by Cassie Wild
His eyes passed over me, then returned to linger for a moment.
I hurriedly looked away.
“Don’t get involved with him,” Briar said, her voice gentle, but the warning was clear. “He eats up girls like you and spits them out when he’s done.”
I didn’t let myself flinch at the blunt explanation. I even managed a calm smile when I met her gaze. “I wasn’t looking to get involved with anybody. School takes up so much of my time.”
“Isabel goes to the same school and she found time to get married,” Briar pointed out.
“I’m not Isabel.” I shrugged and picked up my book, flipping it open to the space I’d marked the last time I’d read. “I’m just me … and I don’t think I want a relationship with anybody who’d … eat me up then spit me out.”
Maybe my heart skipped a little at the thought of getting involved with Brooks. But that didn’t mean I’d indulge.
I’d given into a basic urge the other night and it had ended so, so badly.
That had been the sign I was looking for, finding another woman in his bed. The message was loud and clear.
Girls like me don’t need to hook up with men like Brooks.
Briar took my silent hint to drop it and eased back into the chaise with her book.
More than once, I found my gaze slipping over to Brooks and I was glad I’d remembered to pack a pair of sunglasses. At least with the sunglasses in place, I could hide the fact that I kept staring at him.
It didn’t help, though, that from time to time, I’d seek him out and when I found him, he’d be watching me with an intensity that made my skin burn.
Don’t, I warned.
Flipping a page, I stared at the words in front of me. They didn’t even remotely make sense, but I wasn’t about to flip back and start over. Instead, I closed the book and nestled my head back against the padded chaise.
I feigned napping, but really, I was watching Brooks from behind the shield of my lenses.
No, I didn’t need to get involved with a man like him.
But I still wished things had gone differently that night.
Eighteen
Daria
“Daria!”
. At the sound of Isabel’s outraged voice, I looked up from the book I’d been trying to finish. “What is it?” I called, somewhat alarmed.
“I can’t believe it!” she snapped.
She’d thrown open the door to my room as though her hair were on fire and now she stood just there, framed in the entryway, her cheeks flushed and her eyes aflame.
“You can’t believe what?” I asked warily. Isabel pissed off could be an experience. She could fizzle out in ten minutes or still be fuming about whatever it was that upset her for the next two weeks.
“Sean!” She shoved her hands through her hair and fisted the heavy strands like she was about to pull it out at the roots. “He’s such a … jerk.” She spat it out, voice rising with every word.
“You want to tell me why he’s a jerk?” I asked when she started to pace.
She stopped mid-stride and came over to me, throwing herself down on the bed. “He just told me that we can’t go out for dinner tonight. He’s going to some strip bar with Brooks. It’s business. Who the hell conducts business in a strip club?”
“Strippers?” I suggested.
She scowled and flopped over onto her back. “We had the shortest honeymoon in the history of the world. And now, a day after we get back, he’s already too busy to take me out to dinner.”
“I’m sorry,” I said softly.
She rolled over onto her stomach again and stared at me, propping her elbows up on a pillow. “Is this how it’s going to be? He’s already warned me that he’ll be flying back and forth between here and New York regularly as clockwork.”
I already knew this. Isabel already knew this. But apparently, it was already grating on her. I couldn’t say I blamed her. “It won’t last forever, right?”
“That’s not the point,” she said before dropping her face into the pillow.
She mumbled something, but I couldn’t hear her. “If you want to talk, it might work better if you take your face out of the pillow,” I suggested, using my most helpful voice.
She lifted her head and made a face at me. “I’m having a pity party. Let me indulge.”
“Indulge away,” I told her with a wave of my hand.
A reluctant, but amused smile curled her at the corners of her lips. She sighed and stared off, out through the picture window that dominated the far wall.
“You think he could really be going for business?” she asked tentatively.
“I guess.” I hoped the doubt in my voice didn’t sound as loud to her as it did to me.
“Shit.” She groaned and squeezed her eyes closed. “I bet he’s going there to flirt and paw at pretty women.”
“He’s already got a pretty woman to paw, if that’s all he’s interested in,” I told her, trying to make her feel better.
“But those women have …” She held her hands out in front of her slender chest. “Curves. I’m about as curvy as a board.”
“That’s not true,” I chided her. “You’re gorgeous. And what women are you talking about?”
“Other women. Any women.”
She closed her eyes, ignoring what I’d said. “I just don’t want him flirting with anyone else.”
A moment later, she shoved herself upright, her eyes bright once more. “I’ll go to the club where he’s going to,” she gave me a smirk and a pair of air quotes, “conduct business and watch him. If he’s just doing…ahem … business, then okay. But if he thinks he can flirt and touch other women—and pay them, well, it’s best we get that idea out of his head from the get-go.”
“You’re…” I hesitated, then tried again. “You’re going to go to the club?”
