Strip Tease
Karen Erickson
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Covering yet again for her twin sister Ginger is the last thing Janelle wants to do. She’s trying to shed her former exotic dancer career, not maintain it. Discovering the guy she’s dancing for is an undercover cop on the hunt for her troubled sister scares her. This is the last thing she wants to deal with.
Nathan Banks is desperate to find Ginger for one reason only—he wants to nab her boyfriend, reputed drug lord and cold blooded murderer Billy Diaz. Hell bent on revenge after Diaz killed his partner, Nate doesn’t expect the beautiful blonde who tricked him to be much help. But he needs Janelle to find Ginger…
The smoldering attraction between them is undeniable. Fighting it is futile. As they go on the search for Ginger, they become closer to each other—and to danger.
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Strip Tease (Protect and Defend Book 1.5)
Copyright © 2012 by Karen Erickson
Smashwords Edition
Cover Artist – Steena Holmes
This ebook is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party Web sites or their content.
Published in the United States of America
First electronic publication: May 2012 by Karen Erickson.
www.karenerickson.com
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this ebook with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you're reading this ebook and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to the original vendor and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author's work.
Chapter One
Janelle Pearson scurried into the elevator of one of Beverly Hills’s finest hotels, turning to watch the mirrored doors slide shut. Her reflection staring back at her, she smoothed her hair back with steady fingers. Traced her index finger along her bottom lip, making sure her red lip gloss was in place.
She didn’t want to do this. Yet again her sister called, begging her to bail her out. And yet again, she couldn’t tell Ginger no. She never told her no, she was always there to protect her younger-by-four-minutes twin.
Glancing down, she studied the nondescript khaki trench coat she wore, thankful for its complete coverage. Purchased over three years ago from a discount store, she remembered wishing it was a Burberry trench. But a poor girl couldn’t afford to fork over eight hundred dollars for a freaking coat. So she made do.
She always made do.
Though discreet, the coat contrasted oddly with the four-inch, black patent leather stilettos she wore, accented with frilly white lace-trimmed socks. Man, she hoped no one would join her in the elevator. If they did, she really hoped they wouldn’t notice the shoes. They’d give her away for sure.
Glancing at her phone, she sighed and shuffled her feet, her instep aching already. Nearly fifteen minutes past when the job started, and she hated being late. Other girls were participating tonight, so it took a lot of the pressure off. But still. Being late was so unprofessional.
Janelle grimaced. Now that was a laugh. Her sister was the most unprofessional person she’d ever met. Right up there with their mother, who never could keep a job for long.
The elevator stopped at the eighth floor and she held her breath, waiting to see who joined her. The doors slid open, revealing no one waiting on the other side and she exhaled loudly. Dealing with the odd glances, the subtle lift of noses when strangers saw her in costume hurt, made her feel cheap.
And she hated feeling cheap.
Yes, this definitely needed to be the last night she performed in Ginger’s place. She’d already told herself this a thousand times before. But her sister always called at the last minute, always when Janelle felt broke, which was most of the time. Ginger would beg for her help, tell Janelle how much she needed her and Janelle always caved.
Determination filling her, Janelle pressed her lips together and shook her head, the ends of her hair from her high ponytail brushing against her neck. Becoming her own person and standing up for herself would be the best thing, she knew this. Lots of people started over at twenty-five. An entire personality change wouldn’t be difficult, would it?
Whether it was difficult or not, she was doing it. Miss-I’ll-bail-you-out-no-matter-what-Janelle was no more. Successful-woman-on-her-own-Janelle needed to emerge and blossom. Thrive. Survive.
The doors slid open at the penthouse floor and she exited the elevator, heading straight for the double doors marked Penthouse One. The muffled bass tones of a hip hop song sounded from within, accompanied by lots of deep male voices shouting appreciative cat calls.
Sounded like the party was in full swing.
Janelle rapped on the door. Slipping her hands in her pockets, she waited, tapping her foot to the music, nerves bouncing in her stomach. She was always nervous at first. It never really stopped, and she hadn’t done this in a long time.
The door flew open, the music smacking her like a wall of sound and she took a step back, startled.
A man with a silly grin on his face and a beer bottle in his hand opened the door wider. “Hey, we’ve got ourselves another babe!”
The group of men within the suite cheered at his words. Straightening her shoulders, she put on her best game face and strode inside.
There had to be at least thirty of them crammed into the suite. The music pounded so loud it hurt her ears, and the booze was freely flowing. Empty beer bottles littered the floor and half-full bottles of various hard liquors were scattered along any available table top surface.
Janelle wrinkled her nose. What a bunch of slobs.
