by Bella Grant
Twenty minutes? I thought, a little shocked. Did the man want me to dance for twenty whole minutes? I’d be done for the night! The thoughts flitted through my brain quickly, but I hoped they didn’t cross my face. Stripper rule number six: learn to control your facial expressions. “I think twenty minutes of dancing might get boring for you, but we can play it by ear. Would you like a drink? There’s a fully stocked bar.”
“Will you join me for a drink?”
I tilted my head. “I’m not allowed to drink at work, Eliot.”
He nodded. “That’s understandable. I’d love a scotch on the rocks.”
I walked to the bar and found the scotch. I took my time making the drink, hoping he would settle a little. He was incredibly tense and nervous. I glanced at the back of his head. His hair was pulled back in a ponytail and probably reached his shoulders when down. The glasses he wore were wire-framed and looked as though he wore them to appear a certain way rather than to actually see. His cheekbones and jaw were chiseled and covered in stubble, and under his clearly expensive clothes was a body he probably worked hard to keep.
He was the kind of nerdy women dreamed of, and I wondered what he did for a living. A doctor maybe, or something like that. With his long hair, I seriously doubted he was a lawyer or had a job requiring interaction with the public. He didn’t seem to like people much.
“Here’s your drink,” I said with what I hoped was a sexy smile, but my nerves were frazzled. The man watched me like a predator, though he didn’t make eye contact. I didn’t feel the least bit afraid of him, which surprised me. “I can dance while you enjoy your drink, if you’d like?”
He rose and grabbed the chair nearest to him. He pulled it in front of his and positioned it so I would face him if I sat down in it. He gestured to it as he picked up his drink and resumed his seat. “Please, have a seat.”
My brow furrowed as stripper rule number six skipped out of my mind. “Um, Eliot, we’re not supposed to do that, really.”
“You’re not supposed to make your customer happy?” he asked, his tone amused.
I narrowed my eyes and pursed my lips, pretty sure the man was making fun of me with his subtle remarks and laughing eyes. “I was paid to dance, not sit around.” Adding ‘on my ass’ seemed inappropriate, but it was hard not to.
“My friend paid you for a lap dance, but I would like to talk first.” He gestured to the chair again and sipped his drink. Smiling, he smacked his lips. “Excellent scotch.”
I stared at him for a moment, debating. His eyes lifted to mine, questioning, and though I wanted to flounce to the chair and flop into it out of protest, I moved gracefully and sat gently on the edge of the cushion with my ankles crossed and my hands clasped in my lap. I shifted uncomfortably as his eyes moved from mine, down my body to my toes, and up again. I looked away when his eyes returned to mine.
We sat across from each other without speaking for a few minutes, and my discomfort increased. After another minute, I said, “Did you pay to stare at me for twenty minutes?”
“Would that be okay?”
“Well, it’s a nice break,” I joked, and he chuckled. Finally, I thought, a human response. I smiled back at him. “This is very unusual.”
“I’m sure it is.” He sipped his scotch and eyed my body again. “Why are you sitting like a girl who’s been sent to the principal’s office?”
My laugh erupted before I could stop it. “In this outfit? I’d get kicked out of school before I could walk in!”
His throaty laugh joined mine. “I guess that’s true. It’s a lovely outfit.”
“Thank you, Eliot.” Our conversation felt like a first date discussion. I had to end this and start dancing.
“Do you like your job, Rose?” he interrupted when I opened my mouth to speak.
“Um, I do. It’s okay, for the most part,” I told him hesitantly, looking at him sideways and wondering if he was a cop or inspector or something like that. Not a cop, not with that hair, but maybe a government employee. I had no idea what the laws concerning strip clubs were, but I was pretty sure Mr. Carpenter followed them all. “If you’re here to inspect Burlesque, you won’t find anything amiss. Mr. Carpenter is extremely careful about the law.”
Eliot stared at me for several seconds then burst into laughter. I watched him, fascinated by the movement of his throat and the crinkles at his eyes. This man was one of the sexiest I’d ever seen off the movie screen, especially when he laughed.
