Shakin' It For Daddy (The Panty Droppers)

by LeMar, Tigra-Luna

  Back Cover

  Interracial Erotica Romance Novella by Tigra-Luna LeMar

  Mika Jamison’s dream of becoming a Showgirl of Simora is over. Not only that, she lives in a crummy apartment, works a crappy job as a waitress in a small town where everyone hates her. How can life possibly get any worse?

  Add Degan Moira to the mix and you get more than trouble.

  Degan Moira is a man on a mission—find the only woman he’s ever remotely felt human around, make her see that he’s the only man that can love her the way she deserves to be loved and live happily ever after.

  But will he still love Mika when he sees that she’s grown into a bitter, angry woman with nothing to her name?

  Shakin’ It For Daddy

  Book Two in

  The Panty Droppers Series

  Tigra-Luna LeMar

  MuseitHOT, division of MuseItUp Publishing

  www.museituppublishing.com

  ADULT CONTENT: Contains graphic sexual content.

  Dedication

  To TH—love you muchly

  Chapter One

  Mika Jamison stood at the edge of the stage and took a deep breath. She thought for sure she was used to the stress that came with waiting. This was the moment she had been waiting for ever since she’d seen the first Vegas showgirls on television when she was six years old. She remembered how remarkably beautiful they were, smiling with their long legs kicking out in front of them in a wonderful line. She also remembered she hadn’t seen any of them look like her—dark skin, brown eyes with larger breasts and well-rounded hips.

  She auditioned for a lost cause because year after year she was passed up for a part in the Showgirls of Simora. Her heart broke and she would go back to her crappy job as the local waitress. Every year she would be rejected and she took a deep breath, and returned to her job serving ungrateful bastards their coffee and enough fried goods to cause a small village to have a heart-attack. She lived through the name calling in the small town, people slashing her tires, and writing slut in giant letters on the back of her car. For about a week, she drove around with the red letters, tagged to the back window of her car because she couldn’t afford to take it to the mechanic and have him remove them. The spiteful asses had used some kind of paint she couldn’t wash off.

  She’d stopped complaining to the sheriff, about a year before, went home and sowed a red A to the front of all her outfits. Then, each morning, she would wake up, talk herself into facing them again and go to work.

  “Mika Jamison?” The woman in the overly expensive business suit called.

  Mika took a deep breath and moved even closer to the edge of the stage to the microphone. She clutched her fingers together wondering why the woman’s pony tail was so tight. Her heart hammered inside her chest as beads of sweat from the nerves and the stage lights trailed over her skin. Blinking, she took a breath and waited.

  “While we adore your audition…” The woman with the stick up her ass began the same old tirade they used each time they rejected her.

  Mika shook her head. “You know what?” she said into the microphone. All heads in the room turned to face her. “You can save the, ‘you’re not what we’re looking for’, or ‘you didn’t make the cut’, or ‘you need to lose ten pounds’ speech. I’m tired of hearing them. Quite frankly, you can take them and shove ‘em up your asses. My god! What is wrong with you people? I’m black! I get it! You don’t have to use it against me every chance you get!”

  “Miss Jamison! Control yourself!” The woman gasped.

  “Control myself?” Mika cocked a well-rounded hip, rested a hand on it and peered at the woman. “Control myself? Have you looked at the Showgirls line in the past twenty years? How many of them have been a visible minority?”

  Silence danced through the room except the periodical squeaking of the microphone.

  “I thought so. I don’t want to be a part of this charade and I don’t want to be your token minority! God…to think how many years of my life I’ve wasted on you people.”

  Stepping back, she picked up her small, tattered gym bag from where it had fallen, flipped her braids over one shoulder, and she walked, swinging her ass like no-body’s business, off the stage. She shoved roughly through the other girls, waiting to hear their fates, silently pitying them. Exiting into the sunlight of another sickening Simora day, she climbed into her second hand car, tossed her bag to the back seat and reached forward for the knob of the stereo. Janet Jackson’s Make Me wafted from the speakers and she cranked it until the old car began shaking with the force of the base.

  The next morning, tired and still highly agitated from the day before, Mika opened her eyes and stared at the wall before her. She could hear her neighbors yelling at each other again and it was beginning to wear thin. Shoving her feet from the bed she pushed the window open it and hung half her body out.

  “You annoying little asses!” she shouted. “How long are you going to keep bitching about the same god-damn thing? Astrid, move the fucking rose bush so we can all get some sleep on our days off and Becca, keep your dog on a fucking leash! If I step in his shit one more time you and I are going to roll! Problems solved, right?”

  She slammed the window shut and yanked the curtains in place. It was her first day off in months and she had no idea what she was going to do with it. The thought of going to the gym ran through her mind, but she descended the couple of steps from her bedroom wondering what’s the point? In the kitchen instead of making her regular healthy breakfast, she settled for a jar of Pralines and Cream ice-cream and a spoon. The first bit of cold comfort slid down her throat and she moaned. But that didn’t last long, because soon, her mind began playing the same old tricks it had been playing since her last boyfriend dumped her for not giving him some booty.

  What am I doing with my life? Why am I still alone at thirty chasing some little pipe dream of being a showgirl?