“Yeah. It’s a high-end strip joint but I know about it.” She made a face. “Actually, my brothers own the place. Women sometimes go in there, too. They have wet t-shirt contests and amateur night. Shit like that.” She laughed a little. “I used to think about joining one of the contests, just to do it. But with my brothers owning the joint? Ew, no.”
We both looked down at our meager curves. We had the typical body of most ballerinas, slim and willowy and while we might have great asses and killer legs, our chests were definitely lacking.
“I can’t imagine ever doing something like that,” I confessed. I didn’t mind being the center of attention when I was on stage, but there was a difference between people loving the artistry of ballet and somebody just getting gawked at.
“Come with me,” Isabel demanded, her eyes bright and eager. “We’ll both go. It will be easier to blend in if I’m with a friend anyway. Maybe they’ll be having one of their contests and people will just think we’re two gals out for a night of fun.”
“Oh, no,” I said softly, shaking my head.
“Oh, come on!” She gave me a pleading look. “I just can’t stand the idea of sitting around here and wondering, when all I have to do to know what he is up to is go down there and see for myself.”
“Maybe you should just trust him,” I told her. “He is your husband.”
She made a face. “Up until he mentioned he was conducting business at a strip joint, I was trusting him just fine . Come on, Daria. Don’t make me do this alone.”
Somehow, she talked me into it.
Now, wearing jeans, heels and a white blouse I’d borrowed from Isabel, the two of us huddled in a corner booth, keeping a close look on whatever was happening at a table close to the stage that dominated the far end of the bar.
I was a little surprised at the skill required by those on stage. Some of them did things with that pole that made me blink in surprise. After spending my life in ballet slippers, there should be little that surprised me when it came to the artistry involved in any kind of dance.
“That girl…”
Isabel’s voice caught my attention and dragged it aw
ay from the women on the stage. I followed her eyes to the group of men at the table. Half of them had a stripper already grinding against them.
Sean wasn’t one of them.
But there was a pretty brunette rubbing his shoulders and bending down to shove her boobs practically into his face.
“I’m going to kill him. Her. Both of them,” Isabel hissed at me.
She moved to get up and I caught her arm. “Wait.”
Sean had just turned the girl away and she was already making a move on somebody else. “See?” I said, smiling at Isabel. “He wasn’t interested.”
She relaxed back onto the seat and heaved out a sigh. “Maybe it is just a business thing.”
“What does Sean do?” I asked. I could see Brooks from where I sat and was trying hard not to look at him. But the task became more impossible the longer I sat there.
Then I all but gave up as the woman who’d been cozying up to Sean focused her attention on Brooks instead.
My jaw dropped as he slumped back in the chair, allowing her to gyrate until she was straddling him. She moved against him in a deliberate rhythm and I clenched my jaw to keep from shouting, “Son of a bitch!”
He was a son of a bitch.
There were other things I wanted to call him, but the words all tangled in my head as the girl dipped her head and murmured into Brooks’ ear.
He gave her a slow nod and before I could figure out what was up, they were on their way to one of the rooms in the area marked VIP.
I was drowning in jealousy, blood roaring in my ears.
Isabel said something, but I couldn’t focus well enough to figure out what.
Just as I was about to turn to her and insist we leave, a voice came over the loud speaker.
“It’s almost time for the wet t-shirt contest!” a big voice boomed out. “Do we have any last-minute takers?”
I don’t know what drove me. I didn’t even make a conscious decision to do it, but as a spotlight roamed over the room, I thrust my hand up into the air.
Isabel gaped at me. From the corner of my eye, I saw her hurriedly averting her gaze, half turning on the stool so that anybody who looked at her would only see the back of her head.
“What are you doing?” she demanded.
It was too late to back out now and I said through gritted teeth, “Dancing.”
Somebody on the stage—the emcee, I realized—saw me and gestured to me.
I slid off the stool and snaked through the crowd cheering me on with vulgar catcalls until I reached the front of the room. I wasn’t wearing a t-shirt like the women on the stage. In comparison to most of them, clad in microscopic skirts or shorts, I looked overdressed in my sleeveless silk blouse and skinny jeans.
I didn’t let myself think about it as I scrawled my name on the participation form.
As I took my place in the line-up, I caught sight of somebody out of the corner of my eye. Brooks, emerging from the VIP section. He glanced casually at the stage, then did a double take, gazing at me with something I could only describe as shock crossing his features.
I ignored him, seeking out other dancers. I spotted them on pedestals where they continued their routines as the emcee explained the upcoming contest.
“And we need one more volunteer from the crowd to help us judge!” he finished with a flourish.
My heart was hammering and I wondered if maybe I could back out now, just melt away into the crowd and pretend this never happened.
A deep voice stirred me out of my thoughts and I winced as I realized what had happened.
Brooks had stepped up to be the third judge.
I watched in horror as stagehands hurriedly placed three chairs on the stage. “For our esteemed judges!” the emcee announced.
Oh, shit. Oh, shit!
