BARE NECESSITIES
Marie Donovan

MILLS & BOON

Before you start reading, why not sign up?

Thank you for downloading this Mills & Boon book. If you want to hear about exclusive discounts, special offers and competitions, sign up to our email newsletter today!

SIGN ME UP!

Or simply visit

signup.millsandboon.co.uk

Mills & Boon emails are completely free to receive and you can unsubscribe at any time via the link in any email we send you.

To my sweetie pie. I’m glad you’re better.

And to the staff of Children’s Memorial Hospital.

The work you do is the greatest love of all.

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Epilogue

1

“HOW DO MY NIPPLES LOOK?” Sugar Jones craned her head around to check in the trifold mirror, her long blond extensions getting in the way.

Bridget Weiss brushed them aside. “Just a sec, I’ll tell you when I’m done in the back.” She finished pinning the silver bra band around Sugar’s perfectly tanned, perfectly toned rib cage. A rib cage that carried a brand-new set of G-cup breasts, courtesy of a pricey suburban plastic surgeon and paid for by the slack-jawed patrons at Frisky’s Gentlemen’s Club, not a club that any real gentleman would belong to.

Sugar shifted from one foot to the other and circled the carpeted pedestal, her butt cheeks flexing in the costume’s matching silver thong. Bridget bet she could bounce a quarter off those buns. The exotic dancer frowned at her reflection. “I don’t think the doc got them quite even.”

Bridget stared at the silver-spandex-clad breasts, as dispassionate as a pastry chef making sure her cake was frosted evenly. Sure enough, the left nipple was maybe a half inch higher than the right. At least they weren’t off-center, like some other clients of hers. One girl had gone to a cheaper doc and wound up with a pair so asymmetrical, Bridget had found herself tilting her head in a futile attempt to see them as a balanced set.

But padding or a good pasty hid a multitude of sins. Even before starting fashion-design school here in Chicago last fall, Bridget had learned all the bra-design tricks in the book, plus a few more. “Let me pin up the left strap just a smidge.”

She quickly made the alteration and Sugar smiled. “Much better. Now that I’m healed from my surgery, I’m going to be a feature dancer—finally a Frisky’s Kitten!” She bounced up and down in her excitement.

Bridget backed away, not wanting to get biffed in the face by Sugar’s frighteningly firm breasts. “A Frisky’s Kitten, huh? That’s quite impressive.” She sincerely meant it. The stripper—rather, exotic dancer—business was as cutthroat a business as any of the high-pressure Chicago law firms or commodities trading partnerships that supplied most of Frisky’s patrons.

Adam popped to mind, and just as firmly, Bridget tried to pop him out again. No such luck. She pursed her lips in aggravation. Adam Hale could do what he wanted, and if he wanted to lose a few brain cells and a lot of cash in Frisky’s after a long day trading pork belly futures at the Mercantile Exchange, it was his business.

“Impressive and lucrative.” Sugar closed one blue eye in a big wink. “According to the projections in my business plan, my implants will pay for themselves within eight to ten weeks.”

“Business plan? Like spreadsheets and things?” What did Sugar do, calculate how many lap dances per night she needed to average? Bridget’s business plan consisted of scraping together enough money to pay the large rent on her small apartment and grocery bill. Whoever thought you couldn’t buy groceries for ten bucks a week just wasn’t eating enough ramen noodles and peanut butter sandwiches.

“Spreadsheets, trend forecasts in the adult entertainment industry, the whole nine yards. I wrote my plan as a final project for my marketing class. I got an A-plus on it, too.”

Bridget nodded. She couldn’t imagine Sugar getting anything less.

“And my accountant thinks I might be able to write my implants off as a deduction on my tax return.”

Wow, she needed a business plan and Sugar’s accountant, as well. She had a hard time getting up the nerve to deduct basic things like fabric and thread. And heavy-duty silver spandex was not cheap. “Okay, I can have the bra ready for you the day after tomorrow. And I’ll keep the pattern for your new measurements on file so you can call and order new bras whenever you need them.”

“Great! I go through a ton of bras. Sometimes the customers grab them and won’t give them back, or they land in a puddle of beer,” Sugar complained. She unclipped the band and slung the bra to Bridget with practiced ease. “Oops! Thought I was at the club for a second.”

Bridget didn’t bat an eye as she folded the bra and set it next to her industrial sewing machine. Three months ago, the sight of another woman’s breasts had made her blush hard enough to make her dizzy. Now even the extremely large pair a foot away from her face was simply another day at the office.

Sugar was shimmying out of the silver thong and into her civilian underwear, a plain black thong and ugly white cotton bra. She caught Bridget’s surprised expression. “You know, I’m happy with my implants and all, but it’s almost impossible to find sexy bras this size with good support. The straps are cutting into my shoulders and my back aches by day’s end.” Her glossy lips pouted.

“Tell me about it. That was how I got into designing lingerie.” Bridget rolled her shoulders, stiff after bending over her sewing machine before Sugar’s arrival. “I never found anything that fit me.”

“I was wondering.” Sugar gave her an appraising look. “No offense, but you don’t seem like someone with a background in adult entertainment.”

“No offense taken.” Bridget wasn’t the type to inspire men to stuff money in her garter. With her light brown hair and pale skin freckled from too many summers hauling hay on the family dairy farm in Wisconsin, men were more likely to dismiss her as the younger-sister type. Like Adam.

“So no implants for you? And you must be at least a D-cup.”

“Double-D actually and all natural, for better or worse.” It had mostly been worse.

“Lucky! Do you know how much dough these set me back?” Sugar plucked at the plain white cotton bra.

Dough that she would make in less than three months of part-time work. Suddenly, Bridget was sick of ramen noodles and discount-store shampoo. She wasn’t going to take off her clothes for money, but she could make more of an effort to build her business. “A great bra is essential for supporting large breasts or else they start to sag.”

“Sag?” A look of horror crossed Sugar’s face. “No one told me implants sag.”

“Ah, but what about the skin holding them up?” Bridget nodded significantly. Especially skin that was already stressed by tanning booths and sprays.

Sugar put a protective hand over her bosom. “I never thought of that.”

