Strip Me Bare (31 page)

“Alana? You have something for me?” my new
boss jolts me out of my thoughts.

“Ah, yes,” I hold out the blue folder I have
in my hands, “it’s the Pennington Brief you asked for, Mr.
Duncan.”

Yup, that’s me. Working at Duncan and Mires,
a medium-sized law firm on the Strip that handles some highly
irregular cases. This morning I went to the Las Vegas Police
Department with an associate and his client who was called in to
look at a lineup, which is nothing out of the ordinary, except that
it consisted of Marilyn Monroe impersonators in drag. Like I said,
irregular, at least for me.

James ‘Slim Jim’ Duncan went to law school
with my uncle John and was the prospect he mentioned when I
announced I was moving to Vegas. Ryan and I came to Nevada in July
so I could take the Bar and interview with Jim. I was nervous as
hell as I sat across from the overly tan man who wears Hawaiian
shirts to the office. He asked me two questions, then shut the
notebook sitting in front of him. I knew the interview was over
then. What I didn’t expect was for him to give me the job right on
the spot. He said that I’d impressed him with just the mere
elegance of my speech. Which I find ironic since my internal
monologue is littered with slang and curse words. I’m sure being
the niece of a respected lawyer and the daughter of an esteemed
judge didn’t hurt either. So, I’ve been working here since the end
of August, and even though it’s not some high profile New York City
law firm, I love it just the same.

“Thanks and I’ve told you call me Jim,
please. Mr. Duncan is a retired old geezer who spends his days
playing eighteen holes.” He takes the folder graciously and smiles.
“Have you heard anything from the Bar association yet?”

“Not yet.”

“Well not to worry, you should find out any
day now.” He reads though the brief.

“I hope so.”

“Nice job.” Jim closes the folder and looks
up at me with warm brown eyes. “Is Ryan all ready for tonight?”

“Yes, I think so. I was just going to go so I
can catch him before he leaves.”

“Fine. Tell him good luck.”

“Thanks.”

I know that conversation should have been
weird, but I told you, I live in a theme park, and having a job
like Ryan’s sort of melds with the environment of Vegas. No one
judges, he’s just another stage act.

I jet from the building to my car parked on
the street. Okay, I’ll admit, I’m not a fan of this weather. It’s
hot, it’s dry and if I were in New York I would be wearing
knee-high boots instead of strappy sandals. And I’ll openly admit,
I really, really miss my boots.

I drive down Las Vegas Boulevard, AKA the
Strip, then turn onto Flamingo Avenue and into the parking lot of
the Palms Place Hotel. Yes, hotel, but it’s much more residential
than commercial. I didn’t originally grasp the concept of what
headliner meant, because where we live, the cars we drive, and the
meals we eat are all taken care of by the owners of Culture. We
don’t pay for a thing, and they definitely didn’t skimp on the
accommodations either.

I scurry to the entrance of the tower, the
heat pinching my skin, and see Reagan expectantly holding the door
open for me. “Miss. Remington.”

“Regan, how many times have I told you?
Alana, please.” Now I sound like Slim Jim.

He nods, “Alana. Best of luck to Mr. Pierce
tonight.”

I roll my eyes playfully, “Ryan.” Then walk
quickly through the lobby to the elevators. I hit the button for
the penthouse and I’m whooshed upwards. Told you they didn’t skimp
on the accommodations.

I walk into the spacious suite decked out
with modern décor; it has two bedrooms, wall-to-wall windows, a
full kitchen, living room, dining room and a balcony with a glass
Jacuzzi tub. Which, needless to say, is awesome
.

And used frequently.

Ryan is sitting at the kitchen counter, his
leg shaking a mile a minute.

“Hey, what’s up?” I ask as I drop my bag next
to him.

He pushes an envelope towards me, gnawing
nervously on the cuticle of his right index finger. I pause to look
at it, it reads: Nevada Bar Association.

“Well,” he urges.

“Well what? It’s addressed to me, why are you
the one jumping out of your skin? You’d think being a lawyer is
your
dream.”

