Chapter 1

 

Everyone who saw Lila said she was the world's greatest lap dancer.

It was also said-again, by everyone who saw her-that if you were lucky enough to buy a lap dance from her, you'd never be the same again.

Vaughn had never been one to listen blindly to idle gossip. As a Hedge Fund broker for the last five years, he knew that the best method of learning anything was to address the issue, do your research, then apply what you'd learned. At thirty-six, he'd learned years ago that it didn't take much to get peoples' jaws working on overload, and when a gorgeous woman happened to be the main issue, this was when their jaws slipped quickly past overload and kicked in with full force into hazardous territory.

Vaughn thought it best not to take the advice of those he didn't know very well. It seemed to go hand in hand with stock tips from unknown sources. With tips, you knew that if they weren't one hundred percent reliable, you'd get burned, even destroyed. You'd end up with no job, no money, no clients, and the sort of reputation that would seal your doom. However, when a female was concerned, Vaughn fully realized that any sort of gossip would be subjective, and even those he knew quite well would be suspect.

In the eyes of Randall Vaughn, it was best to tread cautiously even when your instincts persuaded you to proceed.

Vixens had been the hottest strip club in the Orlando area for the last three years. Notorious for its lap dancers as well as a variety of live talent shows featuring the best local dancers in the area, the club boasted the hottest strippers and pole dancers in the state of Florida. Although rumors abounded of the local mob owning and operating the business, the place ran smoothly, and was seldom raided.

At nine-thirty, the club was packed and loudly chaotic. The huge U-shaped bar in the main room was engulfed with male customers sitting as close as possible to the edge of the counter, chattering loudly while slurping beer and mixed drinks. Meanwhile, the topless pole dancers performed their routines to the erratic thumping of the p.a. system piped into various sections of the huge room. Lines formed down the hall leading to the half dozen separate lap dance rooms, where the naked strippers earned big money performing their steamy routines for their horny customers.

Vaughn and two other investment consultants from Dunne & Milhoff Financial Services, Inc., sat at a round table in the middle of the big room. While the three men sipped their vodka martinis and commented on the various pole dancers working on top of the bar, several shapely half-naked waitresses scurried by, balancing drinks on the large silver metal trays they held high above their heads.

"How much do you think one of those pole dancers makes in an evening?" Visibly uncomfortable, Dwight Currin shifted his large ass in his seat. He used a napkin to dab at the sweat from his chubby face while continuously crossing and uncrossing his legs under the table.

"Depends on how often the babe spreads 'em, twists around, then shoves her tits and ass in the guy's face." Wallace Bremer smiled stupidly as he picked up his Martini.

"They all do that," Currin said with a loose shrug.

"Not all at once, though, right?"

The twosome chuckled.

"Actually," Currin added with a sloppy grin, "I'd pay to see somethin' like that!"

"Whaddya think, Vaughn?" Bremer raised a brow. "Three bills a night?"

Vaughn watched the slender blonde sliding up and down the pole in the center of the bar. Her luxurious, wavy golden hair reached the level of her lower back and slid like a golden curtain down her side as she twisted from side to side while keeping a firm grip on the pole. With a flick of her head, her hair jumped wildly, jerking like flame against the blue lights focused on the wall behind her. Her huge tits rose as she slid all the way down into a deep squat position with her knees nearly a yard apart.

"That blonde's gotta be worth five bills, easy." Vaughn was impressed.

"From what Ramsey says," Currin replied, "those dancers make between three and five K a night!"

"Five K?" Bremer gave a low whistle. "Six nights a week? Ya know what that comes out to?"

"Um...thirty K a week?" Currin's bloodshot gray eyes grew.

"You always were great at math," Vaughn commented dryly.

"Who knows what that Lila babe makes," Bremer said.

"We never will," Currin said.

"Yeah." Bremer scowled. "Ramsey says she only does it for a certain kinda guy."

"She's definitely got her own book." Currin sipped his drink. "Some say there are some seriously interesting names in it."

"Book?" Vaughn seemed interested.

"Some call it the "Big Boy Club," Currin explained.

"No doubt." Bremer sized up Currin and laughed. "You're not in it, you bastard. She doesn't like big butts, three chins, or huge bald spots!"

"You got one of those, too, you asshole," Currin said, chuckling.

Bremer scowled and looked puzzled. "What? A big butt? Chins? Or a huge bald spot?"

"Well, yeah..."

Both broke out in drunken laughter.

Vaughn just shook his head and picked up his glass. He hated it when these guys drank. They just couldn't contain themselves. Half an hour watching pole dancers and sexy waitresses work their trade and they turned into sloppy morons in two-thousand-buck suits acting like fraternity jerks. He was just glad they weren't doing anything funny, like stroking their dicks beneath the table. His attention went back to the blond pole dancer.

"Vaughn, you'd qualify." Bremer nodded.

"Howzat?"

"Yeah!" Currin was also nodding. "You're in shape. You watch what you eat, work out. You're tall, have a nice head of hair-"

"Brush your teeth all the time," added Bremer.

Vaughn grimaced. "You two asking me out? Or getting ready to put me on eBay?"

Currin and Bremer laughed.

