“Do I look like I’m not enjoying myself?” I asked.
“Not the way these other guys are,” she replied. “You do know this is a strip bar, right?”
“Is it?”
She nodded. “Naked girls and drinks.”
“I hadn’t noticed.”
She tipped her head to the side without removing her hood. “I almost believe you.”
“Almost?”
“Mmm-hmm. I know you didn’t come for the girls, because you’re not looking at them. And I know you didn’t come for the drinks, because you’re not having one. But you look like the kind of man who always knows exactly where he is.”
She still hadn’t pulled off her hood, but her eyes were assessing me, curiosity plain on her face. Something about her look made me uneasy. Like she could see right through me. I brushed it off and gave her a crooked grin.
I nodded at her glass. “So what’re you drinking?”
“Straight-up water,” she admitted.
“Maybe I’m here for the same reason as you, then.”
She shot me a bemused smile. “You got your days mixed up and you didn’t realize you had the night off and you honestly couldn’t think of somewhere better to go?”
“Okay, maybe not exactly the same reason.”
She twirled her fingers around the top of the water bottle.
“Which part is not exactly the same?”
I couldn’t look away from her manicured hand as it dragged down her drink and then back up again. The simple gesture was incredibly sensual, and in spite of my sobriety, my head spun just a little.
She lifted the bottle up and my gaze found a new place to rest. Her mouth hovered over the bottle, then closed over it as she took a delicate sip. It was as enticing as it was distracting.
Was she doing it on purpose? I couldn’t tell. She wasn’t dressed provocatively. In fact, the black coat she wore hid any hint of her curves. The way she moved, though…she exuded a subtle sexuality. Like it was second nature for her, but not as though it was put on.
She met my gaze, and the muted heat was there in her eyes, too. Shit. Everything about her brought to mind gauzy sheets and feather pillows.
“Well?” she said softly.
I struggled to remember what she had asked, searched my mind for an answer. “None of it’s the same, actually. I haven’t had a day off in months, and I’m just passing through for work. I can think of a hundred of places I’d rather be than here.”
“Your boss lets you do your work in a strip bar?”
I shrugged. “My boss is a son of a bitch, and I don’t care where he wants me to work.”
She shifted in her seat, and for a moment I thought my words had offended her and that she was going to move away. Instead, she slid over so she was on the stool right beside mine.
“If he’s such a jerk…why are you working for him?” She wanted to know.
I took an unsteady breath. This close, I could smell her light flowery scent. Lavender.
“We all have to do things we don’t like sometimes,” I replied.
“That’s true.” There was real conviction in her agreement.
Her thigh brushed my knee, and I realized for the first time that under the bulky black coat, she was wearing a dress. When she leaned in, the coat parted a little, and I saw that it was tight across her breasts and loose at her hips and it was pushed up far enough to reveal a significant amount of leg.
A pulsating beat reverberated through the club, and the house lights dimmed. A murmured voice announced the arrival of the girl coming onto the stage. I barely noticed her.
“What about the other part?” she asked.
“What part?”
“You said you can think of a hundred places you’d rather be. Name one.”
I gave her a crooked smile. “That was before I started talking to you,” I teased.
Two spots of colour, visible even in the dim lighting, darkened her fair cheeks. When she spoke again, it was in a voice like raw silk.
“Fine,” she said. “Name one place you’d rather be. With me.”
“Just one?” I joked.
She shot me a dead-serious look. “Just one.”
My mouth went dry. I knew what she was really asking, and I knew what I wanted to say, but I still felt the need for caution as I answered her. There was something about her that made me think I shouldn’t take what she was offering too lightly.
“My hotel room,” I told her.
For the second time, she met and held my gaze and I saw a range of emotion in her eyes that set me on fire. I thought it must match mine perfectly. Deep desire. Surprise at where this was leading. Well-hidden pain. And an acceptance of the invitation that hung between us.
“Let’s go,” she said, and jerked her head toward the stage. “Before all you can think of is her.”
I couldn’t even have said if the girl on the stage was a blonde or a brunette, whether she was partly nude or fully there. All of it was nothing more than a backdrop for those enormous blue eyes, full of promise and waiting for me to say yes.
I nodded once, and she reached for my hand. The feel of her fingers interlocked with mine sent something akin to an electric current through my arm.
I started to speak, then stopped. What was I going to say? Was I going to admit that I had barely done more than glance at a woman in years? Was I going to explain that the pull, the longing I felt now had everything to do with this girl herself?
I wasn’t sure if I should, and I wasn’t even convinced I could. So I just stood up wordlessly and followed where she led.
Chapter Two
Polly
Reckless.
It was the best word I could think of to describe how I was feeling as I dragged the undeniably handsome man through Tangerines. His intense, green-eyed gaze burned along my back. I didn’t have to glance behind me to know he was watching the extra switch I injected into my walk, and the awareness of the heat of his stare sent an unfamiliar thrill down my spine. Men stared at me all the time. I got paid to let them do it. And I was usually indifferent to their leers.
