Tease
TEASE
(a
Take It Off
novel)
***This is a new adult contemporary novel. It is not intended for young adult readers and contains sexual content and graphic language.***
You can look, but you can’t touch…
Harlow McAlister is a broke college student. When her tuition assistance is taken away, she is faced with a choice: admit to her mother she couldn’t hack it on her own or make a lot of money fast.
So she gets a good-paying job.
As a stripper.
She thought it would be easy, but it turns out being sexy is a lot harder than she imagined. When a few mishaps work in her favor, she manages to hang on to her job and catch the eye of the Mad Hatter’s best-looking bartender, Cam.
She’s also caught the eye of someone who wants to do more than look, someone who’s decided she’s nothing but a tease.
As the clothes come off, Harlow finds herself caught between lust and murder. The only thing she knows for sure is that her new risqué job is a lot more than she bargained for.
TEASE
Take It Off Series
CAMBRIA HEBERT
TEASE Copyright © 2013 CAMBRIA HEBERT
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portions
thereof, in any form without written permission except for the use of brief
quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
Published by: Cambria Hebert
http://www.cambriahebert.com
Interior design and typesetting by Sharon Kay
Cover design by MAE I DESIGN
Edited by Cassie McCown
Copyright 2013 by Cambria Hebert
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents
either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used
fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead,
business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
Paperback ISBN:
978-1-938857-26-3
eBook ISBN:
978-1-938857-27-0
Other books by Cambria Hebert
Heven and Hell Series
Before
Masquerade
Between
Charade
Bewitched
Tirade
Beneath
Renegade
Heven & Hell Anthology
Death Escorts
Recalled
Charmed
Take It Off series
Torch
Table of Contents
Contents:
I’d like to dedicate this book to my author buddies, Amber Garza and Cameo Renae (Yes, I’m dedicating my stripper book to two women). Thank you for always being there to cheer me on, to check in with me, and for always having something positive to say. Someday we are all going to be in the same place at the same time and I guarantee that it will be more fun (and definitely less embarrassing) than stripping.
TEASE
I cheated on my boyfriend. Before you go thinking what a dirty ho I am, let me just tell you, he deserved it.
I mean, I dated a guy for four years, throughout my entire high school career, and I thought I knew him. But then I started to notice the looks in the halls, the smirks from the girls who were supposed to be my friends. And the other guys? They started murmuring the word
ice
whenever I walked by.
Turns out my boyfriend of the year was really the moron of the century.
The whispers in the hall, the rumors floating around? He started it all. He’s the one who told everyone that I wouldn’t put out, that I was nothing but a tease. He tried to make a mockery out of me.
That’s right. I said he
tried
.
A person can only make a mockery out of someone if they allow it.
I wasn’t about to allow it.
So I cheated on him.
Shot his “she’s a tease” rumor all to hell. That’s the thing about a rumor… it can turn on you in three seconds flat. And so he became the guy who didn’t know how to satisfy a woman; he became the one who didn’t know how to close the deal.
Was it true?
Nope.
I didn’t actually have sex with the other guy. I haven’t actually had sex with anyone. But a hundred bucks and a six-pack of beer is all it took for the football team captain to say he slept with me.
He got to be the guy who closed the deal, and I got to graduate without the label of being a tease.
So it was pretty ironic that three years later I was pretty much labeling myself with the exact name I tried to get away from.
Except this time I was going to get paid.
I never really thought I would be the kind of girl who would do something just for money. But then I started thinking about that, about what kind of girl would do things for money. You know the conclusion I came to? A girl who liked to eat. A girl who liked to make rent on her apartment. A girl who would never admit, not in a million years, that her mother was right.
I repeated those things over and over in my head as I climbed out of my used Toyota Corolla and stood staring at the entrance to the place I was supposed to be interviewing for a job.
I never thought life would bring me here. I never thought I would’ve picked up the phone and called this place to see if there were openings. When the person on the other end of the line told me that yes, there were openings and asked me to come in for an interview, I was shocked when I heard myself agree.
But like I said, I liked to eat.
“Just go in. Check it out. If it turns out to be really awful, you can leave,” I muttered to myself as I headed through the parking lot, which was surprisingly well lit. The outside wasn’t as seedy as I thought it was going to be either. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad after all. Of course, that thought wasn’t exactly comforting. Part of me hoped the place was skeevy. Part of me thought that the minute I stepped out of my car, I would be so offended with what I saw that I would drive away toward a safer… more clothing required kind of future.
But I wasn’t offended.
And it appeared I was going to go inside.
Before reaching for the door, I stopped and looked up at the giant sign standing tall in the parking lot. It sported a large top hat with a pink bowtie around its center. The hat was tipped on its side and a pair of very long, shapely legs were coming out of the bottom.
The Mad Hatter was a “gentleman’s club.”
AKA: a strip joint.
And I was here to interview to be their newest stripper.
Desperate times called for desperate measures. I tore my gaze away from the sign and put my hand on the door. As I did, it swung open and a huge wall of a man stepped outside. He had skin the color of midnight, with arms the size of my thighs. His head was completely bald and he wore a black T-shirt that looked like it was going to burst at the seams because it was stretched so thinly across his massive chest.
Automatically I took a step back.
He smiled and it almost ruined the intimidating effect he had over me. Almost.
