Surrender (4 page)

“What are you doing here?” I ask, sidling up to him.

“Is that the way to greet an old friend?” There’s that lopsided smile again.

“I’m sorry,” I say, giving him my best pout. “Can I buy you a drink?”

“You can buy me anything you want.”

My heart somersaults. This guy makes my head spin.

“Robyn . . .” It’s Adriana’s whiny voice.

I’m supposed to scoot down a slot. “Follow me.” I motion downstage.

Garrick nods and finds an empty chair. The DJ mumbles something over the microphone and then the music starts again. I’m kneeling in front of Garrick, doing my best to hide my exposed skin from his wandering gaze. I think he’s surveying my body on purpose to make me squirm. Payback for jumping out of his truck after we kissed. It’s working. I’m officially a schoolgirl again who can’t control herself in front of a hot guy.

“Are you shy, Robyn?” he asks.

What the hell?
Those dark eyes pierce me like an arrow. I’m shocked and disappointed he’s here. I’m not proud of what I do for a living, but I’ve never been ashamed until now. “N-no.” I catch myself stuttering. “How did you find me?”

He leans back in his chair and plops a boot down on the stage railing. I roll my eyes and slap his foot away. “Keep your feet off the stage. Be nice,” I reprimand, wagging a finger at him.

He laughs and digs in his front pocket. His eyes grow darker, his gaze more intense as he stares at me again. He slaps a hundred-dollar bill on the ledge. “Dance for me, Robyn.”

I shake my head. Absolutely not. “No.”

“What’s wrong with you?”

I draw in a shaky breath. That’s a question I’d like to know the answer to. “Nothing,” I fib.
Everything.

The song ends, and a couple of rowdy customers start complaining that I’m spending too much time with Garrick.

“Find another dancer.” I turn them away.

They stomp off.

“That’s not very businesslike,” he says mildly.

“What are you doing here, Garrick?” I’m determined to resist this guy. Maybe a string of Hail Marys would do the trick.

“Homework.”

“Come again?” What’s he talking about?

“I accepted a job here two weeks ago. I’m the new head of security.”

It’s a one-in-a-million coincidence. One I don’t appreciate. I wanted to remember this guy the way I saw him in his pickup truck—staring at me after I kissed him, his blood running as hot as mine. Not here. Not as a customer. It changes everything.

“Congratulations,” I say halfheartedly. “I’m happy if you’re happy.” I shift on my now aching feet. Stilettos aren’t made for squatting in. “Don’t you need to check in with the owner or bar manager?”

“Are you dismissing me?” He reaches forward, then cups my face.

“No,” I say nervously. “You shouldn’t touch me.” Though I want him to. All over.

“Why? Do you like it?”

I frown, but can’t pull away. “I have a reputation.”

His brow rises. “Oh, really? What
kind
of reputation?”

“For slugging guys like you in the face,” Adriana answers for me.

Garrick smiles. I look up, to see she’s tapping her foot impatiently.

“What’s up with you tonight, Robyn?” She stares at me. “You’re never late to stage.”

I stand. “Sorry, Adriana.” I ignore Garrick and walk to the corner and grab my stuff. I look across the aisle, toward the pickup truck. It’s empty. Priscilla must have gotten tired of waiting.

“Come on, princess . . .” Craig is waiting for me at the bottom of the stairs with his hand out. “You need to get to the next stage, let me help you.”

Garrick has invaded my world—I’m out of sync with everything. I look in his direction again. He’s still seated, but his arms are crossed over his chest now and he’s staring at Craig, hard. I don’t have time to say anything. My nipples stiffen at the memory of our kiss. Damn Garrick for showing up here. I take Craig’s hand, and he helps me down.

I take a deep breath after the bouncer takes Robyn’s hand. I’m not blind; there’s history between them. Beautiful women have baggage. That doesn’t scare me—I always expect it. It’s gratifying knowing I’ll spend three nights a week staring at that beautiful body. Talking to her, making her blush. But I need to make a lasting impression before we start working together. I’m glad we met outside the club. I’m also thrilled that she kissed me. I want more. I need to taste her again—to feel the flare of her hips—to see that guarded passion unleashed again.

She’s on the bed of that ’57 Chevy shaking her ass. Men swarm the stage and I don’t know if I like it. I don’t have a delicate ego. And there’s no shortage of women for me. But I don’t like games, and I don’t share. Once I decide to go after what I like, I’m all in.

