Remember Me (20 page)

Tiffany leaned against a wall while Lucy continued to stretch. “So things must have gone well with the gallery owner?”

Lucy grinned. “Very well. Mason wants dishes from me, but he also wants to display some of the work I consider fine art. He’s even talking about putting together a showing to publicize me.”

“Oh, sugar, that’s fantastic! Will you still visit now and then when you’re rich and famous? You know Roberto always lets the ladies in free.”

“Of course I will.” Lucy laughed. “But I’m nowhere near rich and famous yet.”

Roberto stepped into the room, his swarthy face in a mock frown. “You’re famous enough around here you’ll leave a big hole when you’re gone.”

Lucy put her hands on her hips. “Well I’m not gone yet, and not likely to be anytime soon, so you can quit looking like a down-in-the-mouth hound dog, Roberto.”

He winked at her. “I’m glad you’re back,
nina
. You look beautiful.”

“Thanks.”

* * * *

Brandon tossed his car keys on his dresser, unloaded his pockets and then hung his suit and tie. He wasn’t a neat freak by any means, but he was careful with his belongings. His upbringing might have been rich, but his parents had still kept the kids on a pretty tight line, not throwing money without necessity at anything other than their home and business. With Seth so close in age, Brandon hadn’t even been a stranger to hand-me-downs. After stripping off his dress shirt and tossing it in the stack to go to the laundry, he pulled on sweats and grabbed a duffel bag. He still couldn’t run because of his ankle, but he would get in a swim.

Friday night at the gym. Some social life. His smile was not pleasant. Brandon doubted most people would believe how unexciting the life of a major corporate COO was. He had managed to wiggle out of an invitation to a party and didn’t have to go to his parents’ compound until Sunday brunch, so right now, the brunt of the weekend stretched in front of him–a vast, empty expanse. To be honest, before the trip to Colorado, he would not have been at loose ends. There would have been a party, a date or some business function, but since his return, he had scaled back his social life.

Maybe Phillip was right. He was turning into a morose asshole. He swam up and down the length of the pool, his arms cutting through the water with an economy of motion. For a long time, he’d known something was missing, but he was unable to revert to where he had been before the ski trip. He hadn’t understood why until a couple days ago when he’d stepped off the hospital elevator and seen Lucy. The recognition had slammed into him, followed by the memories.

Even now, he could see her laughing up at him and taking his hand after she’d fallen on her fanny for the umpteenth time the day he’d taught her to ski. Had that been an act? Had she known all along who he was and hoped to get her hooks into him? He didn’t want to think that, but a cynical part of him, the part that had been latched onto time and time again throughout his life just because he was a Barlow-Barrett, could think nothing else. For God’s sake, she was a stripper. He knew she had aspirations to become an artist. How much easier would life be if she had someone willing to bankroll her lifestyle? Maybe the whole thing about it being her first vacation was a lie then too. But no, Tessa had said Lucy never took vacations.

He didn’t know. What he did know was he couldn’t get her off his mind. He’d tried. Neither exercise nor booze had worked.

Brandon climbed out of the pool, his ankle sore but not painful, and limped into the locker room. A little time in the whirlpool and he should be good as new. On his way to his house, Brandon found himself taking a detour. He hadn’t intended to but realized, turning into the parking lot, he’d driven to Flamingo Road. It was already crowded. For a few minutes, Brandon sat in the car. Why was he doing this? Why was he punishing himself this way?

He needed to see. He needed to be able to picture Jasmine LeFleur instead of Lucy Cameron. Maybe when he saw the stripper he would be able to work her out of his system. It would be like aversion therapy. Once he saw her dancing, he could walk away.

The bouncer, a guy who looked like even his ears had muscles, stopped him at the door. “Coat and tie are required, sir.”

Jesus. He was still in his sweats. Brandon nodded. It had been a stupid idea anyway, but it wouldn’t go away. He drove home, started to flop on his couch to watch a sports documentary and found he couldn’t get the idea of seeing Lucy-Jasmine out of his head. With a sigh of self-disgust, he went upstairs and changed clothes. Ignoring the khakis and blue blazer which would have been enough to get him in the door, Brandon pulled on a conservative navy pinstripe. After tightening the knot on a custom-made silk tie, he checked his money clip to make sure he had plenty of cash and headed out again.

