by Dawn Atkins
“Autumn’s all attitude, but she’s solid. I’ve got her doing some bookkeeping for me.”
“That’s smart of you. Did you know Nevada tried out for the U.S. Olympic team? And that she danced in New York?”
“She told me something about that.”
“I wonder what went so wrong that she ended up here.”
“She makes good money dancing,” he said, bristling on Nevada’s behalf. “There’s nothing wrong with stripping.”
“She had different goals, Jackson. That’s obvious.”
He didn’t like the judgment in her tone. “Things don’t always work out. You move on, play the cards you’re dealt, hit or stick, bust or jackpot.”
She was silent, considering his words. “Maybe, but I believe there are patterns in our lives and the stories we tell ourselves about our own limits. If we understand why we made negative or limiting choices, we can shift our thinking to make better ones—be more deliberate about the direction we take with our lives, instead of passively reacting to what happens to us.”
“I hope you don’t plan to say that shit to the girls. They get testy when I call them strippers, so don’t go poking around in their childhoods or they’ll turn you into one big paper cut.”
She laughed lightly and the sound filled his head. “I’m just thinking out loud, Jackson. Just talking. People usually ask for my advice. I don’t force it on them.” The moonlight shone in her eyes and gleamed on her cheeks.
“Good, because I have enough on my hands just keeping things running smoothly without the girls getting cranky on me.”
“There is one thing I have to insist on fixing, though.”
“What?” Here it came. He should have known she’d be trouble.
“Their hair. I’ve never seen so much damage in one place in my life. Overtreated, bad extensions, wrong styles, terrible weaves. What do you think about my offering a discount at my salon for all Moons employees?”
That wasn’t so bad. “They spend beaucoup on their hair. If you save them money they’ll love that.”
“Great.” She sat back with a satisfied sigh. He noticed he was pulling into the driveway without having had his usual late-night contemplation. Hmm. He pushed the garage door button and it ground upward.
“Wait a sec,” Heidi said, touching his arm. “It’s so pretty. Look at the moon.” She tilted up her head and he looked up, too. It was almost full, and big and bright as a spotlight shining down on them. He noticed the neighbors’ head-banger music was at a lower volume than usual, and the summer air was soft against his skin.
Heidi dropped her gaze from the sky and looked straight at him. “Thank you for the job, Jackson. I think I’ll like it a lot. And I have another favor to ask.”
“Sure,” he said, groaning inside, knowing that at this moment, he’d do anything she asked, no matter the consequences. Kiss her, make love to her, take her to Disneyland.
“Can I stay here for a while? Just until I save up enough to rent another place? A month or two?”
Elation and dread crashed head-on in him. Right now, he could barely fight the urge to kiss her and if she kept blinking those big eyes at him in the moonlight, he just might do it. In two months, he could be insane from fighting his urges. But part of him was glad she was around. She woke up something in him that had been asleep a long time. “Stay as long as you like,” he said. Of course.
“Thanks, Jackson.” She was honing in on him, testing his sincerity, so he looked straight ahead at the open garage, where he should pull in, but he liked how the night had settled around them, comfortable and close. And he liked how she smelled. After the night’s work, her skin had a glow to it and her own scent, sweet and human, swirled in the open car like an eddy of smoke from a campfire.
“It’s nice how you look out for the women at the bar,” she said.
“Someone has to help them.”
“Don’t be smug about it, please. I’m just starting to like you.” Now her eyes twinkled with humor. He realized from the moment he’d met her, she’d been off-balance. Her normal self was certain and quick-witted and challenging.
“Deal,” he said, adding, “I like you, too.”
Her gaze shifted at his words, became deeper, sharper, hotter. “But not that way?”
He felt his jaw go slack. How could she not know? She’d had her foot on the evidence. But that wasn’t enough for her, he knew. He’d turned her down twice and she doubted her own appeal. He could fix that with one kiss. Just a taste. Something more complete than that creaky contact over Tiki Town. She looked puzzled and uncertain and he could make it all go away.