Ryan hops up, “Alana, your dreams are my
dreams. I want this as bad as you do.”

“You know, you can be incredibly sweet
sometimes.” I say as I flip the envelope over.

“Not really,” he jokes, “I’m just trying to
get into your pants.”

“I don’t think you need pick up lines for
that anymore,” I laugh.

“Maybe not, but I want to keep things
fresh.”

“You’re fresh alright,” I quip, as I rip it
open and read the contents.

“Well?” Ryan peaks over the paper.

“Well,” I smile, “you’re looking at Nevada’s
newest lawyer.”

“Yes!” Ryan picks me up and swings me around,
causing me to scream. After a revolution he drops me back onto my
feet and rests his forehead against mine. “I have a surprise for
you.”

“Oh yeah? I love surprises,” I whisper just
before he kisses me; and it’s that slow, torrid kiss that makes my
knees weak and my scalp tingle and my temperature rise.

He grabs my hand and drags me towards the
bedroom. Okay, surprise later I guess? He opens the door and my jaw
drops. I walk into the room awestruck, because there it sits. The
bed from the B&B at Culture; all abstract lines and romantic
feel.

“Oh my God,” I glance at Ryan and he’s
beaming.

“You said you wanted one.”

“Yes, I did.”

“So you love it?”

“Yes,” I respond, “and I love you.”

“Good. Because I love you too.” He walks up
behind me and spins me around, urging my body onto the mattress.
“And I plan on doing things to you on this bed that will make Ryan
Pierce just as infamous as Jack the Stripper,” he says, as he
crawls on top of me like the sexual prowler he is. Ryan kisses me
assertively, possessively, running his hands all over my body,
causing my mind to reel; I’ll never get enough of this man, and I
hope, deep down, he’ll never get enough of me.

Ryan pecks his way down my cheek and my neck,
between my breasts and along my stomach, pulling up my shirt as he
reaches my navel. His lips are warm and soft as he sucks on my
skin, lighting desire within me like a match touching kerosene.
Then he suddenly slips onto the floor, pulling my body with him, so
I land straddling his knees. He props me up against the mattress
and looks intensely into my eyes. Too intense, almost profound.

I run my hand down his face; worried he’s
thinking about Sean. “Are you alright?” I ask.

It took Ryan months to cope with Sean’s
death. He’s still not over it and I don’t think he ever will be.
The two months after his passing, Ryan would cry in his sleep,
muttering Sean’s name. It was heart-wrenching watching him wake up
night after night, broken to pieces. I was so worried I urged him
to get some help; to talk to someone about prison and Sean and his
issues with his mother. So he did, and little by little the
nightmares went away. He still has one now and again, but we were
told by the therapist that’s nothing unusual. It’s been a long
recovery process and sometimes I catch him staring out into space
and I know his mind is with his brother, somewhere in the past.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been better,” he
answers.

“That’s really good to know.” I kiss him
tenderly; thankful his response is a positive one.

“You’re pretty amazing, you know that?” he
says with his mouth an inch away from mine.

I wince playfully, “I think you’ve told me a
time or two.”

“I would tell you for the rest of your life
if you’d let me.”

“You’ll have to ask one very pertinent
question first,” I tease.

“Maybe I am,” Ryan says seriously.

“What?”

Ryan reaches down under the bed and pulls out
a small red box, causing my heart to start pulsating like a speed
bag.

“Maybe,” he pops open the box, “this time the
pauper doesn’t end up on his ass.” He pulls the ring out and slips
it onto my finger, stopping at my knuckle. “Just maybe, he ends up
with the princess.”

My hand is shaking at I stare down at the
beautiful ring, it’s a sparkling emerald cut diamond on a
criss-cross pave band.

I look up into Ryan’s eyes; they’re glowing
from the pink sunset shining through the windows.

“Not maybe,” I say, pushing my hand forward,
“definitely.” The ring fits perfectly on my finger. I stifle a sob
as I throw my arms around Ryan, but I can’t stop the tears from
streaming down my face in an even flow. “You have never been a
pauper to me.”

