A Little Too Hot (5 page)

Brittany just grunts at her.

“I’ll help you with those boots,” Nora tells me as I clip my nylons to my garter.

Brittany moves to the closet to find her shoes as I’m reaching for my boots. “You fit into those?” she asks with another glare as I pull them down.

I shrug. “They’re a little big, I guess, but not too bad.”

Her jaw tightens as she drops her shoes to the floor and slips them on, then stomps past Nora out the door.

“She tried wearing those,” Izzy says, “but she’s an eight and they ripped her feet apart.”

Nora takes them from me as I sit on the sofa. “Don’t mind her,” she tells me with a flick of her eyes at the door.

“She’s usually on center,” Izzy says from the door with an apologetic squint. “She’ll get over it.”

What am I supposed to say? “Okay.”

She nods and pulls the door shut behind her.

Nora helps me get my legs strapped in, then I throw on some makeup and I follow the others out. When I step through the door behind the curtain onto center stage, all three stages are dark. But just as I peek through the curtain, Big Pete’s voice starts over the music. “It’s the bewitching hour,” he purrs as the stage lights to my right flash on. “And the lovely Izzy is going to lock you in her spell,” Pete adds as she starts to writhe on stage in her kinky witch costume. “The only way out is to sell your soul to the devil,” he says as the stage lights to my left illuminate. “But when the devil looks like Brittany,
you’re
gonna be paying
her
to steal your soul.” Brittany spins around her pole in what I now see is a devil costume.

I step through the curtain onto my stage as Pete says, “Or you can give in to sin and let yourself be seduced by the scandalous, salacious, sensual, smokin’ hot
Sam
!”

My eyes drop from Big Pete and Jonathan, up in the DJ booth, to the crowded pit below my stage in anticipation of the flash of blinding light. And the instant before the stage lights flare in my face, my gaze locks on Harrison’s.

Chapter Six

T
HERE’S N
OT ENOUGH
time between when I spot him and when I’m completely blinded by the stage lights to decipher if he was real, or a figment of my overactive (and overeager) imagination.

But then I decide I don’t want to know. I want him to be out there. I want to
feel
his eyes on my body, making me sexier and more beautiful than I really am. So I let myself believe.

As Pete brings the volume up and the music floods my senses, I give in to the fantasy. I tip my hat down over my eyes and pretend that Harrison is the only man out there. My hips begin to sway to the music, a slow, pulsating rhythm. I lift my arms overhead, then work one hand down my curves as I roll my body with the beat. Without really knowing how I got here, I find myself straddling my pole. I plant my legs wide and grind my hips in a slow circle as I glide down to the floor. And then I arch back and ride it, up and down. A momentary flash of coherent thought worms its way through the music into my brain, and I remember that I’m supposed to be making eye contact—collecting tips. I ride the pole back up and shimmy around it, tipping my hat off my eyes and making my way to the front of the stage, where dozens of guys are waving bills. I waggle down to my hands and knees, then roll onto my back and arch up as they tuck money into my shorts and top.

When I stand again a minute later, I see Marcus has moved to the side of my stage. His thick arms are crossed over his massive chest as he polices the crowd in front of me. He’s scary, and I’m glad he’s on my side. He looks over his sunglasses at me and I give him a wink as the music works my body in waves. He shoots me a toothy grin and shakes his head, then pushes his glasses up his nose and returns his vigilance to the men in front of me, who are waving more money in the air.

I move to the music, living out the fantasy that it’s just Harrison and me. If I had that private dance back, I’d do it differently. Maybe I’m not allowed to touch him, but there are other ways I can make him feel me. And I can definitely make him forget his broken heart. I look for him in the crowd when I get the chance and don’t find him, but still, for the next three hours I give him my best.

I’m no sooner in the hall after my gig than Nora is there, dragging me toward the dressing room. “Christ, girlie. I don’t know what you got going on out there, but whatever it is, keep doing it. You have three privates, and one guy wants you for an hour.”

My eyes widen. “An hour? But that’s, like, four hundred dollars.”