A feeling swept over him, an eager hunger that made him feel surprisingly alive, and he just let it win. He pulled her into his arms and kissed her.
She moaned and wrapped herself into him, kissing back eagerly, pushing her tongue at him, which he happily took, giving her his.
Slow down, keep it short, just enough to reassure her, he kept telling himself, while he let the kiss go on and on and on. His hands itched to cup her breasts, which she was pushing at him, to reach for her ass, wiggling on the seat, to pull her onto his lap, to touch her in secret places.
She made a needy sound that threatened to push him over the edge. If they kept this up, he’d start ripping off the buttons on this goofy blouse she wore—and they were sitting in the driveway, not even in the house, the distant sound of the neighbor’s music throbbing like his lust, traffic from Thomas Road a white-noise roar that made this seem like a hot dream.
Catching the tail end of his good sense before it slipped away, he pushed off her mouth and held her away by the upper arms. “That’s enough.”
“Not even close.” Her voice trembled like her body was doing.
“It’s late. We’re both tired.”
“I’m wide awake. And so are you.”
“You need to—”
“I need to get laid!” Her eyes went wide. “I can’t believe I said that.” She put three fingers to her lips.
He chuckled. “Me, either.” Her urgency got to him, though, made him feel…fully alive. “It’s been a long day for you and a longer night. You need your sleep.”
He leaned forward and pressed his lips to her forehead. It was cheating, he knew, but he wanted to touch her skin, breathe in her smell, let her hair brush his cheek, memorize her like a kid under his first female trance.
Damn, it was hard to do the right thing.
He sighed, and drove into the garage.
6
NUMB WITH SHOCK and disappointment, Heidi watched the back of the garage approach as Jackson pulled the car in. She couldn’t believe it. The man who had taken her mouth in a way that had her practically passing out with lust had just kissed her on the forehead. There. That ought to hold you.
Part of her was pissed. The rest was alive with frustrated desire. Even the spot on her forehead where he’d touched his lips seemed to throb the way her sex was.
She’d acted too desperate and scared him off. Why couldn’t she be cool and sophisticated like the woman of the world she fully intended to be? If she could just get laid, dammit, she’d be so much more relaxed about it all.
Jackson parked and came around to open her door and offer her a hand up. She took it automatically, but their gazes caught and held. Jackson wasn’t as easy-breezy about that kiss as he’d seemed. He looked…dazed.
As soon as she got to her feet, he released her hand and rubbed his palm down the side of his jeans, as if she’d scalded him. “Don’t think I don’t want to take this further,” he said, his dark eyes glittering almost gold with tamped-down heat. “It’s just…Hell, we live together and now we work together and…” He let the words drop like a stone in a deep well between them.
She opened her mouth to say something, but her throat was tight and dry and she didn’t want to blurt anything needy.
When they broke eye contact, it felt like two magnets being ripped apart and Heidi wobbled in the wave of it, gla
d Jackson had turned for the door by then. He held it for her and she walked through on legs wooden as bowling pins. She felt his eyes burning into her back, wanting her, but holding back.
In a few minutes, she lay in bed with her heart pounding, hoping that Jackson would appear in her doorway. Instead, she heard mournful jazz coming from his room, then a keyboard, which she knew was him playing along. She thought of those fingers and how they might move on her body….
Oh, she had a keyboard he could play….
She closed her eyes and cupped her hand over herself, imagining Jackson in her doorway, silhouetted by the light from the hula-girl nightlight, his strong hands braced in the doorway, hair tousled, saying her name as if he couldn’t help himself. Heidi, I must have you. I’ve never wanted a small-breasted woman before, but I want you like life itself.
It was her fantasy, dammit. And it worked better than the tasteful erotic literature she employed from time to time when her frustration grew intense.
