Author: Jaci Burton

Maria hit the music, and like Jessie had done with her the day before, stood with Shadoe, helped her move and showed her what to do, which made it so much easier to get the hang of things.

Though Shadoe didn’t think she’d ever be able to dance with the same fluid grace as Maria, who made stripping look like ballet. Elegant and refined, not at all blundering or tacky. No wonder she was a headliner. She was mesmerizing, and Shadoe felt inept and clunky in her attempts to mirror Maria’s movements. For someone who’d studied ballet since she was a child, she was shocked at how she couldn’t seem to make stripping seem as elegant as Maria did.

“Quit trying to be like me,” Maria finally said after several minutes of dancing. “Watch how I do it, but don’t do it just like me. Feel the music, then interpret it how you see fit.”

Okay, that made more sense, because she was never going to be able to do what Maria did. She finally backed away, closed her eyes, and let the music take over. When the song shifted from softer R&B to something more hard rock, Shadoe smiled.

Yes. This was definitely more like it, more like her. Harder, deeper. She really got into the music then, feeling it seep into her bones, into her very soul. Moving became easy then, like second nature, and she lost herself in the song, in the lyrics, moving around the room, imagining herself up on the stage, knowing exactly what she wanted to do.

She’d always liked modern dance classes, had rebelled against ballet, even though she’d taken the classes because her father thought she should.

She grinned, realizing this was an awesome way to rebel.

She lifted her shirt, picturing a hundred men hungry for a glimpse of her skin.

“That’s it, honey,” Maria said, pulling up a chair. “But not too fast. Make them wait for it. Make them beg for it—with their money.”

She nodded, this time teasing with the edge of her shirt, baring only her belly, then her ribs, swiveling around to show the audience—Maria—her back.

“Perfect. Now give them more. You want to hold their attention, keep them captivated and throwing money your way. With each item you strip off, you make more money. Remember, by the time you’re down to the G-string, all that’s left is the gyrating around and getting your skin close to them. By then they’ve pretty much seen it all, so draw it out as long as you can.”

She did, following Maria’s instructions until she was down to her thong. She made it through two songs, ending on her knees at Maria’s feet.

With a satisfied smile, Maria reached over and turned off the music. “Well done.”

Shadoe smiled and stood, grabbing her clothes and getting dressed. Surprisingly, she felt no inhibitions once she let the music take over. Besides, she figured getting naked in front of Maria was a no-brainer. She had nothing Maria hadn’t already seen a thousand times before.

But could she do it in a public venue in front of all those men? In front of Spence? Well, technically she’d already done it in front of Spence, but not “officially.”

She grabbed a bottle of water and took a couple of long swallows, then turned to Maria. “Stripping makes you thirsty.”

“I’ll say. I drink about a dozen bottles of water a night. Never drink too much alcohol. If a customer wants to buy you a drink, do one or two at most, then switch to club soda. Alcohol will make you sweat like a pig and dehydrate you, and trust me, that’s so not pretty on the stage.”

“I can imagine.”

“Now,” Maria said, standing in front of her with hands on her hips. “You were great.”

Shadoe couldn’t hide her smile. “Really?”

“Yes, really. You have a natural seductive ability, especially when the right songs came up.”

“Thank you.” That meant a lot coming from a pro like Maria.

“You still have a lot to work on. Don’t be afraid to really let go. Touch yourself, pleasure yourself—within limits, of course. It really drives the customers crazy. Anything you can do to put the focus on your own sexuality will boost your tips and make the club owners happy as hell. And happy club owners mean more bookings for you.”

“Okay.” Shadoe’s photographic memory kept track of the vital information she’d need later.

Maria pressed one finger to her lips and cocked her head to the side. “Now we need to figure out who you’re going to be.”

“Who?”

“Sure. Your theme. You don’t go out there with your real name, honey. You need an identity. Your theme, remember? We can’t go shopping for your ensemble until we figure out who you are.”

“Oh, yeah.”

The sounds of motorcycle engines firing up outside drew Shadoe’s attention momentarily.

But then her lips curled in a wide smile, and she turned to Maria.

“I’ve got it.”

“You do?”

“Yes. And it’s absolutely perfect.”

THE REST OF THE DAY PASSED QUICKLY. MARIA GAVE SHADOE training on the pole for several hours. Dancing around the pole wasn’t easy to master, but was it ever fun. Many years of dance lessons had helped, as had field training at the academy; it meant she was coordinated enough, and had the upper body strength to lift herself up the pole and slide around. She found that part exhilarating, and the pole served as a useful prop, giving her something to do other than just stand on stage and gyrate around.

After a brief break for lunch, Maria took her shopping and Shadoe bought several outrageous outfits—plus shoes and scandalous lingerie. Even thinking about parading around on stage in the clothes she’d purchased made her blush, but Maria told her she’d have customers drooling.

As long as Shadoe could act convincingly enough as a stripper, she’d be happy. But she had a lot of practicing to do before she premiered at the club in New Orleans. She could hardly call herself a headliner if she tripped on stage or blushed all over with embarrassment.