“Hey baby, you’re overdressed!” This came from a drunken reveler sitting on an overstuffed loveseat, a beer clutched in his meaty hand. One of the three girls already at the party was gyrating on his knee, her lithe tan body clad in a baby blue mesh thong—and nothing else.
“Come on, Ginger, you’re late. Help us out. These guys are ready to party.” The half naked woman waved a hand about the room, thrusting her ass into the man’s face. He groaned appreciatively, slapping one bared cheek.
“Sorry I’m late.” Janelle glanced around. Where were the other girls?
“Join us, sweetheart,” the man murmured, both hands now firmly planted on the woman’s butt cheeks. “Tanya’s lonely.”
Tanya smiled appreciatively and gave him an extra wiggle.
Janelle took a step back. “Sorry, I don’t think so.” Yeah okay, she took off her top and danced in a thong, though she hadn’t done so in forever. But no way was she interested in any girl-on-girl action.
“Prude,” he muttered, turning Tania
around and bringing her close so he could kiss her smooth belly.
Rolling her eyes, Janelle meandered through the messy suite, slowly unknotting the belt at her waist. She hoped for extra good tips tonight, needing the money and wanting proper compensation for helping out Ginger. Stripping was a part of her old life. Something Janelle had done years ago, when she was young and stupid, believing she lacked the skills to get a normal job.
Since she’d determined tonight was the last time she did this, she needed to go for it. Go out with a bang. And a big fat tip would be a great way to end this part of her life for good.
“Okay boys, whose feeling neglected tonight?” Janelle shed her coat, laying it carefully on the floor behind a couch that butted up against the wall. Hopefully no one would spill beer on it.
Lots of whistles and “hey baby’s” rang through the air. Her costume was what Ginger called ‘the schoolgirl’. White button up shirt with most of the buttons undone, the ends of the shirt knotted below her breasts. A black satin and lace bra peeked out of the open neckline, and she wore a short, pleated black, green and blue plaid skirt. Plus the Mary Jane’s and lace trimmed socks.
Innocence and sin, just the thing to drive men wild. Ginger always said the outfit was a surefire way to get the party started.
“Anyone need a little pick me up tonight?” She sauntered around in a circle, surrounded by a gathering group of men, her gaze lingering on each one’s eager face. They all looked to be in their late twenties, early thirties. The majority of them handsome, dressed well, expensive watches around their wrists, some with shiny gold bands on their fingers.
Figured. Married men looking to cut loose and get wild without their wives around. She could understand a little fun, but this party looked like more than that.
It looked like a lot of trouble.
Thirty minutes. Smile and shake your money maker for thirty minutes and then get the hell out of here.
The men whooped and hollered all together, and she realized they were shouting one name in particular. Cupping her hand around her ear, she cocked her head, making them laugh.
“Talking about someone in particular, boys?” Janelle nibbled on her index finger, batting her eyelashes and she heard a collective groan.
Wanting to find the one she could make the most uncomfortable was her plan. The too eager ones had roving eyes, wandering hands and boners in their pants. No thanks.
But there was always one guy who didn’t want to be there, who was uncomfortable with an exotic dancer grinding on him, too fearful his girlfriend/wife/whatever would smell perfume on his clothes when he came home.
Those were the ones she liked to torment. His friends always gave her extra tips for the unwanted attention. Put on a little show for the guy who didn’t want one, make his buddies laugh, and she walked out with no grubby handprints on her skirt and at least an extra fifty, sometimes more in her pocket. Perfect.
“Well? Who can give me a lesson tonight?” She fingered her collar, bit her lower lip and swung back and forth, her skirt flaring out around her thighs.
The men waved their arms and pointed their fingers all in the same general direction. One of them, a tall skinny dude with the largest Adam’s apple she’d ever seen, approached her, tucking a twenty in her cleavage.
She repressed a shiver when the guy slowly backed away from her, a suggestive smile curling his lips. How she hated it when they touched her. This definitely had to be her last night. Next time Ginger called with that certain tone in her voice, she was hanging up.
Gritting her teeth, Janelle glanced toward the far end of the room where they pointed, near the French doors that led onto the balcony. There was a chair in the corner. Long legs clad in faded denim extended from it, though she couldn’t make out the face or the rest of his body. The guys surrounding her blocked her vision.
They were all chanting the same name over and over. “Nate, Nate, Nate.”
Hmm, poor Nate was her victim, then. Good.
“So it’s Nate, huh? Well, let’s go visit big boy Nate and see if he’ll teach me a thing or two.” She started toward her victim, smiling when the crowd of men parted like the Red Sea. They followed, she could hear them behind her, and she put an extra sway in her step, her hips twitching, butt bouncing.
Nothing like the power a sexy woman held over a group of salivating men. She had to admit, she liked the thrill of having so much control over a man. All because she had decent legs and a nice rack, they turned into blubbering idiots with one come hither smile and a flash of cleavage.
