A SEAL's Fantasy. Tawny WeberЧитать онлайн книгу.
dance wasn’t her passion anymore, so she figured that evened out.
As she strutted along the edge of the stage, her gaze skimmed the audience with disinterested eyes. She couldn’t see past the front row, and most guys who ponied up the dough for up close and personal were card-carrying members of the pervert posse.
She found her mark, front stage left, shimmying in place while the principals gracefully mounted ribbon-covered swings, arching their topless bodies backward as the swings rose to sweep out over the crowd. Catcalls rang over the applause as the women shifted upward to dance on the slender bars of the swings.
One of the perverts jumped onto the stage and tried to grab a swing, coming away with just a handful of plastic flowers. The dancers didn’t miss a step as a burly man dressed in black wove through their still-kicking legs to grab the guy and haul him off the stage.
Lara barely resisted rolling her eyes as the security man dragged the idiot away. Then a movement in the front row caught her eye.
Her gaze shifted to the left.
Oh, my. A little breathless, and not from the dance steps, her smile dimmed a little.
He was gorgeous.
Dark, intense and emitting such a gimme vibe that she was grateful that the sequins of her bra kept her nipples from showing.
He was big. Big enough to loom over the guys in the seats around him.
He was sexy. The kind of sexy that made her knees weak and her tummy shake. The kind of sexy that made her want to promise anything, just for one taste.
But she’d learned the hard way that every bite, nibble or lick cost a girl. And there was nothing she was willing to pay anymore. The good times just weren’t that good.
Dance, she told herself.
Focus on the dance.
Next to her, Christi put in enough extra shimmy that the beaded fringe of her bra swung in circles. Lara was impressed. Used to working the late show, the statuesque blonde had a gift for swinging her pasties, but the costume top was a lot heavier than a tiny flap of fabric and a few dangling glitters.
Without thinking, Lara shifted her gaze to the sexy guy in the audience to see if he was impressed, too. But despite the blinding lights, she could tell his eyes were still locked on her. It was unnerving. Flattering. And one hell of a turn-on.
Let it go, she told herself. Thankfully, the music changed, and Lara led the chorus line in a swirling series of steps, upstage, then right, then back.
She’d seen plenty of gorgeous men in her time. Dancers didn’t have to be pretty, but many of them were. Especially the guys. Of course, most of them were only interested in the other pretty guys, but that was beside the point. They were still plenty hot.
So hot wasn’t worth wasting her thoughts on.
And sexy was pure trouble.
Now on the opposite side of the room, she felt safe looking at him again.
But oh, what a yummy mouthful of trouble he’d be.
It was probably the long, dry spell without sex that had her getting all wet and wild over a guy whose face she couldn’t even see clearly. Maybe she should break open her piggy bank and hit the toy store. An adult toy might take the edge off.
And, more importantly, keep her from thinking about doing anything stupid.
She had plenty to think about already. She had goals, big goals. Goals she was this close to making a reality. And those goals required every single one of her thoughts.
So, sorry, gorgeous guy. None for you.
“LARA!”
Half the women in the dressing room were nude, another quarter stripped to the waist, but nobody batted an eyelash at the lumpy grease spot of a guy standing in the doorway.
“What?” she answered, tightening the belt of her robe. Some of the other dancers smirked at modesty, but she didn’t care. For one, she figured her costume showed about as much of her body as she was willing to share with a bunch of people whose last names she didn’t even know. And two, Rudy had a habit of following up his impromptu visits with irritating attention. A lot of the women were cool with that, since his attention usually came with better dance roles.
But not Lara.
“You busy tonight?” he asked, leaning one bony shoulder against the door frame and staring past her at one of the blonde principals who was cleaning the rouge off her nipples.
“Why?”
“Dana called in sick,” Rudy muttered around a cheekful of tobacco. “You want her spot in the ten o’clock show?”
Lara grimaced. Her new textbooks had cost twice what she’d budgeted and rent was due in five days. The only way she was going to make it through this month was if she survived on ramen noodles and cold cereal for two weeks.
Of course, given the size of her costume, keeping the calorie count down wasn’t a bad thing. But she had class tonight. It was her last semester, which brought her within kissing distance of her goal. And nothing, not even affording fresh vegetables, got in the way of her goals.
“Thanks, but I can’t,” she said with just a hint of regret.
She’d survived on less for longer.
And, hopefully, she wouldn’t be worrying about barely making it paycheck to paycheck soon.
“Mistake,” Rudy said, his gaze cutting to her.
“What’re you doing in here?” Flo pushed past Rudy, cast a glance over the undressed state of her various dancers, then shoved the man out of the way. Once a dancer, now a stage mom, the statuesque redhead wore a beehive straight out of the fifties and blue eye shadow to match. “Get. I’ll report you to Roberto, you sneak in here one more time.”
“Didn’t sneak. Came in to offer Lara a spot at ten. She refused. Stupid.” He looked past Flo to give Lara a derisive look, then shook his head and walked out.
The door ricocheted as it slammed closed.
“He’s right.”
Lara glanced at the redhead, then shrugged. Apparently that wasn’t a good enough answer, because the older woman stomped over, shooing dancers out of the room as she came. By the time she reached Lara’s locker, half the room was empty and the rest were moving fast.
“I have plans,” Lara said before Flo could poke at her.
“How long have you been here?” Flo asked, paying more attention to the costume she was inspecting for tears than to the woman she was bitching out.
“Two years.”
“And you’re not principal yet?” Flo adjusted the costume on its hanger, then pushed it aside to check the next one. “You’re good. Better than most of the girls. You’ve got the moves, the talent. Your body is solid, sexy. Your looks stand out, even on stage.”
As uncomfortable with the compliment as she was with realizing that the women left in the room were listening, Lara just shrugged and grabbed her street clothes out of her locker.
“So why aren’t you headlining?”
“Maybe because I don’t want to?” Lara said, tugging on her thong, then yanking up her jeans.
Christi gave Lara a sympathetic pat, then scurried around Flo and headed for the door.
Lara grimaced. She wasn’t oblivious to the whispers that her answer caused. Nor was she blind to the expression of relief on more than one face. Dancers might put on the we’re-all-friends facade, but it was as false as their stage lashes. And usually just as brittle.