by Sierra Dafoe
“You felt beautiful,” he murmured, and she nodded again, thoughtfully. “So what made you feel that way?”
She mulled the question as they meandered down the path. Gravel crunched slightly beneath her high-heeled sandals, and the darkness around her was rich with the scents of honeysuckle and hibiscus, intoxicating and alluring. Whoever built this place had put as much thought into the exterior as they presumably had into the decor.
“I don’t know,” she answered honestly. “I mean, I know what I look like. I’m pretty enough and all, I guess, but I’m sure no textbook example of beauty.”
“Says who?” The slight growl in Sonny’s tone made her melt inside. He sounded as if he was considering ripping the throat out of anyone who’d dare suggest she was anything less than drop-dead gorgeous. She smiled up at him, answering his question at face value.
“Says pretty much everybody, Sonny. Books, magazines, movies… Hell, even my mother’s always after me to lose weight.” Which had always bothered her a lot more than she’d let on. She loved her mother dearly, and she knew her mother loved her…but honestly, hadn’t her mother’s perennial harping on her appearance had at least something to do with her insecurity, the same insecurity that Kyle had preyed upon so effectively?
Frowning slightly, she paused, reaching for a beautiful flower on a bush near the nightclub’s door, its large white petals glimmering slightly in the darkness. Its scent was sweet, almost cloying in the soft night air. “I don’t know,” she continued thoughtfully. “It’s like you’re not beautiful in this world unless somebody says you are. Unless you fit some perfect image that society has stamped its seal of approval on.”
“Do you believe that?”
Sonny’s voice was as soft, as penetrating as the scent of the flower. Which was as much a mystery to her as Sonny himself, she thought wryly. She had no idea what it was. Letting the petals slide from her fingers, she shook her head. “No, I don’t.”
He smiled at her warmly. “Good. Now show me.”
“Show you what?”
“Show me you believe you’re beautiful.” He grinned at her, a playful dare dancing in those stunning blue eyes, and opened the door before them.
Eek. Julia hesitated. She had a pretty good idea what Sonny had in mind, and she wasn’t sure she was up for it, at all. Could she really do this? Did she even want to? She glanced uncertainly at Sonny, who held the door open, one eyebrow cocked challengingly. For a second, she felt a flare of remembered humiliation—God, Julia, don’t be so repressed—but the expression in Sonny’s gaze wasn’t anything like that. There was no disdain in his glance, no coercion, no judgment. His look was challenging, sure…but he wouldn’t think one bit less of her if she decided she didn’t want to do this after all.
Would he?
No, I won’t.
It was a little scary how easily he read her—and, come to think of it, would he even have brought her here if he hadn’t thought she’d enjoy it? He wasn’t, she realized, trying to force her into anything. He was giving her an opportunity.
The question was, did she want to take it?
She glanced again at the half-open door. She didn’t know the answer to that; she truly didn’t. Her heart was hammering rather more than she would have expected—which raised the question why, exactly, was this so challenging for her?
She didn’t know the answer to that either, but hell, it couldn’t hurt to at least take a peek, right? It wasn’t like simply walking into a strip club was going to singe her eyeballs out or anything.
Sonny’s chuckle rumbled, low in his chest.
It won’t. I promise you. And if you decide you don’t like it, we can leave anytime.
“Good enough,” she said and, before she could hesitate, ducked past his broad shoulders and walked into the club.
Chapter Five
Wow. Whatever she’d expected, it certainly hadn’t been this. She felt Sonny enter behind her, the door falling shut with a quiet thud as she stood looking around the place, startled.
She didn’t know what she’d expected. Disco lights, maybe. Drunken, sweaty men crowded around a black-painted stage with some bored-looking, fake-titted blonde gyrating upon it while raucous dance music blared from the speakers.
This place looked more like a cross between a four-star restaurant and a high-priced bordello. Polished wood paneling ringed the spacious room, stopping at about the height of her shoulder. The walls above it were painted the same rich burgundy as the sign outside. A long bar near the entrance was stocked with gleaming rows of colored bottles, the stools along it upholstered in leather dyed to match the walls.