“It’s not ‘like’ four hundred dollars,” Nora says. “It
is
four hundred dollars, two of which go straight into your pocket. You must have an admirer.” She shoots a wary glance over her shoulder at me. “Those are the ones you need to watch out for.” She opens the door to the dressing room and prods me through. “You have fifteen minutes to rest your feet, and then you’re on.”

When she closes the door, I take a minute to just breathe before I make my way to the sofa, where I toss all the money I stuffed in my hat. It’s turned into more of a necessity than an accessory. I pull more bills out of my shorts and top and add them to the stack, then drop onto the sofa with my head back and close my eyes.

Three privates. If one of them isn’t Harrison, I’m going to be sorely disappointed. And if one of them is . . . he’ll never know what hit him.

I’m mid-fantasy when Nora pushes open the door. “You’re up.”

I scoop up my cash and hand it to her. “Can you have Ben hold this?”

She takes the money from my hand as she turns up the hall to the VIP room. “You got it. I’ll get your guys rotated so all you have to do is your thing.”

“Thanks, Nora,” I tell her as I grasp the knob. I take a deep breath and pull the door open. Inside, planted in the middle of the sofa, is a sweaty, overweight, middle-aged guy who I remember from my stage. He’s wiping his palms on the knees his khakis and staring at me with scarily hungry eyes.

“Remember,” Nora says low, so only I can hear over the music from the stereo, “any weirdness, just walk out or hit the panic button.”

I nod and close the door behind me. I go directly to the stereo and turn it up, loud. I don’t even look at the guy as I shimmy around the room. Instead, I think of Harrison . . . how I’m going to drive him wild. When the knock on the door comes, the time has gone faster than I realized.

Nora pokes her head in and Sweaty Guy stands. “That was . . . you were . . .” He wipes the sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand. “Thanks.” He leaves a twenty on the table near the door on his way out.

The next not-Harrison guy comes through in a T-shirt and jeans, already sporting wood. Nora flashes a glance at his crotch, then gives me a meaningful look that I know means I should watch this one. I nod as he lowers himself gingerly onto the sofa, adjusting his pants.

Nora closes the door, and in all the time it takes me to turn around, the guy has his fly open and his dick in his hand.

In a single heartbeat all the blood in my body rushes to my face. I’ve been with three guys total and it’s always been in the dark. Other than Jonathan, because I wanted to see his jewelry, I’ve never seen one so up close and personal. It’s a little bit of a shock.

“Oh my God!” I say, spinning back for the door. “You have to put that away.”

But when I glance back over my shoulder, he’s staring at where my ass is hanging out my bootie shorts and going to town.

I pull the door open and step into the hall to find Nora in Ben’s door, just a few feet away. “I need Marcus.”

She rolls her eyes. “Well, that was fast. Wait in here.”

I move past her into Ben’s office as she lifts her phone and calls Marcus.

“I’m impressed with you,” Ben says, lacing his hands behind his head and leaning back in his chair. “You’re a natural out there.”

Warmth spreads through me and I smile. No one’s ever been impressed with me before. Not my parents, or teachers, or former employers. I’m usually just a big disappointment. “I really like it. Thanks for giving me a shot.”

“Well, you’ve brought in more than most of my best girls the last few nights, so, I know I said you were on probation yesterday, but you’re off today. This job is yours for as long as you want it.”

There’s a bang in the hall as the door from the club flies open and hits the wall, and Marcus barrels past Ben’s office on his way to the VIP room with Nora on his heels. There’s a shout from the direction of the VIP room, and I peek out to see Marcus dragging Horny Guy out by the arm. He opens the door at the end of the hall marked
E
MERGENCY EXIT
and very unceremoniously throws the guy through it.

As the door slams shut, Marcus spins, and I stagger back a step when he beelines straight for me, stopping just a few feet away. He rips his sunglasses off. “Did he touch you?”

Without his glasses, I can see his whole face, and there’s not murder on it, like I’d thought. What’s creasing his face is worry. He looks me over like a concerned big brother.

“No . . . only himself.”

“Piece of shit,” he mutters, then shifts his intense gaze on Nora as she comes out of the VIP room. “You and Pete got to screen them better.”

Nora shrugs. “You can’t always tell. That’s why I pay you the big bucks.”

