by Jan Bowles
As she scanned the faceless men before her, she wanted more than anything else for her time at Les Belles to become just a distant memory.
She watched Karen climb onto the stage, before placing her bottle of mineral water on the floor. She then began dancing to the beat, whirling her sexy body around the chrome pole.
Zoë moved to the bar, and ordered herself a drink. “An orange juice please, Frank.”
“Coming right up, Zoë. How’s life treating you, honey?” He shook the bottle, then tipped the contents into a glass.
“Fine, Frank. Getting by in the shitty world we find ourselves in.”
“That’s all we can do, honey. Ice as usual?”
“Please.”
He topped her drink with crushed ice, then added a sparkle and handed it to her. “You’re the prettiest girl out there, honey.”
She smiled. “Thanks, Frank, you make my day as always.”
Completely in a world of her own, Zoë never once looked at the guys in the audience. In her mind they just didn’t exist. She watched Karen, gyrating around the pole. Her lithe, athletic body flowing from one sinuous movement to another. She was such a beautiful girl, she soon had an audience of men willing to slip ten-dollar bills into her G-string, taking a long, lingering look at what lay inside. When a fat guy beckoned to Karen, she moved across and leaned provocatively forward, pushing her breasts together as he tucked money inside her bra.
Jocelyn, the floor manager, came across and whispered in Zoë’s ear, “The guy sitting at table eight wants you to dance for him. Shouldn’t be a problem, Zoë, he’s a real looker. If I were ten years younger, I’d be tempted to do it myself for free.” She laughed.
Zoë smiled at Jocelyn’s humorous comments. She grabbed her orange juice and wound her way through the tables. It seemed her sexy man awaited. She hoped he was as fit as Jocelyn had made out, and not an ugly four-hundred-pound guy with halitosis. Table eight was hidden in a discreet alcove. Sometimes it was deliberately chosen by customers, aiming to get the girls to do more than just dance.
As she squeezed into the alcove, she glanced quickly at the man. There was an air of danger about him. Each of his well-developed forearms sported large tribal tattoos. “Hi, I’m Chantelle.” At Les Belles they never used their real names. She made direct eye contact with him. Men loved this. It made them feel special and important. Dumb jerks. Dressed in jeans and a denim shirt, he somehow seemed familiar. His dark-blond hair appeared streaked by the summer sun. The thick texture caressed idly around his collar. His vivid blue eyes held hers. The familiarity of this guy unnerved her. She shook the unsettling thought from her head. Most probably she’d danced for him before, although she couldn’t remember when. “Would you like me to dance for you?”
“No, just sit down. I prefer to talk.”
Zoë looked at him again. Just who is this guy? I feel sure I should recognize him, but I don’t. Is he dangerous? His shoes were well polished, and he wore an expensive watch. He didn’t seem like the average jerk that frequented the club. “Sir, I’m happy to dance for you, or just talk, but nothing else. I hope I make myself clear.” She pulled out a chair and sat down at the table.
She heard him let out a long, slow breath. “You don’t recognize me do you, Zoë?”
Her body stiffened when he used her real name. “How do you know me? How do you know my name?”
“It’s me, Zoë, Hunter. Surely you remember me?” His voice was deep and strong, and reminded her of safety.
Her lower lip quivered. The only Hunter she knew had broken her heart when she was just a teenage girl. She shook her head, not wanting to believe it was really him.
Chapter Two
Hunter couldn’t take his eyes off Zoë. Her little elfin face suited the short bob she’d styled her jet-black hair in. Two crazy red streaks cascaded fashionably through her bangs. They certainly enhanced her incredible green eyes. He’d forgotten how wonderful they were. The color of ferns on a bright summer’s day, they literally took his breath away. The flimsy red fishnet dress she wore did little to conceal the naked feminine flesh beneath. The swell of her breasts and the tight bud of her dark nipples pressed erotically against the thin material. He could just make out a tiny black G-string and nothing much else. Hunter tried his best not to stare, but he was a hot-blooded male just like any other man.
