by Claire Kent
As he sat behind the wheel of his SUV and breathed deeply, trying to dispel the sick knot in his stomach, he consciously cleared his mind of the memories, of any thoughts about his mother at all.
Then, to think about something more pleasant, he thought about Elizabeth from Saturday night.
Maybe she would show up tonight. It wasn’t a sure thing, but it was possible.
Matt had long ago given up hope about the important things in life, so it was a nice change to feel a spark of it about anything at all.
—
Later that evening he was trying not to keep glancing at the clock as he helped Robbie unpack a couple of cases of tequila Matt had bought at the liquor store to tide them over until their next delivery.
“What’s your problem, man?” Robbie demanded after a few minutes.
“What do you mean?”
Robbie looked significantly toward the box at Matt’s feet, which he’d evidently just unpacked and then repacked.
Matt gave a self-deprecating laugh. “Sorry. Just distracted.”
“You got a hot date or something?”
“Of course not.”
“Then why can’t you stop looking at the clock?”
The doors opened at seven thirty, and the first performance began at eight. It was just after seven, and Matt wondered if Elizabeth would arrive in time for the first act.
He wondered if she would show up at all.
“No reason.” Matt had learned how to hide his feelings as early as five years old, since his mom would burst into messy, ragged sobs any time he acted upset, and his father would always mock him if he was emotional. He was good at masking his feelings, and he knew his face was expressionless as he met Robbie’s eyes.
But Robbie had been working for him for a long time now and had also known Matt as a kid, when his dad had brought him to the club and told him to sit in the back room. “You really think she’s going to come back?” Robbie asked.
There was no reason to pretend he didn’t know who Robbie referred to. “She might.”
“Not a chance. This was obviously not her scene.”
“You never know.”
“She’s a customer.”
“I know that. I’m not planning to date her.”
He wasn’t. There was no way a woman like Elizabeth would go out with a stripper. Even a mostly retired stripper who now just owned a strip club.
He had no intention of dating her.
He just wanted to see her again.
“Who aren’t you going to date?” Tony—one of the dancers—asked, coming over to lean against the bar. He was buff, black, and six-four, dressed for work in tear-away jeans and a cowboy hat.
“No one,” Matt said.
At the same time Robbie answered, “The redhead from Saturday night.”
Tony’s broad face broke into a grin. “No shit? She was hot. You’re into her? I thought you didn’t go for customers. You always read us the riot act when we look at one the wrong way.”
Strip clubs and male revues all had different rules, and Matt knew his demands were more rigid than most, more rigid than they absolutely had to be. But the ground rules he’d set up were the reason his staff was healthy and stable, and he didn’t have to look for new dancers and waitstaff every couple of months.
Matt gave the other man a cool look. “I don’t go for customers. I just said I wasn’t going to date her. And you don’t even know who we’re talking about. There were several redheads here on Saturday.”
“I know exactly who you’re talking about. That princess you were making eyes at near the end of your gig. I don’t think she’ll be back, though. Juan said to leave her alone, since she didn’t like it when he tried the lap dance with her.”
Matt remembered her face when Juan had been humping her. She definitely hadn’t been into it.
“Stokes thinks he’s gotten under her skin,” Robbie said with a derisive laugh, “so she’ll be coming back for seconds.”
Tony laughed too and gave him a punch on the arm. Matt didn’t try to argue or defend himself.
He’d learned a long time ago that people would think what they wanted, no matter what the reality of a situation was.
It didn’t matter what other people thought.
It only mattered what they did.
—
Elizabeth couldn’t believe she was actually here again—sitting in her Mercedes in the parking lot of Bare Assets at almost eight on a Thursday evening.
She’d purposely not dressed up tonight, so she was wearing a pair of dark jeans, a simple white top, and sandals with only one-inch heels.
She didn’t want Matt to think she was trying to look sexy for him.
She had no idea what she was doing here at all.
All week she’d been thinking about him—not just about his sexy act and gorgeous body but about his smug, cool insight and intelligence. He was way too full of himself. She couldn’t allow him to think he had won.
And she really wanted to see him again.
It would be harmless. No one in her circle would know she was here, and if they happened to find out, she could make up some sort of an excuse—like she was scouting out talent for a private strip show for a friend’s birthday party.
It was just an evening’s entertainment. It wouldn’t have any effect on who she was or the way she lived her life.
So, with this mental pep talk rehearsed several times over, she climbed out of her car and adjusted her purse on her shoulder before walking toward the entrance.
It was already crowded—just as crowded as it had been on Saturday. Evidently both nights were equally popular.
She waited in line at the entrance, trying to look confident and unconcerned, even though she was the only one here on her own.
It was no one’s business why she was coming here by herself. It didn’t matter if they thought she was some lonely, desperate chick who’d come for a few gropes at a hunk of a guy.
