Trouble (7 page)

“Pooh.” She stepped closer and put a cold hand on his chest. “I think we both know I always get what I want. I got you, didn’t I?”

“But you couldn’t keep me,” he reminded her with a savage pleasure.

Her eyes narrowed and he waited to see if she’d lose her cool. When she didn’t respond to his comment he gave her a confident smile of his own. “Risqué will never be for sale; you’d be better off to forget about me and my club and just move on.”

She leaned in and for a split second her inner ugliness was clear on her carefully made-up face. “You loved this bar more than you ever loved me, and for that, I’m taking it from you. You never should’ve walked away from me, Valentine. You’re going to regret it.”

She swept past him and went up the stairs with her young stud close on her heels. Val’s muscles locked and he stayed motionless for several minutes. It wasn’t that he couldn’t move, but that he didn’t want to go back upstairs until he was sure the bitch had left the building.

He hadn’t been lying when he’d told Karl that nothing would distract him from his goal. With the money Karl had given him that night, Val now only needed another fifty grand to pay off the mortgage on the building that housed Risqué—and shut down his bitch of an ex-wife’s latest effort to hurt him.

He could try to hunt down investors, but it would take time he didn’t have. Not to mention the fact that the only person he trusted to invest and not try to take over was Karl.

Karl alone understood just how much Risqué meant to him, and why.

Vera obviously knew it was important, too, or the bitch wouldn’t have pulled some strings to get the bank to foreclose three years early in an effort to take it from him. He should’ve listened to Karl during the divorce. Making it clear that the club was the only thing important to him had backfired.

 

 

W
hoever the attractive brunette was, Val was not happy to see her. Why that made Samair just a little giddy was something she didn’t want to think about too much.

Locked in place, she watched as the seductress sashayed away from Val and up the stairs. She was beautiful, and she moved in a way that said she knew it, and expected all eyes to be on her. Most eyes were on her, but not Val’s. Outwardly he looked like he was simply watching the room, but something told Samair he was angry.

Very angry.

Part of her wanted to go to him, to soothe the tension from his shoulders, but the other part of her—the intelligent part—told her to turn on her heel and head for the dancers’ booth. Fast.

She’d just gotten away from a life full of complications and entanglements she didn’t need. Now was not the time to let herself think that this affair with Val could ever be more than a good time. And good times meant not getting wrapped up in each other’s business.

“Sammie!”

Samair’s head snapped up as she pushed past the trio of women fawning over Rob. Joey jumped up from her chair and shook her finger at Samair. “Did I just see what I think I saw?”

“Maybe.” Heat crept up her neck and Samair fought back a grin. “What do you think you saw?”

Joey grabbed her arm and pulled her away from the table. “Did you just hook up with Val?”

“Uhmm, if by hook up you mean did I just bend over and let him fuck me good, then yes, I hooked up with him.”

“Samair!” Joey’s jaw dropped. Her expression one of shock and awe with a little bit of dismay thrown in.

“Hang on, I need a drink.” She waved at the nearby waitress and ordered a Diet Coke. She felt plenty good all over so there was no need for alcohol. Plus, she had a date for breakfast with her brother the next day. Getting up early for that was going to be hell enough without adding a hangover to it.

The waitress walked away and Samair met Joey’s gaze. There was no reason why she shouldn’t tell Joey what had happened the first night she was there. The only reason she hadn’t told her already was because she’d been so focused on the design thing. Better late than never.

“When I went to thank him for the free drinks last week I sort of propositioned him.”

“And he took you up on it tonight?”

“Actually, he took me up on it then.” She held up her hand sharply when Joey’s mouth opened. “I didn’t say anything because we crashed as soon as we got home, and the next day we had other things to talk about. It slipped my mind.”

“How the hell could something like that slip your mind?” Joey’s voice rose an octave.

“I don’t know. My life was kinda turned upside down that night.” Samair bit her tongue and tried again—without the sarcasm. “I had other things to think about. Why is this a big deal? It’s just sex, and I know you’re not a prude.”

“Sammie, it’s Valentine Ward. Never mind that I work for him, he’s . . . well . . . he’s got a bit of a reputation.”

“For being a player?” He hadn’t struck her that way.

“No. As someone you don’t want to fuck with.” Joey’s green eyes were bright with concern. “I’ve been dancing here for almost three years and I know nothing more about him now than the day I first set foot in here. He’s here almost every night, but rumor has it he’s connected with the Hells Angels or something.”

A biker bad boy. That didn’t surprise her. “So? It’s not like we’re falling in love or anything. It’s. Just. Sex.”

Very good, very hot, addictive, animalistic sex, but still just sex.

“Just—”

The waitress appeared with Samair’s drink and Joey closed her mouth so fast Samair heard her teeth snap together. She paid for her drink, but before either of them could say anything else, Tara and Kelly came racing up to them.

“There you are!”

“We’ve been looking everywhere for you two!”

Joey rolled her eyes and turned to the newcomers. “What’s up?”

“We want outfits, too!” Tara squealed.

“Sammie, will you make us ones, too? Just like Joey’s?” Kelly spoke up. “I want mine to be fire-engine red, though.”

The two girls continued to spit out questions and instructions like gunfire while Joey pulled Samair into a quick hug. And whispered a soft warning. “I know you can be a bit wild at times, but just be careful with Val, okay? I don’t want to see you get hurt.”

 

 

 

 

S
amair worked her ass off for the next four days.

