She caught Joe glaring at her from across the room. At one point, he tapped his watch, clearly reminding her that the hour was growing late and she had yet to make him any money in the back. She wouldn’t escape tonight without doing it. Not if she still wanted her job.
She just needed to do it. Rip the Band-Aid off and say yes no matter who the guy was. None of them were going to be right because nothing about this felt right to her. Maybe if she closed her eyes, she could forget where she was. Maybe she could convince herself she was just dancing alone in her apartment.
“Extra ice in the Scotch,” she directed to the bartender. She waited as he added a few more cubes. “Thanks.” Lifting the tray, she turned and ran nearly smack into Joe. She staggered back against the bar, clutching the tray to keep from losing it.
“Piper,” he growled.
And she knew. The time had come. The moment of truth. The hour of reckoning. All those horrible clichés. That. Them. Those.
“Joe,” she returned. From the moment she had let him know she was agreeable to taking lap dances—even wanted them—she had been barreling toward this.
Joe jerked his thumb to the bachelor party going on behind him. Despicable men and Sheriff Walters. Well, Walters wasn’t despicable. He was many other things but not that.
She couldn’t even understand why he was with those guys. They didn’t fit him. This place didn’t fit him. By his own admission, he didn’t do strippers.
And that stung. She wasn’t an actual stripper—yet—but he assumed she was a veteran and to him that made her beneath him. Like she was something dirty.
She supposed she could have told him. Explained that she only worked as a waitress all this time at Joe’s. She could have done that days ago, but pride stopped her and the fact that she owed him nothing, least of all an explanation. Stripping wasn’t illegal. It was a living and right now the only one she had.
True, she didn’t grow up wishing for this career, but who did? Serena and the others worked hard, but even they had plans, goals, for a life after this. For now, they were doing their best. Just like she was.
“You got another request.”
Heavy stress on the word another. He wanted to remind her that she’d refused her other requests so far tonight . . . that she wasn’t living up to expectations.
She followed Joe’s gaze to the bachelor party where Evan Sanders sat as the man of the hour. Hard to believe some poor girl was marrying that letch. She felt her lip curl. Of course the request came from Evan. He had been one of her more ardent and persistent admirers. She suspected it was because she was one of the only women in this place who hadn’t taken her clothes off for him. He viewed her as a challenge. Him and his stupid friends.
Or at least she used to be the only one. That was about to change.
She sucked in a heavy breath and expelled it. “Yeah. Okay.”
Joe blinked. “Okay?”
She nodded. “Okay.”
“Okay, you’ll do it?” he repeated, clearly needing clarification.
“I said I would, didn’t I? That’s why I came back.”
“Well. Yeah.” Now he eyed her suspiciously.
“I’ll just drop off these drinks.”
“Okay, then.” He smiled and looked her up and down. “You’re going be very popular, Piper.”
She frowned. “I just want to make some money.”
“Oh, you’ll do that, girlie. You’ll do that.”
She walked past him with her tray, trying to feel glad about that . . . and not like she was about to lose a little bit of her soul.
Piper tried to move with confidence even though she felt as sturdy as a leaf. She whispered encouraging words under her breath as she lifted one foot after another. You’ll be fine. Everything will be fine.
Lap dances happened all the time in this place. She wasn’t the first girl who ever had to give one to a disgusting pig.
She’d get in, dance for a little bit, twist, turn, shake, and then show the girls and get the hell out the second the song ended—money in hand. Simple. Just like she had imagined in her head. All that, and Marty would be there in the corner.
How bad could it be?
Taking a final, deep breath, Piper walked into the room, ready to face Sanders, taking comfort in the bouncer, tall and terrifying in the corner by the door, arms folded across his chest. She nodded at him, and he grunted at her in return. Typical. Marty wasn’t exactly a talker.
Only two recessed lights illuminated the room. Half the room anyway. The other half was cast in darkness. She imagined this was a deliberate move. Customers could sit in the shadows and do whatever it was they did while enjoying naked women dancing for their personal gratification. Her lip curled, trying not to imagine that grossness.
She walked through the lit portion of the room—the part of the room where she would be dancing. A single chair stood off to the side. She knew some girls used it while they danced. It gave them something to hold on to as they worked their moves.
She tried to walk in an appealing way, giving her hips a little sway. It felt silly. She knew she was shaped like a boy, oversized ass notwithstanding. Her breasts barely filled a B cup.
She moved with determination toward the couch backed against the wall.
He was sitting there. Sanders. And she was going to strip for him.
She swallowed back the swell of bile rising in her throat. Vomiting on her first customer wasn’t likely to get her future ones.
She stopped a few feet from the couch. She could get closer, but she didn’t want to see his face. She didn’t want to have to think about him as she did her thing. And she didn’t want to be so close that he could reach out and touch her. Even with Marty just inside the room, she was still a big ol’ coward about that.
His body was a vague shape. Denim-clad legs were visible, jutting out from the chair. That gave her a moment of pause. She didn’t think Sanders was a casual kind of guy. She’d only ever seen him in slacks. He was a polo-and-blazer-wearing kind of guy.