“Tell you what. I’ll make you a nice, supportive, everyday bra and matching thong on spec. Your money back if it’s not the most comfortable bra you’ve had. And you can keep the thong.” She couldn’t exactly resell a used thong.

Sugar paused from pulling on her white V-necked T-shirt. “A risk-free offer.” She grinned. “I like it.”

“Good.” Bridget smiled. “What color would you like?”

“Ivory lace. And cut lower in the front so I can wear my plunging-neckline shirts.”

“No problem.” Bridget made a note on Sugar’s client file. “So, I’ll see you Friday at four when you come for the silver bra.”

“Great.” Sugar pulled on a pair of painted-on pencil-leg jeans and white ankle socks. She sighed as she tied her running shoes. “Stupid plantar fasciitis. My podiatrist says I’ll need foot surgery unless I save my high heels for the stage. And dates, of course.”

“No, those wouldn’t work on a date,” Bridget agreed. Not that she’d been on any in quite a while. “Unless you were going to the Cubs’ game.”

“True.” Sugar got a speculative look on her face. “Or maybe I could choreograph a routine around my sneakers. An unbuttoned baseball jersey with a bra and thong underneath.”

“With a team logo over each breast and one in the front of the thong,” she suggested, half-jokingly. Although she could buy patches and appliqué them onto matching bras and thongs. Would the major-league franchises sue her if they found out? Probably nobody cared. Professional athletes were always going to strip clubs and they’d get a kick out of it.

“Brilliant! The baseball season openers are in a couple weeks, and I could wear a football jersey during the fall.”

“Go Bears!” Bridget made a cheering motion. She was a Green Bay Packers fan herself, something she didn’t advertise living only a few miles away from Soldier Field, the ancestral home of Chicago’s favorite gridiron underdogs.

Sugar picked up her duffel bag. “Go money! That’s what I cheer for. Speaking of…” She handed Bridget several bills. “Always get cash up front, that’s my advice.”

Bridget wrote a receipt and handed her the carbon duplicate. “To make your accountant happy.”

“And I want to keep her happy. She used to dance at the Love Shack to pay for her CPA classes, so she knows the business inside and out. See you Friday.” Sugar breezed out of Bridget’s apartment and waved as she disappeared down the two flights of stairs to the quiet street.

Bridget returned to her working area. She’d only been able to afford a one-bedroom apartment, so she’d turned her entire living room into her design studio and sewing room.

The room’s corner was curtained off into a changing area. Most of her clients didn’t bother to use it, not being the shy types. Her large drafting table faced the window to get the maximum light for her design sketches and pattern cutting. The trifold mirror and carpeted pedestal for fitting appointments were next to the huge sewing table with her machine on it.

Her sewing table was actually the old Ping-Pong table from her family’s basement. It was big and sturdy enough to hold heavy projects like beaded wedding dresses, but had been a pain in the butt to move, needing Dad, her two brothers, Colin and Dane, and Adam to haul it into her third-story walk-up.

Adam had acted funny the whole time she was moving in, only talking to her when he needed to know where to set a box. It had been so awkward that she’d pulled Colin aside to ask him what the problem was. As usual, Col was clueless except to offer that Adam’s girlfriend had made plans and wasn’t happy that Adam had already agreed to help Bridget move.

A dutiful obligation. And that was just why she’d moved away from Wisconsin, from being Bob and Helen Weiss’s baby girl and Colin and Dane’s kid sister. She brushed some scraps of silver material and bits of underwire into her palm and threw them away.

She peered down her neckline as she bent over the wastebasket and saw a boring white bra. She also distinctly recalled pulling on discount-store cotton briefs that morning. Why didn’t she take her own advice and wear something nicer? She’d left her family to go to fashion-design school in the big bad city exactly so she could create pretty, comfortable lingerie for women who were difficult to fit, large or small.

Bridget grabbed her sketchpad and markers. Sugar wasn’t the only one who was going to get a sexy lace bra and matching thong. And whatever lucky man eventually got to see Bridget in lingerie wouldn’t be thinking of her as somebody’s little sister.

ADAM HALE CHECKED the number on his ringing cell phone. He sighed but answered anyway. He’d been ducking this call long enough. “Hello?”

“Hey, Adam, what’s up?” It was Colin Weiss, his old college roommate.

Adam settled into his leather desk chair and minimized the futures trading window on his laptop. Colin was a bit of a talker, and Adam didn’t want to get distracted during their conversation and accidentally buy high and sell low. No point in getting canned before he finished building his nest egg.

“Hey, Colin, nothing much. How are Jenna and the kids?” Colin had married his college sweetheart right after they graduated from University of Wisconsin-Madison and already had two rug rats.

“Fine, fine. In fact, we’re expecting another one in about five months.”

“Congrats!” Three kids, and he and Colin were only twenty-eight. Adam couldn’t even imagine having one kid. Of course, he kind of needed to actually find a woman to settle down with first. He looked at the pile of work on his desk and realized the futility of that wish.

“Yeah, well, what can I say? She can’t keep her hands off me.”

“After a full day of chasing after a five-year-old and three-year-old?” Adam laughed. “You wish, Col. How’s the farm doing?” Colin had majored in dairy sciences and had taken over his in-laws’ small dairy farm a half hour away from his parents’ farm in rural Wisconsin.

“Busy as hell, but you remember that from when you visited.”

“Right.” During those visits, they all worked hard. Adam, Colin’s parents, younger brother, Dane, and Bridget, his younger sister.

As if he’d read Adam’s thoughts, Colin brought up the subject Adam wanted to avoid. “How’s Bridget doing, Adam?”

“Fine, as far as I know. I stopped by her apartment a couple times to make sure she got settled and I’ve left her a bunch of voice mails.” Bridget hadn’t been home when he’d visited and she never returned his calls. Adam wasn’t sure whether to be disappointed or relieved.

“Man, I wish she hadn’t moved down there,” Colin fretted. “She’s a farm girl, sweet and naive. You know what those city guys are like.”

“Almost as bad as you country guys,” Adam retorted. “You weren’t always the happily married father of three and you had plenty of stories to tell about those so-called sweet, naive farm girls.”

