by Wendi Zwaduk
Drew took a breath of fresh air. As he burst through the parking garage door, three rows of vehicles ranging from family to sleek sports cars belonging to his co-workers welcomed him like silent sentries. Silence was exactly what he desired after the irritating call from Carlie.
The early September evening was cool and almost abrasive on his skin. The setting sun gave the chrome on the bike an orange glow. He sat astride the leather seat and gripped the handlebars. Being on the bike made him feel powerful and sexy. Drew needed to feel manly and desired. Jude. She brought out his virility. He revved the engine. She stirred him, and yet she was the one woman he couldn’t pursue. The situation reminded him of something his buddy Ned used to say.
What kind of fool messes up a good thing?
A man with a dick for brains.
Drew laughed without humour at the pun and took in the sights of the main drag to clear his mind. He wasn’t afraid of women—quite the opposite. He liked most women. But the right woman, the one who turned his world inside out, didn’t seem to exist.
Was there any woman who could love him without screwing him over? He’d had Nat, Wren, and Carlie… None of those women had flipped the switch. They had labelled him a failure and a cold-hearted man. After so much rejection, he’d begun to believe he would end up alone, like his father.
He tried to dislodge the depressive thoughts in his head. Forget women and relationships—look at the scenery and blend into the job.
Drew considered the buildings and neighbourhoods of his home town. Closed restaurants, lumbering factory buildings and abandoned furniture stores littered the area. He shook his head. The big box retail shops had moved out to the more prosperous edge of town, leaving the main city to decay. What had been a booming urban area thirty years prior was now a sad, empty and dilapidated shell of its former self. Green space was at a severe premium.
Economic healing? Not here… Concrete and crime were everywhere. All of which he remembered clearly from his beat cop days.
Drew’s humour masked his unhappiness. Just like his birthplace, he felt like a broken-down shell of his younger self. Used and abused.
He remembered when Carrington Falls had been a thriving area for oil and steel. Now it looked like a sad excuse for a ghost town with all the buildings boarded up or turned into seedy bars and strip clubs. It was cold and distant, just like his heart. So much for being a warm place to raise a family, like it used to be. Not anymore. He couldn’t make himself feel what wasn’t there.
Drew swung his long legs off the bike and turned to the setting sun. The slight warmth heated his face. Determination coiled around his brain as he locked the bike in the storage unit and strode towards the Nissan across the parking lot. For Randy and the other fallen officers, he’d nail the murderer and shut down the drug ring. “I am Ramon Decker and I’m here for the job of bouncer.”
With renewed spirit, Drew became Ramon and drove the battered black car to the strip club. He was a regular customer and tonight he’d become a part of the inner group. Time for sex with no strings or feelings—just cold distant sex and hot chicks willing to shake it. Time to kiss up to the bad guy so I can stick his ass in jail.
He walked along the crumbling black asphalt of the parking lot, past the cool red brick façade and neon signs shouting Girls, Girls, Girls, and XXX Shows, into the foyer of the Silver Steel. Here’s to the next benchmark in my life.
* * * *
Jude Nelson stood at the back of the dressing room and stretched in front of the mirror. Nude except for the flesh-coloured thong, she proceeded to examine every inch of her body to see what she could manipulate on stage to be sexier. In her opinion, she saw a plain woman with average looks.
Jude knew she wasn’t exactly the ideal specimen for an exotic dancer. Diminutive at a mere five feet two inches, she sported size C breasts and curvy hips. Far from fat, she saw herself as voluptuous in a smaller package.
She squared her shoulders and pouted her lips. “I have confidence. Dancing tonight will put me ahead three more tuition payments and maybe I’ll get to see the hunk.”
Jude tossed her hair over her shoulder. “Maybe a high ponytail with lots of curls. That might look extra hot,” she murmured to herself. She turned her head to examine her hair at another angle and frowned. What about a sleek look?
She frowned again. Without the right sexy look, the night would be long and especially rough for a Friday. Rough nights equalled paltry tips and unpaid bills. Jude wouldn’t starve, but the poverty level beckoned. She needed a good night.
