“It’s fine, Jules, really.” Ruby shook herself, trying to slough off the lurking uneasiness. “My fault. Must have gotten a bit heavy-handed with the alcohol in that Mai-Tai mix. Anyway, it’s all good. Because now I’ve got two crystals and double the chakra power.”
Jules grinned. “Trust you to look on the bright side.”
“What kind of crystal is it, anyway?”
Jules re-wrapped the crystal halves in the torn tissue paper and placed the bundle on the phone table. “Beats me. The old guy from the shop called it ky-something-or-other. Sorry. I’m sure I’ll remember after a few more of these cocktails, though.” She waggled her empty glass at Ruby.
“What am I? Your slave? Get your own bloody cocktail.”
“Some hostess you are.”
The doorbell shrilled. Jules hunched her shoulders and made a face. “God. When are you going to get that damn bell fixed?”
“Um, never? I’m used to it now. It’s quirky. Like me.” Ruby could hear cat-calls and loud chatter from outside.
Jules pinned her with a sharp glance. “Are you ready?”
Ruby had no trouble deciphering that glance. Was she ready for the disbelief and unwanted advice from her friends regarding this outrageous goal she’d set herself? Was she ready to face their well-meaning platitudes that she was okay just the way she was? Was she ready?
Shit no. And in retrospect, maybe it hadn’t been such a good idea to have emailed her entire contacts list about registering for the triathlon. But she would bluff her way through this evening—just as she had so many others. She smoothed her dress over her hips, and threw back her shoulders. “Fix me another cocktail, Jules. It’s show-time.”
Jules saluted her with an empty glass. “You got it, babe.”
Ruby sashayed over to the entranceway with an exaggerated wiggle of her bum that made Jules snort with laughter.
She opened the door. The effusive welcome she’d planned stuck in her throat. All she could do was stare, openmouthed, at the most beautiful man she’d ever seen in her entire life.
No exaggeration. Ruby was connoisseur of the male form. Other women her age bought gossipy fashion mags. Ruby splurged her hard-earned wages on her secret vice. Really classy male erotica magazines. Odes to the male form in all its manly splendor. Ooh la la!
So how did this guy stack up with those airbrushed fantasy men? Oh, he was right up there with the best of them. Really up there. Cover boy material—the best of the best.
He was tall—at least six feet. He’d scraped his blond hair back from his face and secured it with a tie. The severe style highlighted intense blue-green eyes the exact shade of an aquamarine necklace Ruby had stuffed in the bottom of her jewelry box. With his high cheekbones and full lips, his face was only saved from being too pretty by a nose that was just a tad too long. It suited him though. Made him look… regal. And the icing on the cake? A honed, muscular physique that looked formed by years of actual physical exertion, not just pushing weights around in a gym.
A man to sigh over. With a body to die for.
And Ruby was positive she wasn’t merely imagining his amazing body because, courtesy of the unlaced leather vest he wore instead of a shirt, there was such an awful lot of it on display. In fact, she was having such a good time drooling over all that burnished bare skin and those rippling muscles, she barely noticed the other guests hovering behind him. Or their grins.
Having completed her voyage of discovery, she dared raise her gaze to his face again. His gaze locked with hers. The rest of the world blurred, pushed to a tiny corner of Ruby’s brain. Unimportant. Meaningless. There was only him and her. And God, the way he was looking at her, like she was a delectable treat he couldn’t wait to eat.
A bray of high-pitched feminine laughter broke the spell.
Ruby blinked and saw herself reflected in his eyes. It wasn’t pretty—a chubby, thirty-year-old woman wearing a scarlet “look-at-me” dress and matching lipstick, who’d squeezed her feet into high-heeled sandals in a vain attempt to look sexy.
Sexy? Her?
Fat chance.
Ha ha. Good joke. And, as usual, the joke was on Ruby. As if any guy who looked like he did, would ever be interested in someone like her.
Unless he was being paid.
Ah. Riiight. Classic light bulb moment. Now it all made sense—his intent gaze, the way he made her feel special simply by looking at her. It was all a careful act, designed to please. One of her friends had booked her a stripper.
