He wasn’t listening. His eyes were fixed on her hands as she slid each button through its slit. Appreciating her, that was what he liked. Owning her body, even from a distance. The poor man hadn’t even seen her tits since the night she’d fled his hotel room.
She removed the seventeen-hundred dollar trench coat and let it fall on the ground.
His foot slipped, and he planted it on the floor, leaning his elbows onto his legs. “Fuck. Lola.”
“I’m not Lola in here.” This wasn’t just about revenge. Beau wasn’t the only one who could have fun. Her real name would be a clue, but he was so distracted, he would miss it. “I go by Melody.”
She stared at him, staring at her. He didn’t move or even blink, but he didn’t look particularly happy either. For the first time, she noticed how quiet the room was except for the bass thumping from the main stage.
She glanced down quickly, checking her outfit—could she have forgotten an important part? The Swarovski-studded corset pushed her breasts up, plump and smooth. Where the hem stopped, a black, lacey thong started and attached to matching, thigh-high stockings. The ears had come with a black cattail she’d haphazardly pinned to her underwear in the restaurant’s bathroom.
He still hadn’t reacted. She tried not to fidget. “Do you like it?”
He cocked his head, stabbing his tongue into his cheek. “It’s the same thing you wore that night.”
“Is that a yes?”
He rubbed his hands over his face without removing his eyes from her. “I don’t know. It makes me think of how you used to dance here. And the other men who came before me.”
Lola shifted from one foot to the other. The point was to trigger his memory, to make him crazy for her. Jealousy was an unexpected reaction. “It was a long time ago.”
“So? Those men looked at something they had no right to.” His eyes were dark and narrowed when he finally looked up at her face. “They sat here. They thought about you when they got home. They’re animals. They’re—”
“They’re you.” Lola took a breath. There was too much bitterness in her voice, and he wasn’t supposed to get to her. “You were one of them.”
“I was not.” He shook his head and blinked a few times, hard.
Lola tried to keep her limbs loose when all she wanted to do was tense up. This was not going as she’d hoped. “What are you saying?”
They stared at each other. If he got up to leave, she might not be able to stop him. It took a great deal to distract a man like Beau—she’d hoped two-and-a-half weeks of keeping his hands to himself would be enough.
He glanced behind her briefly and back. “I don’t know. I can’t think straight when you’re standing there in that.” His eyebrows lowered. “Take it off.”
Her body thrilled. He was giving her the green light. This was the Beau she’d been anticipating. She traced her finger along the corset’s sweetheart neckline. “And if I don’t?”
“Then I’ll do it for you. I wanted tonight to be special, but you want to get bent over in a filthy strip club? I’m game, baby. It’ll be just as sweet for me anywhere I fuck you.”
Lola flushed all at once, as if she’d swallowed a ball of fire. She was back in his hotel room, crawling to him across the floor, the opposite of mad about it. Staying apart had been hard for her too. There were times she’d wanted nothing more than to give in to his advances, let him pleasure her the way she already knew he could.
“Remember what I said outside. I’m serious.” Lola turned away from him. She had to be careful. Nothing made her knees quiver faster than Beau at the end of his patience, nothing on his mind but how to get inside her.
She crouched to slip an iPod from the pocket of her trench coat, then plugged it into the stereo. Jazz started slow, sensual. Fever was something you wanted when Shirley Horn sang about it in her smoky, hypnotic voice.
Lola got on the round stage, a pole down the center, the same one she’d danced on for him before. Tonight, the room didn’t turn colors—there was just a single, white spotlight from the ceiling that illuminated her and shaded him.
Lola looked down at her feet and took a couple deep breaths, exhaling each one slowly. She glanced up at him. Her lashes were heavy with mascara, a black shadow over Beau. She hadn’t even begun, and her chest already rose and fell rapidly. She did love to dance, especially for Beau, because she felt him in her every move. He could direct her without a word or touch.
She took the pole, cold and solid, and started in a slow circle. Her resolve strengthened each time her heels hit the compact floor. She slid her palm high up the smooth surface, grabbed the pole with both hands. She jumped it like a boyfriend she hadn’t seen in years, swinging with her legs locked around it. The furry cattail belted her thigh.
