She smiled. “Thanks, Frank, you make my day as always.”
Completely in a world of her own, Zoë never once looked at the guys in the audience. In her mind they just didn’t exist. She watched Karen, gyrating around the pole. Her lithe, athletic body flowing from one sinuous movement to another. She was such a beautiful girl, she soon had an audience of men willing to slip ten-dollar bills into her G-string, taking a long, lingering look at what lay inside. When a fat guy beckoned to Karen, she moved across and leaned provocatively forward, pushing her breasts together as he tucked money inside her bra.
Jocelyn, the floor manager, came across and whispered in Zoë’s ear, “The guy sitting at table eight wants you to dance for him. Shouldn’t be a problem, Zoë, he’s a real looker. If I were ten years younger, I’d be tempted to do it myself for free.” She laughed.
Zoë smiled at Jocelyn’s humorous comments. She grabbed her orange juice and wound her way through the tables. It seemed her sexy man awaited. She hoped he was as fit as Jocelyn had made out, and not an ugly four-hundred-pound guy with halitosis. Table eight was hidden in a discreet alcove. Sometimes it was deliberately chosen by customers, aiming to get the girls to do more than just dance.
As she squeezed into the alcove, she glanced quickly at the man. There was an air of danger about him. Each of his well-developed forearms sported large tribal tattoos. “Hi, I’m Chantelle.” At Les Belles they never used their real names. She made direct eye contact with him. Men loved this. It made them feel special and important. Dumb jerks. Dressed in jeans and a denim shirt, he somehow seemed familiar. His dark-blond hair appeared streaked by the summer sun. The thick texture caressed idly around his collar. His vivid blue eyes held hers. The familiarity of this guy unnerved her. She shook the unsettling thought from her head. Most probably she’d danced for him before, although she couldn’t remember when. “Would you like me to dance for you?”
“No, just sit down. I prefer to talk.”
Zoë looked at him again. Just who is this guy? I feel sure I should recognize him, but I don’t. Is he dangerous? His shoes were well polished, and he wore an expensive watch. He didn’t seem like the average jerk that frequented the club. “Sir, I’m happy to dance for you, or just talk, but nothing else. I hope I make myself clear.” She pulled out a chair and sat down at the table.
She heard him let out a long, slow breath. “You don’t recognize me do you, Zoë?”
Her body stiffened when he used her real name. “How do you know me? How do you know my name?”
“It’s me, Zoë, Hunter. Surely you remember me?” His voice was deep and strong, and reminded her of safety.
Her lower lip quivered. The only Hunter she knew had broken her heart when she was just a teenage girl. She shook her head, not wanting to believe it was really him.
Chapter Two
Hunter couldn’t take his eyes off Zoë. Her little elfin face suited the short bob she’d styled her jet-black hair in. Two crazy red streaks cascaded fashionably through her bangs. They certainly enhanced her incredible green eyes. He’d forgotten how wonderful they were. The color of ferns on a bright summer’s day, they literally took his breath away. The flimsy red fishnet dress she wore did little to conceal the naked feminine flesh beneath. The swell of her breasts and the tight bud of her dark nipples pressed erotically against the thin material. He could just make out a tiny black G-string and nothing much else. Hunter tried his best not to stare, but he was a hot-blooded male just like any other man.
When they were kids together at the children’s home, he’d always had a soft spot for Zoë, and felt very protective toward her. But being only ten years old when he’d first met her, he’d tried to hide the fact that he cared about her. It was only when they’d both become teenagers that he’d started to notice how pretty and sexy she was. When he was eighteen and legally an adult, he’d left and never returned.
With eyes downcast, Zoë rested her elbows on the table, and brushed her fingers through her short black hair. She lifted her eyes to his, never flinching from his gaze. “So, what happened to you, Hunter? Why come to see me after all these years?” He figured his sudden reappearance in her life had put her on the defensive.
“I suppose I wanted to make sure you were all right.”
“After fourteen years?” She sounded incredulous.
“Yeah, crazy isn’t it.”
“A bit.”
Hunter thought he might as well tell Zoë the whole story. “About nine months ago, I bumped into Jake McGovern for the first time since leaving St. Mark’s. He told me where you worked. I said to myself, if I were ever in Pittsburgh, I’d look you up. So here I am.”