Col grunted. “Bridget’s different. I couldn’t believe it when Mom and Dad let her move to Chicago to go to that fashion-design school. What was wrong with going to school at the university in Menomonie?”

“That isn’t exactly Chicago, Col.” Menomonie was in northwestern Wisconsin and its flannel-clad residents were not notably fashion-conscious. “Besides, Bridget’s twenty-four, a full-grown woman.” He veered away from that dangerous path. Col didn’t need to know how much a woman he considered Bridget.

“She’s only been home once in the six months since she moved, and we hardly ever hear from her. Mom calls every week and we get occasional e-mails, but we don’t really know how she is. You’d be doing me a big favor if you could see her, take her for coffee—”

“And report back to you?” Adam interjected. “She’ll have my ass in a sling if she realizes I’m spying on her and then she’ll come gunning for you.”

“Please, Adam. Mom worries about her. She’s the baby of the family, we only need to know she’s okay.”

He sighed. “All right, I’ll call her and try to pin her down—” whoa, that brought some interesting images to mind “—for a time to take her out.”

“Thanks, buddy. And if you could convince her to come home for a visit after her classes finish, I’ll owe you big-time.”

“You don’t owe me anything, Col. You know that.”

“Okay. But you should take some time off from your wheeling and dealing at the Merc and come for a visit, too. Maybe you can give Bridge a ride.”

Adam gulped. “Sure thing. Talk to you soon.” He clicked off his phone and rested his forehead in his hand. Pinning Bridget down, her soft, pale thighs spread wide beneath him. Giving Bridget a ride as she moved on top of him, her heavy breasts overfilling his palms.

His cock pushed against his zipper as he shifted in his chair. How many futile erections had he sported over his best friend’s kid sister? Ever since his senior year in college when he met her right after her high school graduation.

She had preferred to hide her amazing body under overalls and other baggy clothing, but they’d gone swimming once in the fishing pond behind the barn and his jaw had dropped. Fortunately, the water had been deep enough and his shorts baggy enough so Colin and Dane didn’t notice his extremely inappropriate interest. Being bound hand and foot and thrown under the hooves of Caesar, the old family bull, would have definitely dampened his arousal.

After that, he only saw Bridget occasionally, like during Colin’s wedding when they’d been paired as groomsman and bridesmaid. Sure, she was great-looking with her dark, almost navy-blue eyes and naturally sun-streaked hair, but he’d come to appreciate her dry wit and wry sense of humor.

The last time he’d seen her was when she moved to Chicago last August. He’d had a girlfriend then, but still reacted to Bridget the same way. What a jerk he was. And now Colin and the whole Weiss family were sending the fox to guard their precious chick.

BRIDGET WAS PUTTING the finishing touches on Sugar’s order, the silver bra and brand-new ivory lace bra and thong. The dancer was coming over to pick them up. Hopefully, she’d love the new lace bra and order more. Now that Bridget had figured out Sugar’s pattern, it was simply a matter of cutting the fabric and putting the bra together.

Her cell phone rang. Without checking the caller ID, she answered. “Hello?”

“Bridget?” A familiar male voice rumbled through her phone, startling her so she almost dropped it.

“Adam?” Her voice came out squeakier than she liked, so she forced herself to take some deep breaths.

“Hey, Bridge, how are you doing?”

Ugh, he called her Bridge just like her brothers did. Her nervousness dissipated. “Fine, keeping busy. Calling to check on me?”

“Um…”

Adam at a loss for words? He was so busted. “Colin or Dane?”

“Colin or Dane what?” He tried a valiant comeback, but failed.

“Was it Colin or Dane who called you and sicced you on me?”

He sighed. “Colin.”

“Ah-ha!” Knowing she’d guessed right didn’t make her feel any better.

“Come on, Bridge, they’re concerned, rightfully so, that they don’t hear from you as much as they’d like.”

“First of all, if they heard from me as much as they’d like, I’d be calling down the stairs telling my mother what I wanted for breakfast every morning. Second, I’m an adult and don’t need to check in with Mommy and Daddy all the time. How often do you call your parents?”

Adam didn’t say anything. Bridget smacked her forehead in mortification. To quote her mother, who usually never had a harsh word for anyone, Adam’s parents were dreadful. Bridget had plenty of worse words for them. “Look, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.”

“No, I’m sorry, Bridget. You are a grown woman and don’t need someone who’s not even family butting into your business.”

“Adam, you know I consider you—”

“Like a brother?” His tone was sharper than usual.

“Oh, no. Two are plenty. But more like…” She couldn’t think of a nice way to say she’d wanted to rip off his clothing and lick him all over ever since she was a teenager. “Like a friend,” she finished lamely.

“A friend.” He paused. “Well, as a friend, I’d like to encourage you to call home more often. You have a great family, believe me. They want to know how you’re doing.”

“You’re right. But I need to prove I can do well here in Chicago since they were so dead set against it. I went to the local junior college and worked all kinds of goofy jobs to save my money for design school, and I’m finally doing what I want.”

“I know you are, and I’m proud of you.” His soft, silky voice sent shivers down her spine. He ruined the effect by asking, “How are you doing for money?”

“Fine.” Sugar’s voluminous bras caught her eye. There was her money right there. Funny, how everybody made money off two bags of saline. The surgeon, Sugar, Bridget, the strip club. Sugar’s breasts were positively a cottage industry.

“You sure? City living is pretty pricey compared to Wisconsin.”

“I’m fine, really. I even have a part-time job.”

“Sounds good. Selling underwear again, like in that discount store?”

She latched on to that with relief. “Yes, I am selling underwear. To a very upscale customer base.” She’d recently learned those buzzwords in her fashion-marketing class.

“Excellent. I know you must be busy, but if we could—”

Her call waiting blotted out his words. She checked and saw Sugar’s number. “Adam, I have to go. One of my customers is on the other line.”

“Customers? Why do they have your cell number?”

Uh…“’Bye, talk to you later!” She clicked over to Sugar. “Hi, how are you?”

“Hi, Bridget,” she shouted over a crowd of female voices in the background. “I got called into work early and can’t come for those bras. We’ll have to reschedule.”