“You’re okay?” he asks, looking at me, the concern fading a little.

“Yeah. Thanks.”

“All cleaned up,” Nora says. “Wait in Ben’s office while I track down your next one. He’s the one who’s got you for an hour, but if there’s any of that,” she waves a hand at the VIP room, “you know what to do.”

I nod.

There’s a burst of crowd chatter as she opens the door to the club and disappears through it. Marcus gives me a last concerned once-over and follows her out.

Ben gestures me in, then closes his office door. “Sit.”

I sink into the sofa, wishing it would swallow me. “Sorry about that.”

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of, Sam,” he says, opening a cabinet and pulling down two glasses. “Men want you. And you’re going to make both of us a ton of money because of it. Just be mindful of the rules. They’re there for a reason—to protect both of us.” He pours a shot of Jameson in each of the glasses and hands one to me.

“Thanks,” I say, then pound the shot and slam the glass on the corner of his desk.

He gives me a curiously amused smile. “Impressive. Not even a wince.”

My eyes flick to the glass and back, and I feel them widen. He must think I’m some kind of lush.

He bursts out laughing . . . probably at the look on my face. “No judgment here, Sam,” he says, lifting a hand, then knocks back his own shot. He slides my glass closer and pours us refills. “Jonathan said you’re crashing at his place? That your parents threw you out?”

I take the glass and rest my head back, watching my hand swirl the amber liquid. “Tough love. They think I’m a screw-up.”

He tips his head at me. “Why would they think that?”

I shrug and down my shot more slowly this time. “I was partying a lot, I guess, and sort of forgot to go to class most days. I flunked out of school.”

“Are they helping you out at all? With rent or food?”

“No. I haven’t even spoken to them in over a month.” I slide the glass onto the desk, not sure if I want Ben to refill it or not. He doesn’t.

“They haven’t even checked up on you?” he asks, surprised.

I swallow the lump rising in my throat. “Nope.”

He leans back in his chair and sips the last of his scotch. “If there’s anything Nora or I can do to help, let us know. We take care of our own here.”

“Thanks. This job has saved my life. I really appreciate it.”

“Don’t thank me for that. Like I said, you’re going to make us a ton of money.”

I sink deeper into the sofa, feeling the scotch seeping into my bloodstream. But when I hear Nora’s voice in the hall, I know it’s showtime. She’s says something low, then giggles like a pubescent teen just before a door in the back of Ben’s office clicks open. I’d thought that door was a bathroom or a closet, but I now see it leads to the hall that threads from the dressing room to the stages.

I don’t know if Harrison was really even here tonight. I just caught that one glimpse of him a second before the stage lights blinded me. It was probably my imagination. But, still, when Nora steps into Ben’s office with a good-looking guy in his forties at her heels, disappointment drops like a stone in my stomach.

I really wanted it to be Harrison.

His hand is on Nora’s back, and even though she’s contained the giggle, her cheeks are flushed. She smiles up at Ben. “This one’s going to steal me away from you if you’re not careful, Ben.”

“Try it and they’ll be finding little pieces of you in Dumpsters all over the Bay Area,” Ben says, standing and shaking the guy’s hand. But even though what he said sounded like a joke, there’s no humor in his expression as he stares the guy down, and I wonder if I’m the only one who caught the edge to his voice. He glances at me. “Will you excuse us, Sam?”

I look between the guy and Ben, confused.

“Come on, girlie. The boss has business to attend to,” Nora says, scooping up my elbow as she crosses to the door to the main hall and pulls it open.

I step into the hall, still confused, and out of nowhere Jonathan nearly tackles me, hoisting me over his shoulder.

“You son of a bitch,” I screech, whaling my fists on his back. “Put me down!”

“Hey, Nora! Anyone in the VIP room?” he asks through my shrieks, hauling me that way. “Red and I need the couch and a thermometer for a science experiment. How hot is backstage sex between a rocker and an exotic dancer? Will spontaneous combustion occur? Inquiring minds want to know.”

“Put her down, you Neanderthal! She’s got work to do!” Nora yells up the hall behind us, but Jonathan has already turned the corner into the VIP room.

“Hello.”