  I am too old for this shit.

  Stabbing the spoon into the ice-cream, she sighed at the thought. Her mother had been right. There’s no way she could make it in Simora. She’d been trying ever since she turned twenty six to get into the Showgirls of Simora and just like that, her dream was dead. Thirty-years-old with nothing else to her name but a car that’s constantly breaking down, an apartment in a building not even a roach should live in, and a crummy job in a town where everyone hated her.

  La-dee-fucking-da!

  Still she could hear the muffled sounds of her neighbors going at it. A slight throbbing in her temple started to get worse and she re-covered the ice-cream and shoved it back into the freezer. She dropped the spoon into the sink and returned to her bedroom before taking a quick shower, and then hauling on a tight pair of jeans. Mika slipped into a blue tank top and tied her braids back. Sticking in a pair of silver earrings she’d picked up at local garage sale, she squirted perfume on her neck and grabbed her purse and keys.

  Mika had no idea where to go, but anywhere beats sitting at home, listening to Astrid and Becca bitch at each other from across the fence.

  Chapter Two

  The sun was high in the New York sky by the time Degan Moira came up for air from his day filled with meetings. Glancing at his calendar he frowned. There were still two meetings glaring him in the face. He stared at the buildings across from his, and then stood to look down at the streets below him. People moved along like tiny rodents, heedless to his pain and discomfort. A passing wonder of how many of them would give a damn what he was feeling charged through his mind and he furiously fought to push it away. He knew the answer—none of them. They were all like the rest of the human race who were only in it for themselves. He wi
shed Preston was around, but he was off somewhere jumping off or out of something with a piece of cloth strapped to his back to break his fall.

  Ah, the beauty of human stupidity.

  With a moan, Degan took a steadying breath and fell into his chair once more. He reached forward and hit the red button on his phone.

  “Yes, Mister Moira?” his personal assistant called.

  “Could I see you in my office please?” he asked.

  “Right away, sir.”

  Degan frowned. He constantly told her not to call him that. Sir was something they would called his father. Shrugging it off, he grabbed a bottle of water from the cooler before falling like a brick into his overstuffed chair again. By then, Arlene was walking through the door dressed in her usual type of business suit. She closed the door behind her and sat down, crossing her legs waiting for him.

  “Cancel my last two meetings,” he said outright. “I don’t want to do anymore today.”

  She glanced at the Blackberry in her hands and arched a brow. “But you’ve been trying to get in with the guys in Japan for months!”

  Degan frowned again. “Alright, cancel Higgins and leave Matsumodo.”

  She nodded and began tapping furiously at the Blackberry. “Also,” she said without looking up. “I spent the last week looking for that woman you wanted—Mika Jamison. It wasn’t easy, but I think I’ve found her.”

  That news perked Degan up in a way he never thought it would. “Where?”

  “A place called Simora? I found her through an application form she completed online for a show called Showgirls of Simora.”

  Degan arched a brow.

  Mika? A Showgirl? Huh?

  “That’s…different,” he managed.

  “Yeah…anyway she lives in the small town and I’m sending her address to you…now.”

  His Blackberry chimed and he nodded. “Thanks. Listen, I want you to clear my schedule for the next week. I’ll be going out of town.”

  “Want me to prep the jet?”

  “No, I’ll handle all that,” he replied. “Thanks. That will be all.”

  She nodded and Degan turned from her to face the window. The door clicked silently and he knew Arlene was gone. His mind shifted back to Mika and the first day he’d seen her.

  “Damn it, Preston!” Degan shouted, as the football sailed by his head and slammed into the locker. “You wanna give a heads up the next time you feel the overwhelming urge to whip that thing at me?”

  “There’s a sexual innuendo there someplace.” Preston grinned. “But I’m not gonna touch that one.”

  Preston picked up the football and twirled it around on his fingertips before leaning against the locker. Degan, however, had his head buried in the locker, furiously digging for his Biology text book. He couldn’t believe he’d left it at home again. “Mr. Drakes is going to kill me!”

  “You left your biology textbook at home again? Way to go!”

  “Hey…ass-tard…you’re not helping.”

  “Yo, D, check it out!” Preston exclaimed in a hoarse whisper tapping Degan roughly against the side.

  Degan yanked his head from the locker and turned in the direction Preston was jutting his chin. There she was—the new girl. She had smooth looking, chocolate skin with an ass that made his mouth water. The jeans she wore clung to her thighs, expanded over her hips and hugged her waist. The top was even better. It showed off just enough cleavage to make him wonder, but not enough to give it all away. She was peering pensively at a paper in her hand, and then looking up at the doors.

  She was lost.

  Before he could move to help her, Archie Salmon, notorious for the chess club and Glee Squad, was already by her side speaking to her. The smile she gave Archie caused jealousy to throb through Degan’s every pore, his very soul. He wanted that beauty for himself.

  “Damn she’s hot!” Preston exclaimed.

