The subject of getting fired led Megan directly back to thoughts of Nick and Sean, and she definitely didn’t want to keep going there. Maybe they had paid the rent, maybe they hadn’t. She didn’t want to try to figure it out right now. Christmas was just a couple of days away, and she had no job, and no prospects for a job, and whatever good fairy had paid their rent this month might not come through next month.
She had to do something. She knew she did. But sex toy parties? Dear God. Had it really come to that?
Megan walked away from the door and went to the rocking chair beside the apartment’s only window. Drew was going on and on about how easy it was to give a Sweet Sensations demonstration, how toys sold themselves once people understood what they could do, blah, blah, blah.
For a moment, Megan had a feeling that Drew was up to something then mentally she sighed. Of course Drew was up to something. She’d been trying to get Megan to do Sweet Sensations parties for months.
“Let me show you,” Drew said, and she flitted out of the kitchen before Megan could tell her not to bother.
About ten minutes later, Megan sat in the rocking chair and tried not to die of embarrassment as she gaped at “sassy maid Drew.” In that French Maid get-up, Drew looked remarkably like an erotic version of a children’s doll she dared not mention lest Drew shove a vibrator up her nose. Dark haired, gorgeous, and way past built, Drew had heard that particular comparison one too many times in her life.
“You’re delusional, Drew.” Megan twirled a lock of her hair around her finger. “I can’t sell sex toys. I can’t even say ‘sex toys’ without turning red as a candy cane stripe.” It was a curse of her dark red hair that she turned as red as she did.
“You’re not fooling me, honey. I’ve seen the kind of romances you read.” Drew’s eyebrows waggled. “Scarves and riding crops, cuffs and roses—oh, and more than one guy. And there was that last novella, with the orgy at the end?”
Megan flipped off Drew. “Big difference between what I read and what I’ve done.”
But not what I’m willing to do
. Images of Nick and Sean flickered through her mind like her own private fantasy theater, and she seriously wanted to slap herself.
“Get over it.” Drew grabbed Megan’s arm, pulled her out of the rocker, and hauled her toward the table where Drew had spread out her—erm—wares. “Besides, tell me one other legal job you could get that pays immediately.”
Drew tapped a giant dildo, and Megan considered jumping out of the apartment window.
“I mean it,” Drew said. “Throw a party, collect a check from Sweet Sensations. Bing, bang, boom.”
“No banging and booming.” Megan’s face got hot enough to toast marshmallows as she did her best to ignore the display of eggs, bullets, pocket rockets, dildos, dongs, vibrators, paddles, crops, gels, creams, beads, clamps, and clips. Especially that thick, motorized monster dick that looked so real. That vibrator made her squirm just thinking about it.
Megan cleared her throat and tried to keep herself in the real world. “I can’t let you support me.”
“Support you, hell. You’ll work your cute little buns off for every dime.” Drew lovingly ran her fingers across one of the vibrators. “I double-scheduled myself this afternoon by accident, and I was going to have to cancel one of the toy parties. Now, I’ll do Duke’s, and you can take the one at Spirits.”
“Spirits? The bar with the stage and the dancers that Faith works at?” Megan rolled her eyes. “The Sweet Sensations demonstration must be the private party that Faith mentioned when I ran into her earlier.” Megan stared at the monster dick even though she didn’t want to. “Drew, all of those girls look like Rockettes. They won’t buy sex toys from someone like me.”
Drew laughed. “Spirits girls know how to heat it up, and you don’t have anything to worry about. The toys sell themselves, like I told you.” She picked up the motorized monster Megan couldn’t quit looking at, the thick one with all the ridges, and she turned on the controls. The vibrator hummed, and its coils started to pump. Hard. Up and down. Up and down.
Megan stared at the thrusting wonder. She had no words. Just no words at all.
Drew’s grin turned positively wicked. “See what I mean? This one’s called
The Satisfier.
Wouldn’t you pay money to find out why?”
“Stop talking to me,” Megan murmured. She was having unmentionable thoughts about that damned vibrator and the twins.
Are you a naughty girl?
The question came in Sean’s low, teasing voice. She pressed her hands to the sides of her face and squeezed. Why didn’t her brain have an off switch? Maybe crushing her own skull would do the trick.