Ryan holds onto me tightly, breathing heavily
into my neck, almost as if he’s fighting not to cry.

I take Ryan’s head in my hands and an
overwhelming feeling of sanctity grabs hold. “Do you have to leave
soon?” I breathe urgently against his mouth.

“No,” Ryan responds just as needy, and then
he kisses me, lifting my body as he props himself up onto his
knees. I cling to him as he moves us onto the mattress, our lips
never breaking. There’s barely enough time to get my pants past my
thighs before Ryan is staking his claim on me; the hunger trouncing
us both.

“Tell me you’re mine.” I strain as he circles
his hips and thrusts deep inside me. I just want to hear him say
it.

Ryan freezes, my words taking him by
surprise. “I’m yours,” he says, looking me dead in the eyes. “I
have
always
been yours.” Then he kisses me and it’s a long,
deep, suffocating embrace that penetrates all the way to my soul.
Suddenly time becomes nothing more than a fog of grasping and
clutching and clenching and love as Ryan mesmerizes me like only he
can do; playing my body like a symphony. Every touch, every taste
and every smell is magnified as our bodies react, and then combust
as hot as a fever.

I clutch onto the comforter breathless with
Ryan collapsed on top of me; both of us coming down from the high.
I feel the ring shifting on my finger and I can’t help but smile.
Ryan has always been the one. The one who challenges me, the one
who dares me, the one who makes me feel alive.

Ryan rolls over, pulling me with him. I
snuggle up against him, resting my head on his chest. “I love our
bed.”

“Me too,” he hums. “It’s a shame I have to
get out of it now.”

“Already?” I moan.

“Yes,” he kisses my head. “And if you keep
making sounds like that we’ll be living on it, and then where will
we be?”

“Poor and sexually satisfied?” I jibe.

“You’re a trap waiting to happen.”

“I could be worse things.”

“Yes you could, but I really have to go.” He
pecks me on the cheek then stands up.

“Are you nervous?” I ask, drinking in the
cuts of his body as he moves around the room.

“Honestly?” He slips on his shirt, “I’m a
little terrified. This is nothing like back home. There’s so much
riding on it, and me.”

“You’re going to be fine, you just have to
turn it on.”

“Turn what on?”

“Don’t play dumb, you know.”

“Really, I don’t.”

I shoot him a pessimistic look, “You’re a
sexual hypnotist, and you know it.”

“Sexual hypnotist?” he raises his eyebrows.
“I like that, I may need to look into changing my stage name.”

“As if Jack the Stripper isn’t bad
enough.”

Ryan drops down onto the bed, “You don’t like
Jack?” he asks innocently.

“It’s not Jack.” I look away. “Sometimes it’s
hard knowing I’m not the only woman in your life,” I confess.

“But you are the only woman in my life,” Ryan
contends, lifting my chin lightly with one finger. “You’re the only
woman I want to kiss.” He brushes his lips softly against mine.
“You’re the only woman I want to be inside of.” He slips his hand
between my thighs. “And you’re the only woman I want to give my
last name.”

I think I just melted into a puddle.

“Well, when you put it like that,” I swoon,
“you can change your stage name to whatever you want.”

Ryan lets out a little laugh, “I think I’ll
just stick with Jack.”

I stand outside the front doors of Culture:
Las Vegas Strip, missing Lorenzo. It’s different here, there’s no
velvet rope or bouncer checking IDs. There’s a box office with a
bright sign overhead that reads
Jack the Stripper
in
screaming pink neon.

“Did you ever think you’d see his name in
lights?” Emily nudges me.

“Never. This is bizarre,” I tell her with an
entertained smile. A month after Ryan and I moved to Vegas, Emily
and Alex followed. I don’t know how she did it, but she talked him
into it. Alex works for his family’s shipping company and he can
conduct business from anywhere really, so the move was no big deal.
Except for the fact they left their family and friends to come and
hang out with a professional stripper and his lawyer girlfriend -
oops
I mean fiancée.