Just as Tensley wondered if she could shave those eyebrows with one stiletto heel, another man sitting further back, his face and body masked by the shadows, growled, “Give her a break.”
A shiver rippled up Tensley’s spine.
“Fuck off, buddy. I paid my money,” caterpillar brows retorted. “I wanna see her dance.”
Shadow man raised his voice until it squashed caterpillar brows flat. “So you’ll see some other girl dance.”
A spark of recognition flashed in Tensley’s brain, but before she could process it, shadow man’s muscular arm flashed into the light, gesturing to the bouncer. “This one’s savin’ herself for me. Go on. Get somebody else up there.”
Savin’ herself for — like hell. Anger rocketed through her, overtaking the dizziness, disorientation and the part of her that was trying so hard not to place that voice. She didn’t know where she was or who she was and people were still talking about her in the third person, as though she wasn’t even in the room. If she could dance, she would damn well show —
Her body began to move of its own accord. Hips thrusting from one side to the other in time with the music. Before her brain could catch up with the rest of her, she’d hopped up to straddle the pole, spinning in one fluid motion, head down, hair brushing the floor. Her legs spread until they were parallel to the floor, her toes pointed.
Then she pulled herself upright, legs still in a straight line, as effortlessly as someone who actually had been able to get the hang of the monkey bars in first grade. Which wasn’t Tensley. Except that it … was … . Never mind.
She spun again and dropped to the floor in a perfect split. The audience, all ten — or 100 — of them shouted its appreciation. Tensley heard herself join in, as surprised as anyone. If she’d known she could do this ever in her life, she would have tried out for high school cheerleading instead of hiding her envy as she watched other girls flip, leap and bounce.
Then she was down on her knees, thrusting her crotch toward the audience, her back bending like Gumby and her hands traveling upward to cup her … whoa … much bigger … breasts. They had either finally grown in or she’d had a surgery she didn’t remember.
She tipped her head, raking her fingers through her hair in one agonizingly long and slow motion. A collective intake of breath from the audience sent a thrill of excitement through her. This was, well, she wouldn’t go so far as to say fun, but damn. No one had ever looked at her quite like this.
When her fingers flashed by on their way back down, she realized she had her own crimson daggers. And toned, slender arms. She must have found time to work out. Not to mention motivation to work out.
Look at the guy with the striped shirt. And the one wearing the baseball cap. Neither one can take his eyes off me.
One by one, her arms snaked along the stage, her ass in the air and hair falling around her shoulders as her nipples brushed the floor, sending waves of an ‘I-can’t-believe-I’m-doing-this’ thrill through her. The man in the striped shirt, who had a death grip on his drink, leaned forward. Tensley made straight for him, the tip of her tongue working a lazy, seductive journey around her mouth.
His face lit up in anticipation, which turned to raw desire as she reached the end of the stage and rose on her knees to stroke herself while watching him through her lashes. Then she beckoned him toward her with one crimson-tipped index finger. He stood as if in a trance, not seeming to notice as he tripped over a chair. He just kept going.
Come to Mama. This was so not Tensley Tanner-Starbrook. But who had to know that? No one.
For a few minutes of her life, she could be someone else. Have fun she’d never dream of outside the confines of her condo’s Butterscotch Tempest walls. She’d ride on up to the orgasm bar and make her own, instead of hoping someone like Bryan, who got points for congeniality, but couldn’t rock her world if his cock was twice its size … would do it for her.
Head back, she thrust both arms in the air and her crotch toward the mesmerized man. Hell, yes. She was Delightful, thank you very much.
And then shadow man’s voice sliced through it all to jolt her brain, if not the body performing independent of her brain, to a screeching halt. “So I was wrong,” he said, loud enough to be heard over the music.
With a gulp, her arms still triumphantly in the air, she forced her gaze from the striped shirt man to the chair where that voice had come from.
It couldn’t be. “Damn straight,” caterpillar brows responded happily.