“Oh. Okay.” Not okay. Bridget needed that money. Bad. Her electric bill was due the next day, and as it was she was going to need to walk her payment into the currency exchange to keep her lights on and her sewing machine humming. “Wait! I’ll drop them off for you.”

“But, Bridget, I’m already at Frisky’s. I don’t want to make you come here.”

“No big deal.” She made her voice cheerful. “Just tell me where to go.”

“Are you sure?” Sugar sounded skeptical. “This is a nice club in comparison to some other dives around here, but still…”

“Absolutely.” Bridget was already packing Sugar’s lingerie into her wheeled suitcase, along with some sample bras, thongs and corsets. She threw her sketchpad, colored pencils and some business cards on top. “It’s a good opportunity for me to do some market research, talk about what you ladies need, learn what’s in style right now.”

Sugar laughed. “Bare skin is always in style, but if you don’t mind coming, I’ll introduce you to the girls. They’re always bitching about not being able to find new outfits.” The dancer gave her directions to the strip club. Bridget checked her bus map. It was only a short ride away.

“I should be there in an hour or so.”

“Sounds good.” There was a muffled shout in the background. “Gotta go, I’m next.”

“Knock ’em dead.” Bridget hung up and zipped the suitcase, almost giddy at her daring. The theme song from the Mary Tyler Moore Show popped into her head. She picked up a lime-green bra and flung it over her head, just like Mary’s striped knit cap.

A little bit of Chicago business smarts and some Wisconsin stubbornness and she might make it after all.

2

BRIDGET HAD FOUND Frisky’s. It wasn’t hard, considering the ten-foot-tall, hot-pink neon kitten sign overhead. The kitten smirked at her in the twilight, its tail switching back and forth hypnotically. Come have a good time, leave your money behind.

Hopefully she was here to get some money. But where to find Sugar? She walked to the building’s edge, peered around the corner and didn’t see another entrance. There was probably a stage door for the dancers to use, but she didn’t want to go poking around in a dark alley behind a strip club.

That left the main entrance. Bridget stepped into line behind some guys in expensive suits and overcoats. She ignored their curious stares, hoping the rising blush on her cheeks would be mistaken for reflected neon light.

The line moved quickly, and she found herself face-to-face with the club bouncer. He stared down at her, arms crossed over a fifty-inch chest. “Who ya here with?” he yelled over the pounding bass beat spilling out of the club door. The guys around her shrugged.

“I’m here by myself. I’m supposed to meet someone,” she yelled back.

The bouncer looked even more forbidding. “Are you a new dancer? You wanna audition for the club?” He gestured to her suitcase.

She shook her head. “No, no, I’m not a dancer.” Her self-esteem was bad enough without getting laughed off the stage.

“No single women allowed.” He pointed at the sidewalk.

“Look, I’m not here for the show,” she shouted. “I have something for Sugar.”

“I got your sugar right here, baby,” a man in line behind her called. Bridget gave him her meanest look. He just laughed and elbowed his friend.

She took a deep breath and turned to the bouncer. “Sugar, your brand-new Frisky’s Kitten—” she pointed to the entrance “—is expecting me.”

The guys behind her perked up. “Hey, you got a new Frisky’s Kitten? Is she hot?”

“Tall, tanned and thirty-six G.” Bridget figured Sugar wouldn’t mind a little free buzz. A collective yelp rose from the line. “And if she doesn’t get her special delivery, she might not go on for her second set!”

“Let her in, man! Thirty-six G!”

“Fine.” The bouncer jerked his head at his coworker to take over and tugged her into the club.

“Thank you!” she yelled over the pounding rock music.

“What?” He cupped his ear.

She gave him an exaggerated smile, figuring at least her white teeth would show in the black-lit club. He gave her his original grouchy look. After seeing the most beautiful girls in Chicago naked every night, her charms must fall flat.

And it was amazing that these girls didn’t fall flat considering what they were managing in four-inch heels. There was a main-stage runway where one dazzling redhead did what could only be called a Little Bo-Peep show. She wore a tiny ruffled skirt and matching bonnet and not much else. Her toy sheep sat on the stage’s edge as she did things with a shepherdess’s crook that would make Mother Goose molt.

The club’s corners held smaller stages where dancers held court, and several girls gyrated above men in private lap dances.

Her blush roared back. She could handle nudity, but the mock-sex made her all twitchy and embarrassed. She hurried behind the bouncer, eager to find Sugar.

Her escort took her through a hallway, past the kitchen and rapped on a door marked Private.

A towering brunette dressed in a mock-tattered leopard-print slip opened the door. A dozen girls in various states of nudity rushed around behind her. Bridget gave the Amazon a weak smile. “Sugar’s expecting me.”

Her client pushed through the mass of tanned flesh, wearing a bright white bikini and matching superhigh heels. “Bridget!” She gave the bouncer a sultry wink. “Thanks, you’re such a sweetie pie for making sure my personal designer made it here okay.”

Sweetie Pie melted into a puddle. Bridget expected him to scrape his foot on the floor and say, “Aw, shucks.” She must not have hid her amusement because he straightened in a hurry and glared at her. “Next time, go to the back door!” He puffed out his chest and headed to the front.

Bridget followed her client into the dressing, or rather the undressing, room. “Sorry, Sugar. But why won’t they let women in? Surely you get some female customers here.”

Sugar leaned into the lightbulb-surrounded vanity mirror and fluffed her blond extensions. “No, I’m sorry, Bridget. I should have told you to come around to the stage door. The bouncers have strict rules not to let unaccompanied women into the club.”

“So the patrons don’t bother me?” Bridget rolled her suitcase next to the vanity bench and peered over Sugar’s shoulder. In comparison to the dancer’s buffed perfection, Bridget looked like a schlump. Her wavy, light brown hair had frizzed in the March humidity, and her summer-sun highlights had faded after a winter of city living. Her complexion was pasty and she had big rings under her eyes from staying awake late to finish her sewing projects.

“Um, so you don’t bother the patrons. Not that you would, of course. Security’s had problems with prostitutes hanging around, trying to pick up customers. Bad for business.”

“Of course,” Bridget said faintly, looking down at her suitcase. No wonder the guy had been suspicious. Who takes a suitcase to a strip club?

“Not that you look like a prostitute, or anything like that.” Sugar patted her hand comfortingly.