There’s a dingy look to the back of the club. The main room is better monitored, clean, and newly remodeled. I scan the tables on the far wall by the pool tables. There are high-tops and regular tables. I see a reasonably attractive blonde reach between her customer’s legs during a table dance. Another straddles her admirer, gyrating to the music. It’s a vicious cycle. I’m glad I was never the kind of man who had to be dependent on this environment to fulfill my sexual fantasies.

I wait until Robyn’s set is over and casually walk to the end of the stage. I hold up the hundred-dollar bill I offered her before. “Take it.”

She’s already dressed. “You’re not going away until I do.”

I nod. I won’t leave after she takes it, either.

“No one’s ever tried so hard to give me money before,” she comments while I assist her down the steep stairs. She swipes the money from my hand, then grins.

I smile triumphantly. “Follow me to the VIP.”

She stops short and stares up at me. “Frequent clubs, do you?”

“No,” I answer, matter-of-fact. “It’s been five years.”

“Oh really?” Doubt clouds her pretty eyes. “You’re certainly comfortable around naked women.”

“That’s entirely different,” I say coolly. I’m not going to lie to the girl. I appreciate the female body—especially hers. My jaw clenches at the thought. “Well?”

She seems preoccupied and looks over her shoulder.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” She kicks at the carpet nervously.

“Come on.” I offer my hand. Even wearing stilettos, she only comes up to my chest. She’s petite with outrageous curves, and my dick responds favorably. “I need to sit down,” I confess.

“So do I.” She accepts my hand.

We walk to the VIP section, separated from the main room by heavy gold drapes and flimsy walls. I pay the bouncer fifty dollars and he lets us in. There are a dozen tables with white tablecloths and candles. Three of the tables are occupied, and of those remaining I choose the most private one, in the darkest corner. I prefer keeping my back to the wall in case someone I don’t trust comes in. Especially a boot-wearing motherfucker who deals drugs.

A waitress comes to the table. “Can I get you something to drink?”

I look at Robyn. “Champagne?”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” I say. “Whatever you want.”

“Dom Perignon.” She flips her hair out of her face. She’s testing me.

The waitress eyes me, and I nod approvingly. Robyn thinks I’m trying to impress her with money. I’m not. But I’ll let her take the lead, for now.

“So,” she says awkwardly. “Where did you work before taking a job here?”

“British Petroleum.”

That stuns her into silence. “Doing what?”

“I’m a mechanical engineer.”

She’s assessing me—her gaze moves from my eyes to my lips. I smile.

“Where’d you go to school?”

“MIT—finished my degree early.”

She laughs anxiously. “That’s crazy.”

“Is it? Why?”

“MIT super-geeks don’t look like you.”

“Oh?” I ask. “What do they look like?”

“Not like you,” she repeats.

“How many of my unfortunate brethren have you actually met?”

She thinks momentarily and then gives me a frustrated growl. “None.”

“So you’re stereotyping. That’s beneath you.”

“What?” She nearly loses her composure. “I’d never do that . . . really.”

She’s delightfully gullible. I like her, a lot. “How old are you?” I ask.

“Twenty.”

I rub my chin.
Damn.
She’s too young to drink. I have a feeling . . . the waitress appears.

“Two hundred dollars, please.” She puts the green bottle and a corkscrew on the table. Then she pulls two elegantly shaped champagne flutes from her apron.

I hand her two fifty. “Make sure we’re left alone.”

She nods. “Thanks.” She leaves.

I open the Dom and fill both glasses. I slide one toward her.

“I shouldn’t.” Her eyes say different.

She needs a drink to calm her nerves. Besides, every girl I know loves champagne. However, she’s correct and shouldn’t drink. I won’t encourage it, but I won’t deny her
anything
. She takes the flute and sneaks a quick sip. There’s the smile I craved. Light dances in those blue eyes when she’s happy.

An odd tremor sweeps through my body when Garrick looks at me. His presence screws with my emotions. My head. Why did I accept his invitation to the VIP room? Everyone knows what goes on in here; that’s why I avoid it whenever I can. Men expect “special favors” when they pay for a private table. Last year Metallica came in. Five girls were fired after they were caught giving BJs in here. Of course, they were back at work three weeks later.

If Garrick thinks a fat bankroll impresses me, he’s wrong. I need money for tuition and rent, that’s all. It’s definitely not a prerequisite for liking someone. There are things about him that don’t add up, such as his education and former job. Is he lying? “Why are you coming to work at the Den if you’re an engineer?”

