terrifies me.

  Rick stopped by a few hours ago. He was sweet to me, but this is business. This is why we have rules that boyfriends stay away from the club. This is why he has to let me go. I told him I understood, and I do. This kind of publicity isn’t good for his club, and I get it. Rick doesn’t owe me anything besides a paycheck, and he promised to mail it to me.

  Honestly, I’m not all that heartbroken to be out of a job. It will slow my progress toward my goal, and my down payment on a bakery will have to wait a while, but I can’t say I’ll miss working there. I have some money saved. I’ll be okay until I find something else.

  I know Jax must still be in custody. Otherwise, he’d be here, and I’m just not ready for him to be here.

  I jump when someone knocks on the door.

  My dog leaps from the couch, and I walk toward the door, tightening my blanket around me as I glance through the peep hole. At first, I don’t see anyone, but then I look down to find a short woman with dark hair and glasses. I have no idea who she is.

  “Can I help you?” I ask without opening the door.

  “Tesla? May I come in? I’m Tara.”

  “Tara?”

  “Jax’s sister.”

  My fingers tremble as I fumble with the lock and open the door.

  And then we stare, because I have absolutely no idea what to say to her.

  “Can we talk?” Her voice is soft.

  I nod and step aside, letting her in. I lock the door again before leading her over to the couch.

  “I don’t have coffee or anything. I mean, I have some. I just haven’t made any . . .”

  I’m babbling.

  Tara gives me a smile. “I’m fine, but thank you.”

  We sit. It’s awkward as hell.

  “How are you?”

  “How is he?”

  We ask in unison, and then, because it seems so funny and I’m completely punch drunk, I start to giggle. Tara grins, and the awkwardness begins to fade away.

  “He’s home now,” she says. “I bailed him out about an hour ago.”

  My stomach lurches. “Bail was set?”

  “First thing this morning, yeah. The guy pressed charges—as he should have . . .”

  My body shakes, and I tug the blanket closer.

  “How long did he have to sit in jail?”

  “Not long, really. After processing, the officers just kept him in a holding cell. He was alone, which was good.”

  I nod. A billionaire in a jail cell with drug dealers and child molesters wouldn’t have been a good thing at all.

  “He wanted to come straight here, but I wouldn’t let him.”

  “He’s home?”

  “He’s at my house,” she replies. “I told him to get some sleep, but he wouldn’t shut up about wanting to see you. So we compromised. My husband is there, standing guard, and I’m here, checking on you.”

  “I’m fine, Tara.”

  “I don’t believe that for a second.”

  I bow my head. “I’m trying to be fine.”

  “I want you to know that I’m here, as a sister. My therapist hat is at my office. However, if you need to talk, I’m more than willing to listen. You must be confused, and probably a little frightened. My brother has a bullshit temper, and while there were thousands of better ways for him to have handled things last night, you have to know it came from an honest, sincere place. I’m not making excuses, and I’m not saying it was right, because it wasn’t. Jax is fiercely protective of the people he lo . . . cares about.”

  My heart hammers in my chest. She was going to say loves. I pretend I don’t notice.

  “In his professional life, Jax Monroe is warm and charming,” she continues. “He’s also manipulative and arrogant. That’s how the game is played in the corporate world, and he’s good at it. In his personal life, he’s not much different. Money talks in both worlds, and that’s how Jax has lived his life. He’s not a bad person. We come from a strong, loving family with great parents. There are no demons to speak of, except that he’s closed himself off emotionally for a long time. That is, until you came along.”

  She’s his sister, and his therapist, so I’m sure she knows how we met. I’m not embarrassed, but I do wonder what she thinks of me. It doesn’t matter, really, but I’m curious.

  So I ask.

  “I think you are amazing, Tesla. If for no other reason than because of the powerful effect you’ve had on my brother in such a short period of time. I don’t want to say too much about how he feels, but surely you realize he cares for you.”

  I stare at my hands. “I care for him, too. I’m just not sure I can deal with this level of protectiveness. I can’t worry that every time a guy looks at me that Jax is going to fly into a blind rage.”

  “I understand that. And, I think, in time, he’ll find a balance. This is just new for him, Tesla. Feeling anything is so foreign to him. But I am sorry you had to see his temper last night. The man’s going to be okay, though. They stitched him up at the hospital and sent him on his way.”

  “I’m glad.”

  We sit quietly for a few minutes until she finally stands up.

  “You look tired. I should let you rest.”

  I thank her for coming and foll
ow her to the door. She turns and gives me a soft smile.

  “As a sister, can I just say one more thing?”

  “Of course.”

  Tara takes a deep breath. “He’s so worried about you. He knows he frightened you. He knows he fucked up last night, and he’s afraid you’ll never want to speak to him again. I’ve . . . I’ve never seen my brother afraid. Ever.”

  Her voice breaks, and I blink back my tears.

  “Tell him . . . tell him I’m okay and that I miss him. And tell him I’ll call him when I’m ready to talk.”

  She smiles and reaches for me, hugging me close.

  Then she’s gone.

  “Mr. Monroe? We’re here, sir.”

  I know we’re here, but for some reason, I can’t make my hands reach for the door. I hear Tara’s voice in my head, reminding me not to assume the negative. After all, at least she called. At least she’s agreed to meet with me. Surely she wouldn’t have invited me here, to our lighted gazebo in the park, if she was going to tell me to go to hell.

  Right?

  My driver, deciding I must need help, exits the car and walks around to my door.

  Stop being a pussy, Monroe.

  “Thanks, Gus,” I say as I step out into the fresh air.

  “Of course. You’ll text when you’re ready, sir?”

  “You . . . uh . . . might want to stay close by. This could be quick.”

  “Yes, sir,” he replies with a nod. Just as I’m about to walk away, my driver surprises me. “Mr. Monroe, I know my opinion doesn’t matter, but I want you to know that I can’t blame you for beating the shit out of that guy. I would have done the same thing for my girlfriend.”

  Girlfriend.

  I haven’t had a girlfriend since college. That’s not to say I’ve been a monk. Nothing would be further from the truth. But those women were just . . . women. They weren’t dates. They weren’t anything, and they understood that. No promises were made. No feelings were hurt. No strings and no commitments.

  Suddenly, I want the strings.

  And the girl who holds mine is waiting for me at our gazebo.

  I walk the path slowly. I’m hesitant. I’m anxious. I’m desperate. So fucking desperate to see her. Three days is too long. Much too long. And if she forgives me, I’m making it my life’s mission to never spend another day without her.