That could be a compliment or an accidental put-down. Not skanky enough to be mistaken for a junkie hooker, or not pretty enough for a call girl? Bridget snapped out of her pity party. Whatever. Some women were meant to dazzle and some women were meant to supply expensive lingerie for them.

She unzipped the suitcase and lifted out the silver spandex and ivory lace garments. “I brought your bras.”

“Wonderful.” She took a cursory look at the silver one but ran her fingers over the ivory lace. “And this is my everyday bra?”

“Complete with gel-filled straps and special cup construction.” Bridget was currently wearing a matching one in black lace. The matching thong and garter belt took a bit of getting used to, but she liked not having panty lines under the midcalf black skirt she was wearing. The getup hadn’t boosted her confidence yet, but maybe it was a case of “fake it till you make it.”

The leopard-print Amazon turned from where she was gluing on her false eyelashes. “So now you have your own personal lingerie designer? Well, la-di-dah!”

Sugar sneered. “Now that I’m a Frisky’s Kitten, I can’t afford to let these sag.” She grabbed her breasts and thrust them at the other dancer.

Bridget intervened hastily. “I’d be more than happy to design something for you, as well. I’m Bridget Weiss, by the way.”

“I’m Electra.” The Amazon put down her mascara wand and shook Bridget’s hand. Did she have a grip or what? If it weren’t for Electra’s feminine hands and lack of Adam’s apple, Bridget might suspect there was more equipment under that outfit than met the eye.

“You have a very striking look. Very sexy and powerful.” Bridget looked her up and down. Wide shoulders, black hair, thighs that could crack a walnut. Why not go with first impressions? “How about an Amazon costume? Kind of a gladiator outfit with gold over the breasts, gold cuffs and a fake sword.”

“Or a real one for the assholes around here.” Another girl sauntered over, wearing only a black leather thong and thigh-high black boots. She had a Goth look going, complete with inky hair, milk-pale skin, a pierced eyebrow and pierced…nipples? Bridget hadn’t seen that in person before.

“This is Jinx.” Sugar nodded. Next to Jinx, Sugar looked like a photo negative with her dark body and bleached hair. “She’s our resident brainiac—a graduate student, no less.”

“So what kind of costume would you design for me?” Jinx put her hands on her hips, daring Bridget to come up with something quick.

“Hmm.” Bridget circled her, thinking frantically. Something tough, something dominant. “Remember the kids’ comic book with the little devil in it? I’d update that for you with red boots, a pitchfork and headband with little sparkly horns. And for the main attraction, a red vinyl bustier with cutouts for your breasts. You could wear matching ruby nipple rings.”

Where am I coming up with this stuff? she wondered. For a girl who started in lingerie design by adding tiny satin bows to her ugly old-lady bras, she sure was branching out.

Jinx quirked an eyebrow. “Sounds cool. Draw a sketch, and I’ll take a look.”

“Great.” Bridget passed them both a business card and Sugar paid her the balance for the silver bra and the new ivory set. So it looked as if her electricity was good to go, and maybe she’d even splurge on some hamburger for her Hamburger Helper. Vegetarian Helper just didn’t have much protein.

“Girls, you’re up. Now!” a raspy voice bellowed across the room. A fierce old broad waved her clipboard.

“Marge is the house manager,” Sugar explained. “She’s been in the business for about ninety years and runs the show.” She trotted away, her heels clicking.

The dressing room emptied. Bridget looked around. Was she supposed to leave or stay? She grabbed a disinfectant wipe and swabbed the Naugahyde couch. Maybe she could work up designs for Electra and Jinx now and leave with some more arranged commissions. Taking Sugar’s advice, she’d get the cash up front. Money straight from the club customers to her, via the dancers’ garters.

“HELL OF A DAY, huh, Hale?” Tom, one of his coworkers, leaned against the cracked vinyl upholstery of the cab they were sharing.

“The markets really took a beating.” Several foreign countries had skipped their usual purchases of corn and wheat, raising supply and driving prices down. Fortunately, Adam had ducked the worst of it, but once he dropped Tom off, he’d go home and crash. Just like the markets.

“Thank God it’s Friday. Sure I can’t convince you to get a drink with me and some of the guys? We’re meeting at Frisky’s.”

“Frisky’s? I haven’t been there in years.” Strip clubs weren’t his style anymore. He worked too hard for his money to blow it on overpriced drinks and overpriced dancers.

Tom laughed. “Hale, you sound like an old man, and you’re fifteen years younger than me!” His laugh turned into a hacking cough. Adam decided not to point out that considering his coworker’s bad habits, he’d be lucky to make it to old age.

They pulled to a stop in front of Frisky’s, the pink kitten glowing in the dusk. A short line had formed. Adam hopped out of the cab to let Tom pass and saw a woman standing in line. He did a double take. Was that Bridget? Arguing with the bouncer at a strip club?

“Thanks for the ride, Hale. See you Monday.” Tom pushed past him.

Adam gaped at the entrance. The woman disappeared into the club with a bouncer, but not before the pink neon clearly illuminated her profile. If that wasn’t Bridget, it was her clone. He tossed some money at the cabbie. “Wait, I changed my mind.”

“Sure, the more the merrier.” Tom gaped as Adam rushed to the door.

Ignoring the protests of those already in line, he pushed to the front. “I need to get in there!”

“Don’t we all, pal,” the guy behind him said. “No line jumping.”

The second bouncer pointed to the end of the line. “Sorry, sir, you’ll have to wait your turn.” He winked. “Don’t worry, the girls are getting prettier as we speak.”

That’s what Adam was afraid of. “What about that girl who was just here?”

The guy behind him shrugged. “She said something about a new dancer named Sugar.”

“Who’s supposed to be superstacked,” added his friend. “Now if you don’t mind, it’s our turn.”

Adam’s coworker dragged him to the back of the line. “Man, for a guy who didn’t want to come to Frisky’s, you sure are getting into it.”

Adam smiled weakly, his mind churning. Was Bridget actually dancing at the club using the name Sugar? He knew she had to be on a tight budget, but this wasn’t her style at all. She always seemed embarrassed about her great body, hiding it in baggy sweaters and her brothers’ old flannel shirts.