I freeze, mid-shriek, as Harrison’s warm honey drawl trickles over me, sending a shiver up my spine.

Chapter Seven

J
ONA
THAN UNCLAMPS A
hand from my legs. “Sorry, man. Didn’t know anyone was in here.”

I break free from his loosened grip and slide off his shoulder, suddenly acutely aware that Harrison has a very unflattering view of my ass. “You moron,” I mutter, shoving Jonathan, once my boots are back on the floor.

Nora comes up behind us and grabs Jonathan by the scruff of the neck, dragging him out of the room.

“Inquiring minds want to know!” he calls, just as the door snaps shut.

“Your boyfriend?” Harrison asks with a flick of his eyes at the door.

“Hell, no!” I can’t read his expression. Does it bother him that I might have one?

He gestures at the sofa with a tip of his head. “So you were donating your body to science, so to speak.”

“He’s just a friend.” Goddamn Jonathan. I’m going to strangle him in his sleep. “A really stupid friend.”

He nods slowly, and whatever he was trying so hard to hide in his expression slips into something altogether different. Something he doesn’t hide at all as his glacial eyes rake over me. Something hot and hungry. Something possessive. The caress of his gaze raises goose bumps everywhere and tightens my nipples, and it’s everything I can do not to squirm under his scrutiny. He settles into the sofa and I just stand here for a long second while he continues his perusal of my body, then he tips his head at the sofa. “Have a seat.”

I sit and force my fingers to stop fidgeting with the clip of my garter belt.

“So, no boyfriend?” he asks, and there’s an intensity to the question that unnerves me a little.

“No boyfriend. I’ve really only ever had one.” Oh my God. Why did I just tell him that?

“Me too. That is . . . one girlfriend,” he clarifies.

“Your fiancée?”

He nods. “How long ago? Your boyfriend, I mean.”

“We broke up a year ago.”

“Were you together long?”

I shake my head. “We were dating for about eight months, but it was long distance.” I don’t tell him the whole time we were together, Trent was in love with someone else, because that just makes me sound pathetic.

“How did you meet?” he asks.

“He untangled his stepsister’s kite string from my braces,” I say, tapping my lips with my finger.

His gaze sticks for a second on my mouth before he lifts it to my eyes. “Braces . . .” he says with a tip of his head. “How old where you when you met?”

“Fourteen.”

“So, you knew him for a while before you dated.”

“You could say that.”

He looks at me curiously for a long beat. “There’s a story there.”

I blow out a sigh. “A long and extremely pathetic one.”

“I’m listening.” He settles deeper into the cushions and drapes an arm over the back of the sofa.

I just look at him for a second, trying to gauge if he’s messing with me or if he’s really interested. His liquid gaze is deep and his expression soft but intent. I tip my head back against the sofa and stare at the ceiling. “I was totally in love with him all through high school, and I held out for him for five years, even when he didn’t show any interest, because no one else measured up. So, yeah. I knew him for a while.”

“After all that time, you finally got your man. What happened?”

“He was in love with my best friend . . . who also happens to be his stepsister.”

There’s a long silence, and I lift my head, but I can’t bring myself to look at him as I tell him things I’ve never said out loud before. “He was practicing with his band in Lexie’s garage, and we were in the driveway flying her kite, but the wind gusted and it did this loop, and the string got caught in my braces. Lexie yanked, I screamed, and when the guys came out of the garage to see what was up, they all started laughing. But not Trent. He came over and got me untangled. And he told the guys to cut the shit when they started calling me Jaws and asking if I got good reception.”

I remember it so clearly.

Hold still,
he’d said. He grasped my chin gently and leaned in to examine my mouth. He was a little sweaty from jamming with the guys, and I remember thinking I should think that was gross. But I didn’t. It was the opposite of gross. I’d crushed on a few guys in junior high, but I never remember my heart racing the way it did with Trent so close. He’d unhooked me from the kite, and when he let me go, he smiled this incredible sideways smile and said,
Good to go,
and that was it.

I sigh and sink deeper onto the cushions. “I fell in love with him right that second. But even though I was under his nose all the time, he never thought of me as anything but his stepsister’s best friend, so, for five years, I pined.”