“Sugar, I think you’re in the wrong place,” he drawled, a thick southern accent lacing his tone.
Did he just call me sugar?
“I’m here for an interview,” I said, lifting my chin.
He grinned, flashing very white teeth. “Well, you definitely have a look that will drive ‘em crazy.”
I looked down at my cotton floral sundress with little cap sleeves. Was he being a smartass? I hadn’t exactly known what to wear to a job interview where the job required getting naked.
“You gonna let me in or what?” I said, crossing my arms over my chest and glaring at him.
He threw back his head and laughed. Then he stuck out his humungous hand. “My name’s Tyrese. You can call me Ty. I’m the bouncer here at the club.”
I slid my hand into his. “Harlow.”
“Miss Harlow,” he drawled, pulling the door open wide, motioning for me to enter. “Welcome to the Mad Hatter.”
* * *
The place was actually pretty nice. For a strip club. Excuse me, for a
Gentleman’s Club
,
as was so proudly displayed on a sign beside the bar. The bar ran along the entire back of the establishment, with large mirrors against the wall where the alcohol sat on glass shelves and bartenders worked behind a chest-high wooden bar with many armless black leather stools slid up to it for seating. Every seat at the bar was taken except for the very last two on the end.
I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to do. I was a little out of my element.
Okay,
a lot
out of my element.
Of course the first rule when trying to blend in is not to stick out. So I spun away from the bar, catching a quick glimpse of myself in the mirrors behind the bar as I turned, and suppressed the urge to shudder. Or laugh.
Ty was right. I did look lost.
The first thing I did was stop staring at myself in the mirror and turn, facing outward into the club. My eyes narrowed a bit, hoping to erase that doe-eyed innocent look and replace it with a more flinty, edgy expression.
I had no idea what flinty meant. But it sounded like I should look that way.
However, when my brain actually processed what I was facing—what I was seeing—and I forgot to be flinty.
The club was the shape of a giant square, with the bar making up one of the sides. In front of the bar, the floor was filled with round tables of various sizes. Some fit two people, some five. All of them had long pastel-pink table cloths that draped to the floor. Around the bottom of each tablecloth was a black ribbon with a giant black bow.
The chairs were all black leather and in the center of each table was a black top hat with what looked like beverage menus sticking out of the top.
The floors were all hardwood. Since it was fairly dark in here I couldn’t be sure, but if I had to guess, I would say the floors had seen better days but still had a high gloss so I figured it was being waxed or cleaned.
The walls were all black but were lit up with bright-pink neon signs in the shape of curvy women, top hats, and martini glasses. From the ceiling, lights hung that looked like giant orbs of low light, kind of like there were a million moons shining in the sky.
But the lights, the tables, and the neon signs weren’t what the people in here came for.
No.
They were here for what was on stage.
The stage sat directly across from the bar and ran the entire length of the building. It was currently dark and empty, with wide black curtains hanging on each side. A part of the stage jutted out between the tables like a runway, and I could see the rope lights lining the edges, but they were dark as well.
A waitress walked by and my mouth about fell open. She wore black shorts that were smaller than most of my underwear, black fishnet stockings, black stiletto heels, and no shirt.
Okay, she was wearing a shirt. But, really, I don’t know why she bothered. It covered nothing.
It was basically a pastel-pink string bikini top—no, scratch that—it was a pair of nipple pasties on strings.
She had really long, straight bleach-blond hair pulled up in a super-high ponytail and a black bowtie around her neck. As she moved, the light reflected off the shimmering body powder she had applied liberally to all her exposed upper body.
She moved through the crowd with a tray, handing out drinks, smiling, flirting, and leaning down over men suggestively.
Were they going to want me to do that?
No, Harlow. They’re going to ask you to wear less.
If that thought wasn’t enough to scare the flowers off my sundress, the music playing over the sound system cut off and people began to cat call and cheer. Then a new song began to play. One that didn’t have words. It was one of those sexy songs that accompanied people jumping out of cakes on TV shows.
There was some movement on the darkened stage, and I watched, wondering what was going to happen next. As the music played, a blue-ish toned spotlight came on over the center of the stage.
The crowd fell silent for one long moment.
She was standing in the center of the light, framed in electric blue. Her back was turned, one of her legs was up on a chair, and a hand was on her hip. She wore what looked like a strapless one-piece bathing suit in black. Long hair was wound up and secured in a clip at the top of her head.
The music grew louder and she began to move. First reaching up with slow, deliberate movements and pulling the clip out of her hair. Blond curls cascaded down her back, concealing some of her body.
The men all cheered.
Then she tilted her head back, looking up toward the ceiling, and ran her hands roughly through the long strands. With a jerk of her hips, she turned to the side, placing both hands on her foot propped up on the chair, and she caressed her leg all the way up to the juncture of her thighs. Her very ample chest heaved with her deep breaths, straining against the outfit that contained them.
The beat to the music deepened and she shoved the chair away with her foot, sending it flying over into the darkened space, and she turned to finally face the crowd.
Placing both her hands over her breasts, she squeezed them, then ran her fingers down the curves of her body. She started moving then, squatting, rolling her hips forward and back, bending over to touch her toes while pointing her ass to the eager and drooling men. She worked the stage like she owned it. Like she was the last woman on the planet and she had enough goods to go around for every man that came a calling.