Razor-sharp memories pushed forward in her mind. The warm white bath of moonlight. A summer breeze washing over their damp, naked teenage bodies. The smell of newly mown fields. The lump in her throat before she worked up the courage to whisper, “I love you.”
Nooooo. Her body kept going, bringing the striped shirt man closer to her like a siren call. He had money in his hand and a glint in his eye that wasn’t from the stage lighting.
She had to stop. Had to end the dizzying swirl of confusion that made her think —
Shadow man got to his feet and her eyes shot straight to his tall, dark silhouette. His fingers flashed into the light as he lifted a drink to her. “Lookin’ good, honey.”
Max.
With every bit of physical strength she could find, Tensley grabbed the finger still motioning the man in the striped shirt forward. She pulled both hands down and to her sides. Her tongue tried to poke forward to lick her lips again, so she sank her teeth into it, hard, and let out a screech. She tasted blood.
The striped shirt man backed up, his expression baffled.
Her body wasn’t giving up that easily, though. Before she knew it, she was back on her feet, gyrating and grinding, moving as though her two hands weren’t engaged in a go-stop-go battle. Every time her hip shot to one side, she stomped her foot, in the vain hope that would stop it. Something halfway between a purr and a growl came out of her mouth as she concentrated on jamming both hands on her waist. And keeping them there.
Again with the hip thrusting. Again with the stomping.
Caterpillar brows sat down hard on his chair, mouth open. Possibly because he’d never seen a step-dance striptease before.
Her hips continued on and then her leg joined in, kicking high as the music hit a crescendo, undeterred by the fight she was having with herself. It wasn’t until she ended up doing a vertical split of sorts, legs on the pole, fists still glued to her waist, that the music finally stopped and she regained control of her body.
Tensley eased her extended leg down and off the pole, inch by inch, and stood in the middle of the stage. After a minute or two of stunned silence, the crowd responded with polite applause and a few cat calls.
If he’s here, really here, I don’t want to know. I don’t. The man in the striped shirt approached to drop a twenty on the stage. Tensley hardly looked at him as she murmured her thanks. Instead she peered past him into the darkness, trying to get a better look at the man she didn’t want to see.
The audience seemed to be waiting for her to do something. Tensley put one foot behind the other and bobbed a curtsy straight out of Miss Jodi’s tap dance class. Miss Jodi had always said a lady should never leave a performance without a curtsy.
She wondered, though, if Miss Jodi had meant every kind of performance.
Caterpillar brows approached the stage, money clutched in his pudgy fist. “Here you go, sweetheart,” he growled. “Let me put this away for you.”
“No, I’m good. Really.” Tensley put a hand up. She could almost see the face of the man who belonged to the voice. If it’s Max, I don’t want to know. I don’t.
Yes, I do. Other men began approaching the stage, money held high. One motioned her toward him with his hand, a grin plastered on his face.
She shook her head, slightly at first and then vehemently.
Two of the men dropped their tips on the stage. “You don’t have to be shy, baby,” one assured her with a broad wink.
Oh, God. He looks like my high school
principal. Ewwwww. He was my high school principal. Footsteps again clattered across the stage and the woman who had threatened to evict her earlier grabbed the mike to demand, “Now, are y’all ready for Terrible Tawny, the Tahitian Temptress?”
The audience sounded its approval and the woman spread her arms wide, the sleeves of her sparkling costume nearly knocking Tensley off the stage. She stumbled backward, but caught herself. New music blared and Terrible Tawny began to move her hips from side to side in time to the beat. Then she backed up, one long-limbed step at a time, until she reached the spot where Tensley stood.
Another sharp gyration and Tawny pulled off part of her costume with a flourish. When it landed on Tensley’s head, the crowd responded with hoots. Tensley reached up, yanked it to the floor and then tucked her hands under her arms, pulling them in tight as she shuffled backward out of the spotlight. Get me out of this place.
