It was easy for Samair Jones to stride past the crowd lined up outside the nightclub Risqué and through its front entrance. All it took was a confident stride and a sultry smile for the doorman, and she was in.
Okay, so it was more than just the smile. It was the attitude behind the smile. And the happenings of the last few hours had given her the kick in the ass she needed for an attitude adjustment.
For the past three years she’d been a good girl. She’d worked a “proper” job, had a “proper” relationship, and a boring, uneventful life. Now it was time to remember how to live.
She looked out over the dimly lit dance floor. It was Friday night and the place was packed. Bodies of all shapes, sizes, and sexes filled the club in varied levels of dress—or, in some cases, undress—undulating to the music, and an almost forgotten spark of energy flowed through her.
Samair knew there were times when the image she showed to the world shifted and a certain energy emanated from her—an energy that made people sit up and take notice. It was something she used to hate.
The energy was from deep within, and one she hadn’t felt it in way too long. It was the same energy that had made teachers single her out as the troublemaker in school, and her parents berate her for being too flamboyant. But tonight, she’d decided to give it free rein.
To give herself free rein, and Risqué was the perfect place to do it. The club had a repuation as exotic, erotic, and top-notch, and she could see why.
Tension eased from between her shoulders as the steady throb of a heavy bass beat seeped into her through the floor, her pulse starting to throb in time with it. She turned from the railing and started for the stairs. Three steps from the top she spotted a hottie on his way up. She smiled at him, held his heated gaze as they passed, and felt the thrill of the hunt shoot through her.
The time had come to stop kidding herself and embrace who, and what, people had always told her she was.
Trouble.
Valentine Ward noticed her as soon as she set foot in Risqué. From the vantage point behind the one-way-mirrored wall of his office, he could see everything that happened on the floor of his club. He liked it that way. He needed to know what was happening at all times.
He studied the contradiction of the pretty blonde. The sinuous way she moved had caught his attention, but the longer he gazed at her the more a subtle air of innocence seemed to come through. “Val, are you listening?”
“Not really,” he murmured.
Karl Dawson came up behind him and looked over his shoulder. “Ah, now I see why. A playmate of yours?”
Val watched as she stepped to the side of the landing and surveyed the club from the top floor. She was less than fifteen feet from his office so he got a good look at her.
Dressed in black slacks and a simple white blouse, she should’ve looked out of place in the nightclub. The clothes certainly weren’t anywhere near the type of party clothes most club-goers wore. They did nothing to neither hide nor accentuate her curvy figure, and he wondered if she always dressed like that. It looked wrong. Too plain…too strict for the raw sensuality she exuded.
Tousled dark blonde hair that reached a couple of inches past her shoulders framed a face that housed delicately arched eyebrows, a straight nose, and sensuous lips.
Those lips were really something. Full and shiny, they formed a natural pout that gave him the urge to suck the bottom one into his mouth for a quick nibble.
He stared, wishing she would look his way. He wanted to see her eyes. Instinct told him they held the key to if she was just a player, or if she was for real.
Val watched those tempting lips tilt in a predatory smile as she started for the steps, and he felt the long forgotten pull of lust stir.
“Not yet,” he finally answered Karl. “But she will be.”
Bodies brushed against her as she walked, and Samair felt alive for the first time in a long while. Almost as if she were waking from a deep sleep.
She watched the pair behind the bar as they mixed drinks for the crowd. The male bartender was tall, slim, and clean cut, while the girl was the complete opposite with vivid purple streaks throughout her black hair, heavy eye makeup, and black lipstick.
Despite being the odd-couple, it was clear they got along as they worked well in a synchronized dance behind the bar. When she was up, Samair ordered her drink and decided to do things the easy way. “Is Joey Kent here tonight?”
“She’s here somewhere.” Purple and black curls bobbed as the bartender squeezed a lime in Samair’s drink. “If you can’t find her in the crowd, wait ten minutes and you’ll see her in one of the cages. She never breaks for long.”
That sounded like the Joey she knew. Full of fire and never far from a dance floor.
“Thanks.” Samair put a twenty down and picked up her drink. “Keep the change.”
“Anytime, sweetness,” she replied with a wink and a grin that was completely at odds with her dark Goth look.
Glass in hand, Samair started the stroll around the club. A tingle of awareness danced up her spine and she looked over her shoulder, but saw nothing unusual. She continued her walk around the club, heading for the dance floor, unable to shake the feeling that someone was watching her through the packed crowd.
Her blood hummed as it raced through her veins. Anger, determination, and excitement all combined to give her just the push she needed to take control of her life again.
For twenty-eight years she’d listened to her parents’ lectures and done her best to live up to their expectations. She took business in college instead of art or creative design, and she worked crappy hours in a small boutique so she could just be near what she really loved: clothes. She’d been undemanding in the bedroom, and put up with lousy sex so she could have a steady boyfriend.
Okay, so the putting up with crappy sex hadn’t been part of her parents’ lectures, but having a steady relationship had been. And that meant putting up with mediocre sex.
Somehow, after high school, she’d done everything proper, and it had bitten her in the ass.
Well, she was done with it. It was time to do things her way, and she knew just the person to help her relearn what that was.
Just as Samair reached the far corner of the room she heard a piercing rebel yell, and turned to see a striking redhead climb up into one of the platform cages on the edge of the dance floor and start shaking her ass.
Despite the long, straight, brilliant red hair pulled back in two high pigtails, the neutral makeup, and the porcelain complexion, Joey Kent did not look innocent. Maybe it was the custom-made leather halter-top, short shorts, and knee-high boots.
Whatever it was, it didn’t matter. All that mattered was Joey was there, and she was a friend.
Samair chuckled and made her way in that direction. She ran her hand up Joey’s calf to her bare skin, and tickled her behind the knee to get her attention. She swung around sharply, and saw Samair.
“Sammie!” The last vestiges of Samair’s anger and frustration slipped away at the pure welcome in Joey’s grin.
“Hey, baby,” Samair shouted.
“Get your butt up here, girl!”
Without thinking twice Samair set her drink on the edge of the platform, and tossed her worn leather backpack into the cage. She gripped the bars, hoisted herself up. It wasn’t easy squeezing her curves between the metal bars into the cramped space, but it was worth it because she was instantly wrapped in her old friend’s arms.
Joey must’ve picked up on something in her hug, because when she pulled back, there was concern in her expression. “What’s wrong? What happened?”
Samair shook her head and flashed a wicked grin. “Later,” she shouted. “For now, I just want to have a good time!”
“Let’s do it!”
Joey reached for the buttons of Samair’s simple blouse and started to undo them while both girls moved to the music.