Ruby flushed, hyper-aware she was still staring. By now, everyone would surely have noticed her making goo-goo eyes at the gorgeous himbo. She could imagine what they were thinking. She dropped her gaze to stare fixedly at his chest. For once she couldn’t summon the smart repartee she relied on whenever she was embarrassed. She had nothing.
Ah, what the hell. Might as well make the embarrassment count. Her gaze drifted lower. She’d get her thrills before he figured out he’d been paid to entertain her, and ran screaming into the night.
A figure detached herself from Mr. Dreamy’s side. “Whose idea was the stripper, Ruby?”
“Uh, hiya, Caroline.” Ruby tore her gaze from the stripper’s delectable pectorals to greet her guest. “Um, I don’t really know whose idea it was.”
Caroline clutched Ruby’s shoulders and air-kissed her left and right. “Whoever it was should be congratulated on their excellent choice in men. Come on, Hunkalicious.” She ushered him inside by the simple expedient of squeezing his bum. He jumped like a scalded cat and Ruby caught a perplexed kind of frown before he smoothed his face and sauntered inside.
“Nice present, Rubes!” someone called out amidst a chorus of Happy Birthdays from those still standing outside. Around a dozen of Ruby’s friends filed in after Caroline, and clustered around the stripper, leaving the Birthday Girl hanging onto her door and gaping at their backs.
Rude buggers.
“Hiya, Rubes.” Jules’ boyfriend, Alex, strode down the pathway toward her, brandishing a bouquet of orchids. “Happy birthday, babe!” He kissed her cheek and presented the bouquet with a flourish.
“Thanks Alex, they’re beautiful.” Her favorite flower. He’d remembered—he always did. He was a real sweet guy. And Jules was a lucky, lucky girl.
“I gather he’s the planned entertainment?” Alex linked arms with Ruby and escorted her inside. “Don’t think it was Jules who organized him—better not have been, anyway.” He gave a mock-growl. “Babe, you better get over there before that estrogen-starved twig decides she wants your stripper all for herself. Look at her, groping his bum again. Jesus. Girl’s got no manners. Poor bugger’s gonna have some mighty fine bruises tomorrow.”
Ruby snickered. Alex preferred his women to “look like real women”—doubtless why he loved Jules’ curves. And got a pained look in his eye whenever he was forced to socialize with Caroline. He’d once commented that having sex with a scrawny thing like her would be like fucking a bag of bones. Eeeuw.
“I’m glad you’re here.” Ruby gave him a quick hug.
He planted an affectionate kiss atop her head. “Wouldn’t have missed it for the world.”
Ruby turned and surprised Mr. Dreamy gazing toward her and Alex. His eyes suddenly seemed more green than blue—and a pissed-off kind of green into the bargain.
Huh. Seemed he was more than a little jealous. Great. The stripper someone had chosen for her was gay. That “someone” sure had a warped sense of humor.
Beside her, Alex stiffened. She gathered he’d also spotted the green-eyed monster rearing its ugly head. Might be a good idea to suggest he head straight for Jules before Mr. Dreamy got the wrong idea and tried to chat him up.
“Will you look at that?” Alex whispered, almost to himself. “A man after my own heart.”
“What do you mean?”
“Nothing.”
Liar. Ruby scanned Alex’s face. He sported one of those insufferably self-satisfied looks—the kind that screamed he knew something important,
but he was going to make her work it out herself. For her own good, of course.
Men.
Cocktail in hand, Jules sidled over. “Hey, babe.” She kissed Alex on the mouth, taking her time about it. When she came up for air she said, “What were you looking so smug about?”
He wound an arm about her waist. “My secret.”
“C’mon, Alex, ’fess up.”
“Nope.”
“Awww, Aleeex!” She pursed her lips in a cutesy pout.
He snickered. “You’ll have to do better than that, babe.”
The grin she hit him with was pure evil. “Just you wait ’til tonight. You’ll be sor-ry!” And the threat was made in horror-movie-worthy singsong tone.
“Can’t wait.”
She grabbed his arm and shoved it up behind his back. “Tell me.”
“Gee. Ouch. Is that all you got?”
She increased the pressure.
