Patricia Rosemoor: Skin

“I said I did.”

He took the empty seat next to her anyway, the deliberately perverse action irritating Lilith, even though he scooted his stool in the opposite direction and gave her plenty of breathing room. So why did she feel like she had just run up a flight of steps?

Everything about Club Paradise made her a little uneasy.

“You’re alone,” the stranger assured her. “I’m not here.”

Her hold tightened on her drink, and her gaze wandered about the room in every direction but his. Still, she was aware of him ordering a beer, which no doubt meant she was stuck with his company unless she moved. Only he’d taken the last vacant stool at the bar.

“But if I were here,” he suddenly went on, “I would introduce myself. Michael Wyndham.”

He didn’t seem to require an answer. He certainly seemed laid-back if perverse.

“And I might speculate as to what it is about a place like this that appeals to a woman like you.”

At that she flashed him an angry glare.

“Well, come on, you’re not the usual customer,” he clarified, paying for the beer.

“Look,” Lilith said, “I’m certain plenty of women would be charmed by you–”

“Knowing why people do things is kind of a hobby of mine. No offense, but you really aren’t the typical Club Paradise patron. Yet you must want something.”

“Peace and quiet.”

“Like I said, you’re in the wrong place.”

“Then try breathing room.”

“I thought I gave it to you.” He slid off the stool. “But if I was mistaken, I apologize.”

Saluting her with his beer bottle, he strolled away from the bar and over to a small empty table also in the back of the club. He folded his length into the chair nearest the wall, leaned back and watched not only the Asian dancer on stage, but other men, as if analyzing their reactions to her gyrations.

Lilith’s gut instinct was telling her that this Michael Wyndham didn’t fit here any more than she did.

Then what was he doing here?

A sudden ruckus on the other side of the room drew her attention.

A chair-back bounced off the floor and the customer who’d been sitting there bent over and drew a knife from his ankle. The weapon flashed at a muscular dark-haired man who looked deceptively calm before he struck out, disarmed the drunk and threw him on the floor, applying a shoe to the guy’s windpipe. Within seconds, two bouncers grabbed the downed man and escorted him out of the club.

The dancer on stage never even missed a beat.

“Who was that guy?” a man asked the bartender.

“Name’s Gabe O’Malley. A regular. Got a temper I wouldn’t cross.”

As if nothing at all had happened, the man in question slipped back into his seat and downed a shot.

The waiting seemed interminable. One dancer blended into another. Lilith’s senses were assaulted by the music that seared her ears, the mixture of thick smoke and cheap perfume that clogged her nostrils and throat, the private lap dances that made her stomach churn.

She prayed it wouldn’t be Hannah. And she prayed it would. No matter what she’d done to survive, Lilith loved her sister and wanted Hannah back in her life.

And then the music shifted to an oldie; and Lilith watched, mesmerized, as the young woman called Anna Youngheart took the stage and began to strip.

She wanted to get closer, to see Anna’s face, to assure herself of the woman’s identity one way or the other.

Photographs could lie.

She white-knuckled her drink glass as the dancer sashayed down the ramp and flirted with the men in the audience who waved money at her. They tucked that money in her garter, and in her thong bottom. They took their time, their fingers lingering on her flesh. Not only did she let them, she seemed to enjoy the attention.

Lilith could still picture her kid sister, a slight figure prancing around their bedroom to some old rock tune. Then the vision of innocence vanished to be replaced by the woman who had command over the men for whom she danced.

She blinked but the image before her didn’t change.

Hannah — it really was her sister!

Hannah licked her lips and leaned forward to give one guy a better shot at the flesh nestled in her sheer bra. And then, to Lilith’s absolute horror, while Anna/Hannah was still bending forward, she deliberately undid the bra and let her breasts swing free in the guy’s face.

Lilith wanted to go up to the stage and rescue her sister, wanted to haul her out of this nightmare.

So why didn’t she do something?

Anything?

Why sit here… frozen… paralyzed?

Lilith felt helpless. Emotional paralysis washed over her like a wave, stripping her of the ability to act.

And then suddenly she realized it was too late to do anything.

The music segued into a different tune as her sister sashayed off the stage.

Lilith set down her drink and forced herself to her feet. Her gaze went to the left of the stage, to a scantily clad dancer coming through a doorway. Not Hannah. But surely that was the entrance to the dressing rooms.

Her stomach fisted. She ignored the eyes that followed her as she made her way to that doorway. She was almost there, within a few yards, when a big guy in a tux stepped between it and her. She tried to waltz around him, but he was fast for someone so big. Still…

“I need to get back there,” she said with a plastic smile.

“Not without an invitation.”

He didn’t have to work to look threatening, but Lilith was pretty sure she could take him if she put her mind to it.

Adrenaline rushed hot along her limbs, but her heart was pounding, and she could hardly breathe. Part of her wanted to get to the dressing rooms at all costs. The other part wanted to run and never look back.

Forget the whole thing.

But forget Hannah?

Isn’t that what she’d done all those years ago?

Another scantily clad dancer came through the doorway into the club. When she saw Lilith, a cunning smile turned up her mouth.

“Lap dance, honey?” She licked her lips provocatively. “Or did you have something more personal in mind?”

Men all around her were staring again. Their gazes felt disgusting, like bugs crawling over her. Men waiting for her answer.

“You’d better get back to your seat, Miss,” the bouncer said, his tone kind.

Sucking in air, Lilith nodded and backed away as the dancer whispered something to the bouncer and then laughed.

Face hot with her humiliation, Lilith turned and fled toward the club’s exit.

She glanced back once only to be caught by the man who’d identified himself as Michael Wyndham. His intense gaze was pinned to her all the way across the room as she escaped into the night.

FRESHENING HER MAKEUP, Hannah shook off the weird feeling that she’d seen a ghost. She’d only gotten a glimpse of the lone woman near the bar, but seeing her had given Hannah a start. So when she went back into the club to look around for someone she knew would be good for at least a C-note, she was searching for the woman, as well. Or maybe instead. Though she scanned the room, the dark-haired woman was nowhere to be seen.

Jerked out of her thoughts by a hand clamping down on her arm, she forced a smile to her lips when she saw it was Paul Ensdorf.

“Hey, sexy, how you doin’ tonight?” she murmured as she stopped before Melinda’s brother.

“I’ll be better if you give me a lap dance.”

“Mmm,” she murmured, moving in closer, her thighs spread over his.

Other than to give them tips, the men weren’t allowed to touch the dancers. But after Paul slipped that C-note in her bra, she let him brush his knuckles across her flesh and ran her tongue over her full lips like it was some kind of promise.