But the second he’d sat down, three stools over, I’d felt the pull. His eyes held none of the usual undressing-you-where-you-stand scrutiny. Instead, they held mystery. Veiled pain. Passion that deserved to be freed. All of it spoke to me. And for the first time in as long as I could remember, I wanted to act on a feeling beyond survival.
Maybe it was because my week was a tough one. Showing up for work when I didn’t even need to be there was just the topper to an already heartbreaking day.
Jayme and I had been fighting since Monday, and the blow up this afternoon had been painful. I was furious at myself for giving in to him again when I needed to be standing up for what was right. The resentment pitted in my chest, aching outward. I had no right to the pain. This life was mine. Chosen by me. Or at least all the actions which led to it were.
I have no right to blame it on Jayme.
But there I was, hours later, still letting my anger cloud my vision and affect my decision-making process. And refusing to go home even though it was where I belonged.
I pulled the green-eyed stranger behind the stage.
“Through here.”
It didn’t matter if the man heard my whispered command or not. There was no way I was letting go of his hand.
Because if you do, you might lose your nerve?
I ignored the nagging voice because it was wrong. Something drew me to the solitary stranger sitting at the bar. Most people in Tangerines were regulars, but the occasional unknown man wasn’t uncommon enough to attract attention.
This one, though…he was different. Maybe it was the set of his shoulders, stiff and not quite comfortable, or the hard line of his back, visible even through the taut material of his plaid shirt. And when he turned his dark eyes toward me, my body heated up, and I felt compelled to see where that would lead.
I couldn’t dare think about what it meant that someo
ne other than Jayme made my heart warm.
I pushed open the door that led to the back halls of the bar. I slowed only slightly once we were in the dark. I had no trouble finding my way through the familiar corridor. But the man behind me wasn’t so experienced, and a few steps in, he stumbled into me. His fingers slipped out of mine. When I turned to steady him, he grasped my shoulders.
“Hey.” His voice was thick.
“Hey.” Mine was a breathy whisper.
He pushed me up against the wall, and his hands slid down to my waist. He rested his grip there for a moment. The strength in his fingers provided a sharp contrast to my soft curves, and for a moment, self-consciousness threatened to overwhelm me. In a second, he’d figure out how inexperienced I was. He’d know as soon as his lips touched mine that the make-up and the outfit and the whole package was nothing more than an illusion. I only sold sexy; I didn’t live it.
Then he squeezed my waist. The sudden roughness made me gasp, and I arched my back, pressing my chest into him. Insecurity flew from my mind, replaced by desire. He brought his index finger to my chin and tipped my head back, exposing my throat. He bent down to plant a trail of kisses there. I gasped involuntarily once again, and he groaned against the tender skin on my neck.
We’re not even going to make it to his hotel room.
His mouth moved down, finding the hollow of my throat, and then my collarbone, while his hands travelled lower, down my hips and to my thighs. He pressed the length of his body against mine. As he brought his teeth to my ear, my legs parted of their own accord, and I fought for some semblance of control.
“Not here,” I murmured.
“No,” he agreed. “Not here.”
But his ministrations carried on, his lips and fingers creating pockets of heat everywhere they touched.
“Taxis are out back,” I managed to get out.
With a nearly inaudible sigh, he released his physical hold on me. But even in the dark, I could still see his ardent gaze, and that held me to the spot as much as his embrace had.
“I have a car.”
“No cars.”
I couldn’t be seen leaving with him. It was too risky.
I brushed my lips along his jaw so he wouldn’t take my comment as rejection. He groaned softly at the contact and didn’t protest as I pulled him by his hand through the rest of the hallway and out to the alleyway. Three cabs—the ones the owner of Tangerines kept on retainer so his dancers could get to and from work—sat outside with their engines running.
I opened the back door of the first one and ignored the surprised look on the driver’s face. I’d never brought someone with me before, and never used one of the cabs to get anywhere but home.
“Miss P—”
“Trent Falls Lodge,” I interrupted.
Names were an unnecessary luxury.
The driver nodded, and we climbed in.
We travelled in silence, not touching. The air between us was electric. With every move the green-eyed man made, the seat bounced and subsequently caused a ripple of want to rock my insides. I kept my hands clasped in my lap. It required real effort not to run my fingers along the firm, visible line of muscle under his jeans. And by the time we reached the motel, I was also fighting to keep my breathing slow and measured. All thoughts of Jayme were shoved forcibly to the bottom of my brain, buried under my desire for this stranger.
When we reached Trent Falls Lodge, the man paid the fare, and I didn’t argue. I let him lead me to the top floor, only three up from the ground, and right into room three-oh-six.
“Penthouse,” I teased to cover how nervous I suddenly felt.
He shot me a charming grin. “I’m classy like that.”
He took a step closer to me as he said the words, and my heart leaped into my throat. As he ran a hand up my bare arm, I could feel my pulse respond. It pounded in every part of my body, from my lips to my toes, and when I took a steadying breath, it came out as a ragged whimper.
He moved even closer, creating an immediate awareness of just how tiny the room was. A miniscule table. A night stand. And a bed.
A bed.
Desire licked through my abdomen.
