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Chapter One
The single spotlight illuminated the stage, leaving Veronica Whitfield with nowhere to hide.
The ting, ting, ting of the cymbal alerted her to the beginning of her song. Her eyes focused on the beams above the medium-size stage as she held her hands—encased in white satin—over her head.
The brass section of the band wailed and with that intro she cocked her hip to the right and pulsed, letting her body move to the beat of the music. When the music surged with an abrupt note, she kicked out her leg and thrust her arms down hard, straight to her sides.
With each sharp sound, her body matched the beat with quick staccato movements until the trumpet played a long note and she swiveled her hips, making sure to stick her ass out as far as she could.
Engage every muscle, Miss Trixie Treat—her instructor—would say in every lesson.
The crowd hollered, obviously liking the sexy sway of her body. Veronica smiled. Not out of happiness, but out of relief. She’d gotten a reaction. That’s all she’d wanted out of this journey. That’s all she’d wanted the moment she’d decided to sign up for a six-week burlesque workshop. But she had gotten so much more.
Stepping down from the riser with long, wide movements, she approached the front of the stage. She bent, grasping the zipper at the bottom of her red, calf-length wool skirt, but before she pulled, she looked out into the audience and bit her bottom lip. Catcalls encouraged her to reveal just a little more skin.
She pulled the zipper, revealing her long legs encased in sheer red stockings. It was her own personal dichotomy. She wore a two-piece skirt suit with short white gloves and a matching pillbox hat. But underneath was a whole different story. On the outside, she was a respectable mother figure, but on the inside—her inner vixen clawed to be set free.
The crowd loved the modest flash of skin and she gave them more, peeling off her gloves one at a time with her teeth. She sashayed around the stage a few minutes longer, then removed her skirt to reveal a black garter attached to her red stocking. Then she flung her jacket to the side, showing a matching black bustier that pushed up her barely-there breasts. And what burlesque costume wasn’t complete without a little bling? The garter and bustier were both adorned with rhinestones.
The bright stage lights made it difficult to distinguish faces in the audience, but she’d made sure they wouldn’t be a distraction. She’d purposely left her glasses backstage.
She shimmied and shook, stepping up on the riser, giving the crowd a little shoulder drop for good measure, then slowly, seductively, releasing the garters from her stockings.
Inhaling deeply, she did her best to forget she was on stage, half-dressed, and about to become even more naked in the next two minutes. She unhooked the silk garter belt and let it fall. When it pooled at her feet, she slowly, deliberately, rolled off the stockings, then let her hands glide up her bare legs. The crowd screamed, loving the jiggle of her ass cheeks.
Veronica turned and faced the audience. This was it. The final item of clothing to be removed. I can do it.
She unhooked the fastenings at the back of the bustier. When both sides were free, she held it with one hand, teasing the spectators. She sat in the middle of the stage and leaned back, her legs seesawing out in front of her. It had taken the entire six weeks of class to be able to do this move without groaning—her abdominal strength had been severely lacking. Finally, she ripped the bustier away, letting it fly to the side of the stage.
The music slowed and the lights dimmed. Her eyes settled, no longer having to squint. She came up on her knees and lifted her arms, her torso swaying, the tassels of her pasties moving in a perfect circle.
This close to the front of the stage, her eyes focused on a few faces in the crowd. Her heart fluttered. This was exactly what she had needed to get her sexy back. She felt confident, beautiful, and comfortable in her own body. She was ready to focus on herself—on her life—and what lay ahead. The possibilities were endless.
She smiled wide and turned to the right, her gaze locking with a man in the front row. He didn’t look mesmerized by her performance. More like a rush of shock and awe had settled on his face. And she knew that face anywhere. She’d seen it every day growing up as a kid in the foster care system, and had dreamed of it every night once she was old enough to have those kinds of dreams.
The man was Finn O’Reilly.
And he’d just seen her get naked onstage in front of a crowd.
Veronica’s stomach churned. She looked away and shook off her embarrassment. She had lost a beat or two in her split-second freak-out, but she soldiered on. Eventually, the music stopped, the crowd roared, and she exited stage left.
“Fan-freaking-tastic, R
onnie, babe! The best version I’ve seen you do yet,” her classmate—and now friend—Madison Malone greeted her.
“You look like you’re going to puke. Honey, it’s over. You’re done,” Madison said with a frown.
“He’s in the audience,” Veronica said on a groan.
Madison shot her a confused look. “Who’s in the audience?”
“He’s there. Him.” Veronica pointed out toward the crowd.
From the stage, Miss Trixie clapped, her voice filling the room as she fulfilled her MC duties and introduced the next act. “Thank you, June Beaver. Wasn’t she wonderful, ladies and gentlemen?”
Madison howled. “I still fucking love your name.”
Veronica’s burlesque name. June Beaver. June the respectable 1950s mother who gets naked and shows her beaver to the audience. She thought it was brilliant if she did say so herself. But congratulating herself on a good stage name wasn’t priority number one right now.
“Honey, I don’t know a ‘him.’ You’re going to have to be more specific.” Madison huddled her away from the stage wings. “Wait.” She pulled them to a stop. “Are you talking about Chef Hottie?”
Although those would be the two best words to describe Finn O’Reilly, Veronica shot her friend a withering look.
“It is Chef Hottie.” Madison squared her body. The flowery tattoo inked on her bare left shoulder was now hidden under the dim light backstage. “Oh, fuck me. If he’s out there, then he saw your act. He saw you take off all your clothes.”
He’d had a front-row seat for the peep show. And Veronica had recognized it—the mortification on his face—because it was exactly how she’d felt.
“Honey, you’ve got it bad. I’ve never met an adult who actually doodles her crush’s name.”
Madison was right. Veronica had it bad and she still doodled his name. It was as if she’d never grown up when it came to Finn. Despite graduating from college, starting her own wedding planning business, and unexpectedly raising her two teenaged half siblings, she was as adult as it got. But Finn never failed to make her feel like a silly little girl.
“If he didn’t have sexual thoughts about you before, then he certainly does now.”
She shook her head in an attempt to focus. “What are you talking about?” Finn O’Reilly couldn’t possibly have sexual thoughts about the woman he still called “Little One.”
Threading an arm through hers, Madison directed them to the dressing room. “You rocked your routine. Your body is smokin’. And you had every man in there watching, waiting, for you to get naked.”
Madison was the sexy siren, with her fire-engine-red hair and curvy figure. And she was even more beautiful because she had an edge. Tattoos littered her body, big ones and small ones; even her nose and belly button were pierced, which made it a little intimidating to take in at first glance. But they had become fast friends six weeks ago, a friend Veronica had needed desperately.
Madison had already performed her act—a photographer who gets naked to take pictures. Fitting, because she was a photographer in real life—mostly weddings, but she dabbled in boudoir, which had prompted her search for Intro to Burlesque with Miss Trixie.
“Not Finn. With Finn I will always be the little girl he had to indulge because my brother could never leave me on my own.”
They walked into the dressing room. The rest of her classmates ran around like maniacs, fixing last-minute costume glitches, adding more sparkles to their bodies. When she was noticed, two of her classmates rushed over and engulfed her, knocking Madison out of the way. The rest of the class joined in; the shrieks and squeals were music to her ears. She’d never felt such camaraderie before. It was inspiring, and made her feel as though she belonged, when for so long, she hadn’t.
