The Secret Baby

by Harper, Leddy

  Suddenly, the music from the club became nothing more than a muted thump through the walls. With a quick glance over my shoulder, I noticed someone had closed the glass partition at the top of the steps, offering us seclusion from the crowd on the other side.

  I’d been to Boots enough times to know that while I could see the people and lights through the privacy glass, no one could see in. I was also aware of the security cameras inside these booths and the team who watched the feeds in a back room. Cheryl had given me the ins and outs of this place, and it made me feel like I had an advantage over everyone else.

  The attendant for the room came over with his hand out, palm up, expectation in his eyes. At first, I thought he might’ve been in search of a tip, but I didn’t understand why he’d receive one before the night was over. Then he leaned forward and said, “If you have a playlist ready, I’ll get it set up for you.”

  It took only a second to figure out that he meant the playlist of songs I planned to dance to. That’s when my skin began to flush, a heat wave washing over me until I felt damp in all the wrong places—not that there were any right places to sweat, but I digress.

  Even though I wasn’t a professional, these ladies believed I was. Which meant I had to play the part and leave them convinced. So I slid my cell out of my pocket and began to browse through every available tune I could find until I had what I felt was a solid lineup of beats one might take one’s clothes off to.

  I didn’t have the faintest idea what kind of music was appropriate for this sort of thing. But with the limited amount of time I’d been given to find something, I went with a variety of favorites from the midnineties. If someone had told me twenty years ago that I’d be in my early thirties, single, and so desperate to make it to the second date without getting locked in the friend zone . . . I would’ve totally believed them. On the other hand, had they told me I’d be here, searching songs from the Space Jam soundtrack to strip for a group of horny females . . . I would have laughed.

  Just because my friends were under the impression that I was a natural Don Juan didn’t mean I was.

  That had been my well-kept secret since high school.

  I passed my phone to the only other male in the room and waited for everyone to take their seats. The guest of honor took her place on the decorated throne, while her friends piled onto the couch that sat opposite her. I prayed I could pull this off without ending up with five more women in this area who would never date me. Well, four. The fifth was clearly already on that list.

  When I turned away from the bride-to-be, ready to start the show for the others, I was surprised to feel a gentle yet possessive grip on my shoulder, directing me back around. Once again, her magnetic grin stole my attention . . . as well as every last brain cell.

  Her sexy voice raked over me when she said, “You’re mine tonight, Dr. Phil-Me-Up.”

  I glanced over my shoulder at the ladies on the couch, each of them turned and engaged with the one next to them as if I weren’t there. They chatted it up like they were at a Starbucks, not a nightclub. The drinks in their hands might as well have been coffee.

  “Here . . .” Her voice drew my attention until I settled my heated gaze on the temptress in front of me again. She had a shot glass in each hand, one held out in my direction. “You look like you might need something to take the edge off.”

  I would need more than whatever was in this shooter, but this would have to do . . . for now. I took it from her and dropped my head back, filling my mouth with the harsh taste of tequila. It went down as smooth as pouring gasoline on a fire.

  After taking the empty glass from my fingers, she twisted around and set them both on a tray that covered a small table next to her chair. I was surprised to find the majority of them flipped upside down, drained of their contents, and a part of me worried she had consumed them all. But I didn’t detect the slightest sway or stumble as she lowered herself onto her throne, so I filed that concern away and moved on.

  The sound of a train flooded the speakers.

  It’s now or never, all or nothing.

  Fisting the lapels of my coat, I wedged myself between the bride’s legs and began to shimmy the fabric off my shoulders, all while hoots and hollers resounded from behind me. My blood thumped wildly, hips swaying side to side with the drunken encouragement of “Take it all off, Doc!” from her friends.

  However, even with the added commentary, her eyes remained on mine. Cool. Aloof.

  With the coat now at my feet, I moved to the tie.