“All right already. Geez. Was contemplating that old saying that beauty is more than skin deep.”
“Huh?” Jules released him, and glanced at Ruby in askance.
She shrugged.
Alex heaved a long-suffering sigh then changed the subject. “Honey, do you know who organized the stripper for Rubes?”
Jules considered said stripper thoughtfully. “No idea. He’s pretty hot though, huh?”
“Don’t ask me. I don’t swing that way.” Alex scratched his chin. “Gotta be his first private do, I reckon.”
“What makes you say that?” Ruby asked.
“He doesn’t know what to do with himself. Hasn’t even brought his own music. Must be an amateur. Rubes, you better get over there before those women talk him into a Full Monty.”
She flushed at the thought of Mr. Dreamy shucking his leather pants along with his vest. Gay or not, he was off-the-charts hot.
“Go on, Rubes. Get over there and let him know you’re the Birthday Girl!” Alex gave her a push.
She stumbled forward, teetering on the higher than usual heels. Please, God, she didn’t trip and end up sprawled on the floor crowned with a mashed bouquet of orchids.
Like magic, the gaggle of women clustered around her stripper parted and he was there, reaching out to steady her with a hand on her forearm.
Her flush deepened. “Uh, thanks. I’m the Birthday Girl. Is there anything you need before you um, start?”
His lips curved upward for a split second before his brow knit into an impressive frown. His hand tightened around her arm. “This is your celebration?”
“Erm, yes? My thirtieth birthday.” She waved a limp hand at the guests. “Hence the flowers and guests and stuff.”
He released her. “If you are in charge, perhaps you would be so kind as to order these brazen females to refrain from pinching my arse.” His perfect white teeth flashed in a sardonic grin. “I am a little unprepared for such a mob.”
Uh oh. An unhappy stripper. This wasn’t going well. Still, his voice rolled over her like liquid silk and it took a few moments before she could formulate any sort of coherent speech. “Um. Okay. Hands off, you lot!” she said to the bunch of smirking women. “You, especially, Caroline. Quit bruising the goods. It’s rude.”
Caroline made a face and stuck out her tongue. “Party pooper. When’s this show getting on the road? I’m dying for him to get his gear off.” She giggled as swigged the cocktail she’d somehow managed to grab in between grabbing the stripper. Caroline always did know how to look after number one.
“Your wish is my command.” Ruby shoved her flowers at Caroline and bared her teeth in a weak attempt at a smile. “Be a sweetie and put these in a vase? And I’ll see what I can do about getting the ball rolling, ’kay? Thanks!”
Caroline suddenly seemed to recall it was Ruby’s birthday so she was supposed to be nice to the Birthday Girl. She shut her mouth with a snap and flounced off.
“Cocktail table is over yonder.” Ruby shooed the rest of the hovering women away. “A bit of privacy, please?”
They grumbled but they obeyed. Thank goodness.
“Sorry ’bout that,” she said to Mr. Dreamy. “Caroline comes on a bit strong when she drinks. It’s her lack of, uh, padding. There’s nothing to soak up the alcohol and prevent it from going straight to her head. She doesn’t mean to be offensive. And she wouldn’t just pinch any man’s bum. I mean, he’d have to be really hot—like you. If you weren’t, like, amazingly good-looking, even if she was drunk as a skunk she’d not give you a second glance.”
Oh, God. She was babbling. “So it’s a compliment, really,” she finished lamely, wishing the lounge floor would just open up and swallow her whole. “So, um, do you need some music or anything before you start the, uh, show?”
“Show?” That crinkle appeared between his brows again.
Ruby’s brain kicked up a gear. “You are the stripper, right?” Oh God. What if he was the boyfriend of one of her male guests and she’d totally got the wrong idea? She ran through the list in her head to try and figure out who he might be partnered with. Nope. She had nothing. Besides, only a stripper would wear that sort of get-up in public. She was panicking for nothing.
Well, not nothing, exactly. She was panicking because of him. He unsettled her. And the thought of him shucking his clothes…. Yikes. Pity fans had gone out of fashion because she could sure do with one about now.