She drew up designs for the two dancers, went fabric shopping, and began to put the outfits together. Then there were the fittings and the design of Joey’s velvet pants, which were giving her fits. Somehow they had to be comfortable and still sexy enough for a cage dancer. Joey would’ve been happy with a short skirt, but Samair’s vision of the outfit included the pants, so she was determined to make it work.

“What about shorts?” Joey asked over the music from where she stood at the breakfast bar, chopping veggies to stow in the fridge.

Life had fallen into a comfortable pattern for them in the past week. Joey would leave early to spend her days teaching dance classes and either bring home takeout, or cook dinner for them both when she got home. In exchange for Joey taking care of dinner every day, Samair kept the small studio apartment very neat and tidy, and did the dishes every day while Joey was at work. But no matter how clean and neat the place was, it was still extremely crowded with all of Samair’s sewing stuff; even more so when Tara and Kelly came by for their fittings.

“Those leather shorts you have would work,” Kelly commented as she reached over and snagged a carrot stick.

“Stand still, Kelly.” Samair was standing in front of the girl trying to put the finishing touches on the outfit for her.

Joey had put the stereo on and broken out a couple of bottles of wine, and the apartment had taken on a bit of a work-party atmosphere. It was relaxing and comfortable in a way that Samair hadn’t felt since she’d last lived with Joey, when they were college roommates.

“Sammie made those for me a few years ago. They’ve held up really well.”

“Yeah, but I see that fringe bra with velvet pants,” Samair said. “I can’t help it, it’s the vision.” Maybe she could put a slit up each leg, one that reached above the knee, and decorate them with faux diamonds.

“Oh. My. God!” Tara whipped the bathroom door open and stalked into the room.

“Turn around. Come closer,” Kelly ordered from her position on the foot stool. “Damn, that is hot.”

“Isn’t it awesome?” Tara danced around the room in her new outfit and everyone watched. The material was a faux leather in a rich brown that set off the blonde’s coloring.

The long sleeves fitted snug to her arms and the material hugged her body as it cupped her large breasts and buttoned together between them, creating a deep cleavage that drew the eye downward, over her flat tummy to where the tiny miniskirt hung perfectly on her slim hips. The skirt just skimmed the top of her thighs, with a slit over the left one to show a peek of the high-cut velvet panties that covered enough of the dancer’s butt to keep things at the delicious tease level.

It was her Latin ballroom-inspired version of a club dancer’s outfit. “Joey told me you were a bit of an exhibitionist so I figured that would suit your style and still give you great movement. Think it’ll work?”

“It’s perfect!” Tara gave her a bear hug. “I can’t wait to hit the club tonight. I’m going to give every guy there a hard-on!”

They laughed. Samair tuned out the chatter as she went back to working on the waistband of Kelly’s skirt.

Joey turned up the stereo and pointed to Tara. “Give us a dance, girl!”

The small apartment was full of sisterly camaraderie as Tara and Joey danced around amidst the music and jokes.

“Don’t move!” Samair steadied the pin in her hand and warned Kelly to stop her eager bouncing. The cut of the skirt waist dipped down very low in front, and if the girl wasn’t careful she was going to end up with a new piercing in a very delicate place. Samair put the final pins in place and stepped back.

“Okay, Kelly. Take it off very carefully, and I’ll finish it so you can take it home tonight.”

“Tonight? It’ll be ready tonight?”

“Yup.”

When Samair had named the price for custom-made outfits she’d gone high, expecting the girls to barter. But they hadn’t blinked. They’d sent the money home with Joey the next night and Samair had been determined to get the outfits perfect and ready for the weekend so they could help spread the word about Trouble.

She sat back and watched Joey and Tara dance as Kelly carefully removed her skirt. They would be her walking, talking, and dancing catalogue.

Things were looking good for Trouble. She’d decided to do the custom orders for the dancers as they came in, and something new for Joey every now and then, but her love was really for lingerie and that was where she wanted to focus.

Kelly handed her the skirt and Samair went to her sewing machine. As she was working on it, she realized she hadn’t made herself an outfit in a while. The skirt for Kelly was one she’d like for herself, if she were twenty pounds lighter.

The thought made her pause. She hadn’t thought about her weight or her size in almost two weeks. Not since she’d left Kevin.

It had to be because of the phone call from her mother that morning. Judy Jones never actually
nagged
her daughter. That would be tacky. Instead she found other, subtler ways to let Samair know that she was a disappointment.

“Are you eating properly? What about work? Have you found a job yet? Why Joey Kent? I don’t know how that girl supports herself. She doesn’t even work.”

Nothing anyone could say would ever convince her mother that dancing was work. Or that being single and having a few extra pounds wasn’t the end of the world but rather something Samair actually
wanted
.

Val hadn’t appeared to mind. He’d seemed to really enjoy the plumpness of her curves. So much so that when she was with him, she forgot all about her own problems and imperfections.

“Is it ready?”

Kelly’s eager voice broke through Samair’s thoughts. She looked at the short Flamenco-inspired black and red skirt still in her hands. “Yes, go try it on.”

She laughed as Kelly snatched it out of her hands and dashed into the bathroom. It took all of two minutes for Kelly to change, and the outfit inspired more cheers for Samair. Her chest swelled with pride and for the first time she truly believed that she could have success with her own design label if she worked at it and stayed true to her own vision of things.

 

 

W
hy aren’t you dressed?” Samair glanced up from the sketchbook on her lap. “Huh?”

Whenever Samair sat down with her sketchbook, or in front of the sewing machine, the rest of the world faded into the background and images of sweet, sexy, and even kinky garments took over her brain. It was a good thing when a girl was trying to start a design label, particulary a specialty one like she dreamed of.