Forbidden Stranger

by Marilyn Pappano

  Amanda caught the reflection of Julia’s glance her way in one of the mirrors that lined the wall. “Yes. She’s teaching me to dance.”

  “She’s the best,” Monique said, getting a few murmurs of agreement along with a few disgruntled snorts.

  Julia smiled. “That’s what Rick said.”

  The mere mention of his name caught everyone’s attention, including Amanda’s. Had he really said she was the best dancer at Almost Heaven? Had he actually watched her enough to have an opinion?

  “Rick?” one girl echoed. “The bartending hunk? How do you know him?”

  Julia’s cheeks turned pink as she stumbled over an answer. “I—He’s—”

  “She’s Rick’s girl,” Amanda said. It was an old-fashioned term, but one she liked. Her dad had always introduced her mom as his girl, even after nearly twenty years of marriage. I love you and Take care of my girl had been his last words to Amanda before she’d fled his room, unable to watch him die.

  How badly had she let him down?

  Shaking off the melancholy, Amanda watched as every gaze in the room shifted to Julia, some curious, some calculating. Did the information make them think better of Julia? Or worse of Rick?

  Eternity broke the silence. “A good eye for beauty and sexiness. Tell us more, sugar. Is he as hot as he looks? Does he curl your toes? Make you lose consciousness?”

  Julia’s blush turned scarlet, but that didn’t stop her eyes from widening. “Lose consciousness? Have you ever—”

  Turning back to the mirror, Eternity picked up a pot of blush and a fat brush, studied her reflection, then set both down again. You couldn’t improve on perfection, she often teased. “No,” she said, then a slow, sexy smile curved her mouth, teeth gleaming white against glossy red lips. “But I’ve made it happen a time or two.”

  Tuning out the laughter, Amanda stepped behind the cheap silk screen that also served as a hanger and stripped out of her clothes. She wriggled into a red-and-white striped Brazilian thong, then added a breakaway skirt that looked like faded denim. The top was red, as well, two strips of fabric that cupped her breasts, then tied in the middle, leaving a few inches of dangling ruffles. The same small ruffles edged the material all the way around, including the off-the-shoulder cap sleeves. After letting her hair down, she left the privacy of the screen for a seat to put on six-inch heels with sexy ankle straps.

  “Amanda’s modest,” Monique said to Julia with a sly wink. “I bet you are, too. I bet no one’s seen you naked besides your mama, your boyfriends and your gynecologist.”

  “Nothing wrong with that,” Eternity commented, and Amanda silently agreed. No one saw her naked, either, not since the last guy she’d dated, and that had been a very long time ago. So long that now she was coveting someone else’s boyfriend.

  Feeling as hot as Julia looked, Amanda stood. “I’m going to get some water. Anybody want any?”

  A half dozen hands went up around the room. Ignoring the hint of panic in Julia’s eyes, Amanda left the dressing room and headed for the bar. Rick wasn’t working tonight, though he planned to be there when the club opened at seven. Otherwise, she would have asked one of the younger girls still wearing comfortable street shoes to get the water for her.

  She hadn’t gone farther than the end of the hall when her calf muscles started to protest. Maybe it had been the longer-than-usual run that morning, or the workouts she got with Julia, or maybe, she admitted with a smile, she was just getting old. Whatever the reason, she needed to do a few stretches before taking the stage to prevent a muscle spasm mid-dance. She’d seen it happen, and it wasn’t a pretty sight.

  “What are you grinning about?”

  The smile faded when she saw Rick behind the bar. “I thought you were off tonight.”

  “I was, but Vincent called in sick.”

  Vincent, one of the other bartenders, often called in sick. The only reason Rosey didn’t fire him was because they’d been together a long time. Sentimentality went a long way with their boss.

  “Where’s Julia?”

  Amanda rested her hands on the polished wood bar. “Getting acquainted with the others. Eternity likes her.”

  “A lot of people like her. I like her.”

  Yeah. Me, too. “Can I have eight bottled waters?”