Ruby didn’t allow herself to fall desperately in lust with men anymore. That was just begging to be disappointed. But this man…. The perfect planes of his face, the incredible physique. He might be gay, and therefore unobtainable, but he’d stepped right out of her fantasies and she wanted to enjoy the fantasy for a little while longer. And hell, what was wrong with that? It was her birthday, after all.
“I am a warrior,” he said, his tone ringing with unmistakable pride.
She smiled. “The Warrior Stripper. Yeah, well you certainly look the part. Great outfit, by the way. Don’t have a clue how you manage the pants, though. Do they have strips of Velcro at the sides or something?”
He blinked and stared at her like she’d just turned into an alien or something.
She took pity on him. “Look. Here’s the deal. If you’re not comfortable taking off your clothes and prancing round half naked to entertain a bunch of drooling women, I’ll understand. Believe me, I get it, okay? You don’t have to do this if you don’t want. You can just go—no hard feelings, all right?”
His eyes widened and his mouth sagged open.
Friggin’ fantastic. Looked like she was about to be lumbered with paying off a gay stripper who was suffering an attack of the shys. “If you haven’t been paid, I’ll—”
“You want me to take off my clothes and dance for these people?”
Ouch. When he said it like that it sounded awfully sleazy. Ruby cooled her cheeks with the palms of her hands. “I guess. That’s sort of the idea, anyway. Um, yes?”
“And I will receive a stipend to do this?”
Huh? Stipend? Ruby’s stomach got that whole sinking sensation. Fab-u-bloody-lous. On top of everything else, she had to score the foreign import who had no real idea what he was in for. What the hell had she done to deserve this?
She took a deep breath and silently counted to five. “That’s how it generally works. Or so I’m told. But if you don’t want to, that’s cool.”
She patted his arm, hoping to project reassurance. And hoping she didn’t succumb to the temptation of squeezing his muscled biceps and whimpering. “I wouldn’t force you to do something you were uncomfortable with. But if you don’t want to strip, I’m sorry but I’ll have to ask you to go. The natives are getting restless and if you stick around much longer, they might just take matters into their own hands.” She jerked her chin toward the bunch of women gathered by the drinks table, staring avidly in his direction.
His gaze drifted over her guests.
By now, about forty people had arrived and were either squeezed into Ruby’s kitchen, living room and dining area, or mill
ing around outside on the deck. Most of her friends were women she knew from work or the frequent and varied night-school classes she’d taken over the years. But there were a few men, too—boyfriends and husbands who hadn’t been quick enough to come up with an excuse to beg off this Saturday evening’s entertainment.
“And the men? Do they, too, enjoy this spectacle of a man taking off his clothes?”
Geez. How to say this without giving offence? “Well, I think most of the men here tonight would actually prefer a female stripper.”
“What about you, Birthday Girl? Do you prefer a female stripper? Or would you prefer to see me remove my clothes and make a spectacle of myself?”
Geez. Stupid question, much? Couldn’t he see how much the thought appealed to her? To be honest, flamboyant public displays usually weren’t her style. She preferred to do her perving in private—specifically, at the men who graced the pages of her magazines. But she wasn’t about to miss out on a chance like this. God only knew what Mr. Dreamy thought of her. Just as well he couldn’t read her mind. The poor guy would be shocked out of his socks… if he was wearing any under those boots.
“Uhhh, I’m a girl—or at least I was last time I looked—and I happen to like men. So if I’m going to watch anyone taking off their clothes, of course I’d prefer it to be a man.” And of course I’d prefer a man who looked like you and wasn’t gay. But hey, beggars can’t be choosers.
The gaze he turned on her was speculative, like he was weighing his options. Then the quality of that gaze changed, morphing to something so obviously assessing it brought another wave of heat flooding to her cheeks. “There is no question that you are indeed female,” he said, and pivoted on his heel.
“Hang on.” She made a grab for his arm. “What’re you planning on doing exactly?”
He smiled down at her. A lazy, self-satisfied, supremely confident smile that made her toes curl. “I am going to entertain you.”
He was actually going to do it: take his clothes off.
In her lounge.
To entertain her.
Ruby’s knees turned to putty.
~~~
The Crystal Warriors Series Bundle Page 32