This time the bouncer waved him forward into their VIP section, a discreetly lit area very near the stage. A waitress, clad in a bikini-style top and a skirt not much bigger than a dish towel, came over to take his drink order. While he waited for her to return with the burgundy, he watched the girl on stage. The dancing was mediocre at best, but he supposed the size of her no doubt surgically enhanced breasts more than made up for the lack of skill. That seemed to be the case because a couple noisy patrons managed to reach forward enough to shove some bills in her g-string. His jaw clenched. He forced himself to study the dancer once again. Her body wasn’t as fit as he remembered Lucy. This was a woman who would run to fat in no time at all. Another dancer he didn’t recognize took the stage, and Brandon began to wonder if Lucy was even working, but he remembered seeing her name on the marquee when he came in.

He ordered a second glass of wine. As the waitress set it down, he stopped her.

“A friend of mine mentioned a dancer–Jasmine–does she still work here?”

The waitress smiled. “She’s next. Jasmine’s the reason we’re so busy tonight. She’s been off a few days, but she’s back now. The place is packed and Roberto is a happy man.”

He nodded and smiled. He picked up his wineglass and grimaced to see his hand shook the smallest bit. As if he weren’t the only one in the crowd awaiting her appearance, he began to hear the name Jasmine being whispered among a nearby group of men.

“She’s been here forever,” he heard one man say. “But damn, she’s got a body that just won’t quit. The way she moves… She must be a maniac in the sack.”

When the men snickered and picked up their beer bottles, tension knotted Brandon’s stomach in an even tighter coil. The faint throbbing of a headache beat behind his forehead.

“And now, gentlemen,” the stage manager announced, “by popular demand…Jasmine LeFleur!”

A hard-driving hip hop tune blared. Brandon leaned into the shadows. At least for now he would prefer she didn’t see him. She spun out onto the stage with a move that would have made a professional dancer proud. While he watched her combine grace and athleticism with the fast pace of the music, he understood why she was so demanding of her diet and exercise. There was nothing soft or half-assed about this performance. In your face hip pumping, ass wiggling and chest shimmying had the crowd hooting and hollering. Money fluttered on stage as soon as she ripped the lower half of her dress away to reveal a skirt barely covering her tush. Long legs flashed and twirled. By the time she finished, she was out of breath–and so was every man watching her, including him. As she bowed and waved, he saw her glance around. He leaned away from the light even more.

He gulped the wine. The waitress reappeared. “Another, sir?”

He nodded. He wanted his mind to be numb. His cellphone buzzed. “Yeah.”

“Hey, Bran… Where the hell are you?” Seth barked into his phone.

“Flamingo Road. Torturing myself.”

“Shit.” There was a pause on the other end, then Seth said, “I’ll be right there.”

“I’m trying not to be noticed,” Brandon snapped. “Two giant, blond Barlow-Barretts will be a lot harder to keep incognito.”

“Nevertheless, I’ll be there if for no other reason than to drive you home.”

The connection cut before he could tell his brother how much of his ass he could kiss. Another dancer was on the stage, but she was nowhere near the caliber of Lucy. The next time she came out, she was dressed for skiing. His heart nearly stopped. This was the Lucy he remembered, but the makeup and expression were all wrong. His Lucy was fresh-faced and laughing. The Jasmine version of her was… Holy Mary. He almost swallowed his tongue when she wrapped herself around the pole. His eyes widened and his cock swelled. After another swallow, he glanced around the room and his lips thinned. He didn’t want these men seeing her. His fists clenched. He had started to rise when a hand clamped on his shoulder.

“Sit down, Brandon,” Seth hissed close to his ear. “No matter what you’re thinking or feeling right now, you cannot create a scene. Remember who you are.”

“
Fuck
who I am,” he snarled.

“Sit.” Seth signaled to the waitress. “Bring another glass of wine for him and one for me.”