Lifting her chin, Piper straightened her shoulders and let her eyes adjust to the dim lights, focusing on the man seated on the low couch on the other side of the room. He was big. That made her frown. Sanders wasn’t that big . . .
Recognition flared.
How bad could it be? Bad.
It could be really bad.
Several beats passed before she found her voice and the only thing she could choke out was: “You.”
He didn’t reply right away. She stood there, not sure whether to bolt or step forward and punch him. Was this some kind of joke? The guy that sneered at this place, at her . . . was in this room as her first client? It didn’t make sense. The sheriff she knew—the sheriff she thought she knew—wouldn’t even think about stepping foot in this room. Not him. Not Mr. Stick-Up-His-Ass. He didn’t do strippers. His words. Jerk.
“My cousin insisted that I take a lap dance,” he finally said. She froze at that deep voice, goose bumps breaking over her skin as the gravel of his words rolled over her.
Nightmare confirmed. It was him. He was doing this. He was sitting there. It was happening. She had to take off her clothes and dance for him. Heat flared inside her. It was anger. That was it. Nothing more. The fact that it was him in all his hotness did not affect her libido at all.
“Your cousin?” she asked.
“Evan Sanders.”
“That jackass is your cousin?” She made a sound of disgust. “I should have guessed the connection.”
“Really?” He angled his head. “Should people judge people based off family connections?”
She sucked in a breath. That arrow was aimed directly for her. “You’re a lawman. Can you even be in here? Doesn’t this break some ethical code?”
“There’s nothing illegal about me being here. You’re just dancing.”
“And taking off my clothes,” she flung at him.
He settled his big hands on the tops of his thighs. His fingers were blun
t tipped, the nails trimmed and clean. He was quiet for a moment before that dark voice of his agreed. “And taking off your clothes.”
Her skin shivered. She couldn’t move. She felt like the clichéd deer caught in the crosshairs. She shifted her weight. “Well. You paid for half an hour.”
“That long?”
“Thirty minutes is the minimum.”
“Then by all means.” He fluttered a hand. “Do your thing.”
Right. Do your thing.
She squared her feet apart and focused, for the first time, on the music being piped in from the speakers overhead. It was classic rock. She closed her eyes and let it fill her.
She rolled her head slightly and let her hips move, hands coming to her sides. Her palms drifted up over her abdomen and rib cage. She tried not to think of him, but she couldn’t help it. She could actually feel his eyes on her, his gaze crawling all over her.
The same pulsing tightness she had felt in her stomach when they talked at the park returned. Just like that. A match catching fire. She was turned on knowing he was watching her as she touched herself. It was so messed up.
She let her hands move of their own accord, dragging them across her breasts. She gave in to temptation and opened her eyes and met his gaze.
And there was nothing. He watched her blankly. No reaction.
Damn it. This was humiliating. Her movements stalled and she heard his arrogant voice in her head again. I don’t do strippers. She felt foolish. All her efforts were wasted on him because he didn’t want this. His cousin insisted he take a lap dance. That’s why he was here.
A loud commotion sounded from outside the room. She turned and looked toward the door. The door opened and one of the girls stuck her head in. “Marty! We need you!”
Marty hesitated and glanced back at them.
Piper shrugged. “Go on. I’m fine.” She wasn’t in danger with the sheriff. The guy was a block of ice. Marty didn’t need to worry about leaving them alone.
The bouncer glanced at the sheriff. Clearly Marty knew who he was. Satisfied she was in safe hands with the lawman, he nodded and hurried out of the room. She turned back to face Walters.
“You sure about that?” he asked.
“Being alone with you in here?” She snorted. “Yeah, I’m sure it’s fine.”
He wasn’t going to pounce on her. He looked more interested in a nap than watching her take off her clothes. And that bugged her. Perversely, she knew, but she wanted this guy to be . . . affected.
“Should I be worried?” she asked, her fingers curling around the hem of her dress, inching it up just a little.
“You work at Joe’s. You should always be on your guard.”
“Such a very correct answer, Sheriff Walters.” She stepped forward, moving into the shadows with him. “But why should I be worried about you? You don’t do strippers, remember?”
His gray eyes fixed on her face, but he didn’t answer.
In one move, she pulled her dress over her head. It whispered on the air before it dropped on the floor behind her.
She stood there in her heels. Chill air skated over her and her nipples puckered and tightened inside her bra.
“You’re a cop,” she murmured. “If I’m not safe with you . . .” She let her voice fade suggestively.
His eyes were still fixed on hers, but there was an intensity there now. His jaw was locked, face frozen as though he couldn’t look anywhere except at her eyes. As though he wouldn’t allow himself to look anywhere else but her face. Such a masochist.
And she wasn’t having that.
She ran her hands over her front, dragging them over her demicups and down the slope of her stomach. She arrowed her fingers over the tiny swatch of fabric covering her sex, sliding her fingertips sensuously against the silk.
Still, he did not look anywhere except her face. Ugh. Stubborn man. “What’s the matter? You knew I was going to strip. You don’t want to look?”
Something ignited inside her at the challenge he presented. He was a block of ice but she would crack him.