Beau flexed his large hands over his knees. “Come here.”
Still suspended from the pole, with both hands gripping the metal, Lola arched her back. Her hair cascaded behind her. She lowered herself to her feet and turned away from him, zigzagging her hips as she danced into a squat. Watching him, she zigzagged back up.
His eyes followed her every movement. He looked like he’d forgotten how to swallow. “I surrender. You’ve got me. Just come down here.”
“Patience,” she said, turning to face him. With a hint of a smile, she unhooked her corset just enough to free everything above her nipples. “This isn’t about satisfaction. It’s about torment.”
“It’s about me climbing on that stage in two seconds and nailing you to that pole.”
Lola practically purred her assent, her insides turning to jelly with his tone. This was working even faster than she’d expected. She descended the steps steadily, keeping her eyes down, and went to stand between his parted knees. She turned slowly. Lola liked to feel free when she danced, but she forced her hips to stay with the tempo. Beau would pick up her cues, staying slow along with her.
He grabbed her tail. She turned her head over her shoulder and tsked at him.
He smiled a little and let go. “You have no idea, do you?”
“What?”
“How it’s been for me.” His face fell. “How fucking badly I’ve needed you.”
“It’s been like that for me too,” Lola said, still twisted to see his eyes, still dancing.
“Has it? Sometimes I don’t know.”
Lola faltered but didn’t stop. These moments of clarity he kept having weren’t helping. She hadn’t anticipated anything from him other than consuming, dumb lust. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“You still have a wall up, and I can’t blame you for that. But I’ll break it down with every last tool I have. I’m doing the work, Lola. Even if you can’t see it all the time.”
She swallowed. The finality of it all began to sink in. Once upon a time, Lola and Beau had made a plan to spend all their nights together. Now, they didn’t even have one left. It was another thing Beau had taken away—this was his fault, not hers. He had ruined this.
“Don’t call me that,” she said, angry. “I told you. It’s Melody.”
Beau raked a hand through his hair, disheveling its perfection. “Would you stop moving a minute?”
“You ordered me to dance.”
“Well, now I’m ordering you to stop.”
Lola stilled her hips and looked at the floor. She’d spent the last three weeks studying him. Learning him inside out. Handling him. She could do this. She turned to face him.
“I—” He paused and took a breath.
Lola’s heart began to race. There was no way he’d tell her he loved her here of all places. In the middle of a striptease. Part of her wanted to hear it, but the part that wanted to leave was stronger.
She climbed onto the cushion and straddled him with her knees, careful not to touch him.
“I should’ve stopped this already,” he said. “I don’t want to do this here.”
Lola lowered her voice to a sultry whisper. “Then where do you want to do it?”
&n
bsp; “At home. In our bed.”
She couldn’t resist getting a little closer. He smelled like the man who’d uttered nothings in her ear—who’d made love to her while he’d fucked her. But her love for him had torn through her like a hurricane too many times, trying to bring her down. She gripped the cushion behind his shoulders and steeled herself against the urge to give in to him.
She glanced at his lap. “You’re hard, Beau. Do you want me?”
He groaned. “On your knees, on your stomach, on your back. Every way. Any way.”
She almost sucked in a breath, wanting that too, but she only needed to be strong a little longer. She opened her mouth and finally said what she’d been thinking for weeks. “Your hands are the only ones that ever lit a fire under my skin. God, Beau. I dream about you touching me at night, and I fantasize about it during the day.”
“I want to,” he said. “I need to.”
“I’m right here.”
“You made me promise…”
She inhaled his scent, committing it to memory along with the things that were already there—his foggy-green eyes, his razorblade jawline and sexy cleft chin. His thawing embrace. “It’s too much. You told me once, when you fucked me, it would calm me. I can’t even see straight.”
He grabbed her by the waist, making her gasp, and pulled her onto him. He yanked her thong out of the way and sank a finger in her.