  “Oh, baby!” came from over my shoulder as I worked the knot loose. “You can tie me up!” But I ignored the outbursts and proceeded to focus on the bachelorette, who sat back with a pleased curl to her glossy lips. There was an airiness to her. A certain detachment, like she was waiting for me to draw her in.

  In my head, seductively removing my clothes couldn’t have been hard. I’d gone through graduate school and defended a dissertation on facial-recognition impairment following traumatic brain injuries. This should’ve been a walk in the park. However, as soon as I had my tie hooked around her shoulders, inching her toward my thrusting pelvis, I realized how much actually went into the art of stripping. This all became clear when the sex kitten in front of me took it upon herself to help me out of my clothes.

  While I moved, she worked the buttons on my shirt. While I rocked my hips close to her face, she unfastened my belt. And while I remained lost in her touch—the touch of the forbidden that I had no right to experience or find joy in—she released the zipper on my pants. I only snapped out of the fantasies she’d provoked when she tugged on my slacks, desperate to get them down my legs.

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa.” I grabbed her wrists and took one step away. “Take it easy. You can’t rush the process.”

  Her intoxicating lips quirked to one side, a secret hiding in the seductive smirk. “I want to see what you’re packing in there, Doc.”

  “Patience reaps the biggest rewards.”

  She arched one brow and tilted her head just so. “Are you saying you’re big?”

  I’d learned that there was no good answer for this kind of question. “Size is relative.”

  “That means you’re small.”

  I froze, stunned silent. But I shook it off and said, “Not even close.”

  “Then prove it.” She reached out and grabbed both ends of my open belt, using them as a leash to guide me between her parted legs. Rather than look at me, she kept her sights trained on my body as she drew herself closer to my crotch. Then she curled her fingers beneath the elastic band of my boxers and met my stare, the heated desire in her eyes bringing my dick to life. Regardless of the fact that she wasn’t mine, that she had promised herself to another man, I was helpless to remove her hands from my body. And when she grazed her lips along my lower abdomen, demanding that I dance, I obeyed—under the lie that it was only to create distance between us.

  I tried to keep up with the beat of the song, though it proved to be difficult with the way she continued to touch me. Well, that, and the dollar bills that seemed to float down from the ceiling as they were thrown at me from behind. Even when I turned around and held myself over her lap, I couldn’t concentrate enough to move fluidly. However, when she groaned in frustration, I was ready to call it quits.

  “You’ve got to be the world’s worst stripper. No wonder you were so cheap.” She’d somehow managed to insult me with a genuine smile and infectious giggle, which kept my confidence from splintering.

  “If you can do this better, then by all means . . . show me how it’s done.”

  To my surprise, she said, “My pleasure.”

  She pushed herself to her feet and pressed her warm palm to my chest, adding a slightly forceful shove. With my ass in the plush chair, she stood over me, and I couldn’t ignore the smug satisfaction written on her face. It was like she’d won. Which was absurd, considering I was the real winner—a sexy woman was about to grind on me, and I didn’t even have to pay
her.

  She leaned over, offering me a front-row view of the cleavage I wanted to suffocate in, and settled her hands on my shoulders. It didn’t matter that another ridiculous nineties song played through the speakers, one that even a professional couldn’t keep up with. All I cared about was the way she slid one knee over my leg before settling it between my hip and the armrest, halfway straddling my lap. The hem of her dress crept higher on her milky thighs, though it never rode high enough to expose what hid beneath it.

  The older one of the group yelled out, “Give the woman a pelvic exam . . . with your tongue!”

  Then the brunette, who had been more reserved until now, added, “Yeah, Dr. Phil-Me-Up. She needs a good probing.”

  It seemed the temptress on my lap didn’t appreciate her friends getting my attention, because she cupped my cheek and redirected my eyes to her. Intense desire reflected back at me, heating me up from the inside out.

  I had no clue what to do—if I could touch her, if I should touch her, where to look, if she wanted me to look. It all became too much, and I worried I’d insult or offend her no matter where I put my hands or what I focused on. In the end, I decided to drop my hand to her thigh and go from there.