Harrison shifts closer. “You never dated anyone else?”

I shake my head. “Not during high school. I finally gave up sophomore year in college and dated a little, but then right before my junior year, Lexie went off to Rome for a year abroad. She and Trent were really close, and I could tell he missed her. We started hanging out together, mostly talking about Lexie at first, and things sort of escalated from there.”

“Don’t tell me he dumped you when his stepsister came home?”

I shake my head. “He didn’t wait that long. He broke up with me in April.”

His eyes narrow. “So, you were just his bootie call when his stepsister was away.”

The other thing I’m not going to tell him is, we never slept together. Looking back, I can see he was never really all that into it. I mean, there was a lot of kissing and fooling around, but whenever we got close to doing it, he would find a reason not to follow through. I should have seen it coming, I guess, but when he sat in my car last April and told me there was someone else, I didn’t take it very well. When they both sat me down two months later and told me “someone else” was Lexie, it pretty much gutted me. It cut deeper than I could have imagined that my best friend and my boyfriend both chose each other over me.

“You know the worst part of it?”

“What’s the worst part of it?” He leans closer, his whole face so open I feel myself wanting to tell him everything. So I do.

“The worst part is, as much as everything with Trent sucked, losing Lexie was like losing a piece of my soul. She, Katie, and I had been the three musketeers since junior high—inseparable.”

“Have you talked to her? Maybe if she knew—”

“I can’t,” I interrupt. “I said some pretty terrible things . . . called her names that I’m not even going to repeat here.” I blow out a breath and give my head an embarrassed shake. “It was bad. There’s no way she wants to hear from me.”

He brings a hand up and tucks a lock of my hair behind my ear. “I’m sorry, Sam.”

“Yeah . . . well.” I pull my eyes away from his mouth. “Anyway, they’re engaged now, so I hear.”

“That’s just . . . a little scary,” he says, his face scrunching, making me smile despite myself. He shakes his head, returning my smile. “Love blows.”

I drop my head onto the back of the sofa. “You got that right.”

“You know I’m serious, right? That guy’s a fucking moron to give you up like that.”

I lift my head and look at him. “I was thinking the same thing about your fiancée.”

His blue eyes darken in the dim light, his gaze smoldering with barely contained desire. “You were amazing out there tonight,” he says, his voice low and rough around the edges. “The way you move is just so . . .” He trails off with a slow shake of his head.

Desire twists tight in my core at the knowledge that this man, who is by far the hottest man I’ve ever known, wants me. Looking at the need on his face and coiled in his body, I know for sure he wouldn’t go eight months without taking me to bed. That look makes me feel sexy, and beautiful. It makes me pulse with need and ache in my most private places. It tells me that he wouldn’t leave me waiting and wanting for even eight
minutes
.

I look at him a moment longer, then stand and move to the stereo, cranking up the music; a slow, haunting piece that I feel in my soul. I let it flow into me, through me, and when it’s filled me, I turn to face him and start to dance. I lift my arms over my head and move to the pulsing rhythm. I circle my hips in a slow belly dance, and his eyes are glued to me, his lips parted slightly, and animal need dances in his hooded eyes. He rubs a hand down his face and sucks his upper lip between his teeth when I drop low, and his eyes follow the path of my hands as I roll back up, my fingertips skimming my calves and inner thighs, finally settling over the outside of my shorts, with my thumbs hooked under the waistband.

The unabashed need in his expression starts an intense throbbing in my groin that I can’t ignore. So I don’t. As I move to the rhythm, I let one hand continue up my body, over my bare midriff and my breast, finally twisting into my hair. My hips work the beat as I straighten my other arm, tugging the waistband of my tiny satin shorts dangerously low and bringing my fingertips to rest over the sweet spot at the apex of my thighs. I’m all adrenaline, every sensation heightened, and want pulsing through my veins like fire as I roll my hips in a slow circle.

Harrison tips his head back, blowing out a long breath between pursed lips, then stands and adjusts his jeans around the bulge inside them.

I crook my finger, beckoning him to me. “Dance with me.” It comes out a throaty demand—all sex and desire.

