Careful What You Kiss For (2 page)

No. Not sunlight at all.

• • •

Tensley peered into the dim light. As soon as her vision adjusted, she snapped her eyes shut, unable to believe what she had seen. A large room with dark corners. Men. Hungry-looking men, drinks in hand, staring up at a stage.

A stage she was standing on.

Music played all around her, in a pulsing beat that reverberated through every part of her body. She breathed in air laced with sweat and alcohol while glasses clinked and voices hummed, punctuated by rough, scraping laughter. She clenched the fingers of one hand so hard, her muscles screamed.

She wasn’t on the stairs. Or on the sidewalk in front of Madame Claire’s shop. She didn’t know where the hell she was.

One by one, Tensley opened her eyes again. To her left, a woman bathed in blue light writhed to the beat. She was working her bare boobs and ass for everything she was worth, gaze fixed on an open-mouthed man in a business suit. With one hand, he reached inside his jacket, drawing out bills. The fingers of his other hand curled, as though longing to grab a handful of her. Or himself.

Tensley turned back. The room before her was crowded with tables and chairs, with a large bar at the back and Greek pillars, silhouetted in footlights, lining the walls. Candles, some with flames dancing, others barely lit, dotted the tables.

A spotlight jumped to life. Tensley flinched, looking down to see her body glowing at center stage, one hand gripping a brass pole. It was her body, all right. Minus the five pounds she’d put on since the Bryan incident and at least fifteen more. Her nipples stood at attention, pointed toward the ceiling. She wore a tiny red thong, plexiglass stilettos and nothing else.

Ohhhh. M-m-m-m. G.

A paunchy man with caterpillar eyebrows staggered to his feet, his drink held high. “Give it to me, baby!” he yelled, spittle flying from his mouth.

He was talking to her. Tensley Tanner-Starbrook. Vice president of Tanner, Inc., her family’s cable television business. A girl who loved taking bubble baths and chocolate cake shots, hiding sexy, barely-there lingerie beneath her tailored suits, and curling up on a rainy day with her dog and a good book.

Now standing naked. On a stage. In front of strangers.

Several pairs of eyes trained on her, scanning every bare inch. From the corner of her eye, she saw a burly man in a T-shirt two sizes too small move forward, his gaze fixed on the guy with out-of-control eyebrows.
Think, Tensley.
Her other hand also moved to the pole, holding on tight.

Madame Claire. That flash above her head. Like a sparkler, on the Fourth of July. The offer of a do-over. A do — Oh God. It couldn’t be —

Goose bumps crawled up her arms at the same moment sweat broke out on her forehead. The room began to bob and weave.

Footsteps shook the stage. A minute later, fingers tipped with crimson daggers closed over Tensley’s death grip on the pole. “What’s going on?” an unfamiliar female voice demanded in her ear.

For the second time that day, Tensley jerked her hand away from a stranger, this time hunching her shoulders inward and folding her free arm across her breasts.

“You’ve got back house rent to pay, Starbrook,” the woman hissed. “So you’d better start shakin’ your ass.”

Tensley owned an upscale one-bedroom condo she’d barely furnished because she wasn’t at all sure what went with a paint color called Butterscotch Tempest. And her ass hadn’t shaken since — um. Ever.

The woman released her and took a step forward, holding her hands up for the audience’s attention. The music slid into the background and even the transfixed man and the dancing girl in the corner turned to look.

“It’s okay,” the woman on stage announced. Her voice dropped to a purr that carried all the way to the back wall. “Lila Delightful’s just feeling a little shy tonight. Guess you’re all going to have to show her how friendly I know you can be.”

Lila Delightful?

The male voices roared encouragement in whoops and hollers and the woman, in a black leather dress so tight that most of her pale skin spilled over the top, spun back toward Tensley, her smile glittering a warning. As she passed by, she paused long enough to lay a hand on Tensley’s arm and say in her ear, “If you’re loaded, I swear I’m going to throw you and all your shit out on the street.” She turned to give the crowd a broad wink and then half-walked, half-danced off the stage, blowing an exaggerated kiss before she disappeared into the darkness.

