Darker the Release (23 page)

Elizabeth frowned, her relief from the moment before fading. “I don’t know. Maybe some of them do. I’m just saying that I don’t.”

“I think it’s because you’ve never allowed yourself.” He had a low, mesmerizing note in his voice that made everything he said seem like a seduction, even when it obviously wasn’t.

“Why would you think that?”

“I can get a sense of a person quickly, and I’ve already gotten a good sense of you.”

He was smiling again, but Elizabeth stiffened her shoulders since she suddenly wasn’t sure she wanted to hear his assessment of her. “That’s kind of presumptuous.”

“It’s very presumptuous, but that doesn’t mean I’m not right.”

“Okay, fine. If you’re so good at reading people, what have you read about me?”

“You come from money—maybe not huge wealth, but you always had enough growing up, and your parents indulged you. Your purse and shoes are really expensive, so you must still have plenty in the bank. Maybe you’ve got some sort of cushy job, thanks to your parents’ connections.”

This was partly true, but not entirely true, and she sucked in an indignant gasp at the implications. “I worked hard for the job I have.”

“I believe it,” he said, his eyes still resting on her face. “You’ve probably been an overachiever all your life, never wanting to disappoint anyone.”

“What makes you say that?” She didn’t bother denying this. Everyone who knew her would testify that it was true.

“I watched you with your friends—all those fake smiles you put on. You didn’t want to offend or disappoint them by admitting how much you wanted to get out of here.”

“Oh.” She swallowed hard, feeling a buzzing now in her chest, her head, her fingertips—like something important was about to happen. “I don’t like to disappoint people, but that’s true about a lot of women.”

“It’s particularly true about you. And I think it might explain why you’re having such a hard time here.”

She was starting to get annoyed. “It does not. It has nothing to do with not enjoying that whole silly scene in there.”

“I think it does. A lot of the women here find it sexy. They find it a turn-on to be able to live out in that room what they can’t at home—a fantasy man who is completely focused on them and their pleasure. But some of them don’t find it sexy. They come here for other reasons—to let down their inhibitions, to enjoy themselves with their friends without worrying about the impression they’re making on others, to take off the armor they habitually wear around all the men in their lives. It’s not about sex for them. It’s about shedding what normally restrains them. Even if you don’t find those guys sexy, why can’t you at least enjoy it for a different kind of release?”

It was a serious question—not an insult or reproach—but she still felt strangely defensive. “I don’t have any impulse to shed restraints or inhibitions, and I don’t think there’s something wrong with me for not wanting that.”

“I didn’t say anything was wrong with you. Just that maybe there’s a side of yourself that you haven’t gotten to know yet.”

For some reason, the way he said the words sent a little shiver down her spine.

“Who are you, anyway?” she demanded, even more rattled than before but now having to struggle not to laugh at his bold nonchalance.

“Matt Stokes.” He reached out for her hand, and she automatically returned the handshake, his fingers strong and warm as they wrapped around hers.

He didn’t release her hand immediately, and she didn’t pull hers back.

“Elizabeth,” she said.

“I bet everyone calls you Elizabeth, don’t they? No one calls you Liz or Lizzie or Beth.”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“Nothing’s wrong with that. Why do you think I’m judging you? It was just an observation. I wasn’t insulting you.”

“Weren’t you?”

“No. I wasn’t.” He was still holding her hand in his grip, and his eyes never left hers.

Elizabeth suddenly felt a tremor of anxiety. This man was a stranger. She didn’t know anything about him. She shouldn’t be responding to him like this.

She pulled her hand away.

He didn’t make an effort to hold onto it. “If you’d occasionally indulge another side of yourself, you’d learn to enjoy what happens in there.” He gestured with his head toward the main room of the club, where the music and squeals had started up again.

“I doubt it. There’s no part of me that would ever find all that humping and gyrating sexy.”

“That’s because you’re only looking at this from one perspective. If you’d let go of some of your assumptions, you might surprise yourself.”

