“Talking about someone in particular, boys?” Janelle nibbled on her index finger, batting her eyelashes and she heard a collective groan.
Wanting to find the one she could make the most uncomfortable was her plan. The too eager ones had roving eyes, wandering hands and boners in their pants. No thanks.
But there was always one guy who didn’t want to be there, who was uncomfortable with an exotic dancer grinding on him, too fearful his girlfriend/wife/whatever would smell perfume on his clothes when he came home.
Those were the ones she liked to torment. His friends always gave her extra tips for the unwanted attention. Put on a little show for the guy who didn’t want one, make his buddies laugh, and she walked out with no grubby handprints on her skirt and at least an extra fifty, sometimes more in her pocket. Perfect.
“Well? Who can give me a lesson tonight?” She fingered her collar, bit her lower lip and swung back and forth, her skirt flaring out around her thighs.
The men waved their arms and pointed their fingers all in the same general direction. One of them, a tall skinny dude with the largest Adam’s apple she’d ever seen, approached her, tucking a twenty in her cleavage.
She repressed a shiver when the guy slowly backed away from her, a suggestive smile curling his lips. How she hated it when they touched her. This definitely had to be her last night. Next time Ginger called with that certain tone in her voice, she was hanging up.
Gritting her teeth, Janelle glanced toward the far end of the room where they pointed, near the French doors that led onto the balcony. There was a chair in the corner. Long legs clad in faded denim extended from it, though she couldn’t make out the face or the rest of his body. The guys surrounding her blocked her vision.
They were all chanting the same name over and over. “Nate, Nate, Nate.”
Hmm, poor Nate was her victim, then. Good.
“So it’s Nate, huh? Well, let’s go visit big boy Nate and see if he’ll teach me a thing or two.” She started toward her victim, smiling when the crowd of men parted like the Red Sea. They followed, she could hear them behind her, and she put an extra sway in her step, her hips twitching, butt bouncing.
Nothing like the power a sexy woman held over a group of salivating men. She had to admit, she liked the thrill of having so much control over a man. All because she had decent legs and a nice rack, they turned into blubbering idiots with one come hither smile and a flash of cleavage.
Men. They always thought with their dicks.
Approaching her victim slowly, Janelle saw the mysterious Nate sit up, his legs sliding upward, feet firmly planted on the floor. Legs spread in that way men liked to sit, she found the position perfect for what she wanted to do.
Enough room for her to dance between his legs and make him want to melt away in mortification.
“We brought you a present, Nate-dawg!” one of the guys yelled, gesturing toward Janelle with a crook of his thumb. She smiled at the guy, pursed her lips and turned to look at her victim of the night.
All the breath whooshed out of her chest, lodging in her throat and she coughed, couldn’t stop staring. Eyes dark as rich chocolate with thickly veiled lashes watched her, his mouth tight, his clenched jaw shadowed with stubble. Black wavy hair, tanned skin stretched over high cheekbones that hinted at arrogance, and a firm jaw that reeked of stubbornness.
Her victim was seriously hot. Not what she had expected at all.
Heart pounding in her chest, pulse bouncing all over the place, she stood in front of him like a dumbstruck fool, the men jostling her from behind, making her stumble. Reaching out she braced her hand on the wall, regained her footing and he rolled his eyes.
Shame filled her at the way he looked at her. Shame and a healthy dose of anger.
Accompanied by the teeniest, tiniest flicker of arousal, which she promptly ignored.
“Give her twenty bucks and she’ll take her bra off!”
“Shut up.” She shot the screamer a withering stare.
“Really?” Nate-dawg drawled, causing her to meet his mocking gaze. “What do I get for forty bucks?”
“I won’t do anything for less than a hundred,” she said, lifting her chin.
Take that, jackass.
“Would it be worth it if I gave you a hundred bucks?” He cocked a brow.
“I’d blow your mind for two hundred,” she promised, resting her hands on her hips. The image of her slowly peeling off her shirt, unhooking her bra, all while the man watched with those sexy, dark eyes was very appealing.
Janelle’s nipples pebbled beneath the fabric of her bra and she swallowed. Oooh, boy.
This was totally unlike her. Never before had she become aroused by a client watching her. She could admit she’d occasionally become aroused when she stripped, but it was more about the exhilaration of taking her clothes off and performing for someone. The thrill of making a man weak, basking in her feminine power.