  “You’re good at this.” My face was close to hers, but between the old-school hip-hop, the cackling women on the couch, and the thumping bass that vibrated through the walls, I wasn’t sure if she’d heard me. So I tried again, a little louder this time. “You move like a professional. I bet you’d make a killing doing this as a career.”

  She met my gaze, her eyes wide in disbelief.

  “Wait. That came out wrong.”

  “How exactly could telling me that I should take my clothes off for a living come out right?” At least she still wore a hint of amusement on her perfect pout.

  “I’m not sure, but I thought it sounded better than saying you move like you’d be fucking amazing in bed.” Dammit. Apparently, it’s impossible to speak past a foot in one’s mouth. “I just meant that when you roll your hips like that, it’s seductive and erotic. Hot. And very tempting.”

  “If you think this is hot . . . you should see me move while I ride you.”

  I gripped her waist in an effort to move her off me, realizing the dangerous position we were in. It was wrong, and the alarm bells in my head grew louder, deeper, warning me of what might happen if I didn’t put an end to this now. Yet my strength failed, my brain refusing to tell my limbs what to do. I needed to remove her from my lap, but instead, I held her there. I should’ve pulled myself to my feet, but I remained in the chair.

  I was helpless.

  And so fucking stupid.

  Her lids lowered just enough to give me the universal come-hither eyes while she continued with the provocative dance. I couldn’t focus on the fact that her movements didn’t match the beat of the song or that four other women cheered their friend on as she air humped me. But when her fingers trailed down my chest to the bulge in my pants, the realization that she had a man at home—a man who wasn’t me—slapped me in the face and squeezed my balls at the same time.

  Suddenly, we were in a war with each other. A push and pull of right and wrong. Of desire and honor. I shoved against her while she leaned into me. I could’ve fought harder, made more of an effort to get away, but the second she sat on me, fully straddling my thighs, I found myself in a war of my own making—a battle between both heads. And I was convinced that neither would leave here a winner.

  Everything changed, though, when she threaded her fingers through my hair. Holding my head in both hands, she closed the distance between our faces. Her lids closed, and a split second later, I felt the soft warmth of her mouth against mine.

  It was all over in the blink of an eye, yet the way she’d moved on top of me, rolling her hips into me while her mouth laid claim to mine . . . there was no way in hell I’d forget it anytime soon. In fact, there was a good chance I’d spend a week—at a minimum—stroking myself to the thoughts of another man’s fiancée.

  As if I needed something else to make me feel like shit.

  I gently pushed her off my lap and then pulled myself to my feet. The weirdest part of it all was the way her friends applauded from the couch, as if rooting for her to cheat on her future husband. Honestly, it was sickening. It drove me to secure my pants as fast as my fingers would move, then my shirt. Forgoing my tie—unwilling to spend the time to locate it—I grabbed my coat off the floor and stepped away.

  Yet the sight of her kept me from leaving.

  Rejection danced across her face. The room wasn’t well lit, and the lights used in the space weren’t the kind that offered much in the way of visibility . . . but I understood that face. I saw it every morning in the mirror. I recognized those eyes—unable to connect, shining with false excitement and dwindling hope.

  “I’m really sorry. I hope you enjoy the rest of your party, and good luck with everything.” There was so much more I wanted to say, maybe even ask, but I didn’t have the courage to stick around any longer. I was already a fraying thread, and if she gave me the slightest bit of reasoning for coming on to me while celebrating her upcoming union to someone else . . . I wasn’t sure how much longer I’d last.

  I tried to offer a parting smile to the other ladies, though they seemed to be occupied by the drama of the situation. They exchanged quick glances as if confused why I’d put a stop to the evening; one appeared annoyed. So I reminded myself that these were not the women for me, not the ones capable of a relationship, and while I enjoyed the easiness of temporary satisfaction, I would’ve so much rather had more.