"You oughta try and nail that bitch." Currin turned dead serious.

"It'll cost ya," Bremer said, "but everyone says she's worth it!"

"Who? That blonde over there?"

"You're not payin' one bit of attention, are ya?" Currin sounded annoyed.

"I like that one." Vaughn pointed. "Blondie looks terrific in that maroon thong. And the spinners on those pasties are doing a number on me below decks."

Currin and Bremer exchanged frowns.

He couldn't believe them. "You two trying to say that blonde isn't hot?"

Bremer shrugged. "She's hot. So what?"

"Listen...we're talking fireworks, buster!" Currin's hairy black brows pushed together.

"Fireworks?"

"Lila!" they both yelled simultaneously.

"Ah." Vaughn nodded. "That lap dancer everyone keeps talking about."

"Yeah." Currin sighed. "Her. Lila. Lady Greatness."

"For a second," Bremer said, "we thought we were gonna have to take you in and have them check your vitals."

"For what? I'm healthy, dammit. Just kind of particular."

"For not caring about a chick who could probably cause a serious explosion in your shorts just by pushing her titties in your face."

Vaughn groaned. "Who the hell said that?"

The two shrugged.

"Common knowledge," Bremer said.

"Ask anyone," Currin added.

"Name someone."

"Bruce Landers." Bremer blurted it out without hesitation.

"Landers?" Vaughn scratched the back of his neck. "I don't even know where that guy is. He left D&M months ago, didn't he?"

"Transferred." Currin looked thoughtful as he sipped his drink. "Think he's somewhere in Tampa."

"Happened not long after he had a lap dance from Lila," Bremer said with a chuckle. "I think she kinda got to him."

"I doubt that." Vaughn didn't believe these guys.

"Wasn't that..." Currin shook his head. "I heard the Brewster got an offer from Tampa Industrial, even sounded better than the one they gave him at D&M."

"I heard he had some other problems." Vaughn remembered someone say Landers was having marital problems and was looking for a way out.

"Rumors," Bremer muttered. "The wife was givin' him the axe, so he decided to appease her by movin' over to the Bay Area to be close to her kin."

"Whatever." Currin put his glass down. "Gettin' back to Lila... Landers did say it was the best lap dance her ever paid for in his entire life."

"Says a lot," Bremer said. "That boy sure went for lap dancers! I heard someone say he spent five C a week on 'em."

"Addicted?" Vaughn asked.

"To babes!" Currin laughed. "Ever see his wife?"

"She used to work at the Kitty Review on the Trail. She was a dancer there. It's where they met." He whistled. "Hotter than hot!"

"I heard Landers say Lila made his wife look like a drowned cat." Currin grinned stupidly.

"Wow..." Vaughn finished his Martini and shook his head. "Hope he slept with one eye open after saying that."

***

An hour later, the threesome decided to call it a night.

Vaughn glanced at his Rolex. 10:35. Time to drive back to the apartment. Since he had a conference call at ten the next morning, he decided to do the smart thing and hit the hay so he could squeeze in eight hours of restful sleep before hitting the shower and getting ready at his leisure in the morning.

He was grateful he'd only had one Martini. He'd finished the drink more than half an hour ago and figured it would be out of his system before long. If he drove carefully, his odds of being pulled over were slight at best.

Currin and Bremer, on the other hand...

Those two thought nothing of sucking down three or four strong drinks before getting behind the wheel. Currin had already been pulled over twice, Bremer three times. It was a wonder they hadn't been dropped from D&M. Vaughn guessed that it was because Bremer was one of D.B. Milhoff's drinking buddies. Milhoff was a notorious boozer. And since Bremer and Currin were buds, Currin won points from Milhoff on the technicality.

The parking lot remained just as packed as it had been when the three of them showed up nearly two hours earlier.

Vaughn's shiny black BMW sat in the space out front, next to Currin's Cadillac SUV. Currin and Bremer were already getting into the Caddie as Vaughn took out his keys. They waved as Currin backed up, pulled out, and took off down the gravel lane.

Vaughn went over to the driver's side. Just as he was about to open the door, a breathy, low-pitched woman's voice said, "Excuse me."

He turned.

A tall, slender, red-haired woman wearing a Miami Dolphins baseball cap, lightweight jacket, cut-off shorts, and athletic shoes was standing next to a silver Porsche 911R convertible. The thick strap of a pricey-looking tan leather handbag rested on her left shoulder. She held a ring of keys in her right hand. She seemed upset.

"Hi." He took a couple of steps in her direction.

"I was wondering if you've got a cell phone. I've got a flat, and-" She shrugged awkwardly and gestured to the front tire, which was, as she'd just said, flat. "I guess I had one of those stupid brain blips and left my cell back at the apartment."

"Sure." He pulled his out of his jacket pocket. "Who do you need to call?"

"My auto insurance company. I have to ask them to get someone out here to fix the flat."

"At this time of night?" He glanced at his watch again. "It's well past ten-thirty. I don't think-"

"Well, I've got to get something done about this before I come back out and drive back home. I go on at eleven-" She glanced at the building.