“Am I being funny?” I asked haughtily. Stripper rules be damned!
His laughter ended abruptly, but his smile remained on his face. “No, not at all, and I’m sorry if I offended you. I’m not an inspector. I know nothing about strip club laws.”
I smirked at him. “Why are you asking me about my job?”
He cleared his throat. “This might be offensive…”
“Go on. You won’t believe the things that have been said to me. I doubt it’s anything I haven’t heard,” I told him, my lips pursing. I was ready to end the conversation and dance so I could get the hell out of there, but he pursued his line of questions like a dog after a bone.
“You seem like an intelligent, sensible woman. Why are you a stripper?”
Stripper rule number seven: keep your personal life separate. I shrugged nonchalantly and said, “I work three days a week and make enough money for the month.”
“Really? That’s fascinating,” he mused, sitting up. “What about when you can’t dance anymore?”
“That is none of your business.” I rose from the chair, the first date feeling long gone, and asked, “Am I going to dance for you or not? I have another set to prepare for.” He frowned up at me, and I stared down at him, waiting for his answer.
Eliot
The woman was magnificently beautiful. And funny, which had surprised me, because funny usually meant intelligent. And her vocabulary provided more than a hint at her intelligence. When she rose from the chair across from me, her perfect breasts bouncing, I was struck silent for the third time. I couldn’t take my eyes off her.
She stared at me, then waved her hand in my face. “Eliot, do you want me to dance?” She enunciated each word in her sexy voice as if I was a toddler learning a new word.
I shook my head slightly to clear it and smiled up at her. “By all means.”
Her expression, schooled into apathy before, sparked a reaction in me. She was irritated. “Is there a particular song you would prefer?” I shook my head, and she nodded. “Okay, I have something.”
She turned and moved to the iPod attached to the speakers. I watched her ass—barely hidden under her tiny, white costume—as she walked. As she bent to start the music, the lower half of her cheeks were revealed, and my breath hitched.
Her pale skin was perfect, missing any tan lines that might mar its perfection. I’d noticed it on stage, but in the small room with much better lighting, my anticipation had reached an incomprehensible level. Which was the reason for our little chat. Heightened anticipation made an event more stimulating.
She probably thinks I’m an asshole, I mused. And when she turned, before she tamed her face into false sensuality, the irritation gleamed from her eyes. Only for the briefest moment, but I saw it, and I liked it. The woman was feisty, interesting, and more than just a stripper.
The music began playing a song I didn’t know and hated immediately—some pop song shit teenagers listened to. Her hips began to move to the beat, her hands moving up and down her sides. She pulled on the hem of the little dress, revealing then hiding her G-string as she strolled to my chair. When she reached me, I lifted my hands to put them on her hips, but she froze and wagged a finger playfully at me.
“Don’t you know the rules?” she asked, her voice sultry and deep.
“I—” My words were trapped as she ran one hand between her breasts, lowering the neckline just enough to give me a peek at the top half of her breasts. I cleared my throat. “Um, no. Tell me the rules.”
> “No touching unless I put your hands on my body.” One of her hands clasped mine and drew a line between her breasts with my fingers. My hand itched to massage her breast, but she let my hand fall. She took the other and placed it on her hip, holding it in place with hers. “Okay?”
“Yes.” My voice was ridiculously shaky, but this woman had magic in her eyes and was weaving a spell with every move of her body. “Rose. Is that your real name?” I had to know.
“No talking,” she ordered as she put a finger on my lips and shook her head. Her hair shifted like brown waves… mesmerizing. She bent so our eyes were level and whispered, “Sit back and relax, Eliot. Let those problems disappear and enjoy yourself.”
She straightened and stepped away to dance, her body moving with the rhythm of the song. As I watched her, I imagined—like all men did, I’m sure—having sex with her. Her legs, toned to perfection, wrapped around my waist, her lips on mine, and her arms around my neck. The rhythm we would create together would shatter worlds, and once would not be enough for either of us.