When she got in, she spotted an empty two-seat table in a far corner, so she quickly headed over to claim it. She felt more comfortable when she was sitting down. This was a good spot. It didn’t have as clear a view of the stage, but that didn’t matter to her.
She wouldn’t be the center of attention, and she could slip out if she changed her mind or got too uncomfortable.
She was an idiot for coming here at all.
Matt Stokes was nowhere in sight. He’d probably forgotten all about her.
The first performance hadn’t yet begun, and the room was loud with chatter and laughter. Before she could even look around and take in tonight’s crowd, a blond, shirtless waiter walked over and placed a scotch on the rocks in front of her.
She stared down at the glass for a few moments before she looked up at the grinning waiter. “Thanks, but I didn’t order this,” she said at last. “I think you’ve got the wrong table.”
“No, I don’t.” The blond grinned at her and then nodded back toward the bar. “It’s on the house.”
Confused, Elizabeth looked over in the direction the waiter had indicated and felt a sudden rush of excitement when she saw Matt.
He was leaning against the bar, evidently talking to the bartender, but he was looking in her direction. He was dressed similarly today—in jeans and a gray T-shirt—but he still managed to look sexy, powerful, just a little mysterious.
He raised his eyebrows slightly as he met her gaze.
She felt herself flushing as she stared down at the drink. She didn’t drink whiskey. She didn’t like it. Surely Matt could have figured out it wasn’t her kind of drink. He claimed to be so insightful about people.
When she looked back at him, he had that smug little smile on his face, and she knew the drink was a challenge too.
So she raised the glass to her lips and took a small sip, managing not to make a face when the liquid burned down her throat.
He really was an arrogant ass.
But a sexy one—no denying that.
/> She was glad she’d decided to come tonight. She would have hated for him to think that she was too chicken to take any sort of a risk.
The lights dimmed, and the women in the audience screamed as red mood lighting illuminated the smoke that was slowly drifting out from the stage, filling the club with an eerie glow.
They must be doing another fireman act or something similar.
When three dancers appeared onstage, accompanied by the pounding bass line of the first song, she knew she’d been right. They were dressed in fireman hats, boots, and pants held up by suspenders, and each one was carrying a hose.
She rolled her eyes as the squeals of excitement rang out from the room. When she glanced back toward the bar, Matt was gone.
She wondered if he would perform again tonight.
She wondered why she wanted so much to see him dance again.
As she sipped her scotch, she watched the room, trying to understand yet again what women found so enjoyable about this whole scene. Despite her reaction to Matt last week, she still found the humping, grinding body rolls and groping women silly and rather disgusting.
When the guys came out into the audience, each choosing a different woman to pay particular attention to, Elizabeth sighed.
It didn’t matter how much she tried to take risks or loosen up. This just wasn’t sexy to her.
The guy closest to her was big, dark, and amazingly toned, and she could see how well endowed he was beneath the clingy fabric of his underwear.
But even his cock wasn’t all that appealing to her. It felt so unnatural somehow—thrusting up against a giggling woman in front of a screaming group of onlookers.
She needed more than this to turn her on. She needed a whole person—not just a body. All her life she’d had daydreams about the man she would one day marry—how he would look, how he would act, how they would act with each other—and those stories in her mind were far more appealing to her than any of this.
She was pleased she’d be able to tell Matt the truth, if he bothered to show up again and talk to her. He still hadn’t made a reappearance, and she felt a little disappointed, although obviously this was his business and he couldn’t sit around all evening and amuse her with clever banter and smoldering looks.
She forced herself to keep sipping her drink, and eventually it wasn’t so hard to swallow. She was more than halfway through it when the first performance was over and the lights came back on in the club.
She looked around again—instinctively searching for Matt—but there was no sign of him.
It was more uncomfortable, sitting here by herself, when there wasn’t a performance going on. The women at the other tables were all chatting and having a great time, and she was looking like an idiot all by herself.
She thought about getting up to head for the restroom, but there would be more breaks later in the evening, so she probably needed to save that excuse for later.
Instead she pulled out her phone.
There were a couple of messages from Melissa—in preparation for the wedding the weekend after next—and there was a text from her mother, asking if she was going to attend the dinner her parents were hosting on Saturday.
Elizabeth really didn’t want to go to the dinner. It would be filled with stuffy friends of her parents who would all ask her when she was getting married or whether she could help get their kids admitted to her preschool.
She would go, though. She always did. Her mother would nag her incessantly otherwise, and her father would be disappointed.
“Do you always use your phone as a crutch?” a familiar male voice came from just over her shoulder.
She gave a little jump and discovered Matt standing above her, giving her that same little smile.
She narrowed her eyes, immediately annoyed by his question. “It’s not a crutch. I was just checking my messages.”
“But you seem to check them every time you feel uncomfortable. It gives you something to do that makes you look occupied. You were doing the same thing on Saturday.”
“There’s nothing wrong with checking for messages in a downtime.”
“I didn’t say anything was wrong with it.” His smile broadened as he sat down in the empty chair at her table.
