SinCityTryst

by Kim Tiffany

  Wow. Even from this distance, she could see that their perky boobs were the product of modern science and not nature. Sara scanned the crowd with interest, grateful that she had entered through the back of the wide room. She’d never been to a female strip club before. The clientele seemed pretty high end, made up of large groups of well-dressed men, although a few loners and women did in fact dot the crowd. There was a lot of clapping and whistling while the two women undulated against the thick, gleaming pole in the center of the runway.

  A sudden shout of laughter had her cocking her head once more. There it was again. Where was it coming from? It sounded so familiar. She peered through the smoky interior. Her gaze landed on a nearby table occupied by six or seven large, burly men. A red-haired stripper wearing a G-string and tassels on her nipples was sitting jauntily at the men’s table, perched on the edge like a pinup model and smiling seductively at a man who sat in a chair before her. Sara watched in fascination as the woman nimbly rose and straddled the man’s lap, making sure that her tasseled breasts rubbed all over his face on the way down and bobbing suggestively in his lap for good measure.

  The man laughed and tucked a bill into her miniscule G-string, smiling over at his friends and saying something over the music. At the sight of his profile in the dim light, Sara froze like a deer in headlights.

  Holy shit. Ethan. She’d know him anywhere. Big and sleep-rumpled and smiling, it was definitely him who sat beneath the questing hands and pumping hips of the red-haired dancer, wearing a grin from ear to ear on his handsome, oblivious face.

  All the breath in her body left in one great whoosh as a dull, pounding ache filled her head. She was unable to look away as the dancer continued to grind her gravity-resistant breasts against him and stroke his wide shoulders, the same shoulders that Sara had clutched and clawed at with such abandon only a few hours ago.

  Possessive outrage flared inside her but she ruthlessly quashed it and stashed it away quickly before she could analyze it any further—deep, then deeper, into that secret, vulnerable part of herself that was used to being passed over by men her entire life because of her physical shortcomings. Hope died a slow, painful death as it dawned on her that Ethan was not pining over her somewhere, counting the minutes until their next meeting.

  He probably had no intention of inviting her back to his room tonight. And why would he? He was a freakin’ stud, for crying out loud. Why the hell would he feel the need to cloister himself in his hotel room with a pudgy, prudish schoolteacher who lacked an iota of sex appeal? She watched with burning eyes as the stunning redhead turned so that her bare bottom was waggling in front of him, inciting a riot of catcalls from the males that surrounded her.

  Sara realized with dawning dread that the parts of her that she’d presented to Ethan earlier that evening couldn’t possibly look as taut and perfect as that woman’s shimmying posterior. In fact, she cringed as she began to realize how much thicker her waist, thighs and hips were in comparison—not to mention the stretch marks and jiggling cellulite. The redhead’s unblemished breasts and flat tummy mocked her, as did her long, slim yet shapely legs. She watched Ethan say something to the group that caused them all to hoot again, and someone handed him another bill to slip under her G-string.

  She’d seen enough. Sara turned away, dejected.

  He could have his choice from a bevy of beautiful women. They practically threw themselves at his feet. From what she could see, Ethan was definitely one of the boys, and he wasn’t about to fall down on one knee with a declaration of love after a one-night stand. Sara wanted to kick herself for being so naïve. Being around ten-year-olds all the time must’ve been rubbing off on her.

  She slunk out of the club, tugging her silk wrap around her and clutching the ends in her fist. She hailed the first cab she saw and gave the driver the name of her hotel.

  She was going back home to San Francisco tonight. There was no way she could continue to play the part of jolly old Sara, the perpetual fucking bridesmaid. She would use her return ticket early and Angie would just have to understand. She wasn’t made of stone. Ethan might have felt no compunction at the idea of casually sleeping around, but she suddenly felt as if she would shatter at a strong gust of wind. She was a fool to think that she could get out of this deal unscathed; her history of failed relationships alone was testament to the fact that she didn’t do casual sex very well. She needed both time and distance to allow her feelings to scab over.