Loaded?
It would explain some things, but she didn’t think —

She jumped yet again as a new song crashed through the loudspeakers.

“Come on, honey,” caterpillar brows called, slurring his words. “Keep goin’.”

Just as Tensley wondered if she could shave those eyebrows with one stiletto heel, another man sitting further back, his face and body masked by the shadows, growled, “Give her a break.”

A shiver rippled up Tensley’s spine.

“Fuck off, buddy. I paid my money,” caterpillar brows retorted. “I wanna see her dance.”

Shadow man raised his voice until it squashed caterpillar brows flat. “So you’ll see some other girl dance.”

A spark of recognition flashed in Tensley’s brain, but before she could process it, shadow man’s muscular arm flashed into the light, gesturing to the bouncer. “This one’s savin’ herself for me. Go on. Get somebody else up there.”

Savin’ herself for —
like hell.
Anger rocketed through her, overtaking the dizziness, disorientation and the part of her that was trying so hard not to place that voice. She didn’t know where she was or who she was and people were still talking about her in the third person, as though she wasn’t even in the room. If she
could
dance, she would damn well show —

Her body began to move of its own accord. Hips thrusting from one side to the other in time with the music. Before her brain could catch up with the rest of her, she’d hopped up to straddle the pole, spinning in one fluid motion, head down, hair brushing the floor. Her legs spread until they were parallel to the floor, her toes pointed.

Then she pulled herself upright, legs still in a straight line, as effortlessly as someone who actually had been able to get the hang of the monkey bars in first grade. Which wasn’t Tensley. Except that it …
was
… . Never mind.

She spun again and dropped to the floor in a perfect split. The audience, all ten — or 100 — of them shouted its appreciation. Tensley heard herself join in, as surprised as anyone. If she’d known she could do this ever in her life, she would have tried out for high school cheerleading instead of hiding her envy as she watched other girls flip, leap and bounce.

Then she was down on her knees, thrusting her crotch toward the audience, her back bending like Gumby and her hands traveling upward to cup her …
whoa
… much bigger … breasts. They had either finally grown in or she’d had a surgery she didn’t remember.

She tipped her head, raking her fingers through her hair in one agonizingly long and slow motion. A collective intake of breath from the audience sent a thrill of excitement through her. This was, well, she wouldn’t go so far as to say fun, but
damn
. No one had ever looked at her quite like this.

When her fingers flashed by on their way back down, she realized she had her own crimson daggers. And toned, slender arms. She must have found time to work out. Not to mention motivation to work out.

Look at the guy with the striped shirt. And the one wearing the baseball cap. Neither one can take his eyes off me.

One by one, her arms snaked along the stage, her ass in the air and hair falling around her shoulders as her nipples brushed the floor, sending waves of an ‘I-can’t-believe-I’m-doing-this’ thrill through her. The man in the striped shirt, who had a death grip on his drink, leaned forward. Tensley made straight for him, the tip of her tongue working a lazy, seductive journey around her mouth.

His face lit up in anticipation, which turned to raw desire as she reached the end of the stage and rose on her knees to stroke herself while watching him through her lashes. Then she beckoned him toward her with one crimson-tipped index finger. He stood as if in a trance, not seeming to notice as he tripped over a chair. He just kept going.

Come to Mama.
This was so not Tensley Tanner-Starbrook. But who had to know that? No one.

For a few minutes of her life, she could be someone else. Have fun she’d never dream of outside the confines of her condo’s Butterscotch Tempest walls. She’d ride on up to the orgasm bar and make her own, instead of hoping someone like Bryan, who got points for congeniality, but couldn’t rock her world if his cock was twice its size … would do it for her.

Head back, she thrust both arms in the air and her crotch toward the mesmerized man. Hell, yes. She
was
Delightful, thank you very much.

And then shadow man’s voice sliced through it all to jolt her brain, if not the body performing independent of her brain, to a screeching halt. “So I was wrong,” he said, loud enough to be heard over the music.

With a gulp, her arms still triumphantly in the air, she forced her gaze from the striped shirt man to the chair where that voice had come from.

It couldn’t be.
“Damn straight,” caterpillar brows responded happily.

