Learning Curves - By Elyse Mady Page 0,4

been on stage in over two years.

Christ.

Running a reluctant hand through his short-cropped hair, he finally pushed the radio’s two-way.

“I’ll do it, but only because there’s no one else. Call Randy in the booth and tell him to cue up the Coltrane routine.”

During intermission, Leanne flagged down one of the servers and ordered another soft drink. Dancers circulated around the room. Sometimes they’d stop and dance on a table, bending every so often to let the women at their feet slip another bill in their g-strings or whisper a saucy come-on in their ears.

The women at the table beside theirs laughed as T’Shaun, the muscular black man who’d just performed, led one of their party by the hand toward one of the unmarked doors.

Watching with envious eyes, Brittany and Tamara both sighed.

“Private lap dance,” they said simultaneously and burst into a chorus of tipsy giggles.

Surprised and maybe a little turned on, Leanne couldn’t help but turn around and watch as the stripper led the woman into the private booth.

What would it be like to go into a room with a man whose only goal was to provide sexual satisfaction? To let him touch you, turn you on, without worrying about satisfying him or wondering whether you’d have an orgasm or if you’d have to fake it again? To enjoy the sensations without thinking about anything except the arousal and excitement he elicited?

God, had she ever had sex like that?

Would she ever have sex like that?

If she was being honest with herself, the answer to those two questions had to be no and it seemed bloody unlikely.

As the house lights dimmed in anticipation of the next performer, she couldn’t help but wonder what was going on in the private room right now. Where was he touching her? What was he saying? How wet and turned on was she getting, fantasizing about a man who was being paid to excite her and maybe, if she was really into it, make her come, only feet from dozens of other people?

“Ladies, please welcome back to the Foxe’s Den stage for a very special performance, the one, the only—Brandon!” The anonymous announcer’s voice boomed, shattering her erotic musings.

The house lights darkened completely, and the women in the crowd cheered and hollered. As the strains of an instrumental jazz number began, Leanne couldn’t help wondering why it seemed she’d always been too busy studying or researching or writing to have time for something as basic, as elementary, as her own sexual satisfaction.

When the next performer stepped onstage, moving slowly and seductively to the music, Leanne knew why. Until this exact moment, she’d never seen a man as lust inspiring as the one removing his clothing in front of her.

Now that she had, the only thought in her mind was how soon she could get him alone and next-to-naked and touching and kissing her body until she came.

Chapter Two

He’d forgotten how good it felt to perform. There was something almost electric about dancing, about moving in time to a great piece of music and giving expression to the notes the musicians hadn’t played as much as the ones they had. Now as he circled the outermost edge of the platform, working free the buttons of his white dress shirt, he gazed into the darkness and tried to gauge tonight’s crowd.

June had always told him that a good dancer dances with the audience, not just for them, so as he moved, he peered out at the audience, trying to make out the faces visible beyond the perimeter of the stage. T’Shaun was right—the women were lively and vocal tonight, determined to enjoy themselves.

He slid his shirt off his shoulders inch by inch. A suggestive catcall distracted him. Moving in time to the raucous hoots of approval, he paused and a woman tucked dollar bills inside his waistband. He spun around, reveling in the feel of his body moving easily after so long. It might not be sex with a warm, willing woman but it was damn close.

Then he saw her.

She sat in the middle of the room, at one of the large tables. Against the bright lights of the stage, he couldn’t make out details like what she wore or the color of her hair. What was so arresting was her stillness. Absolute stillness, her eyes completely focused on him.

It wasn’t the fact that she was watching him that turned him on. Hell, he was used to that. Nor did the seemingly stunned expression of burgeoning sexual arousal