Strip Tease (2 page)

Gritting her teeth, Janelle glanced toward
the far end of the room where they pointed, near the French doors
that led onto the balcony. There was a chair in the corner. Long
legs clad in faded denim extended from it, though she couldn’t make
out the face or the rest of his body. The guys surrounding her
blocked her vision.

They were all chanting the same name over
and over. “Nate, Nate, Nate.”

Hmm, poor Nate was her victim, then.
Good.

“So it’s Nate, huh? Well, let’s go visit big
boy Nate and see if he’ll teach me a thing or two.” She started
toward her victim, smiling when the crowd of men parted like the
Red Sea. They followed, she could hear them behind her, and she put
an extra sway in her step, her hips twitching, butt bouncing.

Nothing like the power a sexy woman held
over a group of salivating men. She had to admit, she liked the
thrill of having so much control over a man. All because she had
decent legs and a nice rack, they turned into blubbering idiots
with one come hither smile and a flash of cleavage.

Men. They always thought with their
dicks.

Approaching her victim slowly, Janelle saw
the mysterious Nate sit up, his legs sliding upward, feet firmly
planted on the floor. Legs spread in that way men liked to sit, she
found the position perfect for what she wanted to do.

Enough room for her to dance between his
legs and make him want to melt away in mortification.

“We brought you a present, Nate-dawg!” one
of the guys yelled, gesturing toward Janelle with a crook of his
thumb. She smiled at the guy, pursed her lips and turned to look at
her victim of the night.

All the breath whooshed out of her chest,
lodging in her throat and she coughed, couldn’t stop staring. Eyes
dark as rich chocolate with thickly veiled lashes watched her, his
mouth tight, his clenched jaw shadowed with stubble. Black wavy
hair, tanned skin stretched over high cheekbones that hinted at
arrogance, and a firm jaw that reeked of stubbornness.

Her victim was seriously
hot.
Not
what she had expected at all.

Heart pounding in her chest, pulse bouncing
all over the place, she stood in front of him like a dumbstruck
fool, the men jostling her from behind, making her stumble.
Reaching out she braced her hand on the wall, regained her footing
and he rolled his eyes.

Shame filled her at the way he looked at
her. Shame and a healthy dose of anger.

Accompanied by the teeniest, tiniest flicker
of arousal, which she promptly ignored.

“Give her twenty bucks and she’ll take her
bra off!”

“Shut up.” She shot the screamer a withering
stare.

“Really?” Nate-dawg drawled, causing her to
meet his mocking gaze. “What do I get for forty bucks?”

“I won’t do anything for less than a
hundred,” she said, lifting her chin.

Take that, jackass.

“Would it be worth it if I gave you a
hundred bucks?” He cocked a brow.

“I’d blow your mind for two hundred,” she
promised, resting her hands on her hips. The image of her slowly
peeling off her shirt, unhooking her bra, all while the man watched
with those sexy, dark eyes was very appealing.

Janelle’s nipples pebbled beneath the fabric
of her bra and she swallowed.
Oooh, boy.

This was totally unlike her. Never before
had she become aroused by a client watching her. She could admit
she’d occasionally become aroused when she stripped, but it was
more about the exhilaration of taking her clothes off and
performing for someone. The thrill of making a man weak, basking in
her feminine power.

Certainly not because she was sexually
attracted to him.

“Sounds promising, though I’m not quite sure
you’re worth it.” He held her gaze for a long, heated moment before
he let it drop to her breasts.

His blatant perusal made her want to strip
just for him. It also made her want to run away. Temptation warred
within her, the urge to stick her tongue out like a bratty little
girl and stomp off to pout in the corner so strong, she had to reel
it in.

Ugh.
The schoolgirl outfit had more
of an effect on her than she thought.

The hip hop music stopped and in its place
started a slow, almost jazzy beat. The volume lowered, the lights
dimmed and the entire atmosphere changed in an instant. She could
almost forget there were so many people milling within the
suite.

All of these men, and only four women.
Whereas some would think otherwise, the odds were definitely not in
her favor tonight.

“Your friends are disappearing,” Nate-dawg
murmured.

