His words, rough and low, cut through hers. “You never did believe you were special. Guess you still don’t.”
The second flashback was so vivid, it bent Tensley forward. Max sharing with her, and only her, his secret affinity for the works of Hemingway and Fitzgerald, the sidelong looks he’d given her in class, the fiery sweet touch of his fingers beneath the desks in the back of the room that practically had her climaxing during Senior English.
And he’d only been touching her hand.
She had given Max everything, including her virginity, and it had nearly destroyed her. And now he had the balls to say she’d never believed she was special.
She wasn’t going to dance for him. Wasn’t even going to keep talking to him. She’d find her clothes on her own and run, not walk, out of this place and leave him sitting in that chair, looking like a fool —
Oh hell, no. Her body had started dancing again, moving easily and provocatively, as though she had done it for years. Which she hadn’t. She hadn’t.
Max held up a fifty-dollar bill.
Tensley’s alleged boss turned around, though he continued to watch her over one shoulder.
Her hands reached for the ceiling, one by one, breasts moving in time to the music. She felt a lazy smile cross her face as she thrust her crotch toward Max, teasing her bottom lip with her teeth. A mating dance.
One he was responding to, though he appeared to be doing his best to look nonchalant. He raised the back of his hand to his mouth and cleared his throat, while shifting in his seat. That fold of denim appeared to have become pretty well … filled up.
Good.
No. Not good. Tensley’s rational thoughts were being shoved out of the way by an overwhelming urge to grab the waistband of Max’s jeans, rip that zipper open and take hold of him. Now.
Remember the Tupperware. Slam him back in there, legs and everything else.
It took a full minute of picturing plastic containers, in all colors and sizes, before she could clear a path through the haze of desire flooding her senses. Finally, she shoved him into a purple one and found her voice, scratchy as it was. “Bet you’re a regular here.” She should have known things would turn out like this for him. He probably had a wife and kids he’d left sitting at home so he could hang out in a strip club.
“Didn’t say that.” His voice sounded scratchy, too.
“Talk to me,” she commanded as her abdomen rippled, crimson nails dragging themselves along her skin.
“You charge extra for that?”
“If I had to charge by the number of words coming from you, I’d be broke.”
A short laugh. “So Tensley found an attitude.”
“Oh, for God’s sake, Max, I am not a stripper,” she hissed. Her hands cupped her breasts, offering them up.
Again, his eyebrow lifted. “You’re giving it one hell of a try.”
One of her hands traveled to her thong, pulling the string playfully away from her skin.
Max straightened, suddenly alert. “Stop.”
What was she doing? Tensley forced her free hand to grab the one that had hooked itself into the string, wrestling with herself until she’d managed to pull her wayward fingers back. With a concentrated effort, she made her body stop moving, which left her standing awkwardly, legs spread and her breath coming fast, while the music continued to play.
He glanced at the crowd, then back at her. “You okay?”
She shook her head, willing her eyes not to fill. “Told you I couldn’t dance.”
“You know that’s not the issue.”
The only thing she knew was that mortification could spread as fast as molten lava. She felt her cheeks flame. “You seemed to be enjoying yourself a minute ago.”
He pulled his mouth tight, averting his eyes.
So he thought she’d sunk so low, she didn’t deserve an explanation. That she was a stripper no longer worth his time. And he had the nerve to criticize her for not thinking she was special. Welcome to the world of me. She closed the distance between them to grab his face between her hands, the stubble of his whiskers raking the sensitive skin of her palms. He’d talk to her if she had to force him into it.
This time his voice sliced straight through her. “Damn it, Tensley. Don’t touch me. Back up.”
“Don’t touch you.” She choked on her laugh. “Why, afraid you’ll catch something?” All of the Tupperware containers opened at once, spilling their contents until her lungs squeezed the breath from her. The hard stares of Max’s friends, her friends, the popular girls. The things they whispered, just loud enough for her to hear.
Rhonda’s lips on Max’s.
