With a Twist (Last Call #4)(20)

I fell back into the dancing easy enough. Just like riding a bike, and just like when I was in college, I was able to let my mind drift away with every article of clothing I shed. When I'm up on that stage, I may have hundreds of men leering at me and imagining the dirtiest things in their mind, but I'm never mentally present when I dance. I always have had a good knack for letting my mind float away while under the spotlight, only coming back to cognizance of my surroundings when the music died away and I could get off stage.



       
         
       
        

Nothing of interest has happened since I started at The Platinum Club, at least not that I know of. Raze has kept his distance from me, giving me no more interaction than he does the other dancers. Each night, he makes an accounting of my tips, along with the other girls, and parcels out our shares. We are only paid in what we make in tips for dancing, less a thirty-percent commission for Simon. After every dance, of which I do three each night, I pull out all the cash stuffed in my garters and put it in an envelope that I hand to Raze. He doesn't say a word, just sometimes gives me a nod of his head. Each night before I leave, he hands me a fat envelope with my take and murmurs, "Good job."

He says that to every girl though.

Outside of those brief interactions, I haven't had a single conversation with Raze. He watches me dance …  every single time, but then he watches all the girls dance unless he gets called away to a problem in one of the VIP rooms. He's there to keep his eye on things, and while he has plenty of bouncers to do the heavy work if the patrons get rowdy, he's always there for every one of my performances.

As I said, I let my mind drift away when I'm on stage, but once …  just last night as a matter of fact, I happened to lock eyes with Raze. My blank eyes had passed around the club, vaguely tracking the men waving the money and dutifully bending when appropriate at the edge of the stage so they could slip ones, fives, tens, and sometimes twenties in my garter. My eyes passed right over Raze and for a split moment, kept right on moving. But then a jolt went through me, and I looked back at him.

He was standing in a corner, leaning one shoulder against the wall, with his arms folded over his chest. He was watching me dance with glittering eyes and a hard line to his jaw. Our gazes melded and held firm, and for several seconds, I was dancing just for him. I saw him suck in a deep lungful of oxygen and hold it while he watched me.

My skin started tingling, and my nerves hummed. He was across the club, yet I could feel the intensity of his presence as if he were inches away from me.

It was easy to get lost in that feeling. Get lost in Raze's stare. Or was it Wyatt's stare I was succumbing to, because while he was putting on an act, I knew his true identity. I knew he wasn't a slimy, flesh-peddling scumbag.

I know he is dedicated and loyal, and if I'm going to go ahead and lay all of his golden attributes at his feet, I might as well admit that he is freakin' gorgeous and sexy as hell, and he makes me long for something that I know I have no damn business longing for.

I've thought that from the moment I laid eyes on him.

It was reiterated to me when I had my audition dance. While I played the part for Simon's benefit, and I focused my eyes on him, I couldn't help but pour every ounce of sexiness I possessed into my performance. I did that not for Simon, but for Wyatt. 

Yes, Wyatt.

Not Raze.

Wyatt.

For some compelling reason, I wanted him to be attracted to me. I wanted him to get that raging hard-on I threatened him with. I wanted his eyes to be fevered as they gazed upon me, and I wanted him to succumb to lustful thoughts.

I did all of that, knowing it was wrong, knowing that it didn't have a damn thing to do with my job, and knowing that it was dangerous to let those feelings flow.

But I did it anyway.

And all of those feelings overwhelmed me last night as I held his gaze while I danced, and he watched me from a darkened corner with something other than a law enforcement partner's interest. I felt it straight down to my toes.

After the dance, I tried to analyze my feelings, and then I thought of David. He was the love of my life …  or so I thought, and yet in the almost eighteen months we had been together, I don't ever recall having such an electric connection to him such as I felt when Wyatt was watching me dance. That was fascinating to me, and the mere fact that I don't have a shred of guilt over that connection makes me wonder if I'm beginning to finally accept that David and I are really through.

Padding down my short, narrow hallway that houses just my room on one side and a small, dingy bathroom on the other, I start pulling off my clothes …  micro-stretch denim skirt, off-the-shoulder rayon shirt, slutty red bra. By the time I reach into the shower to turn on the water, I'm ready to shimmy out of the matching, bright red panties and wash the heavy layer of scummy job off my body.