  Numb and heartsick, Sara dragged out her suitcase once she stumbled back into her hotel room and began to haphazardly pull her clothes from the drawers. She tossed them into her case, not even bothering to fold or organize anything, before heading to the bathroom to collect toiletries. Something was missing, though…

  Oh god, her vibrator!

  With a groan, Sara buried her hot face in her hands and struggled to breathe normally. The pleasure had been so intense, so overwhelming, at least for her. How could it possibly be like that between just anyone? How could he not have felt an ounce of the desperate craving she had experienced, the need to touch and taste him until he permeated her very senses?

  Sara closed her eyes at the radiating waves of pain remembering caused her. She tried to block out the carnal images of his mouth on her hot, pulsing core, of reaching for him as she broke apart in ecstasy while he brought her to peak after peak after peak…

  Stop! You dumb cow, it was an impulse, and now it’s done. She mechanically finished gathering her things and checked herself out of the hotel with a minimum of fuss. She caught a taxi to nearby McCarran Airport and put herself on the standby list for the last flight back to San Francisco, which was in about an hour.

  She felt drained and a bit light-headed as she slumped into one of the uncomfortable chairs near the flight gate to wait. She’d managed to leave a message for Angie on her cell right before it died, but she’d forgotten to pack her charger so her phone now lay silent and dark in her purse.

  Glancing at her reflection in the terminal window, she winced. Her perniciously round face and cheeks set against a halo of curly brown hair stared back mockingly, her eyes red and bright from smoky interiors, lack of sleep and unshed tears.

  Men like Ethan la Montagne simply did not pine after women like her, she reminded herself. She thought she had glimpsed real desire and appreciation in his eyes earlier, but now that the ardor had cooled and the sweat had dried, she wasn’t sure anymore. She couldn’t compute how he could possibly want her again after seeing her physical polar opposite draped across him like a human Slinky—tight and toned and cellulite-free.

  If she were a man, whom would she choose? It was no contest.

  Introspection made her head throb even more. Things wouldn’t seem so bad in the light of day, she hoped. But for now…

  It was a good thing the airplane provided a built-in designated driver, because she planned to get rip-roaring drunk.

  Chapter Nine

  Sean watched his best man slip another bill into the redhead’s G-string and the entire crew hollered good-naturedly, too ramped up to notice how Ethan glanced down at his watch for the millionth time that evening. He was doing a great imitation of a man who was into it, Sean thought—instead of one who was counting the hours until he could drag a certain elementary schoolteacher off to another dark corner.

  “You sure you’re ready to give this up for the rest of your life, Sean?” quipped Alan, the youngest member of the firehouse, whose eyes were glued to the stripper’s gyrating hips and thighs as he nursed his third rum and Coke of the evening. “Hey, baby, how about taking me out for a spin next?” he called out.

  “You couldn’t handle a real woman, junior,” Sean retorted, slapping him on the back and smiling indulgently. His phone pinged, and Sean smiled as he read the exuberant text from his fiancée while the rest of his crew got their jollies by salivating over the lovely Kimber.

  The redhead continued to climb his best friend like a hungry chimp, and Ethan looked as thoug
h he was enjoying the attention about as much as a rectal exam. Sean made a mental note to let Angie know that her best friend had finally gone and made complete mincemeat out of Ethan’s brain—the guy was obviously over the moon for her. He bit back a grin as he recalled how flustered Ethan had sounded earlier on the phone when he’d asked him about Sara.

  Sean pulled a twenty out of his wallet and shoved it in Alan’s hand, who stared at it uncomprehendingly. He then strolled over to Kimber and whispered in her ear. She looked over her shoulder with a raised brow and saw a befuddled Alan still holding the twenty-dollar bill. With a sinuous glide, she eased off Ethan and turned her attention to the awestruck twenty-two-year-old. The guys whooped with laughter and made ribald jokes about Alan’s overexcited state, warning him not to blow like a geyser as the redhead began her undulating dance anew.

  Sean sauntered over to Ethan and helped pull him up out of the chair. “So,” he said conversationally, “what’s the deal? Hot Vegas showgirls not your thing?”

  “Thanks, man.” He looked more than a little relieved that the lap dance was over. “Nah, she was great,” Ethan said with barely feigned enthusiasm. “Really hot.”