There had been only one other time when she’d felt so naked, so vulnerable. Max had been there that time, too. But he’d taken her into his arms and held her close, as if he’d never let her go.
He shot to his feet, causing her to stumble backward. The lighting cast shadows across his face.
She squeezed her eyes shut, crossing her arms over her breasts and drawing her chest inward, sinking into herself. “Get me out of here. Please.”
“Tensley.” He was close enough that his breath caressed her cheeks. She felt him tuck something into her hand, his touch shooting sparklers of anticipation up her spine.
“I’m sorry,” he said, low in her ear. She felt every footstep as he strode away. If he’d said those words in her ear fifteen years, four months and three days ago, things might be different now.
She opened her eyes and looked down to see another fifty dollar bill. Tears trickled from the corners of her eyes.
“Hey!”
Tensley turned to see the barrel-chested man bearing down on her. “Whaddya doin’ standing here? Got someplace better to be?”
She drew her shoulders up and back, swiping at the tears with the back of her hand. Her body shook so hard, it jarred her voice. “As a mat — matter of fact — ”
“Matter of fact, my ass. You’re done with that customer. Go find another one.”
Another swipe of tears. “You can’t talk to me like that.”
“The hell I can’t.” He shook a stubby finger at her. “Think you’re going to get special treatment? As long as you work for me — ”
She sniffed. “I don’t. Work for you.”
“Fine.” He shrugged. “Then get your shit and get out.”
Asshole. “Fine. I will.” Her voice had climbed so high, though, she was pretty sure only a dog could hear it.
“I’ll take that.” He plucked the fifty from her hand. “See ya.” He turned on his heel and disappeared into the crowd.
And she’d thought things couldn’t get any worse.
She lifted her head and began retracing her steps through the place. Slowly. Deliberately. One foot in front of the other. As she moved, she made a mental checklist, forming perfect little boxes next to each item. Find my clothes. Find my purse. Get home. Call Kate.
Murmurs of “hey, baby,” and “lemme buy you a drink, sweetheart,” reached her ears, but she ignored them, keeping her eyes straight ahead, focused only on that first item on her list. Clothes.
She saw a black curtain behind the stage, partially pulled back to reveal a hallway painted a nauseating color of green. From out of nowhere, the bouncer showed up to block her way. She stopped, her heart pounding.
“Where you headed, Tensley?” His words carried a warning, more gentle than menacing, that pierced the layer of cotton around her brain.
He knew her.
A red-headed woman wearing scraps of black leather held together by silver chain grabbed the man’s arm as she passed by from behind. “Hey Milo, who’s lookin’ good tonight?”
“Table six. Lots of cash.”
“Thanks, honey.” She gave his arm a pat and disappeared.
His features squashed into a good-natured smile until seconds later, his attention was caught by someone approaching from Tensley’s right. He held up a hand and said, “Dancers only.” Tensley felt the person slink awa
y.
His next words were for Tensley. “Gary’ll be pissed if he sees you tryin’ to take a break this early.”
Gary had to be the short guy who’d made her skin crawl. “That man is not my boss.”
“You quit again?”
Again? “I don’t belong here.”
“Come on, Tensley.” He shook his head. “You know Gary’s just harder on the ones with a record.”
She stared up at him. “A record?”
His brows lifted in the age-old ‘duh’ expression. “At least you were still mostly a kid. You should tell him that instead of letting him give you all this crap. You’re a good enough dancer and besides … ”
The man’s words faded into the roar of the background until she could only see his lips moving. At least you were still mostly a kid.
The do-over. Punching Rhonda when she’d had the chance.
She’d never hit anyone; never even had so much as a parking ticket. Then she looked down to see her hand form a fist. As it slowly rose, she flashed on the feeling of her fingers connecting with the cartilage and small bones of Rhonda’s surgically perfected nose. Nothing in her life had ever hurt so good.