My eyes half closed as she lifted the hem of her white dress, slowly revealing inch after inch of her body for my eyes only. I wanted her to do this for me at my house, in my bedroom, before we made love.
I wondered if she’d spiked my drink and chuckled at my thoughts. I’d never thought about a woman I was dating in terms of making love to her, but the magic this woman wove around my senses held me in thrall. I couldn’t take my eyes off her as her immaculate breasts came into view. She tossed the little dress away and stood before me in just the tiny G-string that nearly revealed what I was sure would be the most beautiful pussy in the world.
She draped her arms on my shoulders so our faces were close, tantalizingly so, but she did not kiss me. She wouldn’t, not here. She did, however, rub her cheek against mine and whisper in my ear, words I couldn’t understand through the fog in my brain. When she turned away to sit in my lap and grind against my crotch, I thought I’d die of lust. Certainly, she could feel my dick, hard as steel, against her ass.
My eyes popped open, and the sexy woman in front of me ceased to exist for a few seconds. The formula. I had it! How had I missed such a simple step? Cursing myself and the idiots I worked with, I interrupted her by tapping the center of her back.
“Um, Rose, I have to go,” I said urgently, hoping she could hear me.
She straightened, confusion in her expression when she turned to look at me. “Is everything okay?”
“Better than okay,” I exclaimed as I jumped out of the chair. I grabbed her face and kissed her soundly on the mouth without thinking. “You helped me. I have it now. I know the formula!”
She stared at me, wary of my explosive voice and surprise kiss. “Formula?”
I waved a hand at her dismissively. “It doesn’t matter. You’ve helped me save so many lives and so many families from sadness. Thank you!”
“Um, you’re welcome. Do you need me to walk you down?”
She’s the nicest person, I thought wildly. “No, I can find my way out. Please tell Art I left.”
She nodded, her lips pressed together to keep from smiling. “I can do that. Have a good night, and good luck with your formula.”
“Thank you, beautiful.” I turned to leave but stopped and looked at her. “I’d like to see you again.”
“I work Thursdays, Fridays, and Saturdays,” she told me with a small smile.
She didn’t understand that I meant anywhere but here, but I didn’t have time to explain. I reached for my wallet, but she waved me away. “Rose, please let me give you something. You have no idea how much you’ve helped me.”
“Art paid me already,” she replied.
“I don’t care.” I pulled another hundred out of my wallet and put it in her hand. I forced her fingers to close around it and held her hand for much longer than necessary. A spark flew between us, the reflection of what I felt in her eyes. Quietly, I told her, “You have magic in you.”
She didn’t speak, only watched my eyes as if she couldn’t look away. I couldn’t, and for several seconds, nothing mattered but her. Reality returned quickly, though, and I had to get to the lab. I pulled her against me and kissed her again, letting my lips linger just a little longer than last time. Her naked breasts pressed against me were almost my undoing, but I pulled away and headed for the door before I changed my mind.
“Bye, Rose.”
At the door, her voice halted me. “Randi.”
I glanced over my shoulder, the doorknob in my hand. “What?”
“My name is Randi.”
I smiled at her, understanding she’d just given me a second gift. “Goodbye, Randi.”
“Bye, Eliot.”
Randi
What the hell did I just do? I asked myself as I pulled my dress over my head and turned off the speakers. I’d never given my real name to a client, but something about that man had erased common sense for a few minutes. I snagged the glass from which he’d sipped his drink and returned it to the bar area before wandering slowly down the steps to the lower floor. The lap dance with Eliot had lasted half the time I expected, so I still had some time before my next set.
A few clients stopped me as I walked through the club, asking if I’d be on the stage again. I assured them I would be and headed for Art’s table. He saw me before I reached him and looked behind me and around for his friend. “Where’s Eliot?”
“I killed him and left him on the roof,” I joked.
“The roof? Not a very good place to hide a body.”