With a growl of frustration she backed up several steps, offering him a wider view. She moved slightly with the music, letting it pump through her. She wanted him to want her.
She needed him to.
She fanned her fingers over her face, keeping them parted so she could still peer out at him. Her goal was to start where he was fixated—on her face—and work her way down, bringing him with her.
As her fingers reached her lips, she let impulse guide her and sucked a finger into her mouth.
And there it was. Something flickered in his gaze, cracking the frosty gray.
It was all the validation she needed.
She popped a wet finger out of her mouth and trailed it downward between her breasts. His gaze followed. Triumph sizzled through her and the blood pumped hot in her veins. Yesss.
She brushed the front clasp of her bra. Again, impulse pushed her and she sprang the clasp, turning around as it popped open so he couldn’t view her breasts. Yet.
She heard him suck in a breath over the pound of music and she knew he was feasting on the sight of her ass. Her ass, the bane of her existence for so long. Now it was working for her.
She bent slightly at the waist, her hands gliding down her thighs to her ankles, letting him have more of the view. She snuck a glance over her shoulder and the look on his face made her stomach dip to her toes.
Blazing hot desire. The hands on his thighs were white-knuckled and clenched tight.
Straightening, she turned slowly, provocatively, her hands cupping her breasts, shielding them. She moved toward him again, not stopping until she was standing between his spread legs. Then, slowly, she let her hands fall away.
His eyes were all over her now, but he didn’t move. Didn’t reach for her. His hands balled into fists and fell to his sides.
She placed a knee on one side of his hip and then followed suit with the other until she was straddling him. She settled her hands on the back of the couch, steadying herself. Very deliberately, she let the tips of her breasts brush the crisp shirt covering his chest as she slowly lowered her weight down on him. His body was a furnace, singeing her everywhere they touched.
“What are you doing?” he rasped in that voice that made her think naughty thoughts.
“Just dancing,” she echoed his earlier words, and rolled her hips a little as though to confirm this. “And taking off my clothes. Nothing illegal, remember?”
“It’s more than that.” He sounded angry. Furious, even.
She laughed breathlessly. It was more. He was right. At least for her it was, but he didn’t need the satisfaction of knowing that.
“Is this what you do for all your clients?” he growled.
“You’re so annoying,” she bit out, and then gasped as she felt the hard ridge of his cock under her. She arched her spine and shifted, sliding into a better position so that his erection was directly aligned with the seam of her.
A breath hissed out from him.
“Are lap dances still not your thing, Sheriff?” she whispered, leaning down and letting her mouth brush the whorls of his ear. God. He smelled amazing.
“I haven’t decided yet. You would be my first, Ms. Walsh.” His voice rolled out of him and got lost in the messy pile of her hair.
Part of her wanted to tell him this would be her first, too, but he wouldn’t believe her so why bother?
She pulled back until they were face-to-face. “Then I’ll do my best and try to make it good.”
Their eyes battled, absorbing each other. Their noses were close, almost touching. Her breathing was loud, fanning his lips. God. She wanted him to kiss her, but she knew he wouldn’t. He was too good for that. Too correct. He wouldn’t do anything to her in this room. Even though she read the hunger in his eyes, he would hold back. He’d give her nothing. It was all about her doing things to him.
And God, she wanted to do things to him. She wanted to kiss him. She w
anted to taste his wide mouth, nip his lips and suck on his tongue.
Pheromones raged through her, but she couldn’t bring herself to do any of those things. It was up to her to do all the taking and she wouldn’t take that kiss from him. Pride stopped her just short of that.
But she could wreck him in other ways. She could torment him all she liked.
She rocked against his cock in time with the music. Flexing her hands on the back of the couch, she lifted her breasts and dragged the hard tips down the front of his chest.
His breathing grew as labored as her own. The blazing hot desire she read in his face echoed through her and that was scary.
Serena’s words ricocheted through her. It was already happening. Her first time giving a lap dance and she was getting her rocks off on it.
Was this what she was? Who she was now?
No. It’s him. Hale Walters.
There’d been something there from the start. Chemistry. She might have spent the last year working at Joe’s but she’d been living like a nun and she was one giant ball of suppressed desire.
She knew she should stop. She knew it was wicked and definitely sending the wrong message . . . probably confirming every bad thing he thought about her, but she couldn’t stop herself.
Her body didn’t belong to her anymore. It was his. Whether he knew it or not. Whether he wanted it or not.
She lifted her hips slightly and went for his belt. Her fingers were surprisingly nimble as she unbuckled him and snapped open his jeans. Probably only confirmed his assumption that she was a pro. She dragged down his zipper and slipped her hand inside. It had been a long time, but she still remembered how to do this.
It took a moment to gain access, but then her fingers were wrapped around the considerable width of him. Silk on steel.
She felt her eyes widen. “Oh. My.” She didn’t remember everything, after all. Not that. He was big. She shouldn’t have been surprised, she supposed. As big as he was it made sense that he was big all over. She pumped her hand over the hard length of him, imagining taking all of him into her body. Her belly clenched at the prospect. It would be a tight fit.
“Is this part of a lap dance?” he asked through gritted teeth, body unmoving, hands still balled-up fists at his sides.
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