Razor-sharp memories pushed forward in her mind. The warm white bath of moonlight. A summer breeze washing over their damp, naked teenage bodies. The smell of newly mown fields. The lump in her throat before she worked up the courage to whisper, “I love you.”

Nooooo.
Her body kept going, bringing the striped shirt man closer to her like a siren call. He had money in his hand and a glint in his eye that wasn’t from the stage lighting.

She had to stop. Had to end the dizzying swirl of confusion that made her think —

Shadow man got to his feet and her eyes shot straight to his tall, dark silhouette. His fingers flashed into the light as he lifted a drink to her. “Lookin’ good, honey.”

Max.

With every bit of physical strength she could find, Tensley grabbed the finger still motioning the man in the striped shirt forward. She pulled both hands down and to her sides. Her tongue tried to poke forward to lick her lips again, so she sank her teeth into it, hard, and let out a screech. She tasted blood.

The striped shirt man backed up, his expression baffled.

Her body wasn’t giving up that easily, though. Before she knew it, she was back on her feet, gyrating and grinding, moving as though her two hands weren’t engaged in a go-stop-go battle. Every time her hip shot to one side, she stomped her foot, in the vain hope that would stop it. Something halfway between a purr and a growl came out of her mouth as she concentrated on jamming both hands on her waist. And keeping them there.

Again with the hip thrusting. Again with the stomping.

Caterpillar brows sat down hard on his chair, mouth open. Possibly because he’d never seen a step-dance striptease before.

Her hips continued on and then her leg joined in, kicking high as the music hit a crescendo, undeterred by the fight she was having with herself. It wasn’t until she ended up doing a vertical split of sorts, legs on the pole, fists still glued to her waist, that the music finally stopped and she regained control of her body.

Tensley eased her extended leg down and off the pole, inch by inch, and stood in the middle of the stage. After a minute or two of stunned silence, the crowd responded with polite applause and a few cat calls.

If he’s here, really here, I don’t want to know. I don’t.
The man in the striped shirt approached to drop a twenty on the stage. Tensley hardly looked at him as she murmured her thanks. Instead she peered past him into the darkness, trying to get a better look at the man she didn’t want to see.

The audience seemed to be waiting for her to do something. Tensley put one foot behind the other and bobbed a curtsy straight out of Miss Jodi’s tap dance class. Miss Jodi had always said a lady should never leave a performance without a curtsy.

She wondered, though, if Miss Jodi had meant every kind of performance.

Caterpillar brows approached the stage, money clutched in his pudgy fist. “Here you go, sweetheart,” he growled. “Let me put this away for you.”

“No, I’m good. Really.” Tensley put a hand up. She could almost see the face of the man who belonged to the voice.
If it’s Max, I don’t want to know. I don’t.

Yes, I do.
Other men began approaching the stage, money held high. One motioned her toward him with his hand, a grin plastered on his face.

She shook her head, slightly at first and then vehemently.

Two of the men dropped their tips on the stage. “You don’t have to be shy, baby,” one assured her with a broad wink.

Oh, God. He looks like my high school principal. Ewwwww. He was my high school principal.
Footsteps again clattered across the stage and the woman who had threatened to evict her earlier grabbed the mike to demand, “Now, are y’all ready for Terrible Tawny, the Tahitian Temptress?”

The audience sounded its approval and the woman spread her arms wide, the sleeves of her sparkling costume nearly knocking Tensley off the stage. She stumbled backward, but caught herself. New music blared and Terrible Tawny began to move her hips from side to side in time to the beat. Then she backed up, one long-limbed step at a time, until she reached the spot where Tensley stood.

Another sharp gyration and Tawny pulled off part of her costume with a flourish. When it landed on Tensley’s head, the crowd responded with hoots. Tensley reached up, yanked it to the floor and then tucked her hands under her arms, pulling them in tight as she shuffled backward out of the spotlight.
Get me out of this place.

She hesitated at the top of the stairs, struggling to get her bearings. She had to call the police. Report this. And say — what? She … uh … was leaving a psychic’s shop when … ? Something wasn’t making sense. A whole lot of something wasn’t making sense.