She could already feel a kind of excitement rising into her chest at his presence. “You said it was a crutch, which clearly has negative implications. You can hardly be surprised if I take offense at something that was obviously meant as a criticism.”
His eyes lingered on her face with that same focused observation he’d given her on Saturday. “What’s so hard about sitting by yourself and doing nothing?”
“Nothing’s hard about it.”
“Then why can’t you do it?”
“I can.” She stiffened her shoulders, deciding he was more obnoxious than attractive today and she’d been exaggerating how appealing he’d been last time. “I told you I was just checking my messages.”
“But you would have kept checking them until the next routine began if I hadn’t come over to talk to you, so you wouldn’t have to feel awkward, sitting by yourself.”
He was right. And that just made him more obnoxious.
“It’s pretty arrogant to assume you know so much about a stranger.”
“Maybe. I’ve never pretended to not be arrogant. But, like I said on Saturday, it doesn’t mean I’m wrong.”
“I don’t think you know as much about me as you think you do.”
He leaned back in his seat, his eyes making a leisurely path from her face down to her neckline and back up again. “You might be surprised by how much I already know about you.”
“All you’ve figured out so far is that I’m an overachiever and I don’t like sitting by myself at a strip club, neither of which are uncommon. I’m not too impressed by your powers of perception so far. It’s been pretty superficial.”
“You want to hear more?” he asked, scooting his chair closer to her so they didn’t have to shout to be heard.
“I’m sure you’re going to tell me, whether I want to hear it or not.”
He gave a soft chuckle and leaned closer until his husky voice felt like it was brushing her skin. “All right. Here’s what I know. You didn’t have sex until you were in college, because you were waiting for the love of your life. Maybe you thought the guy you finally fucked was the love of your life, but he ended up being a disappointment—just like every guy you’ve fucked since. You’re still waiting for your Prince Charming to come along and sweep you off your feet so you can finally settle into the perfect life you’ve imagined for yourself.”
Elizabeth was too shocked to be offended by the words, although she ordinarily would have been. He was right. He was absolutely right. And she had no idea how he’d seen all of that in her.
“You always keep your house perfectly clean, and you have a walk-in closet full of clothes you’ve only worn once or twice because you keep shopping and buying new ones. You don’t have a pet, and you don’t keep live plants in your house. You’ve always planned to have kids by the time you’re thirty, and you’re starting to get nervous because the father of your kids hasn’t made himself known to you yet.”
“You’re wrong,” Elizabeth said, her voice a little hoarse since she was so overwhelmed by how much he’d seen in her, how right he was about all of it. “I have an orchid on my coffee table.”
He gave her a slow smile. “Yes, I can see that. And you probably care for it vigilantly so it doesn’t die.”
She licked her lips. “Is that all?”
“No, it’s not all. You’ve never once done anything truly daring.”
For the first time her jaw tightened. “That’s not true. I’ve taken plenty of risks in my life.”
“Name one.”
She thought for a moment. “I backpacked through Europe when I was eighteen.”
Matt laughed again. “With a couple of friends, right? With cell phones and plenty of money?”
That was true too, b
ut this man deserved to be taken down a few pegs. “No.”
“Don’t lie to me.” He appeared to be enjoying the conversation immensely, and even his smugness was attractive to her. “I’ll always be able to spot it.”
She dropped her eyes and took a slow sip of scotch, suddenly anxious because she was so into this man, who was like no one she’d ever met before, who just didn’t belong in her world.
He was sitting quietly when she finally put down her glass, as if he were waiting for her to respond.
So she did. “Shall I tell you what I know about you?”
“Please do.”
“You were born poor, and you’ve had a chip on your shoulder ever since.”
That much had been clear in everything he’d said and done, so it wasn’t particularly insightful, but she had to start with something.
“Guilty,” he said, holding her gaze with an entitlement that thrilled and terrified her.
“You’ve worked hard to make money, and you’ve been successful, but you put on this pretense of smug superiority so no one questions whether you actually deserve it.” She was making it up now, speaking the first thing that came to her mind, but it felt right to her.
It felt like Matt.
He arched his eyebrows and didn’t answer.
“You use your body and your sex appeal like a weapon, to keep people under control, so no one gets too close.”
“What makes you say that?” He sounded genuinely curious now, which wasn’t at all the reaction she’d been hoping for.
She wanted him to feel as exposed and vulnerable as she did.
“Because no one is as naturally sexy all the time as you are. You have to be putting it on.”
She believed what she was saying. She was sure it was true. So she was shocked when Matt threw his head back and laughed.
She frowned at him, although his laughter was just as attractive as his smoldering looks. “I was serious.”
“I know you were.” He leaned forward again until he was definitely in her personal space. He said against her ear, “You’re delicious, Elizabeth. I look forward to teaching you a few things about what sexy really means.”
To her surprise, her pussy clenched at the words and the tone of his voice.