Bare Necessities. Marie Donovan
when he was the only one who should see her naked.
Wait, no one should see her naked, especially him. He turned in dread to the main runway.
A pair of shapely legs strutted out. As the dancer advanced, Adam caught sight of an extremely large pair of breasts. Not that he’d memorized her shape or anything, but he didn’t think Bridget was quite that built. Finally the light hit the dancer’s face. The knot in his stomach eased and he drank more beer. Sugar was pretty, but not as pretty as Bridget.
The catcalls and whoops grew to a deafening chorus as the Frisky’s Kitten did her stuff. He caught some of her act as he continued to look around. Someone tapped him on the shoulder.
“Buy me a drink?” A muscular brunette ran her long fake nails along his arm. He took a double take. No, it wasn’t a man after all. Maybe she knew something about Bridget.
“Sure.” He ordered another Guinness and watched with a skeptical eye as the bartender poured something for the dancer from a bottle under the counter. Probably iced tea. He paid up and they sat together on a couch.
“I’m Electra.”
“Adam.”
“Your first time here? I would have remembered you.” She gave him a sly wink.
“My first time here in a couple years. I wish I’d known what I was missing.” He winked back. “My friend Bridget recommended this club.”
“Bridget did?” She gave him a puzzled frown, glancing around.
“So you know her?” He mentally cursed his over-eagerness when he saw her withdraw. Great, now she thought he was a stalker. “I’m a family friend, just trying to make sure she’s all right.”
No luck. Electra finished her drink and gave him a tight-lipped smile. “Thanks for the drink.” She gestured to his lap. “Unless you want something else, I should be getting along.”
“No, no, thanks. But if you do run in to Bridget here, please tell her Adam’s worried about her.”
The dancer gave him a sarcastic look. “Sure you are.” She stood and weaved her way through the crowd, stopping to smile at a skinny little man who couldn’t take his eyes off her. Within a minute, she was rotating above him. Good thing her thigh muscles were strong enough to keep herself from crushing the guy.
It was obvious the girls weren’t going to tell him about Bridget. They closed ranks to protect their own.
He circulated throughout the club, sipping at his beer until it became warm. No sign of Bridget. Maybe Tom knew where the dancers’ changing room was. His coworker was pretty much blotto, stoned on a continuous supply of Scotch and female flesh, but managed to point to a hidden door next to the DJ’s booth.
Adam set down his beer and casually made his way over to the door. When the DJ bent to pick up something from the floor, Adam ducked through. Three doors lined the fluorescent-lit hallway. One turned out to be a janitor’s closet, the second was locked—probably the manager’s office—but the third doorknob turned under his hand.
He opened it to face the S and M girl from the runway. She curled her lip. “Clear out before I call security to stomp your pretty face.” It wasn’t a compliment.
“Look, I’m here to see Bridget.”
“No Bridget here.” But like the tall brunette earlier, her eyes twitched briefly toward the back of the changing room. Years of working in the deafening trading pits had taught him to watch for tiny body language clues.
“Bridget!” he yelled. “It’s me, Adam! I really need to talk to you.”
“Get out of here!” The Goth girl actually picked up her whip and cracked it.
“Whoa.” He raised his hands in a placating gesture.
“Sonny! Sonny!” the girl called.
The bouncer came running, alerted by the whip crack and her shouts. He stopped short when he saw Adam. “You again. Why can’t you wait your turn and pay for a lap dance like everyone else?” He put his hand on Adam’s arm.
Adam yanked away but bumped into the whip-wielding dancer. She planted her boot into the small of his back and shoved him to crash face-first into the doorjamb. The bouncer pinned his arm behind his back as the flesh under his eye stung and swelled. But it wasn’t so swollen that he didn’t see Bridget appear from the back of the dressing room. Her shocked, then disapproving, expression was clear as glass.
“Adam Hale. What the hell are you doing here?”
3
“TELL ME AGAIN WHY you insisted on bringing me home?” Bridget unlocked her front door and flipped on the light. Adam reached for her suitcase to carry it in but she glared at him and grabbed it herself.
“We need to talk.” Adam followed her into her apartment, his cheek throbbing. He hadn’t been there since her moving day. That heavy-ass Ping-Pong table held her sewing machine and several scraps of shiny material.
“Talk about what? How you got into a brawl with a stripper and were ejected by the bouncer?”
“Hey, I was not brawling with her. I lost my balance and she kicked me.”
“You’re lucky Jinx didn’t crack you with her whip.”
He shuddered. Totally not his scene. “That is one scary chick.”
“What were you even doing there? I thought you finally grew up and stopped going to strip clubs.”
“I did. And how do you know I used to go?”
She curved her face into a look of mock puzzlement. “Was it Colin or Dane I overheard bragging? Probably Dane, since he’s single, and Colin isn’t. Didn’t you used to take Dane to clubs when he came to Chicago for business?”
“Damn. Those brothers of yours have some big mouths on them.”
“You won’t get any argument from me. So go home, and put some ice on your cheek.” She pointed at the door.
Adam was halfway out the door when he stopped. Very slick. Her excellent offensive attack had almost distracted him from his own questions. He turned back to her. “I was dropping off a coworker on my way home when I saw you arguing with that bouncer. What the hell were you doing at a strip club?”
She paused from hanging up her coat. “The logical assumption would be that I am dancing at Frisky’s.”
He couldn’t help himself and burst out laughing.
“Why is that so hard to believe? You don’t think I’m sexy enough?” She glared at him. Uh-oh.
“Come on, Bridge. You, a stripper? You always wear the baggiest clothes possible and blush beet-red if anybody even glances at your—” He gestured abruptly at her breasts, too embarrassed to even say the word.
“Maybe I’ve changed since I moved to the city. Maybe certain things don’t embarrass me anymore.” She moved to her futon and picked up a shiny lime-green bra. “Don’t you think this would make a perfect stripper top? Not that I would be wearing it all that long, anyway.” She grabbed a matching thong off her worktable.
“Whoa, are you serious?” He ran his fingers through his hair. “You’re dancing at Frisky’s?”
She held the green bra to her chest and shimmied a bit. “What do you think, Adam?”
“Oh, my God.” He looked, really looked around her apartment for the first time. A chrome clothes rack held a black corset thingie, a Day-Glo pink bra and panties, and a white vinyl tube top. No, that was a mini-mini-miniskirt. Bolts of silver, red and gold spandex fabric stood in a corner. But the kicker was a pair of six-inch clear plastic high heels with straps. Nobody wore those except strippers. “Did you dance tonight?”
She tossed