He doesn’t hesitate to answer. “I have too many responsibilities at home,” he says in a low voice. “I’m away months at a time. It’s great money, but I’ve missed out on a lot.”

“Like what?”

“Family,” he says. “There’s nothing more important to me.”

Surprisingly, we agree on something else. Since I don’t have any real family to speak of, I fantasize what it would be like to be part of his. “People dream of having the luxury of changing professions. But I’ve never heard of anyone leaving a legitimate career for working in a strip club.”

He chuckles. “I’m tired of dealing with bureaucratic bullshit . . . governmental red tape . . . industry shortcuts . . . environmental activists. It’s not what I envisioned for myself. Too much politics. I spent more time babysitting executives and EPA regulators then I did in the field.”

I feign a smile. Some people never know how lucky they are. Somehow, Garrick strikes me as the kind of man who appreciates what he has most of the time, though I won’t admit it to him. Abandoning an important career so you can spend more time with family isn’t the wisest decision in this economy.

“What?” he asks.

“It’s crazy I’m busting my ass to get where you are and you’re leaving it all behind for nothing.”

“It’s a brutal world out there,” he comments. “Some people enjoy corporate culture, the internal politics and bloodletting. There’s more to life than money.”

I wasn’t expecting that last statement, not from a guy wearing fifteen-hundred-dollar boots. “Easy to say if you have it.”

He throws me a serious look. “You’d be surprised if I told you the extent of my connection to this club and the bar business in general. Just because I’m an engineer doesn’t mean I’m not the average guy.”

“I’m listening . . .” I fold my arms over my chest. I’m ready to hear his explanation, how a rich, privileged guy like Garrick thinks he’s anything like me. I believe the only possible connection he has to strip clubs is as a regular customer.

“If you’re a good girl,” he teases, “someday I’ll tell you my secret. For now, let’s focus on you. Are you in school?”

“I’m a sophomore at A&M.”

“Major?”

“History and archeology.”

“Ambitious little thing, aren’t you?” he asks teasingly. “Education is everything. I’m wholly impressed.”

I feel heat rising in my cheeks. Why do I get so worked up whenever he says something personal? “I don’t do anything half-ass.”

“Neither do I.”

Our glances lock. I fumble for an intelligent response. This guy is out of reach . . . he’s Ivy League. What’s he doing here, with me? No matter how many times I try to come up with a plausible explanation, it doesn’t manifest. Maybe I’m overanalyzing. Maybe he likes my company. I already know he thinks I’m hot. I grin and turn away.

“If you’re wondering why I’m here . . .” he starts.

Am I that predictable? Or did this guy just read my mind?

“I want you to dance for me,” he finishes.

Her smile fades slightly as she looks at me again. She’s fiercely arousing, wedged between confidence and fear. I’ve gotten under her skin, too.
Good.
I’d be crushed if I were losing my touch. She’s been on my mind since the beach. “Dance for me,” I repeat gently. I won’t take no for an answer.

“Wait for the next song.”

I nod, pleased.

Two minutes later, “Crash Into Me” by the Dave Matthews Band starts. She stands, then rounds the table. I slide my chair out. She positions herself between my legs, facing away from me. Her hips move in unison with the song, a marriage of sound and motion. I sink further into the padded chair. My cock throbs. She faces me. Those big blue eyes are dangerous. She slowly slides her dress down, revealing both breasts. Her nipples are pebble hard. She tugs her costume over her hips and it falls free around her ankles. Stepping out of it, she slides it aside with the tip of her shoe. Her stomach is flat and hard, and a tiny diamond stud sparkles from her belly button. I like piercings. Flipping around, she bends over and sticks her tight little ass in the air. It wiggles teasingly only inches from my crotch. I want her to sit in my lap. It’s the most enticing thing I’ve ever seen.
Goddamnit, I want her.

“Robyn . . .”

She faces me again. There’s something different about her eyes. She thumbs the elastic straps on her G-string and languidly removes it. One sweet leg at a time. She’s nearly shaven clean. A thin strip of black curls covers her privates. I can see the shape of her lips. She’s small—tight. It’s all I can do to keep my hands off her. She leans in, and her dusky nipples brush the tip of my nose. I close my eyes and remind myself to breathe. When I open them again, she’s bending over, her round ass bobbing up and down.
Fuck!