  And these ladies couldn’t give me the more I sought.

  Unexpected emotions furled in my gut with each step I made away from the suite. They grew so intense that by the time I made it into the thick of the dance floor, sweaty bodies surrounding me on all sides, the demanding beats of the music were nothing more than vibrations that kept my feet moving through the crowd.

  I’d known this would be a bad idea.

  I just hadn’t been prepared for how bad . . . or why.

  “That was fast.” Cheryl stopped me at the edge of the bar, but I couldn’t shake out of my thoughts fast enough to hear what she’d said. With a perceptive smile, as if she’d known me longer than five months, she gripped my hand. “Why are you leaving so fast?”

  “You knew why they were asking for a doctor, didn’t you?” I shook my head, recognizing the unapologetic truth in her eyes. “So you sent me in there, aware that they were expecting a stripper, and you not once stopped to question how I’d feel about it?”

  “Loosen up, Aaron. If anyone could pull that off, it was you. And since you are a doctor, I figured it was fate or something. Come on . . . you’re always complaining about not being able to get a girl. Well, I just led you to five of them. What’s that saying about leading a horse to water?”

  I shook my head, hating how I couldn’t stay mad at her, no matter how ridiculous her antics could be. “Yeah, but someone who’s getting ready to walk down an aisle to another man isn’t the kind of woman I’m looking for.”

  “There were others in the group. I didn’t limit your options.”

  To a certain extent, she was right. She hadn’t told me to focus on the one with the smoking-hot body. However, she was responsible for putting me in that position to begin with.

  “Did you at least get a number? Or a name? Just one?” Her first question reminded me that I’d left my phone with the attendant. And while she tossed out a few follow-up inquiries, I frantically contemplated various ways of getting it back without going myself.

  I gripped her small shoulders and gave her a little shake. “Cheryl, listen to me. I left my phone up there. I gave it to the attendant, who took it somewhere and hooked it up to the speakers. I forgot to get it back—I had my mind on other things. I need you to get it for me, please.”

  “You’re a mess. And here I thought I was handing you the golden ticket of lady love, and you can’t
even get that right.” She rolled her bright eyes. “Sit. Drink a beer while I go fetch your belongings. Did you leave anything else up there I should be on the lookout for? Maybe your manhood? Testosterone? Anything?”

  Ignoring her digs at my pathetic life, I took a seat at the bar and waited for her to hand me a cold beer. It wasn’t that I wanted it or would even drink much of it—not after the shot of tequila upstairs. I used it more as a way to fit in with everyone else. After all, my attire made me stand out enough as it was . . . I didn’t need to be that guy. The suspicious one who clearly didn’t belong.

  A few minutes later, Cheryl came back, my tie dangling off her finger and a taunting smirk dripping from her lips. “By the way, you totally could’ve gotten that yourself. There was no one up there.”

  I took a quick glance around to see if I could spot any of the women from the party, but none of them stood out in the crowd. “That was fast.”

  Her deep-belly giggle broke through the music that consumed the dance floor behind me. “I didn’t expect you to be the best stripper in the world, but I didn’t imagine you’d clear out a room full of horny drunks. Maybe you’re right . . . maybe you are a lost cause.”

  My intense stare was meant as a middle finger without actually raising one. It was pointless, though, because all she did was laugh that off, too. And the only thing that made her calm down was the cold bottle of beer I pushed toward her.

  “This has been fun, Cheryl. Really informative. At least now I know not to come running when you tell me something’s urgent. And if you ever say you need my assistance in anything, you can bank on the fact that you won’t get it. But seriously . . . it’s been fun.” I nodded and left, leaving her standing next to the stool I’d vacated with obvious disinterest in her rolling eyes.

  At least I had an entertaining story to tell.

  There was something about being in a loud space for an extended period of time that made the quiet of the outdoors noticeable. When I’d arrived, I could hear the music clear out to my truck. Now, as I left the club, the air held almost no sound at all.