He wasn’t listening. His eyes were fixed on her hands as she slid each button through its slit. Appreciating her, that was what he liked. Owning her body, even from a distance. The poor man hadn’t even seen her tits since the night she’d fled his hotel room.
She removed the seventeen-hundred dollar trench coat and let it fall on the ground.
His foot slipped, and he planted it on the floor, leaning his elbows onto his legs. “Fuck. Lola.”
“I’m not Lola in here.” This wasn’t just about revenge. Beau wasn’t the only one who could have fun. Her real name would be a clue, but he was so distracted, he would miss it. “I go by Melody.”
She stared at him, staring at her. He didn’t move or even blink, but he didn’t look particularly happy either. For the first time, she noticed how quiet the room was except for the bass thumping from the main stage.
She glanced down quickly, checking her outfit—could she have forgotten an important part? The Swarovski-studded corset pushed her breasts up, plump and smooth. Where the hem stopped, a black, lacey thong started and attached to matching, thigh-high stockings. The ears had come with a black cattail she’d haphazardly pinned to her underwear in the restaurant’s bathroom.
He still hadn’t reacted. She tried not to fidget. “Do you like it?”
He cocked his head, stabbing his tongue into his cheek. “It’s the same thing you wore that night.”
“Is that a yes?”
He rubbed his hands over his face without removing his eyes from her. “I don’t know. It makes me think of how you used to dance here. And the other men who came before me.”
Lola shifted from one foot to the other. The point was to trigger his memory, to make him crazy for her. Jealousy was an unexpected reaction. “It was a long time ago.”
“So? Those men looked at something they had no right to.” His eyes were dark and narrowed when he finally looked up at her face. “They sat here. They thought about you when they got home. They’re animals. They’re—”
“They’re you.” Lola took a breath. There was too much bitterness in her voice, and he wasn’t supposed to get to her. “You were one of them.”
“I was not.” He shook his head and blinked a few times, hard.
Lola tried to keep her limbs loose when all she wanted to do was tense up. This was not going as she’d hoped. “What are you saying?”
They stared at each other. If he got up to leave, she might not be able to stop him. It took a great deal to distract a man like Beau—she’d hoped two-and-a-half weeks of keeping his hands to himself would be enough.
He glanced behind her briefly and back. “I don’t know. I can’t think straight when you’re standing there in that.” His eyebrows lowered. “Take it off.”
Her body thrilled. He was giving her the green light. This was the Beau she’d been anticipating. She traced her finger along the corset’s sweetheart neckline. “And if I don’t?”
“Then I’ll do it for you. I wanted tonight to be special, but you want to get bent over in a filthy strip club? I’m game, baby. It’ll be just as sweet for me anywhere I fuck you.”
Lola flushed all at once, as if she’d swallowed a ball of fire. She was back in his hotel room, crawling to him across the floor, the opposite of mad about it. Staying apart had been hard for her too. There were times she’d wanted nothing more than to give in to his advances, let him pleasure her the way she already knew he could.
“Remember what I said outside. I’m serious.” Lola turned away from him. She had to be careful. Nothing made her knees quiver faster than Beau at the end of his patience, nothing on his mind but how to get inside her.
She crouched to slip an iPod from the pocket of her trench coat, then plugged it into the stereo. Jazz started slow, sensual. Fever was something you wanted when Shirley Horn sang about it in her smoky, hypnotic voice.
Lola got on the round stage, a pole down the center, the same one she’d danced on for him before. Tonight, the room didn’t turn colors—there was just a single, white spotlight from the ceiling that illuminated her and shaded him.
Lola looked down at her feet and took a couple deep breaths, exhaling each one slowly. She glanced up at him. Her lashes were heavy with mascara, a black shadow over Beau. She hadn’t even begun, and her chest already rose and fell rapidly. She did love to dance, especially for Beau, because she felt him in her every move. He could direct her without a word or touch.
She took the pole, cold and solid, and started in a slow circle. Her resolve strengthened each time her heels hit the compact floor. She slid her palm high up the smooth surface, grabbed the pole with both hands. She jumped it like a boyfriend she hadn’t seen in years, swinging with her legs locked around it. The furry cattail belted her thigh.
Beau flexed his large hands over his knees. “Come here.”
Still suspended from the pole, with both hands gripping the metal, Lola arched her back. Her hair cascaded behind her. She lowered herself to her feet and turned away from him, zigzagging her hips as she danced into a squat. Watching him, she zigzagged back up.
His eyes followed her every movement. He looked like he’d forgotten how to swallow. “I surrender. You’ve got me. Just come down here.”
“Patience,” she said, turning to face him. With a hint of a smile, she unhooked her corset just enough to free everything above her nipples. “This isn’t about satisfaction. It’s about torment.”
“It’s about me climbing on that stage in two seconds and nailing you to that pole.”
Lola practically purred her assent, her insides turning to jelly with his tone. This was working even faster than she’d expected. She descended the steps steadily, keeping her eyes down, and went to stand between his parted knees. She turned slowly. Lola liked to feel free when she danced, but she forced her hips to stay with the tempo. Beau would pick up her cues, staying slow along with her.
He grabbed her tail. She turned her head over her shoulder and tsked at him.
He smiled a little and let go. “You have no idea, do you?”
“What?”