“It’s ridiculous to think that all women are the same or that there’s something wrong with me for not liking all that stupid grinding. It’s not about letting go or loosening up. It’s about what actually does it for me. And that—” she waved a hand to indicate the whole performance—“doesn’t do it for me at all.”

“Maybe.” He arched his eyebrows. “But I bet that if you came to this club twice a week for, say, a month, you’d find yourself really enjoying it. You’d want to keep coming back.”

“I definitely would not.”

“I think you would.”

The man’s presumption was astonishing. She really shouldn’t be humoring him by having this argument at all.

But she was undeniably enjoying the banter, as much as she was enjoying his sexiness and the mystery around him.

“I promise I wouldn’t. If I could even make it through a month of this, I’d be thrilled not to ever have to set foot in this building again.”

“I think that’s a challenge then.”

“What’s a challenge?”

“You visit this club twice a week for the next month, and we’ll see who’s right at the end of it.” There was a gleam of amusement in his eyes, but his face was otherwise perfectly sober.

“You’ve got to be kidding.”

“I’m not kidding. I’m issuing a real challenge.”

“What’s the bet then?”

“It’s not a bet. It’s a challenge. Whoever wins will get the satisfaction of being right. You claim to not be holding anything back. Here’s a way to prove it.”

“I don’t want to come here again. I can barely make it through one evening.”

“I should have known you wouldn’t want to accept a real challenge. You always play it safe, don’t you?”

“You don’t know me at all.”

“Then prove it.”

“Maybe I will.”

“We’re open to the public on Thursdays and Saturdays.”

“How will you even know if I keep coming back?”

“I’ll be here. I’m here every night.”

“Are you security or something?” For the first time since she’d initially seen him, she wondered what he was actually doing here, standing around in the back of a male strip club.

“Something,” he replied. “So I’ll see you on Thursday, and we’ll see if you really can accept a challenge.”

She started to reply, but he was walking away, summoned by one of the shirtless waiters.

She watched him go, and she suddenly asked herself what the hell had gotten into her. Had she actually agreed to some sort of ridiculous game that would force her into coming back to this vulgar club twice a week for an entire month?

She couldn’t imagine anything less appealing.

Anything except admitting to this strange, sexy, arrogant man that he was right about her after all.

Matt Stokes tried—unsuccessfully—to keep from watching Elizabeth as she made her way back to her table.

Everything was going smoothly tonight, and nothing needed his attention, so he didn’t actually try very hard to fight the instinct.

She was gorgeous with that auburn hair, fair skin, and those startlingly blue eyes. She wasn’t particularly small, but there was something about her that felt fragile, delicate, as if she were made of porcelain or crystal.

She looked like she could break if treated too roughly, so it was ironic that he wanted to fuck her hard.

“Who is that?” Robbie asked, evidently noticing his preoccupation.

Robbie was the bartender and had been with the club since Matt’s father opened it thirty years ago—a grizzled man with a perpetually laid-back manner and a keen eye for human behavior.

Matt raised his eyebrows as he turned away from where Elizabeth was laughing, a little self-consciously, with her friends. “A customer. I was talking to her out front.”

“Why?”

“Bored.”

Robbie gave a mild snort.

Matt didn’t bother to ask the source of his amusement. “She’s interesting.”

“I thought customers were off-limits.”

“They are.”

“Then why are you looking at her like she’s something good to eat.”

Matt liked that idea. He liked that idea a lot. With effort, he dragged his thoughts away from that particular fantasy. “Looking is harmless enough.”

Robbie finished the three cosmopolitans he was mixing—it was the drink he made most often—and gave Matt a slow head shake. “That one is way out of your league.”

His shoulders stiffened slightly. “I didn’t realize I have a league.”

“Of course, you do. You and I—we don’t get girls like that.”

It was probably true. Elizabeth’s world was so far from Matt’s that he could hardly imagine them existing in the same space. He’d lived hard. Nothing in his life had ever come easy, and he hadn’t been afraid to take shortcuts or get his hands dirty. She’d probably shudder in disgust if she ever encountered his mother. But, for some reason, Robbie’s words felt like more of a challenge than a discouragement.