The hardwood floor ended about ten feet from the bar, separated from the rest of the room by a waist-high brass railing. Beyond it, carpeted levels dropped away in broad, shallow steps, each one wide enough to accommodate a row of four-seater tables. The tables were covered in pearly-white linen, gleaming slightly in the muted lighting and reminding her of the flowers outside. Two white-suited waiters, their lapels each bearing a burgundy-red rose, moved unobtrusively between the tables, clearing plates or serving drinks to the scattering of men seated around the room.
On the far side of the dining area, surrounded by softly glowing footlights, was an empty stage, the wall mirror behind it half-lost in shadows.
Julia gazed around slowly, Sonny’s words ringing again in her memory.
It’s not a sleazy strip joint, Jules. It’s your strip joint.
Which might be—maybe—a different proposition altogether.
“Do you like it?” Sonny murmured, his arms sliding about her waist. She leaned back, enjoying the solid feel of him against her, the banked heat that seemed to burn continually inside him. Damn, he was so considerate, she thought. So sweet. She laughed lightly, tilting her head to look up at him.
“I gotta admit, Sonny, if I’d ever designed a strip club, it would look exactly like this.”
“Good. Now the only question is, do you want to go down there?”
Did she? Julia wondered as her eyes slid back toward that waiting stage. She gulped, her gut tightening in apprehension. Did she want to go down there? Take off her clothes in front of all these men? Let them look at her, inspect her, enjoy her? What the hell would that prove, anyway?
It wasn’t actually the thought of stripping that bothered her—in fact, she admitted, she kind of liked the idea. Liked the thought of all those men looking at her the way she’d been looked at earlier this evening, walking down the street from her hotel. Admiringly. Hungrily. Definitely interested….
But God, what if they laughed at her? What if they booed? What if they threw things?
Why would they do that, Julia? Why would you think they’d do any of those things?
Because… she started, and then broke off. Because she wasn’t beautiful enough, that was why. Because she was afraid they’d think she wasn’t beautiful enough.
She stared down at the empty stage, worrying at her lip. Damn, she was doing it again. Making her decisions, judging herself, based on what someone else thought of her. No, not even that, she realized—based on what she was afraid someone might think of her.
And damn it, she was sick of it.
Squaring her shoulders, Julia nodded. “Yeah, I do.”
She didn’t care if she made a fool of herself—she’d never done this before, so it was entirely possible she would. But you know what? Fuck it. And fuck the men who were watching, too—she wasn’t doing this for them. She was doing it for her. Because she was beautiful, darn it.
And she deserved to flaunt it if she so chose.
She caught the flickering grin in Sonny’s gaze, the appreciative sparkle in his cerulean eyes. With an answering grin, she lifted her chin bravely, pulled herself from his arms and sauntered away.
She was aware of heads turning curiously as she made her way down to the st
age. Skirting the cluster of tables that ringed the stage, she strode up the four steps onto the stage without so much as a glance at the men seated stage-side—and then stood there, facing the mirror on the back wall.
Shit, what did she do now?
But as if her entrance onto the stage had been a cue, the room lights began to dim, leaving her standing in the dusky half-light of the footlights ringing the stage. They were still dimmed as well, barely glimmering, giving her a chance to catch her breath in the faint illumination and wonder frantically what the fuck she was doing.
God. Oh God. Maybe she didn’t want to do this after all.
Too late—there was a tinny metallic thunk, and suddenly a warm amber spotlight flicked on somewhere behind her. It pinned her, enveloping her in light, and as the stage lights came up, the low murmurs of conversation around the club died away.
Showtime, she thought, swallowing hard. She stared at her reflection in the enormous mirror before her, desperately searching for some trace of the woman Sonny had described in the car—a woman who was brave, determined, bold…
She didn’t look bold, she realized despairingly. She looked terrified.
