by Isabel Morin
At six-thirty Cheryl went on and Emily followed to watch her from the wings. She also gave her song selection to Stan, the audio guy.
She’d chosen three of her favorite songs, the ones she liked to dance to alone in her apartment. She’d start out with Nina Simone’s “I Want a Little Sugar in My Bowl,” then “Son of a Preacher Man” by Dusty Springfield, and finally “Little Red Corvette.” That way she’d start off slow and work up to a nice frenzy. Maybe they were a bit old school, but she wanted to dance to music that made her feel sexy. She’d always preferred soul and blues when she wasn’t listening to classical.
“What’s your stage name, sweetheart?” Stan asked. A skinny guy of indeterminate age who looked like he smoked about five packs a day, he was also in charge of announcing the dancers.
Emily hadn’t even thought about a stage name.
“Um, Star?”
“Why not?” he shrugged. ‘We don’t have any others right now.”
Okay, so it wasn’t very original, but it sounded like a stripper name. It also had a nice layer of irony that only she understood.
Before she knew it, it was her turn to go on. Her legs were shaking and her heart slammed frantically in her chest, but even the attack of nerves felt good in a way, since she’d never expected to perform again. She knew how to do nerves. How many nights had she waited in the wings to go on, terrified she’d screw up?
So she counted out her entrance and then walked out onto the stage in time with the slow, sensual music, a woman arriving home from work, moving dreamily as she unbuttoned her demure white blouse. Stopping in the middle of the stage she let it slide off and fall to the floor, revealing her red lace bra. She ran her hands down her breasts and over her hips, as if she were thinking of someone else’s hands.
Then she caught sight of Cutter. He stood in the middle of the room, those dark eyes following her around the stage. But instead of feeling self-conscious or embarrassed, the thought of turning him on sent an electric thrill through her.
She was no longer pretending. It was his hands she wanted on her, his mouth. Her movements became more sinuous, a private seduction played out in front of everyone.
The crowd was making noise, hooting and calling out, clapping for her. She pulled the pencil out of her hair and shook it so that it swirled around her shoulders. Swinging her hips she spun as she unclasped her bra, letting one strap and then the other slide over her shoulders before letting the whole thing fall.
She moved faster as a sense of freedom, of total abandon swept through her. She danced without worrying about perfect technique or what her line looked like. This was primitive, like dancing around the fire or praying for rain.
The second song was building toward the finish when she teased the zipper on her skirt down, driving everyone wild to see what was underneath. Standing at the very tip of the stage, Emily looked right at Cutter and let the skirt drop. Her smile was wicked, daring him to think she didn’t have what it took. He watched her every move, his eyes following the skirt down her legs, then back up until his heated gaze held hers.
For the space of a few heartbeats she forgot to move, held by the grim desire she saw there, as if he’d look away if he could. Breaking eye contact, she kicked the skirt to the side just as “Little Red Corvette” started to play. A song made for stripping, it propelled her across the stage until she spun fast and wicked, her kicks higher, her hips moving with every beat.
Men crowded around the stage, leaning forward with money in their hands. Emily moved closer to them and several men at once tucked bills into her thong. Even though she’d been expecting it, she had to resist the urge to pull away from their strange hands and hungry, even desperate looks. Then the moment passed and she was Star again, prancing along the edge, kneeling down and slithering along. It was all part of the game, and she did her part, tossing them a wink and a naughty smile before moving to the other side of the stage.
She whirled around as the song built toward its climax, her movements faster and more urgent, mimicking the urgency before release. Without even planning it she grabbed hold of the pole and spun around it, surprised by how easy it was, another toy to tease the crowd, tease Cutter.
The song wound down and she worked the perimeter again, letting men cop a feel as they thrust everything from one to twenty dollar bills at her. Then it was over. Tossing her hair one last time, she left the stage.
Stan looked up from the audio equipment. “Not bad, kid.”
“Thanks,” she smiled, her body still humming. “Hopefully it was good enough for Steve.”
“Oh, it will be. That was good enough for anyone.”
Cheryl ran in from the floor to give her a hug.
“If I hadn’t seen you before you went on, I’d never believe that was your first time,” she said, shaking her head. “That was unreal. I’m just glad I don’t have to follow you.”
Emily drank up the camaraderie, the good wishes and compliments, but her mind was full of Cutter. Should she go out there and find him, or wait and see if he came to her?
“It was way more fun than I thought it would be,” she said, trying to keep up her end of the conversation. “I didn’t even care that I was naked up there.” She paused and looked down at herself. “But now I do. I’d better go get dressed.”
She turned around and nearly ran into the manager.
“You’re hired,” he said without preamble. “I can give you Sunday through Wednesday nights for starters. You’ll work six to two and we’ll see how it goes.”
“Wow, that’s great. I mean, thank you.”
“Can you do another number tonight?”
“I’m afraid not. Not unless your customers want to see a naked Sleeping Beauty.”
“A what?”
“Nothing. I don’t have anything else ready, that’s all. But I will by tomorrow night.”
“Fine, you can go. Just be prepared to dance four times a night from now on.”