She hesitated at the top of the stairs, struggling to get her bearings. She had to call the police. Report this. And say — what? She … uh … was leaving a psychic’s shop when … ? Something wasn’t making sense. A whole lot of something wasn’t making sense.
All she could remember was the flash above the Madame Claire’s head. And the words she’d said. A do-over. The psychic had said it was possible.
What if the idea for revenge that Tensley had tossed off had actually happened? If she’d punched Rhonda Reardon. What if — this strip joint was now her life.
A wave of nausea turned her knees to Jell-o. She grabbed the metal handrail for support as she half-teetered, half-fell down the few stairs, then sat at the bottom and closed her eyes. It’s not possible, she’d said. In my world, it is, Madame Claire had answered.
It couldn’t be true. She wouldn’t let it be true. She’d click her heels together three times, like Dorothy, and …
Then she heard his voice, inches away, rocketing straight through the music. “Been a long time.”
Her stomach did a double backflip. She remained perfectly still.
Warm breath ruffled the hair over her ear, caressing her skin. “I want a private dance.”
Tensley opened her eyes and turned to the one man she’d never been able to get out of her system, even though he’d shattered her heart so badly, it had never properly healed. Virtual gymnasts began spinning, twirling, leaping, falling off a balance beam in her stomach, until she had to press a fist tight to her middle to make them stop.
“Max.”
CHAPTER TWO
Max still had thick, dark hair that waved at the ends. But his lanky teen body had filled out considerably, given the muscles now straining at his T-shirt. His shirt was a dark ocean blue. Like his eyes.
In that moment, everything else around her fell away, fading into a dull background of noise as though she and this man were the only two people in living, breathing color, while the rest of the world melted into black, white and shades of gray.
Max.
Over the years, she’d done everything she could to get him out of her mind. None of it had worked for long. Their sophomore year of college, her best friend had tried to help.
“Put him into a mental Tupperware container,” Kate had advised, “and store it on a shelf in your mind.”
As hard as Tensley tried, as soon as one of Max’s legs went into the container, the other one climbed back out. “He won’t stay.”
“A plastic garbage bag, then.”
“I think I have Post Traumatic Distressed-Romance Disorder.”
“Put him in a metal safe.”
What if she lost the combination? “A file folder.”
“Just put him in something, already.”
“He’s in. The file folder.” Tensley had felt bad about squashing him flat, though.
“Now shove that folder into the Tupperware container.”
“But — ”
“Put the container in the metal safe and lock it.”
“I don’t think — ”
“Do. It.”
So Tensley had tucked the folder inside the plastic container, placed it in a safe, turned the key and imagined Max’s blue gaze disappearing from her life forever. His eyes had been her downfall, with their lethal combination of danger and vulnerability. Those eyes had made her forget he held their high school’s record for the highest number of detentions.
Now those eyes had her locked in once again. As she sat on a stair offstage in a strip club, wearing almost nothing.
Of all the seeing-him-again fantasies she’d indulged in over the years … because of course the lock on the safe had broken, she hadn’t sealed the Tupperware container right, and the folder had torn … this one had never entered the picture.
Tensley hugged herself tight, staring at the floor.
Maybe he would go away. Maybe everyone would go away.
Another male voice, from beside Max. “Hey, buddy. D’ya mind?”
Tensley looked up. The man in the striped shirt, the one she’d been playing with while on stage, grinned down at her, but his words were meant for Max. “I wanna buy this girl a drink.”
“Later,” Max replied, his eyes never leaving Tensley.
Striped-shirt man pulled out another twenty, rubbing it between his thumb and forefinger. “But Lila and I had a, you know, connection. Isn’t that right, sugar?” He wiggled an eyebrow, beads of sweat lining his forehead. He held up the money. “How about I help you stash this away?”