When they were kids together at the children’s home, he’d always had a soft spot for Zoë, and felt very protective toward her. But being only ten years old when he’d first met her, he’d tried to hide the fact that he cared about her. It was only when they’d both become teenagers that he’d started to notice how pretty and sexy she was. When he was eighteen and legally an adult, he’d left and never returned.
With eyes downcast, Zoë rested her elbows on the table, and brushed her fingers through her short black hair. She lifted her eyes to his, never flinching from his gaze. “So, what happened to you, Hunter? Why come to see me after all these years?” He figured his sudden reappearance in her life had put her on the defensive.
“I suppose I wanted to make sure you were all right.”
“After fourteen years?” She sounded incredulous.
“Yeah, crazy isn’t it.”
“A bit.”
Hunter thought he might as well tell Zoë the whole story. “About nine months ago, I bumped into Jake McGovern for the first time since leaving St. Mark’s. He told me where you worked. I said to myself, if I were ever in Pittsburgh, I’d look you up. So here I am.”
“Why?”
Searching for the right words, Hunter swished the bourbon around his glass, before downing a large slug of the potent liquor. Right now he needed it. Zoë looked at him like he’d lost his mind. Maybe he had. “I guess I wanted to see if you’re happy and settled.”
“I see, so you were satisfying your curiosity. Since I’m the happiest girl in Pittsburgh, Hunter, you can go now. There’s no need to feel obliged or anything.”
Hunter watched Zoë for a moment. There was a time when he knew exactly what she was thinking. They’d been so close when they were kids at St. Mark’s. He shook his head. That was fourteen years ago. A lot had happened since then. Was she putting up a defensive barrier? It was something she’d done to block out the evils of the children’s home. He decided to call her bluff. “If I thought for one minute you were really happy, I’d have left without talking to you.”
In all honesty, Hunter genuinely wanted Zoë to be blissfully content. It would ease his conscience, and another ghost from his past could be laid to rest. He certainly wouldn’t have made his presence known. Instead he would have just slipped quietly from the club, and left her to carry on with her wonderful life.
His initial impression was that Zoë appeared calm and at ease with herself. Perhaps he’d wanted to believe she was. It certainly would have made things easier. On the point of leaving, he’d noticed the tension in her body. She’d always had a nervous habit of tensing her fingers into tight bundles, and he spotted her doing precisely that as she walked over to the bar. It betrayed her otherwise calm exterior. Growing up together, she’d done exactly the same thing during times of stress and anxiety. It was her coping strategy when she’d been worried or apprehensive. That’s why he’d decided to stay and talk to her. He had to make sure she was genuinely happy and contented with her life. He owed her that much at least.
She fixed him in her gaze. “Whatever makes you think I’m unhappy, Hunter?” Her words were said calmly, but he had a feeling that was just bravado.
At that moment, a pretty blonde-haired waitress, wearing very little indeed, appeared at their table, defusing the situation. “Would you like to order drinks, Sir?”
“Another bourbon, please. Make it a double will you, and whatever the lady wants.”
Zoë shook her head. “I’m teetotal. I don’t drink anymore.” Her shoulders stiffened as she spoke, and he guessed she may have a problem with alcohol, or maybe she just hated the effect it had on o
thers.
When the sexy waitress turned and walked away, Hunter continued, “I know you’re unhappy, Zoë. I could tell the moment I saw you.”
She laughed mockingly. “So what did you see that makes you so confident, Hunter. We haven’t seen each other for fourteen years for Christ’s sake.”
“It may be a long time since we last met, Zoë, but I’ll tell you what I see when I look at you. I see a woman who’s wondering where her life has gone.” She wore two chunky bracelets, one on each wrist, and he could just make out bruising beneath. He had a hunch she was in an abusive relationship. Hunter continued, “I see a woman who’s got man trouble one way or another. A woman who’s wondering what she has to do to feel happy and alive again.”
For a brief moment or two she looked stunned by his observations. Her mouth opened and closed several times before words finally came out. He knew he’d hit the nail on the head when she said, “Have you been stalking me?”