Oh, no. No, no, no. In her one chance at a do-over, Tensley had picked punching Rhonda.
Milo grabbed her under the arms before she hit the floor. She struggled to regain her footing, but couldn’t make her legs work.
From above her, she heard him say something unintelligible. Next thing she knew, he had picked her up and was moving her down the hall, her toes skimming the floor, as though she weighed nothing at all.
Milo shoved a door open. Tensley’s brain registered a paper gold star taped to the wood, its edges crumpled. The bouncer somehow maneuvered her into an upright position in a chair. “Breathe,” he commanded.
She did her best, choking back the aroma of cigarettes, burned coffee and perfume. After a few minutes, the adrenaline surge subsided, leaving her seasick.
Milo stood. “Better sit it out for a while,” he said over his shoulder.
She raised her head, no longer sure what was real and what wasn’t. “If I don’t shake my scrawny ass, I won’t have a place to live.” She wanted him to tell her that was a mistake, at least.
Instead he sighed and said, “You’re in worse shape than I thought.” He sounded sorry for her. Tensley’s self-esteem, fragile at the best of times, slunk off to a corner to sit things out.
“Go on, get dressed and get outta here,” Milo said. “I’ll cover for you.” He closed the door behind him.
She stared at it for a few minutes, waiting for her brain to kick in with instructions. When it did, the directive was urgent.
Clothes. Now.
She pushed herself off the chair, legs trembling. It didn’t take a lot of looking for her to find her station, a mirror above a table littered with makeup. Beneath the bright bulbs, a flyer had been affixed to the glass. It was a picture of Tensley, with hair longer than she normally wore it, pointing full, perky boobs at the camera while one finger pulled her bottom lip into a pout.
“Lila Delightful,” the poster screamed. “Now appearing exclusively at Gary’s Gorgeous Grecians.”
Ohhhh hell no.
Her lungs stopped working. All of the items on her mental list blurred together, tumbling around her brain, their virtual boxes filled with questions instead of tidy check marks. Shoving them aside, she forced herself to gulp air, waving her fingers in front of her nose.
First things first.
She wrenched a metal locker next to the station open, chest heaving, and began digging around inside until she found something to put on — worn, tight jeans with a threadbare knee, an oversized Seattle Seahawks T-shirt, socks and white tennis shoes. Hand shaking, she dragged a comb through her hair and used a tissue to wipe away the layers of makeup.
She pulled a leather purse from a hook in the locker and opened a wallet inside. A wad of crumpled bills, mostly tens and twenties, fell to the floor. The wallet’s plastic pockets held a blood donor card, a debit card used so many times that half the bank’s name had worn off, a library card and a driver’s license. She inspected each. Tensley Tanner-Starbrook, read the license, with an unfamiliar address and a weight she hadn’t seen since high school. Birth date matched. October 1. Height matched. Five foot eight. Eyes matched. Green.
Then her hand closed on a piece of crisp white paper tucked inside. A checklist, in her handwriting. “Pay rent” was the first item. “Touch up roots” was the next. Tensley lifted a hand to her hair. “Ask Gary for more hours. Repair costume.”
The boxes were small, perfectly drawn squares — evidence as damning as a fingerprint. She’d always said there wasn’t much in life that couldn’t be handled with a checklist.
Until now.
Tensley tried to fold the list, but her fingers were shaking so badly, she had to give up after only a few seconds and shove it back inside the purse, along with the money she grabbed from the dusty floor. Purse clutched to her chest, she walked to the door and opened it, blinking at the green cast of the lights.
Not going to think any more. Just going to get out of here.
She followed a long hallway, her shoes squeaking, to a door that led outside. It opened to cool night air that washed over her, awakening her senses. In the distance, a siren wailed through night air spiced with the flavors of someone’s cooking.
Her eyes drifted closed. Was stripping a trade she’d learned in prison? Because she sure as hell didn’t know how to do it before. If she had, there would have been a lot more guys hanging out in the high school library.