  “Sure.” But he didn’t move to get them. He stayed where he was, leaning against the counter, arms folded over his chest. Unlike his girlfriend, he knew how to do casual. His jeans were faded practically white, his shirt was a rich russet shade and his belt was brown leather, well-worn. Between his amazing looks and body and his complete self-confidence, he could fit in anywhere in those clothes.

  He freed one hand long enough to gesture in the general area of her breasts. “You doing a cowgirl thing tonight?”

  She resisted the urge to adjust her top. As she’d told Julia, tugging at your clothes was a no-no. If you were going to wear revealing clothes, whether it was a stripper outfit on a club stage or a bikini on a public beach, then you should keep your hands away. Tugging just made you look self-conscious. The clothes covered what they covered, nothing more.

  “Actually, I think of it as my Daisy Duke thing,” she replied airily.

  “That must go over well with your good-ole-Georgia-boy customers.”

  “They don’t care much what I’m wearing. They’re more interested in what I’m going to take off and when.”

  He shrugged as if that were a given. “What can I say? Men are scum.”

  “And you speak from experience.”

  “Yes, ma’am. I’ve been a man all my life. My old man was out of the picture long before he died, but my granddads and uncles stepped in to make sure my mother didn’t have too calming an influence on my brothers and me. They succeeded.”

  “Your parents were divorced?” She aimed for an idle tone, but didn’t know if she managed. Of course, she knew Sara and Gerald Calloway hadn’t been divorced, but unless she was willing to let Rick know that she came from Copper Lake, she couldn’t admit it.

  And she didn’t want Rick to know. Didn’t want him to mention her to his mother, who might remember those poor Nelsons, or his brother, who would almost surely remember Randy Mandy. She’d hated that nickname, had hated Robbie and, for a time, had hated herself.

  But the nickname and the memories were in the past, where they belonged. She wouldn’t let them into the present.

  “Nope, no divorce,” Rick replied. “He just checked out. He was a lawyer and worked for the family businesses. He traveled a lot. Played a lot. He had better things to do than raise his kids. That was Mom’s job.”

  “Did Mom know that before she had the three little devils?”

  He grinned. “Aw, we weren’t Satan. Just his spawn.” Finally he pushed away from the counter, set a tray in front of her and began taking bottled water from the refrigerator two at a time. “Turned out there was a lot Mom didn’t know until after the fact. That she was going to be a single mother long before he died. That he didn’t have a clue what it meant to be faithful. That she’d wind up helping to raise his illegitimate son.” His expression turned cynical. “At one point, he was married to my mom, engaged to Mitch’s mother, who was pregnant with him at the time, and had a couple other women on the side.”

  “He was ambitious,” Amanda commented quietly.

  “He was scum.” There was no teasing now. If Rick possessed any gentler feelings for his father, he was hiding them well.

  She shifted the subject to something less resented. “So you get along with your father’s illegitimate son?” She remembered Mitch Lassiter from his frequent visits to Copper Lake. In age, he came between Rick and Russ, and as far as looks, the family resemblance was there. Not as strong as between the three Calloway boys, but the connection between Mitch and the boys was apparent.

  “Sure. Mitch is family.”

  She remembered that, too. Sara had acknowledged him as Gerald’s son and, therefore, hers, and she’d corrected anyone who�
��d called him a stepson or half brother. Gerald had never been a father to Mitch, but Sara had certainly been a mother.

  Rick twisted the cap off the last bottle of water and, instead of setting it on the tray, offered it to her. “What about you? Any brothers or sisters?”

  “No, it’s just me. My family’s not nearly as interesting as yours. No infidelity, no trust issues, no lack of commitment.”

  “Just your quadriplegic father, your mother taking care of him, and you…taking care of her?”

  After a sip of cold water, she shrugged. “I helped where I could.” She’d handled the housework, the laundry, the cooking and the shopping. She’d read to her father, played his favorite music and sometimes even danced for him. He’d watched her with such emotion that too often she’d choked up. He had wanted so much for her—college, a career, a family and a home—and he’d believed she would get it all.

  She’d graduated from college and her career was just weeks away. She had a home and a family was always possible. She’d fulfilled most of his dreams for her, but at what price? How disappointed would he have been by the choices she’d made to get from near-poverty in Copper Lake to where she was today?