“Jesus Christ, Zoë, I only flew into Pittsburgh two hours ago. This is the first time I’ve seen you in fourteen years. Besides, I’m not such a sad bastard that I need to stalk vulnerable women.”
Zoë grabbed her orange juice, and gulped down a large mouthful. Her jewelry glinted in the subdued lighting as she tipped the glass to her lips. In a calmer, less confrontational tone, she asked, “So what are you doing these days, Hunter?”
“I’m an Air Marshal. I spend most of my time flying at thirty thousand feet. After the Twin Towers went down, it was something I felt I needed to do.”
“You don’t look like a typical Air Marshal.” She pointed to his tattoos.
Hunter smiled, and smoothed a hand over his forearm. “Oh, I’ve had these for years. I cover them up when I’m working.”
“I’m not surprised, they make you look like an assassin.”
Maybe that’s exactly who he was. “I got these done in the Marines. All of us young bucks wanted something permanent to show what we’d been through.”
“Is that where you went, when you left St. Mark’s? The Marines?”
“Yeah, I signed up for ten years.”
“No wonder you never—” Zoë stopped speaking abruptly.
“Yeah, I know, I never came back for you like I promised.” Hunter finished the sentence for her. “I guess I was a kid with foolish ideas. I joined the Marines thinking it would make a man of me. It did, but it messed with my head, too. For most of those ten years I wasn’t a nice guy to know.”
Looking genuinely concerned, she said, “I’m guessing you’ve seen some terrible things, Hunter?”
He sighed. “Yeah, but I don’t dwell on them.” He knew his curt answer gave him away. Even after all these years, Zoë understood him. She’d know in an instant the pain and trauma he’d suffered. The things he’d seen as a Marine impacted his life on a daily basis. It was hard to erase the terrible images from his mind. Her eyes narrowed on him, but she didn’t say anything in reply.
The pert-breasted waitress returned with his bourbon and placed it on the table. He handed her a fifty-dollar bill. “Keep the change.”
“Thank you, Sir. You enjoy your evening now.”
“I will.” He turned his attention back to Zoë. “As an Air Marshal, I have to be an excellent judge of people. I need to be able to sort the good guys from the bad guys. I can tell you hate your life and your job.” He took her hands in his, and twisted them palm up. He touched her wrists with his thumbs. “Even these leather bracelets can’t hide the bruising on your wrists. I’m sure a guy did this to you.” As soon as he said the words, she snatched her hands away.
“He’s history.”
Hunter took a slug of bourbon. “Good, I’m glad. You always did have your head screwed on, Peaches.”
Zoë’s face lit up at his use of her pet name, her eyes sparkled with pleasure. He’d often called her that when they’d been in care together. It had helped cement a bond between them.
“Peaches—you remembered.”
“How could I forget?”
He watched her shoulders loosen as she began to relax in his company. “So when do you go back to wherever it is you live?”
“I live in Boston, I fly back tomorrow.”
“Oh, so this is just a flying visit?”
“Quite literally. Maybe I can take you home when you’ve finished here.”
“You can take me home, but there won’t be any freebies handed out, not even to an old friend.” Zoë was so cynical.
“Whoa now, Peaches. You got the wrong idea about my visit.”
“Have I? So all those times I used to catch you secretly looking at me when I was fifteen or sixteen. They were all in my imagination?”
“No, of course not. When you became older, I don’t deny I found you attractive.”
“I know you did. Those times when I’d take a bath and you and Jake would spy on me through a hole in the wall.”
He laughed. “I didn’t think you knew we did that. We thought we were being really discreet.”
“Well, not discreet enough. I was well aware you were both spying on me, and I kinda enjoyed the attention. Why do you think I used to spend so much time getting out of the tub, and drying myself? I knew you were both watching me with your cocks in your hands. You haven’t changed in the last fourteen years, Hunter. Even now you can’t stop your eyes drifting to my breasts.” Zoë had never been afraid to say what she thought.