“Stop staring at yourself and get dressed,” Renee Walker shouted, startling Jude. “You’re being vain. You go on in half an hour. I want you to surf the crowd once you’re done. You need to circulate more, so I can get my money’s worth out of you. It’s Thursday, so be on the point. You’ll appreciate the tips.”
Jude arched her brow at the self-appointed housemother and former dancer.
Vain? She described it as ‘attempting to be sexier than humanly possible’…definitely not vain. If Renee thought her actions to be vain, then she was sorely mistaken.
Fine. I’ll prove you wrong. I am sexy.
Jude knew full well that Renee wasn’t the gentlest of women. With a flame-red teased wig, dark brown eyebrows, heavily painted-on eyeliner and thin wrinkled lips, she wasn’t in her prime any longer. Her wide hips and perpetual grimace did nothing to improve her approachability. She’d been batted around by life and wasn’t afraid to slap back at anyone who got in her way. Many times she’d kicked at anyone who’d dared just to look at her wrong. It was a means of protection so she’d never get hurt. Her temper was notorious…with Jude as her usual target.
Today was no exception.
“You don’t really bring in the customers like you should.” She swatted Jude’s ass with an echoing crack. “You only have a few assets, so try to work them hard. Use the pasties tonight. Anything has to help your looks—God knows I can’t.”
Jude nodded and turned to the dressing table to apply the heavy stage makeup. She didn’t want to wear the pasties or step in front of that crowd. She’d prefer to wear a turtleneck and jeans, or at least her art smock, and be comfortable. She wanted respect as a true artist, not a working girl who took her clothes off for money.
But that was fodder for another day. Tonight she would shine. She had no other choice. Jude stepped into the tearaway dress and fumbled with the zipper.
Just then, Andie showed up to help. She tugged at the bodice of the gown Jude wore and spat out a string of indiscernible curse words. “Why don’t you go without a bodice for once? I’m having a hell of a time getting you into this one.” Andie spoke close to Jude’s ear. “Don’t drink your bottled water. Tiny slipped you something.”
Jude frowned at her reflection. “I’m fine. I think this outfit will become my speciality. You know, pop out and break out?” She dropped her head. “Thanks.”
Outwardly, Jude reeked of confidence. She had to. Any show of fear and the clientele would know it. If the dancer displayed anything less than full confidence, her tips drastically declined.
Jude couldn’t afford it. The need to keep a roof over her head trumped her self-esteem. She had art supplies to purchase and a degree to finish. Do whatever you need to survive and rise above—that was her motto.
Inwardly, she was a pile of cowardly mush. Unlike many of her fellow dancers, Jude never got a rush or an orgasm from dancing. She tried her best to block out what she did and any sensation she gleaned from it, to be a robot.
Jude sighed and glanced at her helper. At twenty-nine, Andie Martin personified the American girl—long legs, natural blonde hair, and a smile that lit the darkest room. Her green eyes sparkled with a lethal combination of sexuality and mischief. Good thing Jude didn’t have a man—he’d drop her for Andie in a hot minute. At least she and the willowy model-type were friends.
“There… I got you in it. Now go out there and pop out of it,” Andie puffed. “Knock ‘em dead, kiddo.”
Jude peeked down at her squashed breasts and sighed again. The fiery red antebellum outfit with the Velcro tear-away skirt wasn’t her shtick, but it was a crowd-pleaser so she’d caved to Renee’s earlier request.
“Okay, I’ll give it more than my best shot,” she replied and winked at Andie. “Time to dazzle.” What a lie! Dancing merely paid the bills. That’s all she’d let it be—a quick blip on the radar to reaching her dreams. Personal feelings didn’t matter if she could keep the tuition up to date.
She turned her back on the double row of makeup tables, dirty maroon carpet and crusty, faux-wood panelled walls, held her head high and stepped up the ramp to the stage.
Be a machine. Wasn’t that what Jolene said? Then no one gets hurt… Parents won’t pass judgement or set unrealistic standards. Friends won’t run because of less than stellar living conditions. Men won’t know the truth because they can’t get close enough to find out. Strippers were the lowest life form, weren’t they?