"You're a dancer?" He didn't know why he'd asked her that. He could tell by her looks and by her slender build that she was probably a pole dancer. Those long, muscular legs definitely belonged to a dancer.

She nodded. "I can't stand out here and wait for one of those garage guys to wander out here in an hour and-"

"Do you have a spare?"

"In the trunk. It's one of those tiny temp tires."

"I can change it for you-"

"No, it's all right. I can't have you doing that. If you'll just let me use your cell-"

"I've changed tires before. I'm kind of an expert. I can swap her out in ten minutes."

She frowned, then gestured. "You're in your good clothes."

"I'll be careful."

"That suit goes for what? Two K? Three?"

"Close enough." He shrugged out of his jacket and pulled off his tie. "But it's no problem. Just open the trunk and I'll fix you up."

"This is really nice of you-"

"Like I said, no problem." He laid his jacket on the driver's seat of the BMW, dropped the tie on top of it, and rolled up his sleeves. "Good thing you parked under the lights. At least I won't have a problem seeing what I'm doing."

"You're a life saver."

"Don't mention it."

"I owe you."

"No you don't."

"Sure I do." Her expression was serious. "And I always pay my debts."

He followed her over to the trunk of the Porsche and watched her as she bent and pulled open the tiny trunk. He noted that her legs were even shapelier and more muscular up close. Definitely a dancer's legs. He could imagine how terrific they appeared when she was dressed in a G-string and six-inch spikes.

He pulled the tire out and dropped it on the ground, then rolled it over to the front of the car, leaning it gently against the side of the bumper. She handed him the X wrench. "I'd better hurry inside and let 'em know I'm here."

"I'll swap this baby out, put the flat in the trunk, and lock her up. I'll be gone by the time you're finished working, so you take care, all right? Maybe I'll see you next time I stop by for a drink."

"Not so fast." She was shaking her head as she walked back to where he was standing. "I told you I always pay my debts. You come right back in when you're finished. Tell Lou at the door you're my guest. I owe you a lap dance."

"That's all right. I've got an early conference call tomorrow morning-"

"How early?"

"Ten o'clock."

"You've got plenty of time, then. You're my eleven-thirty. Just show up at Platinum, I'll let 'em know you've got a dance scheduled with me, okay? I really appreciate this."

"Like I said, it's no biggie."

"Yes it is. Most guys are real jerks."

"Most guys would offer to help you."

She laughed. "You know what they'd want in return, right?"

"Point taken."

"Thanks again." She smiled, then turned and marched rather quickly toward the rear entrance.

"What's your name?" he called after her.

She stopped, turned around, and smiled. "I'm Lila!"

***

Fifteen minutes later, Vaughn finished changing the dancer's tire.

For the next ten minutes, he stood beside the BMW, watching the heavy traffic passing by. He was debating with himself whether he should drive home or turn around and walk right back to the big pink building.

Although he was slightly tired, he knew that spending the next half hour sitting in a chair while a beautiful stripper performed her intensely sexy routine for him was not going to do him any harm. If anything, it would put a sweet end to a long day and might even help him sleep. And aside from getting him home a little later, it wouldn't do him much harm whatsoever. He'd paid for a lap dance twice before in the last couple of years and hadn't suffered because of it, so he didn't think this would be any different.

And when he remembered Currin and Bremer going on and on about this babe Lila being the world's greatest lap dancer, he found his curiosity perking up once again and knew damned well that he'd want to kick himself in the ass if he passed up this opportunity. According to those two, Lila had her own book and was no doubt sought after by the "Big Boy Club." And if Vaughn had learned anything about big business-legit or otherwise-over the years, the "big boys" meant politicians, CEOs, bank presidents, investors, and other similar big-money types.

Impressive, he thought, since the "big boys" went only for class and quality. Vaughn recalled hearing about Dunn, the CEO of Dunn & Milhoff, spending five thousand bucks in one night for a couple of high-class dancers.

Sexy images of the redhead popped into his head, and he wondered what she'd look like under the spot. He'd seen her only in street clothes-baseball cap, lightweight jacket, cut-offs, and athletic shoes. Ordinary, everyday stuff, when you looked at it objectively...except for the fact that he'd seen those legs as she bent over to open the trunk of the Porsche.

Dancer's legs. Long, shapely, and well-defined, with diamond-shaped calves. The kind of legs any guy in his right mind would dream about. The kind any guy in the world would love to have wrapped around his waist.

And when a babe could look spectacular in ordinary street clothes, a guy could only imagine how she'd look decked out in G-string, pasties, spikes, and full body makeup.

"I owe you a lap dance."

That's what she'd told him. And she'd also said she always paid her debts.

Well, baby, he thought the moment his curiosity began spiking again, I'm about to go on in there and collect.

He grabbed his tie, slipped it on, shrugged into his jacket, and went back up the winding walk that led to the front entrance of the club.

The gorilla stood in front of the door, practically covering it while looking him over. Vaughn was just about to tell him he was Lila's guest when the big guy nodded slightly and muttered, "Go on in."

Damn, he thought, watching in amazement as the huge dude stepped aside. This babe must have some serious pull with the management...

Shocked beyond words, Vaughn pushed open the front door and went inside.