Men. They always thought with their dicks.
Approaching her victim slowly, Janelle saw the mysterious Nate sit up, his legs sliding upward, feet firmly planted on the floor. Legs spread in that way men liked to sit, she found the position perfect for what she wanted to do.
Enough room for her to dance between his legs and make him want to melt away in mortification.
“We brought you a present, Nate-dawg!” one of the guys yelled, gesturing toward Janelle with a crook of his thumb. She smiled at the guy, pursed her lips and turned to look at her victim of the night.
All the breath whooshed out of her chest, lodging in her throat and she coughed, couldn’t stop staring. Eyes dark as rich chocolate with thickly veiled lashes watched her, his mouth tight, his clenched jaw shadowed with stubble. Black wavy hair, tanned skin stretched over high cheekbones that hinted at arrogance, and a firm jaw that reeked of stubbornness.
Her victim was seriously hot. Not what she had expected at all.
Heart pounding in her chest, pulse bouncing all over the place, she stood in front of him like a dumbstruck fool, the men jostling her from behind, making her stumble. Reaching out she braced her hand on the wall, regained her footing and he rolled his eyes.
Shame filled her at the way he looked at her. Shame and a healthy dose of anger.
Accompanied by the teeniest, tiniest flicker of arousal, which she promptly ignored.
“Give her twenty bucks and she’ll take her bra off!”
“Shut up.” She shot the screamer a withering stare.
“Really?” Nate-dawg drawled, causing her to meet his mocking gaze. “What do I get for forty bucks?”
“I won’t do anything for less than a hundred,” she said, lifting her chin.
Take that, jackass.
“Would it be worth it if I gave you a hundred bucks?” He cocked a brow.
“I’d blow your mind for two hundred,” she promised, resting her hands on her hips. The image of her slowly peeling off her shirt, unhooking her bra, all while the man watched with those sexy, dark eyes was very appealing.
Janelle’s nipples pebbled beneath the fabric of her bra and she swallowed. Oooh, boy.
This was totally unlike her. Never before had she become aroused by a client watching her. She could admit she’d occasionally become aroused when she stripped, but it was more about the exhilaration of taking her clothes off and performing for someone. The thrill of making a man weak, basking in her feminine power.
Certainly not because she was sexually attracted to him.
“Sounds promising, though I’m not quite sure you’re worth it.” He held her gaze for a long, heated moment before he let it drop to her breasts.
His blatant perusal made her want to strip just for him. It also made her want to run away. Temptation warred within her, the urge to stick her tongue out like a bratty little girl and stomp off to pout in the corner so strong, she had to reel it in.
Ugh. The schoolgirl outfit had more of an effect on her than she thought.
The hip hop music stopped and in its place started a slow, almost jazzy beat. The volume lowered, the lights dimmed and the entire atmosphere changed in an instant. She could almost forget there were so many people milling within the suite.
All of these men, and only four women. Whereas some would think otherwise, the odds were definitely not in her favor tonight.
“Your friends are disappearing,” Nate-da
wg murmured.
He seemed almost pleased by this. She glanced around the room, saw a couple of the girls wander into the bedrooms, accompanied by party goers. Many of the guys were leaving the suite, though a few still lingered.
“They’re really not my friends. We work together.” She didn’t know the other girls at all, of course.
He leaned forward, no longer eyeing her in distaste, but rather in smoldering interest. “So if I give you two hundred dollars, you’ll dance for me?”
She stared at him in disbelief. He wanted her to dance? Surprising. “You’d like me to? You didn’t seem that into it earlier.” She wanted to smack herself. Why give him the option to back out? An extra two hundred would be more than welcome.
He gripped the arms of the chair with long fingers, his biceps flexing and shifting with the movement beneath the dark gray t-shirt. She couldn’t help but admire his physique. Not too muscular, not too wimpy, the guy was, well…
Perfect.
Just like that, she had the overwhelming urge to touch him. Run her fingers along his arms, across his broad shoulders, through his thick hair. What would he do? How would he react? Would he watch her with skeptical eyes or shudder with pleasure?
“You’re the student, I’m the teacher? Is that the game you want to play? Do you like games?” His deep voice pulled her from her thoughts, and she swore his eyes turned a shade darker when they met hers. His firm mouth softened, revealing the sensual curve of his lower lip and the temptation to touch him, kiss him was near overwhelming.
Janelle steeled her spine. Okay fine, she could do this. She could forget what a jerk he was, if she concentrated on his gorgeous face and those hungry eyes. Leaning over him, she rested her hands on the armrests, her fingers awfully close to his, her chest directly in his line of vision.
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