“Well, if you will sit seminaked in front of me, I’ve got no choice. I’m a guy. Tits and ass are hardwired into my brain.”
“At least you’re honest, which is more than I can say for the rest of the guys in here. Most of them have got wives or girlfriends waiting at home for them, which leads me to my next question.”
Before she could ask, Hunter spoke. “There’s no one else. I’m not the settling-down type.”
“That’s too bad. You’re a good-looking guy. You’ve filled out an awful lot since I last saw you. Why don’t you have a woman in your life?”
“It would take one special woman to understand me.” Hunter’s sexual and emotional needs were only fully satisfied at Club Submission.
Her eyes drifted over him, and she nodded perceptibly. “Too much emotional baggage from the Marines.”
“You could say.” Not wanting to discuss himself further, he breathed in and changed the subject. “So what time do you finish tonight? We’ve got some catching up to do.”
“Two.”
His flight back to Boston left at ten in the morning. That only gave him a few hours to get to know her again. “I’ve got a better idea. How much do you normally make?”
“Three hundred bucks, why?”
“Three hundred bucks, huh. Why don’t I give you the money? That way you can leave right now.”
Chapter Three
One hour later
The past hour had taken on a surreal quality. Feigning a severe attack of food poisoning, Zoë had made her excuses to Jocelyn, and then met Hunter outside the club. As they’d walked down the street to call a cab, his hand had clasped protectively around hers. Even though they’d both changed enormously in the intervening fourteen years, it felt like the most natural thing in the world to squeeze his hand back. She knew as well as he that they shared a connection that went way back to their respective childhoods. They’d experienced the same happiness, and they’d dealt with the same shit.
When they finally arrived at her apartment, Zoë turned the key and unlocked the door. Funny, an hour ago it seemed a good idea to bring Hunter back, but now she felt self-conscious of her humble apartment. She flicked on a light and pushed the door wide open. The cold, charmless room looked uninviting and a little forbidding. Why the hell didn’t I choose somewhere else to take him? What’s wrong with a cup of coffee in some anonymous place?
Well, she’d have to make the best of it now. This was Hunter after all. No need to stand on ceremony. Steeling herself, she stated lightheartedly, “Welcome to my little palace.” She pointed to the
old battered sofa in the corner of the room. “Take a seat. Make yourself at home. I’ll fix you a drink. What would you like?”
“Just a coffee,” he answered gruffly, as he stalked across the worn carpet. She could tell he didn’t approve of where she lived. His face was deadpan as he scanned the meager contents of her home.
Zoë put the coffeepot on the stove and then shrugged off her coat. It was only when she threw it over the nearest chair that she remembered what little she had on underneath. A surreptitious glance in Hunter’s direction confirmed her suspicion. He may not be impressed by her home, but he was certainly taking an interest in her. A warm feeling spread to her pussy at the look of sexual desire in his eyes. Hunter may have kept his distance for fourteen years, but she couldn’t deny their physical attraction to one another now. What had been a girlish crush looked like it could develop into something far more grown-up, if she allowed it to.
Fuck, the last time I saw this guy, he was a gangly eighteen-year-old kid. And I was an innocent sixteen-year-old girl. Now Hunter Black is six foot three and two hundred pounds of sinew and muscle. He’s really gorgeous, girl, but make sure you keep your distance. He’ll be gone in a few hours, and most likely you’ll never set eyes on him again.
Aware of his closeness, she said, “I’d better get changed.” She hurried to the bedroom, away from his almost overpowering presence.
Five minutes, and a few deep, relaxing breaths later, she returned to the main living area. Hunter seemed in complete control as he poured hot coffee into two large mugs. He smiled, and nodded appreciatively, as he studied her new outfit. “You’d look a knockout in anything, Peaches, but it’s a real shame you’ve decided to change into jeans and a sweater.” He sighed deeply. “It’s probably for the best though. It’s hard for a man to think straight when you’re hardly wearing any clothes.”
Zoë took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Hunter was so matter-of-fact, yet very sexy with it. He made her pussy moisten.