She needed a plan. A hotel room, a night’s sleep, a call to Kate. In that order. Not perfect, but it was all she had. For now.
She heard a sound to her right and opened her eyes to see a tall figure, in the shape of a man, emerge from around the brick corner of the building. Masked by the shadows, he was bearing down on her. She tried to shout a warning, a demand to leave her alone, but nothing came out of her mouth. And she still couldn’t move her legs.
So this was how it would end. Her body, broken and bruised, found lying in the back of a strip club. Milo would lean over her, shaking his head. “I always said Gary should’ve cut her a break,” he would say, before going back inside to finish his shift. “She was barely eighteen when she did her crime.”
The shadowy figure continued coming toward her. She hoped she’d been able to pick up other skills in prison. Boxing. Or combat yoga. She tried a scream. This time it worked.
“Tensley.” The voice was hushed, urgent. A hand reached out to grab her arm. She started to pull away, but stopped when she realized she knew the voice. “Ssshhh,” he hissed, coming into the light long enough for her catch a glimpse of his face. “Come with me.”
Max.
She’d thought he was gone forever. Again. Her knees gave way at the same time she shot back at him with, “Get the hell away from me.”
CHAPTER THREE
Max grabbed Tensley’s arm before she hit the ground, but she shook him off, steadying herself against the back of the building.
Get away from her. Right. He’d tried that before. And it hadn’t worked out so well.
She was thinner than he remembered, with a hard, shiny body instead of the softly voluptuous one that had cost him so many sleepless nights as a teenager.
But it was still her body. And he still wanted it like he’d wanted no other before or since.
She turned her face upward and his chest squeezed tight. Her eyes had always given her away, always said exactly what she was thinking and feeling, no matter how hard she tried to hide it. What he’d seen in her eyes all those years ago had nearly made him forget about the stupid bet that sent him to the high school library in the first place.
Fifteen years later, her eyes said, I hate you. I don’t hate you. Don’t go. I hate you. I want you, right here, right now.
Okay, maybe the last part was his dick talking. But this was all he fucking needed.
Why couldn’t she have acquired a jagged edge of distrust like any other self-respecting stripper?
He stepped back into the protection of the darkness. “You asked me to get you out of here.” He wasn’t sure what he’d expected from her, but it hadn’t been this.
“And then you left.” Her chin, held high, began to tremble.
“I couldn’t — ” He raked a hand through his hair. “Couldn’t do anything inside.”
“Except watch.” She looked away. “And pay.”
“What the hell, Tensley.” As if that wasn’t her job. He’d felt like shit giving her money, but it was pretty much the way it worked. Couldn’t tell her why he was really there. At least not yet. “You said you wanted to go. Let’s go.”
“Can’t stay out too late? Have to get back to the wife and kids?”
The thread of hysteria pulling through her voice heightened his alert system, drawing him to her. She’d somehow managed to come out of a strip bar smelling like summer and clean sheets. Or maybe his memory was just working overtime. Didn’t matter. He took her elbow and softened his tone. “C’mon. My truck is close by.”
“Don’t. You. Tell me what to do.” Her index finger, inches from his nose, shook.
That was it. Max shut his eyes, fighting the urge to pick her up and throw her over his shoulder, caveman-style. The thought of her body on his, though, killed that idea. He’d be lucky to make it the two blocks to the car. Finally, he managed to say, “Suit yourself.”
He strode away, ear tuned to even the slightest movement coming from her. Follow me. All alone in this part of town at night, she’d be an easy target for creeps, which would add to everything else about her already weighing on his conscience. Follow me, dammit. He wouldn’t, couldn’t actually leave her. She only had to think he might.
He’d gone several yards, taking in every empty doorway and shadowed corner, before she started coming after him, sneakers padding across the pavement. When he heard her trip, his breath caught, but she recovered and kept going. He slowed his steps enough to let her overtake him if she tried.
It took another half a block for her to try.
Careful What You Kiss For Page 3