  “Uh-huh. That’s why you looked like you fell asleep while she was giving you a titty facial?”

  “I wasn’t asleep. I just…closed my eyes to savor the moment.”

  “Bullshit. The only thing that was missing was a night-light.”

  Sean handed him a cold beer and watched Ethan take a long, fortifying slug without replying. He decided to test the waters and see if his friend was as far gone as he suspected.

  “I remember a time when Kimber was definitely your type,” he said with deceptive casualness. “You liked ’em long and lean and giggly back then.”

  Ethan grunted in response and stared down at his feet as though he found them fascinating.

  “Seems your taste runs more towards chubby brunettes now.”

  Ethan’s head swiveled around, casual demeanor gone. “Watch it, Sean,” he growled in a low voice.

  Ignoring the signs of impending doom, Sean continued. “Hey, no offense! Some guys like a little meat on their women. I mean, Sara does have an awesome set of…” He cupped and gestured with his hands, and waggled his eyebrows in a lascivious manner.

  “Cut it out, goddammit.”

  “And that booty. I mean, if I had a paddle—”

  “Shut the fuck up.” Ethan looked like an enraged bull, ready to charge and gore him with relish. His voice was hard as granite, his stance wide and aggressive. “Don’t talk about her like that.” His tone brooked no argument.

  “Like what?” Sean asked with wide-eyed innocence, deliberately baiting the tiger. “Oh, I don’t mean I’d ever make a move or anything. I’m about to be a married man, after all. Plus, we’ve known Sara forever. She’s practically one of the guys. But you gotta wonder, that body, in the dark…”

  Ethan’s considerable bulk seemed to grow exponentially as he pressed in until they were nose-to-nose. Sean observed his friend rippling with suppressed fury, and tried not to show his glee. Ethan’s voice was still low, but menacing enough to make Sean wince.

  “Brother, if you want to be able to walk down the aisle on your wedding day,” he bit off harshly, “you won’t finish that sentence.” It didn’t take a genius to see that Ethan was deadly serious.

  Their gazes locked, and Sean assessed the situation in his nimble brain.

  Possessive, starry-eyed, ready to do damage to his best friend before his wedding day…

  Huh. Ethan had it bad. Damn, this was going to be fun.

  But first, he had to make sure his friend didn’t take his head off for no good reason. Sean quickly dropped the act and held both hands up in supplication, his shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter. “It took you long enough to admit it. Angie and I were beginning to lose hope.” He smiled apologetically and shrugged, trying to coax him out of his incensed state.

  “Don’t push me, Sean.” Ethan continued to glare at his friend.

  “Ethan, I swear I was just messing with you,” Sean said with a wry grin. “I think Sara is wonderful. And she’s all yours, buddy.”

  Ethan calmed by degrees, relaxing his stance when he realized he’d been had. Flustered, he took a mock swing at Sean and cuffed him in the back of the neck.

  “You’re a real dick, you know that,” he said gruffly, rubbing his face with one hand and taking a swig from the forgotten longneck with the other to hide his embarrassment.

  He flipped a chair backward and sat with his arms overhanging the back, still somewhat sore from the sexual acrobatics earlier in the evening and yet eager to go out, collect his woman and do it all over again. Sean mimicked his motions and sat beside him.

  “So, what the hell are you doing here tonight?” Sean asked with his usual directness. “Shouldn’t you be back in your room, fucking each other’s brains out? Why haven’t you called her?”

  “I did. She’s not picking up. Keeps going to voicemail.”

  Sean made a thoughtful sound, and they both continued to watch the dancing in silence.

  “Was it bad?” he ventured, causing Ethan to choke a little. He didn’t need a manual to figure out what Sean meant.

  Images of Sara staring up at him beseechingly and sobbing in pleasure, splayed out for his enjoyment like a feast, instantly came to mind. He closed his eyes and set his teeth against the wave of lust that accompanied the memories of their lovemaking, feeling the sudden erection press against his fly. He had to swallow hard before he could answer.

  “No,” he replied curtly. Ethan ignored Sean’s raised eyebrows and wicked grin.