She would try again with Jackson. Figure out the right time and place. Not act desperate, for God’s sake. He thought they couldn’t sleep together if they were living and working together. Sure they could. If he didn’t have a problem with it, neither did she. She was on a quest to try new things, dammit, and sex with Jackson fit the bill exactly. He was just dangerous-looking enough to be thrilling, yet gentle and protective enough to be safe. Just about perfect, dammit. Now all she had to do was convince him.
TWO DAYS LATER, Heidi wiped a trickle of drool off her numb chin and blinked against the sunlight in Dr. Dave’s parking lot. The past ninety minutes had fixed her tooth, but destroyed her credit. Not really. His receptionist, Rochelle, had expressed sympathy over her financial plight and promised an easy payment plan. Still, Heidi was in the hole.
Speaking of which…she ran her tongue across the gap where her wisdom tooth used to live. Dr. Dave had declared it impacted, so while he was fixing her broken molar—which had required a root canal and would need a crown—he’d yanked that, too. Efficient, but more money. She would be paying off this dental adventure until she retired.
Dr. Dave saw lots of Jackson’s girls, it turned out. In fact, he’d asked Heidi if she were a dancer. She’d blushed purple and rattled on about how working at Moons was a great way to study people and prepare her for becoming a therapist—then she’d noticed Dr. Dave and his assistant were politely poised with water squirter, suction and drill, waiting for her to stop babbling so they could get back to work. The mask, safety glasses and elaborate magnifying lenses didn’t hide Dr. Dave’s amusement. Maybe the laughing gas had made her chatty.
Now she patted her puffy jaw to make sure it was still there, then climbed into the van that Jackson had let her borrow. He’d been excessively polite and virtually absent since their kiss in the driveway. The morning after, she’d found Dr. Dave’s refrigerator magnet in front of a fresh pot of coffee, and the bathroom steamy from Jackson’s recent departure. He’d been gone this morning when she got up, too. Noon was his usual wake-up time, so she knew he was avoiding her.
She drove toward home. A honk made her turn. Two young guys shot her a cheerful hand gesture—bent-down fingers and a chest pat—heads bobbing with approval. Of the band painted on the van, not her, she knew. She was too old for the guys. She was making all kinds of wrong impressions on people—dressing like a hooker, driving a band van like a teen groupie. What the hell. She was trying on new lives right and left. She shot the kids a big grin she could tell was lopsided because of her numb jaw.
A spurt of excessive cheerfulness told her the sample pain meds Dr. Dave had given her had kicked in. She had already downed the two tablets at the water fountain outside his office when she noticed the instructions said one pill every four hours. So she’d feel extra cheerful for a bit. Especially because she hadn’t eaten before the procedure.
When she got home, she thought she detected Jackson’s bay rum scent in the air and her heart spun up like a hard drive reading a CD, but she soon discovered he’d come and gone, leaving her a note.
Gone to the grocery store with The List. Practically need the van to hold it all. J.
She’d meant to pick the things up herself, using the money she’d made last night. She wanted to contribute to the pantry, since this was her home for a few weeks. It was nice of him to shop for her, though. Complaining was his way to assert his manhood. Couldn’t let a chick order him around. She smiled at his thought process. He was a teddy bear stomping around like a grizzly.
She wandered into the living room and looked around. So this is home, sweet home. The thought gave her that good cozy feeling. Of course the place was full of naked women and engines and she was full of happy pills. Surely, Jackson wouldn’t mind if she modified the decor a bit—at least covered the nipples under the cocktail table glass with fabric? Put the engines in the garage? She would ask him…if she ever saw him again. She might have to leave a note, since he was avoiding her. She hated that she made him uncomfortable in his own home. She had to fix that somehow.
Sleep with him. Yeah.
A wave of wooziness made her plop onto the sofa. At least she was making progress. She felt a goofy, lopsided grin fill her face. She’d faced adversity and triumphed. Gotten her tooth fixed, found two jobs—three, if she counted housekeeping—and a place to live. And she hadn’t run home or cried to her brothers. That was the main thing.
She’d lost a semester of school, but she’d get there eventually. In the meantime, she’d learn from real life, as Jackson had said. She felt mostly relieved. Uneasily, she realized she should be less content about her limbo, but what the hell….
