LITMIR.BIZ

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pulled back and ushered her inside. He yanked the cloth shut behind them. A low armless chair stood against the wall, and he smirked at her before turning her arm loose and plunking down on it.

      She whispered furiously, “You don’t seriously expect me to do this, do you?”

      He murmured back sotto voce, “I seriously expect that there are cameras in here, and that your boss will be watching. I’m not exactly thrilled about the position you’ve put me in, either. You really shouldn’t have slapped me. At least not in front of a misogynistic chauvinist like your boss.”

      “What did you expect me to do?” she said with a hiss. “Let him manhandle me like that and treat me like a piece of meat he can give to whomever he wants?”

      “I expected you to trust me. I’d have seen to it the bastard gets what’s coming to him and I’d have gotten you out of there without this little detour.”

      She swore under her breath. He was, of course, right. It was her own impulsive nature and stupid temper that had put her in this pickle.

      “I’ll fake it if you will,” he muttered.

      “Right. Fake it.” But fake what? As if she had any idea how to do a lap dance. The subject had not been covered in any of her art history classes in college. Scowling, she scooted forward until her knees bumped against his shins.

      He smiled. “Go for it, baby.”

      “You’re going to hell for this,” she grumbled.

      His grin widened, and he leaned back in the chair a little. “Ahh, but what a way to go. I dare you. Give me your best shot.”

      Oh, a dare, was it? That changed things. Glaring fiercely at him, she threw her leg across his hips and plopped down on his lap. He tensed beneath her as her lady parts passed across the zipper of his jeans.

      Crud. Now what? She was undoubtedly supposed to engage in some sort of bump-and-grind routine next. After all, it was called a lap dance. But that left a whole lot to the imagination by way of technical details.

      Experimentally she tilted her hips forward and then back. Oh, my. That felt rather nice. She tried it again. Her nervous tension eased a little, and this time it felt even better.

      “That all you got?” Ashe murmured in obvious amusement.

      Concentrating intensely, she tried circling her hips to the left. Ooh, that was interesting. And better, unwilling heat flared in Ashe’s eyes. Quite a bit of heat, in fact. If she wasn’t mistaken, the region behind his zipper was getting harder. More enthusiastically, she circled back to the right.

      “This may not be the right moment to mention it, but most lap dancers do it facing away from the guy. It costs extra to get a full frontal. I expect the girls don’t want to get their chests grabbed, nor do they want to be tongued or kissed.”

      She sprang to her feet, outraged. “You let me writhe all over your lap the wrong way?”

      “I didn’t say it was wrong. Just more suggestive than usual.”

      “You are such. A. Jerk.”

      His voice dropped so low she could barely hear it over the Jamaican music blaring from hidden speakers overhead. “No, baby. It’s called protecting your cover. Vitaly’s going to be watching us when we leave here. And I’d better have a hard-on and you’d better be embarrassed all to hell when we walk out of here if you want either of us to make it out of this club alive.”

      Of course he was right. Darn it. “How in the heck do you know so much about this stuff, anyway?” she demanded, chagrined.

      The corner of his mouth quirked up. “I’m not exactly a teenaged virgin. Of course, I don’t generally have to pay for what I want from women, either.”

      She glared at him a moment more, then whirled around and backed onto his lap. Her toes barely reached the floor, and she overbalanced slightly. His hands came up to clasp her hips. He didn’t do anything crude like pull her down onto his male parts, but he did steady her until she regained her balance.

      Ashe shifted beneath her. Abruptly, warm breath caressed her neck. He must have taken pity on her because he murmured, “Most girls squat over the guy and keep their weight on their feet, which is why this chair is so low and has no arms. That way, the girl can pull away if the guy gets fresh with her. Then the girls twerk a little.”

      “I don’t know how to twerk,” she wailed under her breath.

      “It basically involves relaxing your rear end and shaking it up and down. Don’t worry about it. The view I’m getting is fine just the way it is.”

      Thank God she had a skirt on. And stockings. And panties. This was embarrassing enough without her having her rear end hanging out of a skimpy thong.

      “My thighs are burning.”

      “Then sit down on me, silly.” He gave a little tug, and her tired legs gave out. She plopped down unceremoniously on his lap. She lurched, but he held her in place with that easy, overwhelming strength of his.

      “I cannot believe you’re making me do this.” Her mouth was saying one thing, but her body was starting to say something else entirely. It wasn’t all bad having her hips nestled in his lap. His zipper bulged against parts of her she’d never...rubbed...against anyone before. The intimacy of it was staggering.

      She’d had sex, of course. She was twenty-five, after all. But never like this. She’d never been the type blatantly to take control of the sex, or to be...naughty...about it. Okay, so she was a prude. There. She’d said it. Or at least thought it very loudly.

      Ashe relaxed beneath her, seemingly completely at ease with having a woman squirming around on his lap. But she felt vulnerable. Terribly exposed. Even though her miniskirt flared around both of their hips, hiding most of what was going on underneath it.

      “Move your hips like this,” he instructed, guiding her hips through a slow figure eight. “You can rock like before or do those circles you were doing, too.”

      “This is hard,” she complained.

      A low chuckle rumbled behind her. “I believe hard is the point.”

      She looked over her shoulder to roll her eyes at him.

      He grinned. “Just sayin’.”

      “Behave.”

      He shrugged. “It’s not like either of us has any choice here. If I don’t have a grin on my face or a pronounced limp, Vitaly’s going to try to hurt you. And since I’m not about to let him do that, all hell will break loose.”

      “So you’re not enjoying this?” She didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed.

      “Well, now, I didn’t say that,” he drawled. “I think if you put a little enthusiasm into it, maybe pretended I was your boyfriend, you might have a future in the profession.”

      Imagine him as her boyfriend, huh? That wasn’t much of a stretch. The memory of his magnificent naked chest in her apartment last night popped into her head. Nope. Not a stretch at all. Let alone the steamy dreams of him that had disrupted her sleep.

      She realized with a start that she was moving more sensuously against him, enjoying the feel of him growing restless beneath her. Tense. Hungry.

      He was faking it, of course, which was really sweet of him. Warming up to the ruse a little more, she let her mind wander into a pleasant fantasy of the two of them together.

      They would be in a beautiful old room with antique furniture, hardwood floors and white gauze curtains. The big four-poster bed would have fat pillows and white linen sheets. A fan would turn lazily overhead, stirring the sultry air. They would make love slowly. Easily. With aching tenderness that gradually turned into raging, sweaty passion...

      “Okay, then,” Ashe ground out. “That should be enough to shut up your

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