He seemed almost pleased by this. She
glanced around the room, saw a couple of the girls wander into the
bedrooms, accompanied by party goers. Many of the guys were leaving
the suite, though a few still lingered.

“They’re really not my friends. We work
together.” She didn’t know the other girls at all, of course.

He leaned forward, no longer eyeing her in
distaste, but rather in smoldering interest. “So if I give you two
hundred dollars, you’ll dance for me?”

She stared at him in disbelief. He wanted
her to dance? Surprising. “You’d like me to? You didn’t seem that
into it earlier.” She wanted to smack herself. Why give him the
option to back out? An extra two hundred would be more than
welcome.

He gripped the arms of the chair with long
fingers, his biceps flexing and shifting with the movement beneath
the dark gray t-shirt. She couldn’t help but admire his physique.
Not too muscular, not too wimpy, the guy was, well…

Perfect.

Just like that, she had the overwhelming
urge to touch him. Run her fingers along his arms, across his broad
shoulders, through his thick hair. What would he do? How would he
react? Would he watch her with skeptical eyes or shudder with
pleasure?

“You’re the student, I’m the teacher? Is
that the game you want to play? Do you like games?” His deep voice
pulled her from her thoughts, and she swore his eyes turned a shade
darker when they met hers. His firm mouth softened, revealing the
sensual curve of his lower lip and the temptation to touch him,
kiss him was near overwhelming.

Janelle steeled her spine. Okay fine, she
could do this. She could forget what a jerk he was, if she
concentrated on his gorgeous face and those hungry eyes. Leaning
over him, she rested her hands on the armrests, her fingers awfully
close to his, her chest directly in his line of vision.

He stared at her breasts, didn’t try to
pretend that he wasn’t. Slowly she turned her hips from side to
side, teasing him with glimpses of her black satin-covered
cleavage. “Is that what you’d like, Nate-dawg? Because it can be
arranged. I do love a good game.”

Chuckling, he settled against the back of
the overstuffed chair, looking very much the relaxed, cocky
bastard. “I bet you do. And call me Nate.”

“Well, Nate, I’m Ginger. And I’ve been a
naughty,
naughty
girl.” She moved in closer, her face
directly in his and his minty breath fanned across her lips. She’d
bet his mouth tasted just as good. “I need to be taught right from
wrong so I won’t be a bad girl anymore. Can you help me?”

He stared at her hard, visibly swallowed.
Lowering her lids, she shifted toward him, tempted to taste him.
Just one little taste of that sensual mouth before she started to
dance for him...

The man actually had the nerve to grin and
shake his head. “Do guys actually fall for that act you put
on?”

With an indignant huff she stood, glaring
down at him from narrowed eyes. “Listen, jerk off, I’m playing the
part of a
fantasy
. You know, where you use your imagination
and pretend I’m naughty, maybe even get a little thrill out of it?
Though you don’t look like the type who gets thrills. Or has an
imagination, for that matter.”

Jeez, the guy was a jerk. She turned,
glancing around the suite. The entire night was giving off a hinky
vibe, and she didn’t like it. In fact, she was gonna bail out of
the party right now, screw Ginger, forget the tips and the other
girls, since they clearly forgot about her.

Not like she was going to do this for her
sister again, so there was no bridge to burn...

“Hey, wait a minute.” Strong, warm fingers
wrapped around her wrist, keeping her from bolting and she glanced
down to find Jerk-dawg watching her, a flicker of—was that
concern?—in his dark gaze.

Why should he care how she felt? He’d been
slinging insults at her from the moment they met.

“What?” Janelle tried to ignore the tingles
of awareness washing over her body at his touch. Pulse kicking up a
notch, her breathing grew shallow when she felt the subtle brush of
his thumb sweeping the inside of her wrist.

“Dance for me.” Eyebrows lifting, he cocked
his head toward her. His eyes glittered in the darkness and his
grip tightened on her, firm fingers pressing into her tender skin.
“Forgive my earlier comments. I promise I’ll behave.”

She contemplated him, angry that she was
weak enough to give in. “Fine. No touching allowed though.” Jerking
out of his hold, she wobbled on her precarious heels and she blew
out a harsh breath, steadying herself. Why did he change his mind
so fast?