  “Ah.” The soft exhalation held a wealth of understanding. “So, you rocked each other’s worlds, and then she pulled a disappearing act.”

  Yep. That was about the gist of it.

  “What can I say, bud? Women can be crazy.”

  “Amen.” Ethan savagely clinked his beer against Sean’s and took another long swig. “Good luck with yours.”

  “Oh, mine’s a trip. But I love her,” Sean said fondly as he took out his cell phone and checked out the latest text message sent by his angel. “She says that she’s sandwiched right now between a sailor who isn’t wearing his Dickies and a construction worker with a loaded tool belt.”

  Ethan snorted and shook his head. He wondered how Sean remained so calm about his soon-to-be bride rubbing up against a bunch of half-naked guys in a club. “It doesn’t bother you?” he couldn’t help asking. If it was Sara locked in between two greasy yahoos in Speedos, he’d have already tackled them to get them the hell away from her. She was entirely too edible as it was.

  “Eh, it’s all in fun,” he replied with a shrug, still reading the steady stream of texts. “In a few days, she’ll be sandwiched between me and our mattress for the rest of our lives, if I can help it. I can afford to let her cut loose with her girlfriends for one weekend.” Sean smiled indulgently, and Ethan noted how mellow and happy his friend was. Angie really was a terrific influence on him, and she was a great girl.

  Now, if only she could exert some of that influence on Sara and send her tumbling his way…he would make sure to be there to catch her and whisk her away as fast as humanly possible. She was so damn elusive, like a deer moving through the brush. If you looked away for a minute, she was gone.

  “So…” Ethan asked casually, trying to find a tactful way to find out whether he knew anything about the location of the bachelorette party. Finally he settled with, “Are the girls having fun?”

  Sean shook his head and snorted even while he texted. “Dude, how long have we known each other? If you want to know if Sara is with Angie, just say so.”

  Ethan bit back a curse and ran a frustrated hand through his hair. “Fine,” he griped. “Ask her for me, will you?”

  “Already have, shithead.”

  “Thanks, prick.”

  Sean’s phone chirped, and as he read the response, his face broke out in a grin.r />
  “Aw, man, you’re not going to believe this.”

  “What?” Ethan asked with feigned manly indifference. He was dying to know.

  “Guess where Angie and her bridesmaids are?”

  Ethan bit back a growl of frustration and scowled.

  Sean laughed and shook his head. “They’re here, dude.”

  “Huh? Where?” Ethan jumped to his feet, scanning the dim room with untapped eagerness. She was here? Sara was here?

  “Not right here, you idiot. They’re watching the male dancers in another part of the club. This place must be huge. I didn’t know they catered to both men and women.”

  Ethan was already halfway to the door before he felt Sean grab his shoulder suddenly. The frown on his friend’s face had his ready retort dying in his throat. “What is it?” he demanded impatiently. “Are they there or not?” He couldn’t wait to see Sara again, to hold her and feel her glorious form underneath him.

  Sean held a finger up while he finished reading the last text message. “Wait, Ethan. Angie’s party is here…but Sara’s not with them.”

  His lungs deflated as disappointment lay in his stomach like lead. And then he was worried, too. She had left his room hours ago, and if it wasn’t to rejoin Angie and her bachelorette party, what had caused her to leave?

  “So where the hell is she?” he asked, piqued by the situation past the point of politeness. “It’s almost two in the morning. Is she back at the hotel? Can Angie tell me that at least?”

  “Wait…shit, hold on,” Sean muttered as he quickly dialed his fiancée. “Angie, honey, what’s going on?” His face grew somber as he listened to her response, and Ethan felt himself grow unaccountably anxious as the minutes stretched. He paced a bit while Sean spoke with his fiancée, and finally couldn’t stand it anymore. He neatly plucked the phone out of Sean’s hand and put it to his own ear. “Angie? Where the hell is Sara?”

  “Ethan, is that you? Sara isn’t here.”

  “You already mentioned that, sweetheart,” Ethan said with barely restrained impatience. “So, is she back at the hotel?” He figured he could grab a cab and be back down the south end of the Strip in about fifteen minutes, easy.