The end result, however, was the same. And I’d begun the evening feeling more than a little twitchy.
Sapphire, one of Destiny’s regular dancers who was in charge of wrangling the six of us who’d entered the amateur night contest, had given us a pre-performance pep talk. “If you’re nervous, just draw out the seduction. You’ll want to take it all off eventually—at least if you want a shot at the prize. But you can take your time with the stripping until you find your rhythm. Just keep it hot and sexy.”
Good advice, and though it had taken some time—as in, the entire length of The Georgia Satellites’ “Keep Your Hands to Yourself”—I’d finally managed to kick it up.
I might have started out wanting to forget that those men were there, but as I saw the way they looked at me, I couldn’t deny that I was getting into it.
I remembered the heat I’d seen in Tyler’s eyes when I’d stripped for him. The tightness in his jaw as he’d fought for control.
I drew on the memory of how much he’d wanted me—of how much I’d wanted him, of how much being on display for him, of slowly stripping off my dress, my panties, had turned me on, so that I wanted each movement to be as sensual as possible. So that each glance was filled with heat and promise.
And I remembered the way he’d touched me in front of the window. Does it excite you, knowing that someone might be looking in? Might be across the street looking out the window?
It had—oh, dear god, yes, it had. And I couldn’t deny the thrill I got doing the same in a roomful of men. The heat and the rush of knowing they could look, but not touch. That even though I would end up naked on that stage, I was the one with the power.
It was a different kind of power than I had as a cop. Different and personal because it came from me and not from the badge and the gun.
But though there was a thrill and a power that came from knowing that these men desired me, their interest didn’t have the same impact on me. I wasn’t dancing for them. It wasn’t these men who made me want to put on a show.
For that, I had to imagine Tyler.
Tyler, sitting in the dark.
Tyler, watching me as I slowly peeled my clothes off, and getting harder and hotter as each garment was removed.
He wasn’t really there—not yet. I knew, because every few minutes I let my gaze sweep the place. And with each look, I grew more disappointed. I wanted him to see me up here. Wanted him to know that I was doing this for him as much as for the job.
So help me, the man had truly gotten to me. He’d gotten under my skin, and this was as much punishment as it was tease. Except he wasn’t there to see any of it.
It frustrated me that I cared—that I wanted. That all I had to do was think of him to feel my body flush. Tyler Sharp was like a flame that heated me all the way through, making me weak. Making me melt.
I was a fool to toy with that man. He was dangerous. Distracting me, when I wasn’t the kind of woman who put up with distractions. Tempting me, when I wasn’t the kind of woman who was tempted.
He was everything I shouldn’t want and couldn’t have, and yet right then there was no denying that he was exactly what I needed. Tyler Sharp in my head, in my memories, in my imagination.
I clung tight to that fantasy, using it to fuel my moves, because I had to prove that I could do this. Had to convince him I could dance in a club like Destiny. That I could make it look real.