He was good with women. He’d never had trouble getting the women he wanted into bed. There was no reason Elizabeth should be different.

Of course, if she didn’t come back to the club, he’d likely never see her again.

He had to do something to close the deal—to intrigue or excite her enough to return, to follow through on the challenge.

He suddenly knew what he needed to do.

“You’ve got an idea,” Robbie said, evidently reading something in his expression.

“Oh, yeah.”

“What are you going to do?”

Matt cleared his throat and tried to recall if he had anything available to change into. “I’m going to take the stage.”

Elizabeth wanted this evening to end soon so she could be alone at home and think through her conversation with Matt. It was silly for her to be so attracted and intrigued by him, since she had no idea who he even was. But her mind was whirling from the conversation, and she felt alive in a way she hadn’t in a really long time.

She was seriously considering coming back here on Thursday so she could see him again.

At the moment, however, she was getting tired of holding onto her smile and laughing whenever one of her friends squealed with excitement over some crass move made by one or another of the performers.

Maybe Matt was right. Maybe they didn’t really find all of it sexy. Maybe they were just having fun.

It just wasn’t the way Elizabeth was used to having fun.

She was about to plead feeling tired so she could finally leave—it was almost midnight now and it felt like they’d been here forever—when the announcer came on and said they had a special treat tonight.

She couldn’t even hear the name of the performer being introduced because the screams in the room were suddenly deafening.

Elizabeth looked over to Melissa, who was clapping her hands, clearly excited about whatever was about to happen.

Seeing her questioning look, Melissa leaned over and shouted in her ear, “He owns the club. He never dances anymore. I can’t believe we got so lucky!”

The lights flickered a few times and then went dark, and a blue spotlight searched the room until it finally landed on the stage, at the feet of a man who must have walked on in the dark.

There was a loud response from the women as the light slowly climbed his body, accompanied by a strong, slow drum line of music Elizabeth didn’t recognize.

It was crazy, but she actually felt her heartbeat accelerate. It was well-staged, if even she was holding her breath waiting for the light to reach the man’s face.

He wasn’t dressed in an obvious costume like all the other strippers. He wore dark trousers, a white dress shirt untucked, and a loosened tie, like a businessman after a long day at work.

That look was a lot more attractive to her than skintight bikini briefs or chaps and cowboy hats.

He looked real. Natural. Like an actual man in her life might look.

She wanted to see his face.

Just before the light reached his chin, it blacked out and the music intensified. Instead of the upbeat popular songs used in all the other routines, this was one she didn’t know.

It sounded like old jazz—strong, slow, and seductive. She was just getting a feel for the music when the three white spotlights illuminated and made a slow trail from different directions to land on the man onstage.

Her gasp was hopelessly drowned in the exuberant screams from the women around her at the sight of his face.

It was Matt Stokes. Whom she’d been talking to earlier.

Never once had she dreamed that he was actually a performer, a dancer, a male stripper.

Evidently, he owned the club.

She was too distracted to think through this new reality. She couldn’t keep her eyes away from the man on the stage. He wasn’t doing the full body rolls and ass-shakes that she’d found so silly-looking earlier. He wasn’t even really dancing. He struck some poses—which seemed to get the loudest reaction from the crowd—but what Elizabeth found more appealing was the slow, sensual way he was moving.

It wasn’t vulgar and in-your-face. At least, it didn’t feel that way as she watched him.

He was slowly removing his clothes—his tie, his belt, his shirt. Instead of the elaborate props used in the other performances, he had nothing but a chair.

And he touched the chair like a lover.

It was ridiculous—utterly ridiculous—because from an objective point of view, he wasn’t moving in all that different a way than any of the other men—but she couldn’t look away. She didn’t
want
to look away. Her cheeks were flushed and her breath was coming out quickly, and the squeals around her faded into nothing as she was aware of nothing but him.