Rise above. What doesn’t kill me makes me stronger.
Jude swallowed hard and summoned her courage. She had to become Judy Blue Eyes.
I am beautiful.
As soon as Jude got into position, butterflies flooded her stomach. The red patent-leather stilettos nearly gave out beneath her. It happened every time she prepared to dance because it was the only time she couldn’t hide her emotions—hide her fear. She could do this.
Jude resorted to her tried and true pep talk while she adjusted her dress.
Think about class. This is one step closer to the studio degree. It’s one step closer to becoming a professional artist. No matter what they say, I am beautiful.
The curtain opened and Jude began her dance. She marched out on to the empty stage where she began to shimmy on the pole as though she liked what she was doing. Her stomach roiled. Her cool expression and tight smile masked her embarrassment.
Tables surrounded the stage in the cavernous but dimly lit room. The DJ stood in a booth to the right of the stage, supplying the music to the dancers and serving as a last-defence bouncer in the event of trouble.
Jude normally chose slow, sexually charged blues songs with a lot of bass because she could better time her movements to the beat. Tonight she was trying a country hit she’d recently heard. The DJ added a thumping techno bass line. The song then became easy to lose herself in and let go. Her hands roamed her body, while her hips shifted to the seductive rhythm. At least her own actions made her feel something.
Jude noticed the men bunch against the stage. They seemed drawn to her movements. The more she touched her breasts and moved her ass in time to the sexy beat, the better her tips became. What would this feel like with a man? Instinct dictated that it would sparkle. When she ripped away the full skirt, the crowd went wild.
“I won’t expect a tomorrow when we have no guaranteed today,” the singer sang. “I’ll love you like there’s no tomorrow and hide within your fire.”
Jude agreed. Her heart still ached—she longed for a tomorrow and a man whose fire was worthy of hiding in. There, she could belong and feel safe—a place to call home and arms open only for her. Did that exist?
She doubted it.
Maybe someday.
Chapter Two
At his private table, Ramon ordered a beer and stretched out, expecting the same old, same old—world-weary women who cared less about taking their clothes off and more about how much he was willing to put in their g-strings.
He laced his hands behind his head. Thirty or so tables ringed the phallus-shaped stage. To his mild surprise, a handful of women joined the male-dominated crowd. The bar lined the left wall with two smaller circle stages for wild Friday and Saturday nights. A combination of body heat and cigarette smoke hung thick in the air.
Instead of watching the girl on stage, he surveyed the landscape. Martin Nester—another officer—sat in the corner smoking a cigarette. Clint Robison stood by the bar with a beer chilling in his hand. As Ramon had expected, Carlie giggled on the lap of a middle-aged male patron. Other girls flitted around the room, fetching drinks and entertaining men in the crowd.
Another dancer, whose name he couldn’t remember, sauntered by with a handful of condoms. She fanned them out like a deck of cards. “Interested?”
He gave her a smooth smile and shook his head once. “Not tonight, honey.”
She winked and continued to her destination across the room. According to the findings of the police force, the Silver Steel offered massage services, but not call girls. Why the condoms? And what did they have to do with the drug trade at the club? Ramon searched the room for Ross, his connection.
When the next dancer stepped out on to the stage, Ramon forgot all about his mission. His hands fell limply into his lap. He knew what strippers looked like. Hell, he’d arrested enough of them while he’d been out on the beat to know that they were a jaded bunch. Shake a little, get the money by the bucket-load, and get out before any attachments formed—that was their way of life.
This woman was exactly his type. She had an air of sexuality and innocence about her that, in his heart, he knew was real. There was no front about her. She was the type of girl that he could see living next door in his apartment building. Some women tried to be sweet, but she was the real thing. Vulnerability and innate sexuality shone on her face and stirred something in his belly. Was it desire? This wasn’t the first time he’d watched her dance, but this was the first time he’d felt something. Hell if he knew why. He’d lusted after his former wife Natalie, but that was nothing compared to how he felt now. He assumed it was just super-sized lust. Couldn’t be anything more…
He continued to stare—this girl was someone rare. He needed to get over his damned shyness and meet her. She was solely responsible for his instant boner. Hell, he’d nearly got off just looking at her. What ripped right through to his soul were her blue eyes. There was a piercing, examining quality in them that resonated deep into his being and sent a jolt of heat straight to his cock. His hands twitched with the overwhelming need to touch and protect her. What would her lips taste like? Would she be as soft as she looked?