  This would break your daddy’s heart, her mother had once told her. I’m glad he’s gone so he can’t see what you’ve sunk to.

  The words had broken Amanda’s heart.

  “It must have been tough.”

  There was something in Rick’s tone—sympathy, understanding, maybe even a bit of admiration—that made her stomach flip-flop and her fingers tremble. She curled them tightly to hold them steady and shrugged as if his tone didn’t matter. “You do what you have to do.”

  That had been Brenda’s mantra, but she’d been none too happy when Amanda had applied it to her dancing. There were other jobs, her mother had insisted, that didn’t involve dancing half-naked for strangers and perverts.

  There were. But Amanda liked dancing and it had helped her achieve a certain lifestyle.

  Amanda glanced at the clock behind the bar. Ten minutes till seven. Chad would open the door soon, the early customers would wander in and the first dancers of the evening would take the three stages. “I’d better get back to the dressing room.” Picking up the tray, setting a few bottles to wobbling, she murmured thanks and headed for the back.

  She swore she could feel Rick’s gaze on her until the stage door swung shut behind her. In the dressing room, she passed around the tray, setting the extra bottle in front of Julia, then sat down at her dressing table.

  Thanks to the day’s humidity, her curls were wilder than usual. She didn’t try to tame them, but pulled them back on each side and secured them with a large silver comb.

  Doing a cowgirl thing tonight? Rick had asked. Why not? She added silver earrings that dangled from her lobes, slid chunky silver rings on three fingers and a thumb, clipped conchas to the tie of her blouse and the tiny straps of her thong and circled her middle with a narrow chain linking tiny conchas.

  “Did you like to play dress-up when you were little?”

  She glanced at Julia as she slid a fringed suede band over her wrist to her upper arm. “I think I must have, because in the beginning, I got a real kick out of these clothes. Now, they’re like your suits. Comfortable. Familiar.”

  “I can’t imagine the day I’ll be comfortable in a thong and a teeny bra,” Julia said ruefully.

  “It’ll come. Trust me.”

  “‘Trust me,’” Julia mimicked. “You sound like Rick.”

  Amanda met her gaze in the mirror. “Do you?”

  “Trust Rick? With my life.”

  That was about as ringing as an endorsement could get. Amanda could see where he would inspire that kind of faith in Julia. She thought, with a few more personal conversations, he might inspire that kind of faith in her. He would be the first man since her father.

  There was a rap at the open door, then Harry’s gray head appeared around the corner. “It’s seven o’clock. Eternity, Monique, Pilar, get out front.” His gaze zeroed in on Julia. “You’re not one of my girls.”

  Julia stiffened and flushed, looking as guilty as a ten-year-old caught ditching class. Amanda touched her shoulder reassuringly as she stood. “This is a friend of mine. Harry Clark, Julia Dautrieve. Harry manages this place and the dancers.”

  “And it’s like trying to herd cats,” he muttered. He looked Julia over head to toe, then grunted. With him, the grunt could mean anything from Nice to meet you to Get the hell outta my club. “Amanda, we’ve got a special this Saturday. You interested?”

  She shook her head.

  “Didn’t think so.” He looked at Julia again, gaze narrowed. With all five of Rosey’s clubs under his control, Harry was always on the lookout for new prospects. Was he envisioning Julia as a prospect or hoping she wasn’t? His next words answered that question. “I don’t suppose your friend here—”

  Amanda smiled politely. “No.”

  He grinned. “It never hurts to ask. You’re on at seven-thirty.” With that, he left the room again.

  Julia was wide-eyed. “What was he talking about? What is a special?”

  “Nothing you’d be interested in.”

  “Oh, Amanda, I’m interested in everything. Can’t you tell by my wild and adventurous lifestyle?”

  “Not this, you aren’t.” Amanda flipped open an eye kit and touched up the shadows that darkened her lids, then thickened and smudged her eyeliner. She added an extra coat of mascara to her upper lashes and a light dusting of apricot blush to her cheeks. After applying liner, lipstick and gloss to turn her mouth a shiny brownie-red pout, she looked up to find Julia watching her. Obviously still looking for pointers, it was clear Julia wasn’t yet comfortable with her new makeup routine, but she would get there.