Everything beyond the stage was lost in shadows, invisible behind the glare of the spotlight. Which should have helped, maybe—but she could still feel the men out there in the darkness, their gazes resting on her. Waiting to see what she had to offer. Whether she was interesting. Whether she had the stuff.
Oh God. She couldn’t do this. She couldn’t. What if they laughed? What if—even worse—they ignored her? Took one look and then went back to their drinks and dinners, dismissing her from their notice entirely?
That had been one of Kyle’s favorite tricks, she remembered—whenever they’d go out, he would simply look right through her, past her, his gaze roaming whatever bar or restaurant they might be in. No matter how nicely she’d dressed, no matter how attractive she’d tried to make herself for him, he’d spend the entire evening looking at other women, his gaze trailing up and down them with an appreciation he never, ever showed her…
Why the hell did you stay with him, Jules? It wasn’t Sonny’s voice in her head this time—it was her own. It was a damn good question too. Why had she stayed with him so long? Why had she spent one single second putting up with some jerk who would treat her so disrespectfully, out-and-out ogling other women in front of her while her heart sank lower and lower, her cheeks flushing with humiliation? And if she dared say anything, he’d merely turn to her with that surprised, annoyed look of his—the look that said she was crazy, just imagining it, it was all in her head…
The heavy, helpless fury of all those moments flared suddenly into rage, and Julia raised her chin stubbornly, gazing squarely into the mirror. To hell with Kyle. To hell with all those men behind her in the club too. Who the hell were they to tell her what she was worth?
With a haughty toss of her head, she returned her attention to the mirror. The warm amber spotlight seemed to pool around her, making the rich wine-red satin of her dress glow like burgundy in candlelight—which in turn made her realize how exactly the decor of the club—her club—matched the color.
Nice job, Sonny, she thought, smiling slightly. In her head, she heard a low, somewhat conceited chuckle, and rolled her eyes. God, he really was full of himself.
But still, it was a thoughtful touch. And she wasn’t about to waste his efforts. Lifting her arms, she gathered her hair up, twisting it into a loose, elegant chignon that accentuated the line of her neck. She tilted her head, studying the effect, and decided she liked it—it made her look elegant, almost glamorous, drawing attention to her cheekbones and the fullness of her mouth.
Raising one hand to her cheek, she traced the line of her cheekbone, the curve of her jaw, watching herself in the mirror all the while…
Music. She wanted music. No sooner had she thought it than the opening strains of Joan Armatrading’s “Love and Affection” whispered softly through the room, and Julia smiled to herself again.
Perfect.
Slowly, she continued her self-exploration, observing the soft curve of her shoulders, the lines of her collarbones, the deep plunge of the dress’s neckline exposing her cleavage. Just for fun, she ran her hands down her front, tugging the dress ever so slightly lower, until the edge of her black lace bra peeked out. She traced it with a fingertip, making her skin shiver with pleasure. In her mind, she heard Sonny’s breathing deepen.
He’d taken a seat somewhere behind her in the darkness. Watching. Letting her explore. What a strange man he was, she mused absently. She tried for a moment to imagine Kyle doing anything even vaguely similar—sitting back, letting her focus be entirely on herself for once, instead of constantly on him.
She couldn’t do it—it was a thing he’d never have allowed.
Your loss, jerkwad. She smirked at herself and raised her head higher. Damn, how could she ever have let him have so much control over her? He wasn’t fit to touch her shoes, let alone any other, more intimate part of her.
And she wasn’t going to waste another second of this night thinking about him. This was her time. Her night. She could do, could be, anything she wanted.
With a small, catlike smile, she pulled the dress even lower, baring her breasts even further—and heard a ripple of low, indrawn breaths in the darkness. Every man there, she knew, was staring at the lush swell of her breasts, watching transfixed as she ran her fingers over them, caressing the smooth, exposed flesh. She slid a finger beneath the satin of her dress, drawing a light circle over one lace-covered nipple, and felt a delicious tingle.