Her brothers. Oh, shit. If she were stripping and Colin and Dane found out, they’d lead-foot it to Chicago and drag her back to Wisconsin faster than a cheap lap dance. And then they’d tie his body in knots around the stripper pole for not keeping her safe.

Finally, it was their turn. Adam paid his cover charge and followed Tom into the club. He scanned the smoky darkness for any sign of Bridget. When he didn’t see her in the crowd of men and a few women, he forced himself to check the stages.

A quick scan found nothing but strange faces. He relaxed slightly, but still was apprehensive. Tom caught his elbow and steered him to the bar. “I’ll have a Glenlivet Scotch, neat. What’ll you have, Hale?”

Adam definitely needed to keep his wits about him. “I’ll have a club soda.”

Tom grimaced. “Club soda? Come on, you’re allowed to live it up a bit at a strip club on a Friday night.”

“All right, make it a Guinness.” He hadn’t had the dark Irish brew in a while. Tom rolled his eyes and paid an exorbitant amount for the probably watered-down Scotch, while Adam dug out money for his Guinness and some information.

He pushed a twenty toward the muscled bartender. “I’m looking for a girl.”

The bartender nodded at the nude bodies behind them. “You’re at the right place.”

“No, not one of those girls.” Adam checked the dancers again just to be sure Bridget hadn’t appeared. “I’m looking for a specific girl—medium-tall, long, wavy brown hair with light-blond streaks, dark blue eyes and freckles. And a killer body,” he forced himself to add, despite his embarrassment about speaking about Bridget like some jerk.

Tom set down his Scotch, his eyebrows raised. “Holy crap, Hale, you’re never finding a girl here with all that going on—except for the killer body.” He and the bartender traded grins. “I thought you were crazy when you dumped that swimsuit model you were dating last fall—what was her name?”

“Daria.” Adam picked up his bottle and took a long drink of the dark beer. Unfortunately, the rich barley flavor didn’t wash the bitter taste from his mouth.

“Yeah, Daria. She didn’t look a thing like what you’re asking for now. Didn’t she have dark hair and eyes?”

Adam nodded. Daria had been dark to the core. Luckily he’d learned that before it was too late. “Are any of the girls named Bridget?”

The bartender shook his head. “These girls don’t use real names. But feel free to keep looking.” He turned to another customer and ended the conversation.

Tom nudged him. “We’re not gonna find any girls if we sit on our asses at the bar. Let’s go mingle.”

Adam followed him into the middle of the club. A redhead with a stuffed sheep skipped off stage, replaced by an S-and-M-looking black-haired chick dressed in leathers and carrying a whip. No way that was Bridget, even with a wig. The Goth girl had much smaller breasts. Adam winced. Pierced nipples, too. Some guys must get into that scene, but definitely not him. He was more of a natural beauty connoisseur.

He’d lost Tom already. The other broker had sprawled onto a couch, a curvy Hispanic girl swaying on top of him. Judging from the glazed expression on his face, he’d be busy for a while.

Adam shook his head. Sure, he’d been young and dumb during his first couple of years at the Merc, going to his share of strip clubs with the guys. He’d enjoyed the attention from the dancers until he realized they were as good at trading as he was. Possibly better.

After all, they both sold possibilities. His were grains, livestock, something tangible. The dancers sold possibilities of themselves as girlfriends or lovers, a much more remote possibility. The corn crop always came in, but guys almost never hooked up with strippers. Those who did paid through the nose for the privilege.

The DJ changed the music to a sultry soul tune. “Let’s all give a warm welcome to Sugar, our newest Frisky’s Kitten!”

Adam choked midsip on his Guinness. That was the name Bridget had mentioned in line. What if it were Bridget, bared to the raucous crowd as she twirled on the stage? Jerks like Tom drooling over her creamy skin 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 down the bra. “Did you miss my performance, Adam?”

He laughed nervously and took off his coat. It was getting hot in her apartment. “Come on, I followed you into the club and I never saw you onstage.”

“You’re the strip-club expert, Adam. Don’t dancers have private clients or do private parties?”

He plopped onto her futon. “Oh, Bridge. What will your family say?”

She just laughed. Here he was, picturing her parents’ shock and horror and her brothers’ anger and disappointment, and she laughed? She had changed since she moved to Chicago, and not for the better. “It’s not funny.”

“Adam, you worry too much.” She plucked the pink bra off the hanger and rubbed her cheek over the shiny fabric. She’d look great in the pink with her fair skin….

“No!” He’d been imagining her in the pink bra and nothing else and hadn’t meant to say that aloud.

“‘No’ what?” She gave him a puzzled look.

He jumped up from the futon and walked over to her. “No, you can’t do that. Since your family isn’t here, I’m going to put a stop to this.”

“You are? How?”

“I don’t know—do you need money? I can loan you some.”

She looked shocked. All right, so he was tight with his money. Then she smiled and trailed the pink bra over his chest. His heart beat faster. “Tell you what. You’re a gambler, big guy. You gamble on corn, soybeans, cattle. Let’s make a bet.”

“On what?” That smile was making him nervous. That and imagining how her breasts would look in the pink bra, her nipples hard against the tight fabric. Were they pink, too?

“On you.” She drew out the last word, teasing him. “Since you consider yourself my friend, you can give me an unbiased opinion on whether I’m good enough to make it at Frisky’s. If you say no, I won’t continue my budding career as an exotic dancer.”

“What? You want to do a demo for me?” His throat grew tight, and he reached to loosen his tie, only to remember he’d stuffed it into his jacket pocket hours ago.

“Do we have a bet or not?” Her blue eyes bored into him. She wasn’t the shy little farm girl who’d blushed when they first met. And now she wanted to take her clothes off in public for strange men?

He couldn’t let that happen. “It’s a bet.”

“Good.” She pushed him toward the futon, and he sat uneasily. It reminded him too much of the couches at Frisky’s.

She walked over to her CD player and bent over a stack of CDs, her breasts pushing against the front of her dark-blue blouse. Her firm ass was nicely outlined in the swishy black skirt.

He shifted uncomfortably. If her fully clothed curves were already getting to him, what would he do when he saw more?

