Chapter Eight

Veronica stretched luxuriously in her whirlpool bathtub, the water scalding hot. Just the way she liked it. She rested her head against the bath pillow while she lifted her leg out of the churning water to lather it with a loofa sponge.

Her beloved recording of Renaissance motets filled the steamy room, and fat apple-and-cinnamon-scented candles flickered in the low key light.

She was in love. In. Love. As much as she didn’t believe in love at first sight, she was utterly besotted by Simon West.

How had that happened? She was practical. Predictable. Boring and ordinary. People like her didn’t fall head over heels because of a pretty face, smokin’ hot body, and a please-take-me-to-bed Texas accent.

Yet here she was, the Queen of Besottment. Was that even a word? She didn’t care.

Veronica sighed, put down the loofa, and touched her lips with her fingers. Closing her eyes, she relived every single second of Simon West’s kisses.

She’d never thought she had a dream man but apparently she did. Since she’d always believed she’d marry someone who was just as conventional and safe as she was, this turn of events really threw her for a loop.

A small laugh bubbled out of her. Giddy, totally giddy, at the thought of seeing him again Thursday, she only hoped Simon’s toes were up to the occasion.

Lord knew her body was. It was screaming at her with each thought of Simon West touching her. The man could kiss, that was for damn sure.

Things like these crazy, love at first sight things didn’t happen to boring accountants like her and that had been A-okay. She enjoyed her uneventful, safe life.

What if he was her cowboy?

Jeez, you went to a strip club just one time and your whole life got turned around. What was a girl supposed to do? Especially the brand new Veronica who took chances and asked out men she barely knew.

For one thing, find out if Simon was her cowboy. However, even if he wasn’t, he was still made of gorgeous with a side dish of yummy.

Maybe that’s all she needed to know.

For now.

****

“Hey, I heard you were working on a new routine.”

Simon stopped mid-way from bump into grind and looked into the wall-size mirror to see Trevor, the dancer who did a construction worker routine at Hardbody, grinning at him via said mirror. “Trev. What’s up?”

“Rumor has it you were out and about with the lady from table 18 the other night.” He shook his head. “Dude. Dating a patron? You might want to keep that on the down low.”

“A patron?” The only person he’d dated lately was Veronica. But didn’t he suspect she’d been the beautiful woman at the club?

“Yeah, classy lady, there with some equally classy friends. I heard it the two of you were at Esmeralda’s the other night. You know the brass doesn’t like it. The sleaze factor and all that.”

Yeah, God forbid a strip club be seen as sleazy. Still, a rule was a rule and he couldn’t lose this job until he got a real one. The money was just too good to pass up. “I didn’t meet her here. She teaches at Barrett. I met her there.”

Trevor grunted and pulled his right leg up into a quad stretch. “She’s a pretty lady.”

Simon’s smile was gentle. “She is.”

Trevor switched legs. “Uh-oh. I know that look, man.”

“What look?”

“The look of,” he lowered his voice, “loooovvvve. You know.” He broke into song. “The look, your heart, can’t disguise,” he crooned.

“Asshole.” Meanwhile, uh-oh was right. He couldn’t possibly be in love with Veronica. It was way too soon. All his nerve endings prickled and his stomach clenched. He might need to hurl.

If he felt this bad, it had to be love.

Yay.

****

“Mother. You called, I’m here. What do you want?” Veronica had gotten her mother’s summons to have lunch with her and her father at the family manse.

Her father cleared his throat. “Your mother was concerned when she met you and your companion at Esmeralda’s the other night and she shared her fears with me.”

Fears? “Is this about Simon?”

“Simon West? Yes.”

A ball of nervous, maniacal laughter lodged in Veronica’s throat. “Simon’s a dancer. He teaches at the university. What’s there to be concerned about?”

He sat at his place behind the table and drummed his fingers on the top. “When your mother told me about your little liaison, I had my staff check him out.”

Okay, dear old Dad was pulling out all the I-am-the-great-state-senator Cecil Cooke stops. “I can’t imagine you found anything dangerous.”

“No. Not dangerous. But embarrassing to the family, and it could hurt my chances to be elected governor next year.”

“Veronica,” her mother said, “your Simon West is a stripper.” She looked and sounded like she was a heartbeat away from having the vapors, like some old-fashioned too stupid to live heroine in a bad novel. “He takes his clothes off for a living. We can’t have you involved with someone like that.”

Her ears started to buzz like there was a mosquito the size of a jumbo jet flying around her head. “Simon’s not…” she coughed like she was hacking up a lung then took a deep cleansing breath to regain her equilibrium, “a stripper.”

But of course he could be. She’d wanted him to be her cowboy, and had given a lot of thought as to how to find out if he was.

“You’re to stop seeing him immediately before the media gets hold of this.”

She stood and lifted her chin. “I won’t. I’m a grown woman and I’ll see whomever I want.”

Her father stared at her, his eyes devoid of any sympathy or understanding. “You will stop seeing him. Stop right now or I’ll make sure he loses his position at Barrett, as well as black list him to every dance company in New England. All I have to do is make one phone call and he’ll be back in The-Back-of-Beyond, Texas, where he came from.”

Veronica sat, tears prickling at her eyes, but she would not cry. She wouldn’t give him the advantage of seeing or thinking her weak. “I don’t see how my dating Simon will cost you the election.”

“Because you don’t understand politics. You sit around all day crunching numbers and have no idea how the real world works.” He checked his watch. “I have a meeting with my press secretary in ten minutes. This conversation is over.” He turned his back and strode out of the room.

“You have to break it off, Veronica.” Her mother said. “Do it now before more damage is done.”

Her face warmed as her pulse thumped like a jackhammer. “No damage has been done.”

“Nevertheless, if you want your friend to keep his job, such as it is, you’ll break it off. You know your father doesn’t make empty threats.”

Yes. Cecil Cooke did not make idle threats. Veronica no longer felt like crying. She wanted to smack a bitch. “I hate him. I hate you, too.”

“Now Veronica, we only have your best—”

“Good bye, Mother.” Veronica walked right out the same door her father had used.