Somewhere behind her, she heard a harsh, thrilling groan.
So much for booing, she thought smugly. As the song continued, deepening into a rich, sensuous pulse, she reached behind her and unzipped her dress, letting the straps slide from her shoulders. The fabric slid smoothly down to her waist. She stayed there, admiring herself, running her hands up her soft, curvy belly and then over the heavy weight of her breasts.
After a moment, she eased her dress past her hips with a tiny wriggle, letting it fall to her feet. Stepping out of the puddle of satin, she stood there in only her high-heeled sandals, thong and bra, and gazed again at her reflection.
Hot damn. She had curves everywhere. Her breasts spilled over the top of her bra, just barely contained by the black, lacy fabric. Her belly, soft and smooth, dipped in slightly and then flared out again, flowing into the full, generous curves of her hips. Trailing her hands over them, she gyrated her ass in a slow figure eight, and heard another ripple of low moans behind her.
Julia grinned, enjoying their reaction. Glancing in the mirror, she caught Sonny’s gaze. He was sitting near the stage, two tables back, his eyes fixed on her with an intensity that made her own pulse spike. Holding his gaze, she ran her hands slowly up her front until she cupped her full breasts through the thin lace of her bra, and squeezed.
The answering chorus of groans thrilled her to the core.
Woman, you are killing me. Sonny’s voice in her head was thick with arousal, and her smile deepened. She watched him in the mirror as she fondled her breasts, kneading them, rubbing her palms over the very tips, every so often flicking her fingers across a lace-covered nipple. His face was pale beneath his tan, she noted, his blue eyes almost black with banked desire. His lips parted as his breath came faster, and Julia felt a slick dampness unfolding between her thighs.
Behind her, every man in the entire club watched, spellbound. She could feel the heavy pulse of their hunger like another beat of the music, a music that rose and fell at her direction, her command. With another sultry smirk, she gave Sonny a slow wink and pinched her nipples tightly.
His desire flared like a bonfire, hot and consuming. It licked at her, searing her with his hunger, and she remembered his low, thrilling words back in the hotel bar— Then why are you tempting me with thoughts of taking
you in front of strangers?
He was so aroused, she could tell he was more than half-inclined to do exactly that. The mere thought made her knees almost buckle.
But no. She didn’t want that, not this time. He’d teased her, tormented her senses until she’d been horny enough to do practically anything. And she’d loved it, every second of it—but now it was time to do a little teasing of her own.
With a last smirk at herself in the mirror, she turned away, strutting with slow, hip-shot intent toward the tables that ringed the very edge of the stage. She was conscious of every single gaze in the club following her—but the one that seared most hotly across her skin was Sonny’s.
You ain’t seen nothing yet, buster, she thought as privately as she could—she didn’t want him catching even a hint of her intention. Holding her head high, she sauntered slowly to the first table, then flicked a quick, appreciative eye over the really quite luscious fellow who sat there watching, his handsome face pale and tight with arousal.
Da-yum. Where did Sonny find these men? That he had done precisely that, she didn’t doubt for a second. They were of a piece with the club itself, with the inexplicable sign above its door—a sign that spelled out her name in an elegant, understated script. Somehow, for no reason she could fathom, he had created this entire scenario for her, building an erotic playground for her to revel in—and stocking it with men who were a virtual smorgasbord of her personal fantasies.
With that close-cropped hair and those broad, hard shoulders, the one directly before her was a dead ringer for Channing Tatum. The man at the table next to him was just as gorgeous, with dark, sultry eyes that reminded her of a young Antonio Banderas. Behind him, a lean, hard-muscled hunk with incredibly chiseled features and a full, pouty mouth was the distillation, the very essence, of every male model to ever grace a Calvin Klein blue jeans ad.
Julia smiled in anticipation, relishing the thought of what she had in mind, and felt a sudden flare of tense apprehension from Sonny.