  His chiming Blackberry yanked him from the memory to face it. His cock was pulsating and Degan could have sworn his pants had gotten smaller around that area. Even after so many years, Mika Jamison still had that effect on him. Rubbing a hand over the bulge in the front of his pants, a shiver danced through him at the sensation of any little friction against the tenderness of his aroused dick. His heart hammered inside his chest and his eyes rolled into his head. There was no one to relieve what he was feeling and he’d purposely left it that way. Dating had been something of a chore over the years and he’d only gotten close to marriage once. Then one night, they were going at it hot and heavy. He had Marrisa’s pussy in his mouth and growled another woman’s name—Mika’s. The ring he’d given Marrisa went flying at his head as she dragged her suitcase after her and out the door. Degan didn’t run after her—he didn’t fight it. He stood there and let Marrisa go.

  He thought he’d loved Marrisa, he really did. He didn’t mean to hurt her in any way, but it happened. Sometimes he would lay in bed, alone at nights thinking that Mika had cursed him somehow. Though she’d never said one word to him, or him to her, he felt her image and his yearning for her had somehow cock-blocked him for the rest of his life.

  Degan swerved in his chair, took a deep breath and picked up the black object. He activated the screen and stared at it.

  Reminder: Conference call with Matsumodo in ten minutes.

  Swearing softly beneath his breath and dropping the Blackberry into his pocket, Degan grabbed his laptop and briefcase and exited his office.

  * * * *

  The meeting with Matsumodo, though brief, had been fruitful and soon he was on his way home. Though he was fairly certain Preston had told him where he was going, Degan couldn’t remember what he ate for breakfast much less the latest where-abouts of his globe-trotting friend.

  “Call Preston,” he said out loud.

  “Calling, Preston.” The device responded.

  The phone rang and for a moment Degan thought no one would answer. Finally, Preston’s voice came over the line.

  “Where are you this time?” Degan questioned with a laugh.

  “I told you.” Preston chuckled. “Australia.”

  “I’m not going to ask what you’re jumping off or out of, but I needed to talk to someone and you’re the closest I got.”

  Preston laughed. “Shoot man! Go ahead. What’s wrong?”

  “It’s about Mika.”

  “Hoo boy!”

  “I’m serious. I found her in Simora. She is trying to become a showgirl.”

  Silence came from the line and Degan frowned. “Did you hear me?”

  “I heard you. Are you sure it’s the same Mika? I mean she’s always been into her books and clubs and Archie—how could someone like that want to shake her ass in nothing but a bra and a g-string?”

  Degan shrugged. “I don’t know, but if it’s her, I need to see her.”

  “I’m telling you man, if this doesn’t work out you’re going to drive yourself crazy.” Preston pointed out. “I love you, D, but this woman has got you all kinds of tripping over her and you’ve never even so much as said boo to her.”

  “I was a kid then! I thought it was a crush—but after I yelled her name during sex with Marissa, I know I either have to go and say something to her and have her toss it in my face or let it go and you know me.”

  “Yeah. You’re not a let-it-go kinda guy. Just be careful, all right? Simora isn’t the best place at the moment if you catch my drift.”

  Degan nodded even though he didn’t understand what that had to do with him. “I’ll be careful. And try to come back to the Apple in one piece, okay?”

  “I make no such promises.” Preston laughed.

  By the time he got off the phone, Degan was once more stuck in Manhattan rush hour traffic.

  Chapter Three

  Old man Ferguson sat at the farthest table in the broken down diner as usual and stared at her. For the millionth time, Mika looked up and caught him. He licked his lips like a dirty old lecher. Thoroughly disgusted, she rolled her eyes wip
ing her coffee covered hands on her apron. Farley, the dangerously overweight short order cook, hit the bell while yelling, “Order up! Number three!”

  Taking a deep breath, Mika picked up the plate piled high with fried sausage, scrambled eggs, hash browns and bacon, and walked it over to Mr. Ferguson. She placed the plate before him and without a second glance walked away. A few of the gossipers were now sitting at a table, hunched over and whispering as usual. Mika walked over and cocked a hip.

  “Are you going to order or are you going to just sit here talking people’s business all day?” she inquired in a fake, sugary, voice that she knew irritated them. If she was having a crummy day, she might as well share.

  “What nerve!” Mrs Beaty gasped.

  Mika glared at her. “See that sign?” She pointed to a sign that said tables are for paying customers only. “If you’re not a paying customer, there’s the door. I don’t have time for this.”

  “You know, it wouldn’t kill you to try and be civilized to us. Without us you wouldn’t have a job,” Ms. Spaulding pointed out.

  “Dare to dream!” Mika fired back, clapping her hands with sarcasm firing through her veins. But her next words were cut off by the chiming of the tiny bells above the diner’s door. She turned in time to see a man—a sexy as sin man—walking through the door, removing his no doubt, designer shades and raking his long, dark hair out of his face with his fingers.

  Her pussy pulsed slightly at the sight of him and every move he made was as though in slow motion. His immaculately tailored, black suit hugged his massive body perfectly as though he was born wearing them. His shoes screamed expensive. When he turned his attention to her, she sucked in some air for they were the greenest eyes she’d ever seen.

  She wondered what a man of that caliber was doing in Simora, but didn’t voice her thoughts. Walking over to him, she cleared her throat. “May I help you?”