Lola threw her head back, bit her lip to keep quiet and looked directly into the surveillance camera. She didn’t expect the second finger, and she moaned gutturally.
“There’s my girl,” Beau said.
There was an eruption, and Lola looked back just as the door bounced off the wall. Beau was still gawking, knuckles deep inside her when she was hauled backward off his lap.
Beau’s hands were suspended, open and empty. “What—”
A security guard seized his bicep, pulling Beau to his feet. “You’re out, pal.”
“Get your hands—” Beau jerked his arm away. “Don’t touch me.”
The man’s muscles, as big as Lola’s head, stretched the sleeves of a faded-black T-shirt. His face reddened. “Exactly. Did you miss the huge fucking sign out there that says ‘no touching’?”
“She’s my girlfriend,” Beau said, his voice as sharp-cornered as his back was rigid.
Another security guard entered the room and got between Lola and Beau. “You good, Havermann?”
Beau laughed like a shotgun, short, aggressive barks. “Is this some kind of joke?”
“No joke,” the man called Havermann said. He reached up but stopped as Beau raised his hands, a warning to back off. “You don’t touch the girls. Everyone knows that. Automatic removal. Let’s go. Now.”
Beau looked between Lola and the man too quickly to even register her. “She’s not one of your girls. She’s mine, and I don’t like how you’re blocking her from me,” he said to Havermann. “Get the fuck out of my way. Lola, tell them.”
Lola opened her mouth. I have to settle the bill. I’ll meet you out front. She froze, unable to get the words out.
Havermann moved, obstructing Beau almost completely from Lola’s sight. “Don’t worry about her. You got another concern right now—me. Get out, or I put you out.”
“Beau, go,” Lola said suddenly, trying to shuffle around Havermann. She didn’t want it to get physical. “I’ll meet you out front.”
“And leave you here alone?” Beau lurched from side to side to see her better. “Are you out of your mind?”
The other security guard crossed his arms. “You got three seconds.”
Lola bit her thumbnail. “Go ahead. I know these guys. I just have to settle the bill, and get my things—”
“I’ll buy you new things.”
One of the men grunted. “Three.”
Her heart pounded as she hesitated. “I’ll only be a minute—”
“Two.”
“Did you not hear what I said?” Beau snapped. “So help me God, Lola. Leave your shit, and let’s fucking go. Now.”
Havermann’s chest swelled. “I’m not letting her leave with you. Not when you talk to her like that.” He lunged for Beau’s arm. “Come—”
Havermann stumbled when Beau stepped back. “Put your hand on me again, I’ll break every bone in it.”
“You got a fucking death wish?” Havermann grabbed Beau’s lapel and yanked, but Beau was faster. He already had two fistfuls of Havermann’s SECURITY shirt as he threw him backward into a wall. Beau pulled Havermann forward and slammed his body a second time. “I don’t think you understand.”
Lola covered her open mouth. She was as afraid of his expression as she was of him taking on two security guards. “Beau—”
“I’ve been this way for weeks,” Beau said through gritted teeth. “I’m on the edge, and in two seconds, you’re going to know exactly what that means. I’m holding back because jail is the only place I’ll be worse off.”
The other security guard pulled Beau off by the back of his suit. “All right, ladies, enough.”
Beau was breathing hard. He stared Havermann down as he was dragged away, then looked pointedly at Lola. “Let’s go.”
Havermann regained his footing, pinching at his shirt like it was a fine suit. “Just get the fuck out. She said she’ll meet you in front. You got to cool off before we leave her alone with you.”
“Jesus Christ. She’s my goddamn girlfriend.”
“Yeah, we heard you.” Each of the men took an arm, forcing Beau out of the room.
Lola stood frozen to the spot, her blood rushing, her head spinning like she’d spent the last two minutes running in circles. She held her hands out for balance, worried she’d have to sit, and she didn’t have time to sit. It could’ve gotten violent. But it hadn’t. It hadn’t, it wouldn’t, and it wasn’t her problem anyway. She didn’t deserve to be the one coming to Beau’s defense when the pain he’d inflicted on her was worse than any fist to the stomach.