“Please?” Drew asked. “We’re okay for a few weeks, but I really don’t want to risk being homeless.”
Homeless. Yeah. And that about did it.
“Sex toys,” Megan said.
Naughty, naughty girl.
“All that long, auburn hair.” Drew grinned. “The way you wear it back—do I ever have the perfect outfit for you.”
Megan was able to stop thinking about the twins just long enough to be worried.
A little over an hour later, Megan found herself walking down East Sixty-Fifth. She wore a full-length leather coat, a black bow lace body stocking, and three-inch high-heeled ankle boots, wondering what in the name of all hell she was doing. If the wind caught her coattails, she’d probably get arrested for indecent exposure. Never mind if she dropped the rolling suitcase she was pulling behind her and her entire display tumbled out. If only she could afford the damn cab fare.
And damn, was it ever cold outside! Fresh snow crunched beneath her ankle boots, and every now and then, a breeze made it under her coat to tickle her nearly bare ass. The few times the chill slipped between her legs, she thought she’d scream—or moan. She couldn’t decide.
And she couldn’t be doing this.
Not her. Not Megan Faircloth, the nobody from nowhere, who was barely keeping herself fed in New York City. She couldn’t believe how her skin responded to the forbidden feel of that body stocking. It held her curvy figure as tight as any lover, rubbing, stroking, and teasing every inch of her until her eyes wanted to cross. She couldn’t keep getting wet, though, or her important parts would freeze.
She struggled to make it one more block. No way was she calling a taxi dressed like this. She’d probably end up on some cable exposé like
City Girls Gone Wild
.
“Just get through tonight,” she muttered out loud to keep her lips from freezing. “You can survive until next month. Find another job. Put on clothes. Return to sanity.”
The wind gave her ass another tweak, along with her stone-hard nipples. “Whatever you do, don’t think about Nick and Sean.”
She sure didn’t need to get any more aroused before she had to take off the leather coat and see if she remembered anything about Drew’s crash-course in pleasure aids and sensual adult toys. Drew had instructed Megan on how to demonstrate to both male and female customers. She was really hoping there would only be women at this party.
By the time she reached the wreath-covered door of Spirits, she was shaking not just from the cold, but from absolute terror.
A sign hung in the window, noting that the bar was closed for a private party.
Right.
Megan knew
she
was the party.
She was a professional wallflower, for the love of God.
How could she be a party?
Trying to breathe, she put her hand on the door handle, but couldn’t make herself turn the knob. She’d been to Spirits once before for a bachelorette fling, and it definitely wasn’t her kind of place. Loud, rowdy, lots of sloshing beer, hot wings and peanuts—nope. Not her scene.
But, like Drew mentioned at least ten times before she shoved Megan out of the apartment door, the waitresses got paid well, tips flowed like all that alcohol, and they had plenty of money to spend.
Think about next month’s rent. Think about the bills. You’ve got to do this.
Megan opened the door.
The entry was dark, and no one manned the table to collect cover charges and check IDs. Soft strains of Christmas music wafted through a small crack in the heavy oak doors leading into the bar. Before Megan could open them, a redhead in an elf-suit came rushing out to greet her. If not for the skimpy costume that matched the one Faith had worn, Megan would have taken the woman for a teenager.
“You’re here!” The Spirits waitress sounded excited, but she also looked a little anxious. Maybe even flustered. Her eyes moved from Megan’s face to the heavy case she pulled behind her. “Go right in and set up on the stage. I’ll just lock up behind you, so you’re not interrupted.”
“Thanks,” Megan said, even though she really wanted to scream instead. Actually, she wanted to run. But she opened those oak doors, marched into the bar, and stopped, stunned.
Spirits had been completely remodeled. Gone were the rough wood tables and board floors, and the stench of aged beer and filth. The walls had been painted a soothing, clean cream. Fine prints and oils hung at tasteful intervals. Fires burned in two fireplaces, one on the left and one on the right.
Wow. Those fireplaces looked real, but Megan knew they couldn’t be. Still, genuine firelight danced against polished, carved mantels, and the air smelled faintly of cedar.