So when Maria offered to let her take a practice run at the club in Dallas where she was headlining, Shadoe jumped at the chance. She knew she’d never think herself ready enough, but with Maria there to help point out her mistakes and give her moral support, she’d feel a lot better about her solo act in New Orleans.

She headed back to Wild Riders’ headquarters much more confident than when she’d left. Grange met her at the elevator.

“How did it go today?” he asked.

“Great.” She set her bags and boxes down on the floor. “Maria is wonderful.”

Grange’s lips lifted. “Yeah, she is. I figured she could help you out.”

Shadoe wondered just how well Grange knew Maria, but it wasn’t her place to pry into his personal business. “I’m going to do a practice run at the club where she’s headlining.”

Grange cocked a brow. “Really. When?”

“Tonight. I’ll go on after Maria’s first set. That way she can give me some advice on what I do well and what I need to work on before I head to New Orleans.”

“Good idea.”

“What’s a good idea?”

Shadoe turned to see Spence walking into the entryway, along with AJ and Pax.

“Shadoe is going to do a dry run of her show at Maria’s club tonight.”

“Cool,” AJ said with a wide smile. “We’ll all go watch.”

“We can critique your performance,” Pax added, waggling his brows.

Oh, God. The heat of embarrassment crept up her neck.

“I don’t think so,” Grange said. “She doesn’t need an audience of guys she already knows watching her strip.”

Thank you, Grange.

“Just Spence will go with her.”

Oh, shit. “Really, General, I think it would be best if I just did this one on my own.”

“I can’t advise that. If you’re going to be out there with this alias in New Orleans as a headliner, you might as well get started going with your bodyguard now. Spence will accompany you.”

She cast a desperate gaze to Spencer, who just shrugged and looked her up and down. “I guess I’ll see you tonight. All of you.”

FOUR

SPENCE MUSCLED HIS WAY PAST THE PACKED CROWD OF MOSTLY men at the Angel’s Gate strip club. After ten P.M. on a Saturday night, it was standing room only, especially with a headlining act like Maria’s in town.

Beer was flowing, served by the three bartenders manning the long black bar. Half-naked women were everywhere offering lap dances, and dancers occupied two cages adjacent to the dance floor, topless and gyrating to the loud, heart-thumping beat the deejay had set for the night.

Eye candy everywhere, though Spence had his eye on only one woman, and that woman was nowhere to be seen. She’d headed out before him tonight, claiming she had to meet with Maria early to get some last-minute advice and she didn’t need him to tag along.

Whatever. Fine with him. He didn’t even want to be here tonight. This wasn’t part of the assignment, and the assignment was all he was interested in.

Though hanging out at the club had its advantages, namely beer and women—two of his favorite things. He bought a beer and moved his way to the front row of the stage where Steve, his friend and favorite bouncer, had left him a seat. The girls were in between acts right now, and the warm-up girls—basically the new girls—were still performing, which meant the more experienced girls—the ones everyone really came to see—hadn’t been out yet.

Most of the action at a strip club never really started before ten or eleven at night. He got comfortable, easy enough with a table to himself, and nursed his beer, watching the girls in the cages on either side of the stage. Pretty things, though kind of young. Then again, it wasn’t his place to judge anyone for their choice of profession. He of all people knew that circumstance could put anyone in a predicament. He’d also dated a lot of strippers, and many of them were hardly down on their luck, instead choosing to strip because it paid well and the hours were good. A lot of them were college students, some post-graduate, and very smart women who knew how to make money and get ahead, especially in a nice club like Angel’s Gate. The seedier clubs in some of the bad parts of town—now that was a different story. He stayed away from those, preferring the clientele at a place like this. Beautiful women with a decent level of intelligence where he could watch them dance, he could drink his beer, and the criminal element stayed out, mainly due to the four beefy bouncers Jack Renshaw, the owner of Angel’s Gate, kept on hand at all times.

That was why Angel’s Gate stayed so popular.

The lights went down on stage, and the music kicked up. The deejay’s voice came on strong, announcing a few of the Angel’s Gate featured dancers—a triplet act called the Oreos—two black girls, one white.

Spence smiled. He’d seen Candy, Veronica, and Jane dance before. They were good. They lined up side by side and came down the long walkway, strutting their stuff in their stilettos like they owned the place, then drove the guys wild by sandwiching up together and rubbing oil all over their bodies. Every man’s fantasy, girl on girl on girl action, though it was all simulated entertainment. All the girls had boyfriends; in fact, Spence spotted two of them in the audience tonight, cheering their girls on and waving money, trying to get the other customers to do the same.

He grinned and shook his head. It was all a gimmick, but it worked well. Money flew onto the stage and by the time the girls were down to their G-strings and slithering across the floor, money littered the stage. They raked it up, waved to the crowd, and blew kisses on their way backstage.

As soon as those girls went off, another girl came on, and so it went. Had to keep the customers happy by keeping girls on stage at all times. And in between their acts the strippers wandered around the crowd, offering up lap dances or just spending time with the customers.

About an hour later, it was time for the headliner—Maria. Spence had refilled his beer and had his feet propped up on a nearby chair, much to the irritation of the standing-room-only crowd.