“I thought this would help,” Brandon muttered, “but it’s torture.”

“It’s her job. Not her. Remember, I found Tessa in here too.”

“Waiting tables. She at least had the important things covered.” Lucy turned her back to the audience, sliding down the pole until she was squatting with her legs splayed and the taut muscles of her butt and thighs on display. Brandon groaned. “God help me.”

Customers tossed money onto the stage. Seth tossed a bigger bill on the table and tapped Brandon’s shoulder. “Come on, Bran. We’re leaving. You did need to come here, but you don’t need to stay.”

Brandon nodded. He couldn’t do anything else. His throat was tight and his groin was aching, but what hurt the worst was his heart. As they left the club, he bumped a smaller, slighter guy just coming in.

“Watch it, dude,” the guy said, giving him a hostile look.

“Sorry,” Brandon muttered, not liking the way the guy still stared at him, eyes narrowed with speculation.

“Whatever.”

* * * *

Lucy bowed and stood. Two towering blond men in the process of leaving caught her eye. For a moment, her heart skittered, but it had to be her imagination. Brandon wouldn’t be here. No way. She slipped backstage with a wave and into the dressing room. One of the other dancers grinned at her.

“The customers sure love you.”

“Thanks. A few days off, though, and I’m feeling this tonight, especially that last dance. Thank goodness the final one is a lot slower.”

The other woman chuckled. “For you, maybe. Not for the customers. When you go out there for the last act, the heat level in here climbs like a thermometer in boiling water.”

Lucy smiled. She took off her costume, threw on a robe and slipped into the warm-up room to stretch. She was always tight following the first two dances because of the pace and the type of movements choreographed into it. The final one, however, required her to be super flexible, so stretching was a must. By the time she slipped into the dressing area, she had just enough time to touch up her makeup and change into her final costume.

When she went on stage for her closing routine, Lucy closed her mind to the men in the audience. Instead, she pretended there was one man there. Brandon. And she danced for him. The applause and the whistles were thunderous. The stage was green with cash. Lucy picked up her robe and walked backstage.

Right after she slipped the robe on, Roberto came around the corner. He pulled her into a friendly embrace. “You amaze, as always. Welcome back, Lucy.”

She nodded and rested her cheek along his for an instant.

Lucy slept in the following morning, but not too late. She wanted to wake in plenty of time so she could work in her studio. Once she checked her newest projects, she went to the racks and found the pieces ready for glazing. As the morning sunlight slanted through the wide windows, Lucy worked with complete concentration. She had opened a window so the sound of the birds and someone mowing their grass in the distance accompanied the dip of her brush in the glaze. She knew some people enjoyed working with music in the background, but she had always preferred either quiet or the sounds of the outdoors when it was warm enough to leave windows open.

She was a bit stiff this morning and knew it was from dancing last night. She had discovered over the years that deviating from her routine would leave her sore. She would have to include some dance practice into her exercise schedule if she was going to confine performances to Friday and Saturday nights. Perhaps Roberto would allow her to come in a couple days in the late afternoon to practice in the warm-up room.

With that idea in mind, she arrived a little early the next evening and ran the idea past her boss. He leaned back in the chair in his office and smiled. “If it will keep you dancing Fridays and Saturdays, then by all means.”

“Thanks, Roberto. You are the absolute best.”

He grinned. “Remember me when you’re the famous Lucy Cameron.”

She spent more time warming up, loosening tight muscles until she felt relaxed and supple. Once again, the club was packed. There were two bachelor parties with front row seats, so like the other dancers, she tried to focus the direction of her dancing on the grinning young men who were more than willing to order plenty of beer and toss plenty of bills on stage. Unlike some of her fellow dancers, Lucy kept just out of reach. She allowed no one to touch her. Never had, never would. It had been the one thing that had creeped her out about the job when she first came to talk to Roberto, but he had assured her it was not required. In fact, following the letter of the law, it wasn’t even allowed, but because it was such a tradition in most strip clubs, cops tended to overlook it if it wasn’t shoved in their faces, so to speak.