She flinched with her entire body and snatched her trench coat off the floor. She got it on, throwing the belt into a knot, and stopped at the door. Her plan had worked. Not as smoothly as she’d hoped, but it had—and this? This was the easy part. Walk away. Let go, so everything else could take course. Her dignity, her power—they were there for the taking. She just had to walk away.
She looked down the hall, the way they’d come. It was quiet. Her steps were brisk but her strides long as her memory guided her to Cat Shoppe’s backdoor. When Lola had worked there, she and the other girls would slip outside between numbers, leaving a heel in the doorway so they wouldn’t get locked out. Lola yanked on the handle, but it didn’t budge. Her heart, already racing, began to hammer.
“Damn it,” she whispered, pulling it with all her weight. Stuck like a mouse in a cage. There was only one other way out, and Beau was waiting there. She could picture him, a fuming bull, eyes squinted and nostrils flared, his urges pinballing between mowing the place down with his car, breaking Havermann’s arms and fucking through his rage.
“Sometimes it sticks,” Lola heard from behind her.
Lola whirled around. Marilyn, the bartender-stripper she’d met earlier that day, stood three feet away in her white, vinyl bikini and blonde wig. Lola cleared her throat. “I, um—need a cigarette.”
“You don’t got to explain. I heard some of what you said to Kincaid today. He hurt you, that guy you came in with?”
“Not like you think.”
Marilyn nodded as though she’d heard it a hundred times. “I’ve been there.” She reached over and jerked the handle upward, throwing herself into the door. “There you go,” she said as it opened. “We’ve got to help each other out, right? Some of us really got nobody.”
Lola exhaled an unsteady but relieved breath. Something about Marilyn struck her as trustworthy. Maybe it was that no matter how Lola dressed or did her makeup, she’d always have some of the Cat Shoppe girl in her.
Lola reached out and hugged her
. They each went completely stiff. For the first time, Lola realized how far she’d gone to sterilize her heart for Beau—it was extending outside of their relationship now.
“Please, don’t mention this to anyone,” Lola said.
Marilyn shouldered her way out of the embrace, a tight-lipped but sincere smile on her face. She pinched her fingertips together and slid them across her closed mouth. “Our secret.”
Lola leaned outside, peering into the dark. It took her eyes a moment to adjust. The backdoor closed and latched, swallowing the club’s music. There wasn’t time to spare, she knew that. Beau’s car sat at the edge of the lot, and she tried to make out the driver’s seat. It looked empty.
She took off the cat ears and walked toward his Lamborghini, passing her thumb back and forth over the fur band. Something scurried across her path, and she stopped short, clamping a hand over her mouth to keep herself from screaming. She inhaled a breath and continued to the driver’s side.
Beau was smart. Cunning. He would figure out why she’d left, but not at first. She needed to leave something behind so he’d understand she’d made this choice. Otherwise, he might involve the cops. And she didn’t need that. She twisted the Lamborghini’s side mirror up, kissed the glass and hung the cat ears on it.
She pulled her coat tighter around her body and strode toward an alley, glancing over her shoulder before she entered. The only light came from a Thai restaurant’s illuminated sign at the other end. She’d been eating there for years. When she exited the alley, she waved through the window.
The owner met her out front with a plastic bag of hot food and a single key. Lola handed him a fifty, waving off the change. “Thanks for keeping an eye on it.”
Directly in front of the building was a car, but not just any car. It was a brand new, violently-red Lotus Evora she’d purchased that afternoon—in cash. She slipped into the driver’s seat—the fresh, unbroken leather giving her a noisy welcome—and put the key in the ignition. It was easy—all she had to do was turn it, and she was home free.
Lola had been dealing with men since she was a teenager. They weren’t difficult creatures. Beau was in love with Lola. And Lola knew as early as six years old, when her father had left, that your first broken heart was also your most painful. That was what she wanted for Beau. It was simple but effective—moving something he loved just outside his grasp was enough to drive him to the edge. Because one thing was for sure about a man who already owned anything money could buy—the only things left to want were the ones he couldn’t have.
Explicitly Yours Series Page 43