She pressed the start button and stood. Marvin Gaye’s song “Let’s Get It On” started. Oh, no. Marvin was singing about holding back his feelings for a long time. Adam had tried, really tried to do the same, but now Bridget was swaying in front of him to the soulful music and all those smashed-down feelings and desires bubbled up.

She gave him a small smile and unclipped her hair. Waves of honey, coffee and gold tumbled around her shoulders. She shook them out and he gripped the futon’s edge to steady himself, imagining those strands running through his fingers.

She squared her shoulders and looked like she took a deep breath. For courage? “Bridge, if you don’t want to do this, we can cancel the bet.”

Her confidence seemed to come roaring back. “First of all, don’t call me ‘Bridge.’ It’s a man’s name.” She reached for the top button of her blouse. “And I am definitely not a man.”

No, she wasn’t. Her fingers traveled down the column of buttons in an excruciatingly slow pace, giving him a peek at a black bra and flat belly. Then she shrugged her blouse onto the floor.

Adam’s fingertips went numb digging into the futon, but that was the only thing numb. At the sight of her black-lace-clad breasts, his disobedient cock came to life.

Her skin was milky pale in contrast with the black lace, lush mounds of plump perfection curving above the bra. Even from where he sat in silent agony, he saw her nipples tighten against the fabric.

Her gaze dropped to his lap and her eyes widened in pleased surprise. He knew he’d lost the bet right then, but the fox side of him guarding the chicken coop wanted her to keep going.

And she did, swaying as she unfastened her skirt and dropped it to puddle around her ankles. He stared at her—from her sexy boots to her black lace garter belt, black sheer stockings and black lace panties. Oh, he loved black lace garter belts and black sheer stockings and black lace panties.

She kicked the skirt free and did a sexy little twirl, confirming his worst suspicions that her matching panties were indeed thong panties. Her ass was white and firm after years of physical labor and his fingers itched to dig into it.

She reached for the stocking hooks and he surrendered. “All right, all right, you win! You would make an absolute fortune at Frisky’s.” He would be her best customer. “But you just can’t. Please, Bridget.”

A broad grin crossed her face. “Not so fast. We’re not done yet.”

“Not yet?” It came out as a whimper.

“I don’t think a striptease counts for the whole bet.” She stalked toward him in her boots and lingerie and stopped between his widespread knees. He stared at her in a daze. Marvin was still crooning like crazy. “After all, the girls make most of their money on lap dances. Let’s try it.”

Adam’s mind blanked. A platonic lap dance from the woman he’d lusted after for years? And just this evening he’d claimed not to be a masochist.

BRIDGET LOOKED DOWN at Adam, her hands on her hips. She’d thought she would feel awkward or embarrassed prancing around in fussy lingerie with her breasts and hips jiggling all over, but it was just the opposite. She was an all-powerful sex goddess, judging from the glazed expression on Adam’s face. That, and the erection his finely woven wool pants couldn’t hide.

No more little sister. She took a deep breath and knelt on the futon, straddling his lap.

Marvin segued into “Sexual Healing” and Adam groaned. “Bridge…”

He still didn’t get it. “Bridget,” she corrected, swaying over him. Although she wasn’t touching him, the heat from his erection kindled a matching heat in her belly. And parts lower.

She shimmied closer, cupping her breasts and bringing them closer to his face. Her nipples were achingly hard, and she rolled them between her fingers through the lace.

His chocolate-brown eyes dilated at her daring and he swallowed hard. She reached behind her and slowly unhooked her bra, her gaze never leaving his. He gulped as her breasts spilled from the cups and she tossed the bra aside.

She paused for a second, letting him drink her in. Her nipples had always been extralarge, too, and she had tried to mask them for years with special adhesive covers or firm liners in her bras. But no more. Adam extended a finger toward one hard peak but stopped, still obeying the lap dance rules of no touching.

“Go ahead,” she cooed. “You can touch me.”

He looked up from her breasts, his expression serious. “If I do, I won’t be able to stop.”

“I won’t want you to stop.” And with that declaration, she sat firmly on his lap, his cock pressing between her thighs.

Their intimate contact broke his deadlock. To her surprise, he didn’t grope her breasts, but instead grabbed her shoulders and pulled her into a kiss.

His mouth was hungry and gentle all at once. She responded eagerly, her tongue sweeping over the seam of his lips. With a groan of surrender, he finally opened to her, his tongue sliding along hers in a provocative dance. After so many years of lusting after Adam, their kiss was exactly what she’d hoped for and more than she’d dreamed of.

He pulled her even closer, and she ran her fingers through his hair. The black waves were hot silk under her fingers, and he made tiny noises as she massaged his scalp.

He broke free and ran kisses down her cheek and behind her ear. He clutched her to him, her bare nipples catching on his oxford dress shirt. She unbuttoned it with shaky fingers and spread the lapels wide. His chest was hard muscle and she rubbed her nipples through the black curls there.

He was heavenly. She ground against him, all finesse and pretense gone. His hands tightened on her back and he licked her collarbone. Was he reluctant to touch her breasts? Had he known how shy she’d been about them?

She pulled back and cupped them in her hands as an offering of trust. “Go ahead.”

Instead of diving right in, he smiled at her and gently ran his index finger down her neck to one pink tip. His callused fingertip circled it slowly, around and around until she thought she might scream. “Adam…” He pinched her gently, and when she didn’t flinch, he applied more pressure until she was twisting on him in sensual agony. Just when she thought that was the absolute best, he captured her other nipple with his mouth.

His tongue and teeth teased her, tormented her, tortured her. She was a prisoner of his hot, wet suction. Her nipples swelled even further under his expert caresses.

Exquisite sensation jetted between her legs, and her black thong grew damper. He hardened even more. She rubbed frantically on his erection, desperate to ease her ache.

As if he’d read her mind, he hooked a finger under the front of her thong and pulled it free. He insinuated his finger between her folds, driving through the soaking curls until he found his destination. He pressed her clitoris and she gave a short scream.

He grinned and her breast dropped from his mouth. He brought a hand to her leg and skimmed up and down. “I love these stockings.” He stopped at the wedge of bare thigh above the seam. “But they’re not as soft and smooth as you are.”

