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.
He wasn’t meeting her eyes. He moved around the stage, focusing his attention on various different women, although he didn’t come out into the audience or let anyone touch him. He never looked in her direction at all, and Elizabeth started to feel ignored—a little rejected. They’d talked earlier. He’d seemed interested in her, at least enough to issue the challenge.
The least he could do was acknowledge her existence.
The music got louder and more intense, but it was just as slow and seductive as before, adding to the ambience of the dim lights and Matt’s sensual moves.
His body was gorgeous—long limbs, perfectly toned muscle development, and artistic tattoos that ran from his arms up over his shoulders—neither overblown nor overly polished. She was holding her breath when he took hold of his trousers. They weren’t tear-aways, like all the other guys’, but he didn’t pull them down his legs quickly. He let them fall so leisurely that Elizabeth found herself leaning forward, straining to see what was beneath.
He wore black boxer briefs, and her eyes lowered uncontrollably to the impressive bulge she could see there.
Impressive, yes, but that looked real too.
He finally reached the angle on the stage that was directly facing her table. He was moving against the chair now, like it was a woman’s body.
And she wanted it to be her body.
He met her eyes then, at last, and she held the hot gaze for a long time. She could swear that he knew exactly what she was thinking. She tried to school her face—act nonchalant and relaxed about the whole thing so he wouldn’t think he’d scored a victory.
But he had.
Because, no matter how stupid and vulgar she’d found most of the evening’s performances, she didn’t feel the same about this one. About Matt.
She found it sexy. She found him sexy.
Which meant she might not be as immune to his challenge as she’d initially believed.
Love stories you’ll never forget
By authors you’ll always remember
eOriginal Romance from Random House
www.readloveswept.com
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