His eyes flare as he stalks closer, stopping a foot away. “I thought there was a three feet rule,” he says, his voice rough.

“I’m modifying it to one foot.” He reaches for my waist, but I back away and shake my head. “Still no touching. Sorry.”

I lift my arms overhead, weaving my fingers loosely into my hair, and start to move again, letting the music have me but never breaking eye contact with him. He watches me for a full minute, then starts to move with the rhythm. He’s good—loose and comfortable in his body. He rolls his hips and I moan a little, knowing just by that movement that he would be amazing in bed.

God, I want him in my bed.

I’m not usually like this. I mean, I held out for five years for one guy. Since I gave up my V card my sophomore year at a drunken frat party, there’s only been two others, including my one night with Jonathan. I can’t remember ever lusting this hard for anyone.

I turn my back to him and swing my hips, my ass “accidentally” brushing against the bulge in his jeans.

“Jesus, Sam,” he groans, his voice thick and a little strangled. The raw need in it is such a total turn-on. “Are you sure I can’t touch you?”

He’s just inches from me, and the feel of his breath in my hair sends goose bumps skittering over my scalp. The urge to spin and press my body against his is unbearable. I turn my head so I can see him out of the corner of my eye. And, God, he smells good—earthy with a musky undertone of sex.

“Yes,” I whisper.

He leans in, his lips nearly touching my ear. The heat of his mouth, so close to me, ripples every muscle south of my waist. “Yes, I can touch you?” he purrs. “Or yes, you’re sure I can’t.”

“I’m sure you can’t.” My voice comes out rough, and he groans at the sex in it.

His lips brush my ear as he leans closer. “I’m not sure I’m going to be able to stop myself.”

I can’t breathe. The air is suddenly too thick. Too charged.

“Sam?” he growls, shifting so he’s against me. “Please say I can.”

I lean my back into his front, and I can’t stop the satisfied moan. My moan turns into a low “Ahh,” more of a gasp than a word, when his strong hands close over my hips and pull me tighter against the evidence of exactly what his body wants from mine. I tip my head back into his shoulder, and his nose skims down the side of my neck. We roll our hips together to the music, and the heat of his body and his breath on my neck sets my blood on fire. And the epicenter of everything I’m feeling is at the sweet spot between my legs, where I ache so hard for him.

He knows what I want without me having to say it. He grinds himself against me from behind as his hand glides around my bare midriff, setting off fireworks under my skin. Every nerve ending buzzes, alive with the electricity between us. And when his hand glides lower, his fingertips slipping under my waistband, I moan deep in my chest, sure I’m about to explode.

His other hand brushes up the front of my top and his fingertips play over the tuxedo collar for a second before plunging beneath the fabric and cupping my breast in his sure, firm palm. I gasp and try to pull away. This is so against the rules. But when he holds me tight against him, every inch of his hot, hard body pressed against my back, I melt into him and moan.

I can’t resist him. Anything he wants is his.

I rock my hips, encouraging his fingertips lower, and feel the blazing trail they leave behind on my skin as they slip under the waistband of my thong. But just as I’m about to totally lose myself in him, a loud noise in the hall wrenches me back to reality.

Shit
. I can’t do this.

My body wants so badly to override my mind that it continues to grind without my consent, working his fingers lower under my shorts.

This is the moment of truth. I have to decide right here, right now, what kind of person I am. If I don’t get out of this room in the next ten seconds, there’s no way I’ll be able to stop. Nora will find me right here on the floor, Harrison inside me to the root, when she sticks her head in the door to tell me time is up.

Is that who I am, or am I more than that? Harrison might make me feel like pure sex, but despite how much I want him, can I do this and maintain any shred of self-respect? Not to mention my job?

My will wins the battle over my desire and I rip myself out of his grasp and bolt for the door without looking back. It’s not until I’m in the hall and the door slams behind me that I can even think.

I’ve never wanted anything in my life as intensely as I want Harrison, and it scares me how I let that base need cloud my judgment. It’s only as I stand here with my back against the door, breathing hard and throbbing where I shouldn’t be, that my head starts to clear. I need this job. I can’t risk it for a guy from L.A. who I’m never going to see again.