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Bruno hit the button on the boom box, and her voice was drowned out by the raucous music of “The Stripper.” The men began to cheer and whistle. Bobby Tom gave her an encouraging wink, released her, and walked away to sit on a boulder and watch the show.
Hot color flamed in her cheeks. She stood all alone in the center of the hot tub platform, and everyone in the room was staring at her. All of these perfect physical specimens were waiting for her, imperfect Gracie Snow, to strip!
“Come on, baby!”
“Don’t be shy!”
“Shake it, honey!”
As some of the men made animal noises, one of the women put her fingers between her lips and whistled. Gracie gazed at them helplessly. They began to laugh, just as her sophomore English class had laughed when the tissues padding her bra had shifted. They were adult party animals behaving in accordance with their species, and they apparently thought her reluctance was part of the act.
As she stood frozen before them, the idea of being mistaken for a stripper suddenly became less embarrassing than the thought of shouting out an explanation over the music to all these worldly people who would instantly realize what a country bumpkin she was.
Perhaps fifteen feet separated her from Bobby Tom Denton, and she realized all she had to do was work herself close enough to him so she could whisper her identity. Once he realized that Windmill Studios had sent her, he would be so embarrassed by the mistake that he would help her make a discreet exit and give her his full cooperation.
A fresh burst of animal noises rose over the music blasting from the boom box. Gingerly, she extended her right leg several inches and pointed the toe of her sensible black pump. Once again there was laughter.
“That’s the way!”
“Show us what you got!”
The distance between herself and Bobby Tom now seemed to stretch a hundred miles. Tugging on the skirt of her navy suit,
she inched toward him. More whistles joined the laughter as the bottom of her hem reached the top of her knee.
“You’re hot, baby! We love it!”
“Take off that wig!”
Bruno had pushed himself to the front of the crowd and was making a giant circle with his index finger. At first she didn’t understand what he wanted, and then she realized he was ordering her to face Bobby Tom while she undressed. With a gulp, she turned toward those deep blue eyes.
He tilted his Stetson back on his head and spoke just loudly enough for her to hear. “Leave the pearls for last, sweetheart. I do like a lady in pearls.”
“We’re getting bored!” one of the men bellowed. “Take something off!”
She nearly lost her nerve. Only the thought of what her employer would say if she fled from the house without having accomplished her mission stiffened her backbone. Gracie Snow didn’t run! This job was the opportunity she’d been waiting for all her life, and she wasn’t going to turn cowardly at the first sign of adversity.
She gingerly removed her suit jacket. Bobby Tom gave her an approving smile, as if she’d just done something amazing. The ten feet that still separated them seemed like a million miles. He hooked the ankle of his cowboy boot over his opposite knee, and his bathrobe fell open to reveal a very naked, powerfully muscled thigh. Her jacket dropped from her fingers.
“That’s the way, honey. You’re doin’ real good.” His eyes sparkled with admiration, as if she were the most talented dancer he’d ever seen instead of the most inept.
With a series of clumsy bumps, she wiggled closer, trying to ignore the exaggerated boos that were beginning to come from the audience.
“Real nice,” he said. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen an act quite like this.”
With a final thrust of her hips, she arrived at his side, minus only a jacket, and forced her stiff lips into a smile. Unfortunately, as she leaned forward to whisper her predicament into his ear, her cheek hit the brim of his Stetson, knocking it askew. With one hand, he righted it while, with the other, he swept her into his lap.
The loud music covered her startled exclamation. She was temporarily stunned into speechlessness by the feel of his hard body beneath her own and the solid wall of his chest pressed against her side.
“You need some help, honey?” His hand went to the top button of her blouse.
“Oh, no!” She clutched his arm.
“You’ve got an interesting act, sweetheart. A little slow getting going, but you’re probably still a trainee.” He gave her a grin that held more mirth than lechery. “What’s your name?”
She gulped. “Gracie—That is, Grace. Grace Snow. Miss Snow,” she amended, in a belated attempt to put some psychological distance between them. “And I’m not—”
“Miz Snow.” He rolled the words around in his mouth, savoring them as if they were a particularly fine wine. The heat from his body was muddling her brain, and she tried to get out of his lap.