Smiling to herself, Emily headed back to the dressing room where she sat down and pulled her money out, piling it in her lap. Smoothing out the crumpled bills she counted it, then counted again, hardly able to believe it.
One hundred and fifty three dollars. And she’d only danced once, without even working the floor. This was going to be even more lucrative than she’d expected.
Giddy now, she showered and changed back into her black tank dress and strappy sandals. Her entire body was still buzzing with adrenaline, still awed by what she’d done, and still turned on.
Time to find Cutter.
No one recognized her with her clothes on and makeup off, which was a relief, especially since just being female garnered her more than enough attention. She guzzled a bottle of water and looked around for the man in question. He was taller than just about everyone in the room, so it didn’t take long to spot him.
Sadly, her towering self-confidence seemed to be dissipating, and by the time she got within a few feet of him she had no idea what had come over her. First of all, the man was working, secondly, they were in the middle of a crowd of people, and thirdly, she hadn’t had a personality transplant, just a temporary blast of endorphins that were rapidly deserting her. She did an about-face and headed for the door.
Then he called her name.
***
Cutter stood near a cluster of tables, keeping an eye on a rowdy bachelor party that seemed just on the verge of getting out of hand, but his head was full of Emily. If it was hard to ignore her before, it was impossible now that he’d seen her strip. She was the sexiest woman he’d ever seen whether she was dressed or undressed. Dressed, it was a restrained kind of sexy that made a man want to set her loose.
Now he knew what she looked like set loose.
He kept reminding himself that he didn’t date the dancers, he looked out for them. This new girl certainly didn’t need a damn bouncer coming on to her when she was hit on by every man who looked at her. Then again, he could have sworn she was looking at him while
she stripped.
He was going back and forth like this in his head when he caught sight of her coming through the crowd of people, turning heads as she went, and damn if she wasn’t just as sexy now as she had been on stage. He stood transfixed, his heart rate increasing when it began to look like she might be making her way toward him. He thought she was coming toward him, anyway. Hoped she was, though every instinct told him she was trouble.
She was only a dozen yards away when she looked at him, bit her lip and turned toward the door.
Without even thinking he called out to her.
She stopped where she was, her bare shoulders tensing before she turned around and gave him a tentative smile. Ditching the bachelor party without so much as a glance, he caught up to her, his face breaking into a smile when he got up close. Her black dress clung to her breasts and hips, skimming over those thighs he remembered so well.
She must have guessed what he was thinking, because as he watched, a pink flush rose up her neck and into her cheeks. Was it possible for a woman to blush not an hour after performing the most erotic striptease he’d ever seen?
He ought to say something to put her at ease, let her know he wasn’t a total creep.
“You looked good up there.”
She looked down at her water bottle as if embarrassed. “Thanks. It felt good to be dancing again. I guess I’m a freak for the stage, because it doesn’t seem to matter if I’m performing a gorgeous ballet or taking off my clothes. Weird, huh?”
So she’d been a professional dancer. That explained the moves she laid on Steve.
“I’ve heard weirder.” He paused, wanting to know more about her but not sure she’d want to talk about her past. A lot of the women who worked here didn’t. “So why aren’t you still dancing?”
Her grip tightened on the bottle and the corners of her mouth turned down. She looked so sad he wished he’d kept his mouth shut.
“I ruptured my Achilles tendon and that was that. My entire career down the drain.”
“But you dance just fine. You don’t even limp,” he said, surprised.
“No, but I can’t take the kind of dancing I used to do. Aside from that, the sky’s the limit, right? Maybe I’ll set Vegas on fire with my pole dancing.”
She sounded so bitter and despairing he didn’t know what to say. Going from that kind of career to stripping in Vegas was a pretty hard fall.
“I assume Steve hired you?” he asked, changing the subject.
She gave him a wry smile. “Yes. I seem to have won him over despite my less than impressive breast size.”
He didn’t mean to, he really didn’t, but his eyes dropped to her breasts despite what his brain was telling him. Yes, she was small, so small she didn’t need a bra, but sleek and perfect, her skin was smooth and white.
He heard her breath catch and came to his senses, looking back up to see her watching him with a flustered, wide-eyed expression. Then she licked her lips, as if nervous, and he damn near lost it.
They stood looking at one another for several long moments, and he could swear she was as aroused and baffled as he was.
Fortunately, though it felt pretty damn unfortunate, the hostess hurried over to him.
“I’m really sorry, but there’s a seriously drunk guy over at the bar demanding another drink, and Patty’s already cut him off. Richie’s busy in the VIP room, so…”
She looked at them both apologetically.
“No problem, I’m on it,” he said, not sure whether he was relieved or aggravated. He turned back to Emily. “I guess I’ll be seeing you.”
“Yes. Sure. I’ll see you around,” she said, smiling uncertainly before heading for the door.
He was definitely in trouble.
Chapter Three
Cutter was heading to the club that Friday morning to work on the expansion of Steve’s office when he caught sight of Emily standing on the curb a block away, trying to hail a cab. She raised her hand and waved it around, standing on tiptoe as if the added height would help.
That creamy skin of hers was going to burn if she stood out there much longer. Without planning it he pulled to a stop in front of her and opened the passenger side window.