Totally out of his withdrawn character, Ramon stopped his waitress and slipped her a five. “I want a private dance.”
The waitress bent down, slid the money into her bodice, and spoke in his ear. “I’ll send a note to the bar. Harry sets it up from there. Who’s the lucky girl?”
Ramon looked directly at the stage and nodded. “Her.” A wicked grin curled his lips. She caught his fancy, twisted it upside down, and turned it into desire with just one look. Everyone else in the room evaporated. I need to meet her. She looks like she could take my mind off my troubles for a little while…
“Judy Blue Eyes is a good choice, but she rarely agrees. She’s shy.”
Through his peripheral vision, Ramon noticed the waitress giving him a slow once-over. Her eyes rested on the bulge in his jeans. He didn’t cotton to the visual groping—it would have diverted his concentration from the dancer and his job. The waitress would have to wait for another willing partner.
She brought her gaze to his. “You might be able to cut through her defences.”
Ramon’s attention returned to Judy Blue Eyes. Jude. She was magnetic and sensuous without really trying. He felt like she’d touched his core without touching him at all—it was critical that he reciprocate.
Jude stared right at him and smiled as if they shared a private joke. A blush crept over her body. She licked her lips and turned in his direction. Ramon wondered if she thought about him as she touched her body. The corner of her mouth crooked up again. He’d spent many a night fantasising about her. The more he observed Jude, the more he liked what he saw. The more he liked, the more his feelings of need scared him shitless.
A little while might not be long enough… Maybe longer…if the impending drug bust didn’t get in the way.
It was a third of the way through the song before Jude bothered to look at her aud
ience. Focusing on the crowd was one of her no-nos because, when she saw their faces, she lost a little of her nerve. It was always the same bunch of middle-aged men whose bellies stuck out over their belts. They had wives and ex-wives. Too many were drunk or wanted drugs. Not exactly her idea of hot guys, even if they were willing to pay for her presentation. There’s no tomorrow out there. That’s always a given.
As with the song, tonight was the night for exceptions. Tonight, she ignored her fear and looked out into the audience. Tiny, with his biochemical design tattooed on the side of his head and tribal tattoo ringing his neck, roamed through the crowd. He gave her the creeps each time he came out on to the club floor. At least he paid her no attention—he preferred blondes.
On the other side of the room, Jude saw a man worthy of entertaining—her mystery male. The desire to touch her body became real and overwhelming. The blond hunk was familiar, smouldering, and appeared attainable—a deadly combination. Almost as though at his mental request, the snaps capturing her breasts in the bodice popped open, revealing two of her best assets.
Forget fear…hello visual orgasm.
Jude’s lips parted and a flush came over her body. She gazed longingly at the stranger sitting at table thirty-two. Even through the smoke that clouded the distance, she could see a slight sparkle in his eye. That glint gave her the courage to be much bolder than she’d ever been before. She’d noticed him before, but tonight he looked on edge and intense. He had his hands behind his head, but dropped them as she watched. His focus was on her—only her.
She wanted to touch him—to caress and fondle…to see what made him tick and explore new worlds. Did he feel the same? Muscles flexed under his shirt as he moved. Did he have a hairy chest or was it smooth? She bet they would fit together like a matched set.
Wow, where’d that thought come from?
More turned on than she’d ever been in her life, Jude wondered if he could see her sopping wet excitement. Could see it? But he wasn’t supposed to! Yeah, he seemed like a decent guy, but there must be a story. A cheating wife? A loveless marriage? A girlfriend who was out of town? Maybe he was the type that could only do it with a hooker. The desire to hate him as she did the others was inexplicably missing.