  About the same time a thong became comfortable.

  “Eternity and some of the others are going out after work. They invited us along. Want to go?”

  Seven hours’ work, then go out to party or home to bed? There was no contest. “I don’t think so. But you go ahead. You’ll have a good time.” Eternity was friendly and outgoing, but she wasn’t a risk taker. The places she went were safe; the people she hung out with were law-abiding.

  “You sure?”

  “Yeah. I’ve got a date with my bed. But Eternity’s fun. She’ll entertain you and get you home safely before dawn.”

  Julia grinned, her eyes damn near sparkling. “Oh, wow. I’m going out with strippers. Isn’t that cool?”

  Chapter 5

  H e would fill in for Vincent, but not lock up. That was the deal Rick had made with Harry that got him out the door at 2:02. Harry was in the office, Chad was none-too-happily closing up and the women were all in the dressing room. Rick was betting Amanda would be the next one out the door and he was waiting for her.

  He was lucky he was still able to stand after that first set she’d done. She’d taken inspiration from his comment and switched from Daisy Duke to cowgirl. She had strutted and sashayed all over the main stage, her movements so sexy and suggestive that she might as well have been wearing a sign that said, Ride me, cowboy.

  There had been a fair number of men in the audience panting for a chance, along with one behind the bar.

  She came out the exit, the light above gleaming on her coppery hair, and took the steps two at a time. She was humming to herself, something classical. Stripper, lit teacher and Bach lover. Interesting package.

  He let her unlock the car and toss her duffel in the backseat before he straightened in the shadows. “Hey, Amanda.”

  She might have tensed a bit. He couldn’t be sure, because he was thinking every woman with a body like hers should be required to wear tight jeans cut low on the hips and skimpy shirts that left a lot of pale golden stomach bare. Why waste fabric covering something that really should be seen?

  “Hey, Rick,” she said at last. “Julia’s in the dressing room.”

  “I know. She’s going out with Eternity. I
hear you turned them down.”

  “I’m too old to work and party in the same night.”

  He grinned. Old had never looked so good. “Julia said you said it was okay.”

  “Eternity’s responsible. She’ll keep an eye on her.”

  Did it occur to Amanda that they were talking about a thirty-three-year-old woman as if she were a child? Despite her naiveté and her stick-up-her-ass attitude, Julia had been in situations that would have scared Amanda spitless. But Julia did have that naiveté and the stick-up-her-ass attitude, and they somehow negated the tough, pistol-toting-cop side of her.

  Amanda shifted, as if she wanted to get in her car and leave—I’ve got a date with my bed, she’d told Julia. He moved, too, taking a few steps toward her.

  “You want to get some coffee?”

  His question surprised her. She glanced at the club, nothing across the back but the door and cinder blocks painted tan. On the other side of those cinder blocks, though, was his live-in girlfriend, or so Amanda thought. Maybe he should have nixed the relationship idea from the start. It would have worked as well to say that Julia was just a friend—though that lacked a built-in deterrent to keep him and Amanda apart.

  That would have been okay. He was deterrent enough.

  “Aw, come on,” he cajoled when she didn’t answer. “They’re going out partying. She’ll be having fun. Besides, I bet you’ve never had coffee with the spawn of Satan.”

  Her smile was only about half-formed, a little mysterious, a whole lot interesting. “Don’t count on it. Where?”

  “There’s an all-night pancake place a half mile west of here.” It was the same place where he’d met Julia for their too-early meeting a few days earlier. Home of great pancakes, bad coffee and waitresses who had zero interest in their customers. Ideal.

  “I’ll meet you there.”

  As she got into her car and started the engine, he headed for the Camaro. He was halfway there when his cell rang. Fishing it from his pocket, he glanced at the caller ID, then flipped it open. “It’s two-fifteen in the a.m. and I’m talking with a stripper. Why are you interrupting me?”