But his eyes were already straying back to the lineup because something—someone—had caught his eye.
A pair of stellar toned legs that traveled miles and joined a perfectly heart-shaped ass peeking out of shiny red shorts. She wore one of those tops that tied around her neck, also red, that had him dreaming of unknotting the bow and peeling it down. Dark waves of lush hair around her shoulders and touchable porcelain skin completed the fantasy. And she had…hot damn, a tattoo. He couldn’t quite make it out, but it was something vibrant and animalistic along her spine, snaking into the border of her shorts, trailing a path his hand itched to follow. He had still only seen her from the back, but if her breasts were anywhere near as perfect as the rest of her, sign him up.
The rest of the Club Girl harem stood face front, displaying their wares, but this hot little number refused to follow suit. A nonconformist stripper. He liked that.
Was he drunk enough to do this? Just a little harmless fun. See if his dick worked around a half-naked bad girl instead of the fully clothed good girl back at his office. Get his mind off Ms. Strickland for a few minutes.
“I want her,” he said to the blonde. “Lady in red.”
…
As soon as Ray had demanded she up the payments on Daisy’s debt by upping the sex quotient, Emma had balked. Give lap dances to the sweaty, leering ass*ole
s who wouldn’t know a “touching on hips only” rule if it slapped them with a flogger? N to the O. But when Ray made it clear with a look that Daisy might not make it ’til dawn with her face unscarred, she had reassessed her options—and made a plan.
Emma wasn’t a complete ogre, but no way could she compete with the other dancers. They were fake-tanned with legs up to their fake-lashed eyeballs and surgically enhanced where it counted. In the opposing corner, there was Emma. So pale it would take a week in the sun to go from blue to white, her petite-sized jeans usually in need of further hemming, and most definitely all natural in the boob department. Which would have been awesome if there was anything to cup. Granted, she wasn’t pancaking it, but she wasn’t giving those grasping eyes much to work with, either.
There was an excellent chance she could survive this night without anyone requesting her as-yet-untested lap dance services. Piece of cake.
But as the night wore on and Emma shrank closer to the bar, trying to become one with the wood—and not the woodies of the clientele—she was struck by two conclusions: no one had asked her for a lap dance. Mission accomplished. But as she was no longer serving tables, she was earning no tips and her debt to Ray plunged deeper and deeper.
Not such a great plan after all.
Close to one in the morning and a new wave of clients had stumbled in, raucous, drunk, possibly desperate enough to overlook her obvious shortcomings in the exotic dancer department. If one of them asked for a little gyrating, dry-humping action, then she would close her eyes, hold her breath, and think of the double chocolate cupcakes she couldn’t afford.
“You ready to work?” Katarina leaned in where Emma stood at the bar. “I have customer for you.”
“Someone picked me?” She shuddered to think what kind of man would choose her when the full complement of Club Girl was available for their dirty dancing needs. Some freak who liked ’em pasty.
“Yes. Lap dance in VIP section.”
Oh, God, the only thing worse than a lap dance in front of a crowd of handsy customers was a close-to-private lap dance in the roped-off VIP lounge. Technically the clients weren’t supposed to touch beyond a light grip of the dancer’s hips, but everyone knew that it didn’t stop there. And those guys could always afford the private rooms, so if it went well—double shudder—then it could escalate quickly. In the privacy of the seedy rooms, a dancer was expected to strip and make it worth the premium fee. A hundred and fifty dollars before tip for a private show lasting ten minutes.
More than the going rate for a high-priced street hooker.
But it would go some way to making a dent in that debt. All she had to do was take off the sparkly halter lent to her by Katerina. Maybe her hot pants…
No, no, no. She couldn’t do this. She would think of another way. Anything.
“What’s the problem?” Ray barked behind her. “I have two clients waiting for a show in the VIP lounge.”
Katarina laid an encouraging yet firm hand on Emma’s arm. “No problem, boss. We go now.”
Ray’s eyes ate Emma up. “Must say, you dirty up real good, Emma…” If she weren’t so worried about her sister, Ray’s mustache-twirling would have made her laugh. “Keep an eye on her,” he added to Katarina.
As he turned his back, Katerina stuck her tongue out. “Prick,” she muttered.