She’d fallen back a few steps and was frowning and shading her eyes as she looked warily at his truck. Then a smile of recognition spread across her face, lighting her up. Cutter’s heart, which had picked up its pace as soon as he saw her, began to pound. He smiled in return, feeling dopey and pleased with how happy she looked to see him.
Which only served to remind him that he shouldn’t be going anywhere near her. He’d managed to keep his distance Tuesday and Wednesday and he damn well better keep it now, metaphorically if not literally. He didn’t date the dancers. It was a bad idea, not least because he wasn’t sure he could handle watching his girl stripping and getting pawed night after night. Watching Emily strip was damn near torture, and he barely even knew her. Maybe that made him some kind of Neanderthal, but it was what it was.
Of course, he didn’t have to watch her up there. If he had more control, he’d do his job and keep his eyes on the customers and away from her.
“Need a ride somewhere?” he asked, his annoyance with himself making the question come out more tersely than he’d intended.
Emily approached the truck and peered in the window.
“I need to go get my car from the shop. I don’t want to put you out, though.”
“You’re not. Hop in before you go up in flames, girl.”
Emily obeyed, smiling tentatively as she opened the door and climbed onto the high seat. He raised her window and turned the air up to offset the brutal heat. Unfortunately, there wasn’t a setting high enough to combat the heat he felt just sitting next to her.
He pulled out into traffic and headed toward the address she gave him, trying to ignore how her pale green sundress had hiked up, revealing a few inches of those killer thighs before she pulled it back down. Seeing her covered up was as erotic as seeing her naked. Regardless, he wasn’t going to let on how she affected him. He knew how to play it cool. He wasn’t a kid, after all.
He shifted into fifth gear as they hit the highway and glanced over at her. “Still planning on coming back for more next week?” he asked. It was the best he could do, seeing as how he sucked at small talk.
“Definitely. The money’s too good to stop now. Besides, I mostly like it. I’ve been miserable ever since I had to stop dancing. Do you think I’m doing okay though?”
“Well sure, you’re doing great. You know, from what I’ve seen,” he added, hoping she hadn’t noticed that he’d seen everything.
“I’m used to being critiqued, so it won’t bother me if you have pointers. You know, like maybe something I’m doing isn’t sexy, that kind of thing. I’m especially concerned about my pole work.”
He glanced over at her and couldn’t help smiling at the way she was frowning with such seriousness.
“If you got any better at it, you’d probably give everyone in the place a heart attack. Just keep doing what you’re doing.”
He could feel her looking at him but decided now was a good time to keep his eyes on the road and his thoughts hidden. He’d said quite enough already. A few more minutes passed before she spoke again.
“How long have you been working at the club?”
“About eight months,” he answered, knowing she probably wanted him to elaborate. Women always did, but the last thing he wanted was to talk about the slow, painful failure of his business. Besides, if they never got too personal it would be easier to keep some distance between them. Which was why he wasn’t asking her any of the questions he had. Like whether she was seeing someone, for instance.
He could sense her watching him, possibly trying to decide whether he was an ass for being so curt, but fortunately they’d arrived at the mechanic’s.
“Here we are,” he announced, a mixture of regret and relief filling him as she opened the door.
“Great,
thanks for the ride,” she said, giving him a half-hearted smile as she reached for the door handle. He had the crazy urge to jump out of the truck and run around to open the door for her, as if this were a date. But he certainly hadn’t acted like it was a date. He’d barely said five words to the woman.
“You okay getting back?” he asked. “You can follow me if you need to.”
“Are you going back to the Strip?”
“Yeah, so it’s no problem.” This was a flat out lie. He’d been planning to go home, but why tell her that?
Now her smile was full and warm, a shaft of sunlight falling on him. “Thanks, but I think I know the way,” she said, hopping down from the seat. “I’ll see you Sunday?”
“See you Sunday,” he answered, his chest tightening as he watched her walk away.
Two more days and she’d be taking it all off again for a roomful of men. He’d be one of them, watching just as avidly as all those other fools.
***
“Whatever you do, don’t date one of the customers. I promise you, it never works out.”
It was the beginning of Emily’s second week working at the club and Cheryl was filling her in on all the dos and don’ts.
“Not that I have any intention of dating a customer, but why the rule?” Emily asked.
Cheryl sat back and looked at her from under heavily made-up eyes. As far as Emily could tell she didn’t put a whole lot of effort into her wardrobe or routine, but she was so sexy and such a good dancer that it didn’t seem to matter. The red hair didn’t hurt either.
“They’ll want you because you seem like the sexiest woman in the world, some kind of lame-o fantasy come to life. But that’s all you’ll ever be. A guy who meets you here doesn’t want to get to know you. He just wants night after night of blow jobs and lap dances.”
“Okay, you’ve convinced me,” Emily laughed. She paused a few seconds, not sure if she should ask the next question. “What about the guys who work here? Just for arguments’ sake, I could date one of them, right?”
It really shouldn’t have mattered, seeing as how she’d only be around for a few weeks, but she hadn’t been able to stop thinking of Cutter.