The bikini-clad babe on the Corvette caught her eye, looking as though she wanted to get laid right there on the hood. So would Heidi. Right here on the couch. She felt ready. Eager. Ripe. Sex sounded so…delicious right now. She stretched out on the sofa, feeling her body respond to the idea, her sex tightening into an eager knot.
I’m not what you want, Jackson had said. Because she was, what, young? Not that young. Twenty-five to his thirty. She seemed naive, probably. She hadn’t known a men’s club was a strip club. And there was her desperation to consider. Maybe he thought she wanted to fall in love. He couldn’t be more wrong. She certainly wasn’t falling in love with the first man she slept with in the city. Heavens, no. She expected to have many sexual adventures before she settled down.
And she wanted them to start right now, dammit.
Jackson didn’t see it, though. She must not seem confident enough. If she were a dancer, he wouldn’t hesitate. She remembered that when she’d shoved off her panty hose in the Moons break room, Jackson had dropped a jaw as though the action had turned him on.
Why not go that way? Do a simple striptease. Nothing fancy. Just a little wiggle and shimmy and a slow peeling off of her clothes. Acting sexy, she would feel sexy. Be sexy.
She wouldn’t have the same skill as the dancers, but she’d put more feeling into it. The strippers’ expressions were cool when they performed, as if their emotions were turned inward. And no wonder. Strange men were getting aroused by the women’s moves and bodies, not their personalities or characters. It was a performance, an illusion, completely impersonal.
For Heidi, this was very personal and her emotions would be fully engaged and directed at what she wanted—sex with Jackson. She’d show him all she wanted was a good time.
Her heart sped into high gear and she pushed to her feet, then had to grab the sofa arm to steady herself. She was just buzzed enough to shrug off any remaining inhibitions.
She headed for her closet to find something to take off.
The fake snakeskin halter dress would be hard to shimmy out of and the bikini top was big enough to hold three sets of her breasts. Jackson’s friend had been stacked.
She settled on a spangled tube top and a pair of red spandex shorts that cut her in the crotch. She had to go without panties, since the unsexy petunia-patterned granny panties she’d bought at
the drugstore—two for two-fifty—were too voluminous for the skintight, high-cut shorts. She pulled silk drawstring pants over the shorts and covered the tube top with a black gauze see-through blouse with satin ties. She could strip herself of the pants and blouse and still be covered by the tube top and shorts. She’d get to the naked part after Jackson succumbed to her erotic dance. In bed. Where she’d be more confident of her jiggly thighs and puny boobs.
The finishing touch was the pair of black stilettos from the closet. They were too big and slid off her heels, but she clenched her toes and figured she could hold them on long enough to give Jackson the general idea.
She checked herself out in the bathroom mirror. Not bad. She tilted her head, tried a sultry look, then released the ribbon ties one at a time. Decent…Now a little shimmy. Her breasts jiggled okay for their size. She’d just make sure he saw plenty of her best feature—her butt. She turned to check it out. Excellent. She pulled her hair up with a few pins so she could shake it down like in shampoo commercials. Then she redid her face—heavy on foundation and color to counteract the lopsidedness of her swollen jaw and to hide her youthful freckles. She even used lip liner and dotted a beauty mark onto her cheek for drama. Putting on mascara, she slipped and poked herself in one eye, which turned red, but she didn’t care. She’d hardly felt the sting.
In the living room, she decided to use the upright post at the edge of the kitchen like one of the dancers’ chrome poles. She put a sax piece with a strong rhythm on the CD player and practiced a few turns around the pole as she’d seen the dancers do. She slid up and down, performed some dancerly undulations, and peeled off the blouse, shook off the pants and tossed them around a bit. Not too athletic or dizzying, but decently seductive.
Then she waited for Jackson, her heart rattling in her chest like popcorn in a microwave bag. No way could Jackson resist what she had planned. If he could, she would just die.