“You’re right. I should toss him in a body of water to destroy all evidence,” I quipped, smirking at him.
“That’s why you’re my favorite.” Art laughed.
“Eliot left. He said something about a formula and took off,” I told him with a smile.
Art frowned, then his eyes widened. “Holy shit! I have to go, too. What an asshole! I can’t believe he left me.” He threw some cash on the table, said a quick goodbye, and hurried for the front door.
I watched him curiously. This formula must be incredibly important if Art was leaving too. I wondered what on earth the formula was for. As I walked to the dressing room, my mind pondered the mystery. Art had to be well-off if he was a member of this club and could drop three hundred on a lap dance for his pal. Eliot must also have money. He’d given me two hundred in the space of an hour. What formula could they have created, and what did it do?
Since I had no idea what either of them did for a living, I gave up the mystery as I pushed the door open and walked into the dressing room, grateful for the five hundred I’d made, not including the rest of the tips I hadn’t counted yet. Rita was a bundle of excitement and grabbed my hand, spun me around, and screeched unintelligibly, half in English, half in Portuguese.
“What the hell, Rita?” I gasped as I stumbled in my heels when she jerked me around. “What are you doing?”
“He wants to take me to Brazil for two whole weeks!” she screeched again, her accent impeding enough that even I could barely understand.
I stared at her big grin for several moments, waiting for her to remember why going to Brazil with Andre was a terrible idea. When she only smiled brilliantly and bounced on her toes, I huffed out a breath. “Rita!”
She stopped bouncing, and her smile faded a little at my tone. “Why are you yelling?”
“Because,” I hissed, pulling her to the side so no one could eavesdrop, “he’s a high-ranking member of a drug cartel!”
“We don’t know that for sure,” she defended, pulling her arm out of my grasp.
“Rita! I saw him on the news!” I reminded her. “He’s suspected of dozens of murders.”
She huffed and stomped her foot. “Suspected, never charged. He’s never been to prison.”
I rolled my eyes at her ridiculous defense of the man. “Rita. The man has never been to prison because there are never any witnesses to testify. I wonder why that is.”
She pointed a
finger at me. “You can’t make assumptions like that. The American media lies all the time.”
I grabbed her shoulders. “Rita, if you go, you’ll get fired. You’re not supposed to date or go out of the country with a client.”
Rita waved away my concern, batting her hand at my words as if they were bothersome flies. “The man is in love with me. I might not need this job if I go with him.”
I shook my head. “Please listen to reason. What if he’s just using you?”
“Who cares!” she exclaimed with a laugh. “It’s a free trip to Brazil! And, he told me I could bring a friend.” She waggled her eyebrows at me.
My eyebrows winged into my hairline. “You want me to go with you? Are you crazy?”
“You’d be crazy to turn down a free trip to Brazil!”
“I’m not fucking some Brazilian friend of his so I can go to Brazil for free,” I told her fiercely. I jerked around, stomped to my vanity, and plopped down to freshen my makeup before my next set.
Rita sighed loudly, followed me, and sat next to me at her vanity. “Randi, you don’t have to fuck anybody. That’s my job.” I clamped my lips together to keep from smiling, and she giggled and bent so she could look at my reflection. “And I’ll make sure your room is far away from ours so you don’t have to listen to us and be jealous.”
I couldn’t help myself and giggled, then she laughed, and my laughter joined hers until we were a mess. “Stop it!” I griped, wiping my eyes. “I’m trying to fix my makeup.”
“Go with me. I’ll be safer if there are two of us, and we’ll have such fun,” she hinted. She batted her eyelashes at me, and I rolled my eyes again, exasperated.
“Batting your eyelashes at me doesn’t work. I’m a woman,” I reminded her.
“Yeah, but all women have lesbian tendencies,” she teased, and we laughed again.
“Besides, I have school. And work. I can’t jet off to Brazil for two weeks. I have no drug lord to pay my bills,” I asserted, disdain in my words.