Tensley stared up at him and then turned to Max, struggling to keep the desperation she felt from reaching her eyes. There had to be some scrap of dignity she could hold onto in this situation.
Or not.
Max extended his hand. Waiting. As though he was Johnny in Dirty Dancing. And she was Baby. She’d always wanted to be Baby.
Tensley raised a trembling hand, laying her fingers in his. They were as strong, and as warm, as she remembered.
“Hey,” striped shirt man protested, running a nervous hand through his hair. “She was dancing for me.”
Max ignored him, drawing Tensley up and away from the stairs as the other man’s protests wilted away.
They wove through a blur of customers and writhing women, lights and music pulsating around them. Max held her hand tight, sending tingles through her body. Tingles she hadn’t felt for a long time.
Tensley pressed her other hand to her chest, trying to slow her escalating heartbeat. He led her to a corner, behind a blue, see-through curtain that hung from the ceiling, lit from behind by a row of lights along the floor. Everything had a bluish tinge, including the lone chair.
Max. It was really him. He would get her clothes; take her out of this place.
He dropped her hand and sat down. “Dance,” he said.
Tensley’s heart thudded to her toes. “What?”
He sprawled on the wooden chair, legs spread, one arm resting on his thigh. “Private dance. Remember?”
After all this time, that’s what he had to say? He strode up like Johnny Castle and was going to treat her like some — some — stripper?
If that’s how he wanted to play it, Baby was coming out of the corner with her fists up. “You want a private dance.” She jammed her hands onto her bare blue-tinged hips, as if that would force the wobble from her voice. “It’s been, what, fifteen years — ”
“And four months.”
“Fifteen years and four months and you don’t say ‘how are you, what have you been doing, it’s great to see you, you look amazing,’ anything.” She stopped to catch her breath.
“Don’t need to ask what you’ve been doing.”
“You have got to be kidding. I don’t work here.”
One eyebrow rose as his gaze traveled the length of her body.
She should have been embarrassed. Furious. Terrified. She was, but she was also … damn. Turned on. Just what she needed right now, when she couldn’t think straight as it was. “Okay, so it might look that way, but trust me, I do not,” she snapped. “You think I’d leave my fa
mily’s business for this?”
His lips parted, but she didn’t give him a chance to speak. She was fighting too hard to keep herself from moving closer to him, from pressing her body against his to feel his heart beating. Not going to do it. Not going to —
“How about we talk about you. And how you cheated on me with Rhonda the big-boobed wonder.” She’d promised herself that when she saw him again, if she ever did, he would only see all she had now, all she’d made of herself. She wasn’t the same naïve girl he’d known. She had experience now. She’d grown into a successful woman. Without him.
Ow. Tensley pushed her fingers harder into her hips to make the pain in her heart stop.
It didn’t work.
His jaw worked as if he was trying to decide what to say, but kept changing his mind. Finally, he gestured toward her chest. “So this is about Rhonda?”
As if. At least — she hoped not. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She folded her arms.
His eyes held hers. “I remember.”
Her breath caught. God help her, she also remembered. That was the whole problem. The scrap of fabric that passed for a thong was becoming damper by the second as she thought back to her arms, legs and heart wrapped around Max. With difficulty, she managed to say, “Don’t change the subject.” But she had to look over his head to get the words out.
He turned toward the main stage area. “You might want to start dancing.”
Tensley followed the direction of his gaze, where she saw a short, barrel-chested man pushing his way toward them. “Why? Who’s that?”
“Your boss.” This time, Max was the one to avoid her eyes. “If you don’t dance, he’ll bring me another girl.”
Another girl. Over her dead, thinner-than-ever body. “Fine,” she said between clenched teeth, “but only until that creep goes away and since I don’t even know how to dance, it’s not going to be anything great.”
“That’s where you’re wrong.”
He had one hell of a nerve, telling her she was wrong about anything. “I can’t dance and never could, which means you must be thinking of someone else. That’s no surprise, since — ”
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