Several tables covered with starched white cloths took up the center of the floor. Each one held a candle nestled in rosemary or holly topiary trimmed like tiny Christmas trees. Red and white poinsettias filled the rest of the room, along with sprigs of evergreen laced with splashes of clear lights.
Faith hadn’t mentioned the whole place had been remodeled.
Megan felt herself relaxing into the beautiful scene until she looked at the stage. The stage where she was supposed to set up her sex toy display.
Yep. This will be a Christmas to remember, all right. I rank it right up there with a root canal and the driving test where I backed into the instructor’s car.
A single long table waited for her, this one also covered with a crisp white cloth, and trimmed with several small wreaths. Megan glanced around, but she didn’t see any waitresses. They must be changing into more comfortable clothes. At least she hoped they were. She didn’t think she could talk about vibrators to a bunch of fashion models dressed in elf costumes.
You’re doing this for your future. Get a move on, Faircloth.
Refusing to make herself any more nervous, Megan strode up to the stage, unfastened her case, and unloaded her displays onto the long table. Gels, creams, clamps, clips and beads along the top, like Drew told her. Eggs, bullets, and pocket rockets on the right along with the dildos and dongs. The paddle, crop, and flogger were on the left. Scattered between them all, various sizes of the bow lace body stocking like the one she was wearing for demonstration. Dead center she set up the vibrators, making sure to give
The Satisfier
a place of honor, right in the middle.
Now for the harder display.
Her.
In the body stocking.
Megan squeezed her eyes shut, but tried to remember what Drew said.
It’s just you and the girls, honey. Everybody likes to look sexy. Show ’em how to do it!
Heart hammering, Megan slipped off her leather coat, folded it, and bent to slide it under the table, incredibly aware of the sheer fabric barely covering her ass, never mind the rest of her.
A strangled cough made her stand up straight.
Oh, God.
That cough hadn’t sounded feminine at all. Were there male servers at Spirits? Megan wanted to snatch back her coat, but she’d have to bend over again to get it. She’d kill Drew dead and fling her body off the Empire State Building. Damn! How could she turn around?
What if Spirits was a gentleman’s club now and she found herself facing a room full of hunks in tuxedos? Her face felt so hot she wondered if flames from the fireplaces had jumped across the room to burn her.
I could still run. Yeah, right, and twist my ankle in these high-heeled boots, and probably break my leg.
Rent and bills. She couldn’t forget those. This was a job. It was just a job—a job she couldn’t get fired from—and she could do it. After a few slow breaths, she turned around.
Nick and Sean stood with arms folded in identical postures, in front of the tables and topiaries, looking like Greek gods in black Gucci tuxedos. Their night-black hair glistened in the firelight, and their blue eyes studied her with an intensity that threatened to melt her to nothing but tallow.
“Merry Christmas, Megan,” one of them said in a deep, husky voice. His gaze traveled from her face to her lace-clad breasts, and lower, to the barely-covered dark patch of hair between her legs.
“Happy New Year, too,” said the other twin. “And I was right. You
are
a naughty girl.”
Megan lost all sense of up and down, of backward or forward. She couldn’t move an inch. Electric sensations rippled across her skin as the two men looked at her, their expressions so stern and possessive that they literally made her ache.
“How did you know I’d be here?” she asked, her tight voice giving away her physical reaction to the twins.
Sean—she could tell it was Sean from the flames on his neck—eased back and hitched one hip against a table. “We had your contact information from DII.”
Not fair. Probably not even legal.
Megan didn’t put any of that into words, but she was tempted. She wanted to be pissed and fiery, but she was too stunned and too embarrassed. Anyway, it was hard to work up a good bitch-face when she was dressed like a sex kitten in heat.
“We spoke to your roommate,” Nick said. There was nothing relaxed in his posture at all. He was intensity personified. “Drew. Very nice lady, once we explained who we were and what we wanted.”
Megan tried to swallow, but her throat had gone dry. “And what do you want?”
Sean’s slow grin and the way his crystal blue eyes wandered over her skimpy lace body stocking kindled a fire in her belly. “I think it’s obvious what we want, Megan.”