Two more quick footfalls, and my calves pressed against the mattress, and the heat in his eyes made blood rush to my face. His hand came up to trace the line of my blush. I leaned into the surprisingly tender gesture and met his gaze. In the dim light of the motel room, I could see passion in his eyes, and white-hot desire. But there was something else, too.
My already pattering heart lifted to a stuttering crescendo as I recognized the fact that he was looking at me like I was his favourite dessert. His favourite painting. Something to be devoured slowly, intimately.
It made me want him even more.
I raised my hands to unbutton his shirt, and lightning quick, he grabbed my wrists and pinned them together. He held me immobile as he buried his mouth in my throat, filling my skin with alternating nips and kisses. He drew my arms around his neck, and his hands snaked under my dress, where his thumbs looped through the sides of my underwear.
I gasped in anticipation.
Then abruptly, he stopped.
He looked at me seriously with his deep, forest-green eyes.
“Do you want this?” he asked.
“No,” I replied. “I need this.”
Both of his palms came up and cupped my face. It wasn’t the gesture of a man in a hurry. It was the careful touch of a man who craved something more. And I wanted to give it to him, even if it was just for one night.
I stood on my tiptoes to brush my lips against his. When his tongue teased my mouth open, my body hummed. He ran his hands through my hair and over my shoulder, then down across my backside, making me moan. Through the fabric of my dress, I could feel the corded muscles of his chest. His knee nudged my legs apart, and when his thigh found the sweet spot between my legs, I thrust against it.
Then he was done being gentle. He unfastened his belt and slid his pants down over his hips. They hit the floor, and with something akin to violence, he flung me back on the bed.
My breath cut away, but he didn’t give me time to recover. Instead, he crushed himself to me, then rolled me over so I had no choice but to straddle him. For a long moment, we sat like that. I was desperately aware of how he felt underneath me, every bit of him pressed against my body, just outside of where I needed him to be.
“Now?” he asked roughly, and I nodded because I couldn’t speak.
As he entered me, I couldn’t bite back a pleasure-filled cry. With my dress fanned across our bodies, and him filling me completely, I rocked forward and back, forward and back until I had no choice but to let go, and to lose all sense of anything but him.
* * *
Jayme.
His name came to my mind unbidden. How long had I been lying there, resting my head in the crook of the strange man’s arm?
Too long.
Now that whatever primal need I had was sated, guilt seeped in, harder and thicker by the second.
The man’s breathing was slow, and even in the dark, I could see that his eyes were closed.
“Hey,” I whispered tentatively, and he didn’t answer.
I exhaled softly and allowed myself a moment to study him. His plaid shirt was slightly askew, but still buttoned. His unwillingness to get undressed made me curious. Was he just so overwhelmed that he couldn’t be bothered? Or was it something else?
I traced the top button of his shirt with my index finger, feeling its smoothness and its coolness for a moment, and considering the possible reasons. Insecurity? Of course, I hadn’t taken off my dress, either, and I had virtually no qualms about being seen naked. I did it three days a week for money. And besides that, his lovemaking wasn’t shy. Even with my limited experience—just one man besides this one—I could tell.
Maybe it really was just a heat of the moment oversight.
I toyed with the button again, drawing the shirt up. Then I froze as his hand
moved from his side to his shirt, tugging it down. But his reaction appeared to have be an automatic one, like he needed to stay covered up. And he was still asleep.
Something other than passion, then.
I didn’t dwell on it any further as I exhaled once more and slid out of his embrace, careful not to disturb him. I stood and stepped across the room. I slipped my feet into my shoes, and realized with a blush that my underwear were tucked somewhere in the bed, probably underneath the man. After a moment’s hesitation, I decided to leave them behind.
The outdoor air was cool, and it was almost dawn. I wasn’t surprised to see the cabbie sitting in his car, waiting. The owner of Tangerines paid him well to keep an eye on his girls. Not that many of them were in the habit of going home with strangers. With the exception of maybe two or three of them, all of the women who danced there were all married.
“Back to the club, Miss Polly?” the driver asked, no judgement in his voice.
I shook my head. “Home, please.”
I stared out the window. Dread lay heavily in my stomach as we travelled through Trentville, across the highway, and into Trent Falls. By the time we arrived at my run-down house, a nervous sweat broke out over my entire body. When I reached my doorstep, I was certain I was going to heave up the previous day’s meals.
Gut-rot regret hit me as I twisted the metal handle, and I paused. A few hours of weakness might very well cost me the life I’d so carefully constructed. I took a breath and opened the door.
“Pol, is that you?”
The groggy voice wafted across my tiny living room.
“Misty?” I replied, panic making my voice rise an octave. “Why are you out here? Did something happen? Was Jayme looking for me? Please tell me he didn’t call the bar.”
The other woman laughed, and when I flicked on the light, she was grinning.
“Relax, Polly. I just landed on your couch because Mike and Little Mike have a cold and they were both snoring like you wouldn’t believe. It was the only spot in the house I couldn’t hear them. Jayme’s sound asleep in your room. He doesn’t even know I’m here.”
My shoulders dropped as some of the tension left my body. Jayme and I rented a room and a small living space from Misty and her family. It wasn’t really a separate suite, just a small area on the side of the bungalow that we could call our own.
Pinups and Possibilities Page 2