“Oh, Adam.” His sweet touch and his sweeter words overwhelmed her, and she turned her face away, a swath of hair protecting her emotions from his gaze.

She didn’t have long to reflect before his finger rubbed her again. He circled her clit gently, then with more pressure, seeking every drop of her response.

Tension built under his hands, her thong adding its own sexy brand of friction where it rubbed between her bottom cheeks. She ground on him and clutched at his chest, his nipples hardening under her touch.

He made a choked-off groan. “Please, Bridget, make me stop before it’s too late.”

The sensual power she’d captured strutting around in her lingerie rose again. She was the one who could make him come fully dressed. She was the one who was taking control of her own sex life.

She cupped one breast. “Suck on me.” And he obeyed.

His eyes closed as he eagerly feasted on her. His hands stroked her soaking wet flesh and grabbed at her ass like they were grabbing for a life preserver.

He moaned in a low voice as she rocked on him. His arousal whipped hers to an unbelievable level. She tipped her body forward, and with her free hand reached behind her to grasp his balls.

His eyes flew open. She squeezed and caressed them through his thin wool pants. And since he was panting too hard to suck her nipples anymore, she decided to plant kisses on his forehead, his cheeks, his neck….

Her own tentative touches combined with his fingers and the thick cock under her twisted into unbearable tension. His balls pulled tighter under her hand. He gave one last savage thrust upward and she snapped like elastic stretched to the limit, pleasure rocketing from her clit to her breasts and deep into her core.

She gave quiet cries of pleasure and triumph. For years, Adam had been her schoolgirl fantasy as she’d furtively brought herself to release, but the reality was much, much better.

Adam yanked her close and rubbed his cock on her, his face pulling into taut lines. “No, Bridget, stop, ahhh…” But she gave his balls one last squeeze and he came hard, gasping and squirming, his breath hot and fast against her aching breasts.

Bridget slumped against his shoulder, his heart thudding under her touch. For a minute, she just cuddled, then stroked his silky chest hair. She’d longed to do that since his first visit to the farm and she saw him tossing hay bales without wearing a shirt. But their tender moment didn’t last long. She knew the second he started regretting what they’d done.

He squirmed underneath her, and not in a happy way. “Oh, man. Oh, man.” He hooked his hands under her arms, careful to avoid her breasts, and she climbed off him.

She sprawled onto the futon next to him, feeling like a pinup with her garter belt and boots still on. Now if she got Adam into the bedroom, they could go for round two.

He hopped up from the futon and made a beeline for the bathroom, not the bedroom. Well, that was okay. He did need to clean up and maybe they could take a shower together.

Pulling herself off the futon, she strode across the living room. Give her a whip, and she’d match Jinx. Except for the pierced nipples, of course. She tapped on the bathroom door. “Adam?”

He didn’t answer, so she tried the door. He’d locked it? “Adam, are you okay?” She jiggled the doorknob.

“Fine.” He didn’t sound fine. “Bridget, I need a pair of pants.”

“Oh. Okay.” She went into her bedroom and caught a glimpse of herself. Her hair was beyond mussed, but there was a gleam in her blue eyes and a rosy blush to her skin. If she refused to get him pants, would he stay?

Although a naked Adam trapped in her apartment appealed to her very much, she rummaged through her dresser and found an old pair of gray sweatpants that were too long for her. Maybe they’d fit him.

She returned to the bathroom and knocked. “Here you go.” He opened the door far enough to grab the pants and then locked it again.

Suddenly feeling chilly and not much like a pinup anymore, Bridget went into her bedroom and pulled on her fluffy sky-blue chenille bathrobe. The fabric brushed her sensitized skin and she shivered.

She heard the bathroom door open and hurried out. She fought back a giggle at his outfit. The pants were still too short and showed a chunk of bare, hairy leg above the tops of his black socks and dress shoes. When she saw his face, though, she stopped laughing.

He looked absolutely grim. “What’s the matter?” She already knew the answer.

“What’s the matter?” His eyebrows shot up. “We just did all this, and you ask what’s the matter?”

“I don’t know.” She shrugged. “It felt pretty good.” Good was an understatement. Hedonistic, ecstatic, orgasmic—yeah, that last one covered it.

“I lost the bet.” His expression grew even darker. “Now you know just what power you’d have over those poor slobs at Frisky’s. If I were your customer, I’d wipe out my savings, max out my credit cards, sell a kidney to have you naked on top of me.”

“Wow.” That was quite a compliment. Too bad he looked as if he were donating his kidney. Without anesthetic.

He grabbed her forearm. “Think about your family.”

“Are you going to tell them I’m a stripper?” If he did, she might have some explaining to do about sewing lingerie, but that was all.

“No, I don’t want to hurt them.” He assumed a noble expression. “You’re their baby girl.”

She grimaced at him, exasperated. “All the dancers at Frisky’s are somebody’s baby girl.” Except for Electra, who was possibly someone’s baby boy.

“Then think about yourself. Those strippers will only drag you down to their level with their bad habits—alcohol, drugs.”

“In the first place, the dancers drink watered-down liquor at work so they don’t get tipsy and hurt themselves. And the only thing they inject into themselves is lip collagen.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “Half go to school, the other half dance to support their kids. Sugar is working on her business degree and Jinx told me she’s working on her master’s thesis in comparative lit at Chicago University.”

He shook his head. “Forget about my weakness for you, Bridget. You know this is a bad idea. Promise me you won’t dance at Frisky’s until we talk again.”

He had a weakness for her? Well, vice versa, Adam. “I don’t know….” She pretended confusion until she saw his anxious expression. “All right, I promise. I won’t wear sexy lingerie and take it all off at Frisky’s for a man who’ll beg to see my bare breasts swaying in front of his face. And I definitely won’t wear my garter belt and stockings to give anyone a lap dance so that he’s squirming under me from sheer arousal.”

He swallowed hard. “Fine.” His voice squeaked and he tried again. “Fine. Thank you, Bridget. You’re an old-fashioned girl. You don’t belong doing any of that.”

Oh, yeah? Bridget gave him a tight smile. The next time she saw him, this old-fashioned girl would do things the old-fashioned way and take him all the way.

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.