He threw her for a loop and she didn’t like
it.

“Of course.” He held his hands up in front
of him, though a mocking smile still lingered on his too sensuous
lips. He’d seen her fumble and clearly found it amusing.

He wasn’t going to find her dancing amusing.
Oh no, he was going to like it, want more of it. Too damn much.

A wicked smile curved her lips and she
rested her hands on her hips, her skin tightening in
anticipation.

“Are you ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.”

Hmm, that’s what you think.

* * * *

Something wasn’t right. Ginger Peters’
behavior was completely off.

Nathan Banks watched her with a wary eye as
she turned around, her short flippy skirt doing wondrous things for
her pert ass. Like making him want to see it in all its bare glory,
touch it. Feel her shudder beneath his hands.

She looked better, too. More aware, more
alive and full of fire. Usually she moved around Billy D’s
nightclub with a dead look in her eyes, seemingly unaware of what
went on around her.

Tonight Ginger was sassy, a little
argumentative and glowing with a sexual aura he’d never noticed
before. His cock certainly noticed. It strained against the fly of
his jeans uncomfortably and he shifted in his chair, feeling like
an ass.

He was not at this private bachelor party to
become sexually aroused by freaking Ginger, of all people. He
needed to get to her, talk to her about her boss Billy Diaz, the
man who killed his partner.

Now, tonight, it was finally going to
happen.

So why take her up on the offer of a dance?
He’d had her moments ago, his fingers circled around her slim
wrist, the look in her eyes like a trapped animal’s. He could’ve
dragged her outside and demanded answers. That had been his plan
when he’d somehow wrangled the invitation to this stupid bachelor
party for a bunch of overgrown frat-types that frequented the
nightclub he’d been staking out the past month.

His baser instincts wanted to watch her move
seductively. He’d only seen Ginger dance from afar, on stage, and
she rarely gave lap dances. Tonight was his opportunity to have her
close, smell her fragrant skin, feel her touch him. He felt like an
ass, but he wanted it all.

She started to move, the subtle sway of her
hips rocking in time to the sensual beat of the music. Her head
tilted back, the ends of her white-blonde hair brushing the bare
skin of her lower back and he was hypnotized, frozen in the
chair.

A better man would make her stop. A better
man would tell her he was a cop, he was conducting an important
investigation, and he needed to talk to her.

For tonight, he wasn’t that man. And he
wasn’t proud of that fact, either.

Ginger turned around, a predatory gleam in
her eyes. She nimbly undid each button on her shirt, one by one,
revealing a teasing glimpse of flesh. She shrugged out of the shirt
with a graceful shift of her shoulders, letting it drop to the
floor. Golden skin glowed in the soft dim light, plump breasts
threatening to spill out of the black satin cups of her bra.

His mouth went dry and his cock jerked in
appreciation. She smiled as if she knew exactly what he was
thinking, what she did to him and she took a step closer, her knees
brushing against his.

“Ready for that lap dance?”

Her sweet, sultry voice washed over him and
something within him shifted hard. Christ, he didn’t know if he
could take it.

Hell if he wanted to come in his pants like
an overeager teenager.

He answered her with a jerky nod and she
wasted no time straddling him, her legs bent and knees on either
side of his thighs. The skirt rose with her position, revealing her
firm thighs and he held his breath, wondering if he’d catch a
glimpse of her panties. Would they match her bra?

“Remember the rules,” she murmured, leaning
in closer, her breasts at perfect level with his mouth. He licked
his lips, wishing he could nudge the fabric away from her chest and
reveal her naked flesh. “You can’t touch me. I can touch you all I
want, but the minute you lay a finger on me, I’m gone. You
understand?”

“Yeah.” His voice was a scratchy rasp,
completely unfamiliar to his ears and he shook his head,
embarrassed. Feeling completely undone by a freaking strung out
stripper. Though if he studied her closely, she didn’t look as
wasted as she normally did. Must’ve been the lighting—or maybe it
was his lust glazed eyes.

He never thought this could happen, this
sudden attraction for Ginger, of all women. Yet he awaited her next
move with all the eagerness of a child on Christmas morning.