I tightened my hands into fists, then looked anywhere but at Brooks, once more focusing on the two professional dancers leaving the stage to the amateurs, then seeking out some of the girls roaming the floor and pausing when men flagged them down.
Several of the guests were getting lap dances.
I could all but feel Brooks’ gaze cutting into me and I had to resist the urge to return his look.
The music started and my heart kicked up in time with it, racing so fast I thought I might be sick.
Focusing on my breathing, I worked on calming down. This was just another performance, I told myself. Another dance.
Startled shrieks rose from the stage as the first few participants were doused in water.
I felt a few drops splatter across my feet and grimaced. It was cold water, too.
Figures.
I shifted my attention to the busty blond set up to take center stage first.
She did a lightning-fast 180, giving the audience a view of her rump before her inch-by-inch slow rotate had her warming up the crowd with a full frontal. Then she slinked her way to the pole. That one brief glance I caught revealed big breasts and tight nipples. No bra.
I was definitely overdressed.
But I wasn’t about to slip from the stage and strip out of my bra. No way, no how.
As I watched the events proceed, I learned few of the other women were also still wearing their bras, so I didn’t have to be totally self-conscious. And one thing I could be completely confident about—unlike most of my competitors, I knew how to dance. I wasn’t just going up there and shaking my butt, like the others. The audience seemed to enjoy it nonetheless, but judging by the reactions some others got as they really gave a show, I suspected these men weren’t opposed to seeing some talent on the stage.
The fifth, and second to last contestant, took things a little further, going so far as to throw a leg over Brooks’ lap. She settled her weight against him, grinding in a slow, sensuous rhythm.
A faint grin curled his lips and I wanted to punch him.
Hard.
“And our last contestant…”
The booming voice echoed around me, drawing me out of my head—and my jealousy.
As the music started, I blanked my mind and focused on the men in front of me.
I could do this.
I was just dancing. Playing a part, really.
I didn’t gasp under the bracing, cold splash of water the way a few of the contestants had.
They were courteous enough to splash it from the neck down, sparing the contestant’s hair, and I was grateful I wouldn’t have to deal with the heavy knot of curls at the nape of my neck getting soaked and straggling around my face when I was supposed to be looking all sexy.
I should have been cold as I stood there with a river of icy water dripping down my body, but the lingering self-consciousness I couldn’t banish served to heat my skin as I swayed to the music, I began by wrapping one hand around the pole in front of me. If I’d had some time to train, I thought maybe I could do some spectacular things with it, but I’d never foreseen myself pole dancing.
Still, I had strong arms and legs and was able to use that to my advantage for the first few seconds of the song.
The music was sultry, hot, and I let my body move to the throbbing beat.
Brooks was staring at me with heated intensity but I ignored him, letting go of the pole and moving to the man seated on Brooks’ right. So far, Brooks was the only one who’d received any special attention from any of the dancers.
We’d have to fix that.
I trailed my fingers along his shoulders. Hot skin seemed to seep through the material of his shirt and when I reached his chest, I caught the back of his neck in my hand, dragging him closer as I went to straddle his lap, just as I’d watched the other women do.
He groaned, but kept his hands to himself as I moved against him.
I sucked in a breath as I felt the heavy pulse of an erection pressing against me. It almost had me diving away from him, but pure determination kept me in place. I gave him a teasing smile before slipping off his lap with a high kick over his head that sent his gasp of surprise out into the room. Then I cir
cled around behind me, listening to the cheers and yells coming from the audience, my years of practicing under the stern eye of Madam Nadia paying off.
I made my way down to the judge on Brooks’ other side and slid my fingers through hair going thin with age. I didn’t spend as much time with him, but that probably had something to do with the way he clamped a hand on my ass.
I slid free of him and wagged my finger at him in a playful no.
It was getting easier to fall into this role.
About to spin away, I gasped as Brooks reached out. He stopped just shy of touching me and met my eyes. “My turn,” he said, the words a low rumble that I just barely heard over the music.
I gave one more roll of my torso before I smirked at him. “You only wish.”
Nineteen
Daria
The music came to a halt and I turned away from him, making my way to the end of the stage, as the emcee took over, telling the audience there would be a half hour break before the winner was announced.
Hoots and cheers followed me down the stage and I had to fight the surge of adrenaline that crashed inside me, the way it always did after a performance.
I was on my way back to Isabel’s side when a man cut in front of me. He gave me a slow smile and held out a card.
Without thinking, I took it and looked down.
I saw the word manager typed out under his name and looked back at him, puzzled.
“I’m the manager here,” he said, smiling easily.
“Ah…okay. Hi.”
“One of my VIP guests was very impressed with your performance.” He offered another small rectangle of paper to me. It had $1500 written on it in a big, messy scrawl. “He’s asked for the pleasure of your company. For a half hour of your time. You’ll be paid that amount.”
I gaped at the card before looking back up at him. “Are you serious?”
