Forbidden Stranger

Her new career wouldn’t be nearly as strenuous. Walking across campus, carrying books, handing out stacks of papers… Eyes closed, she smiled, her satisfaction so intense that the water around her practically vibrated with it. Amanda Nelson, poor girl who would never amount to anything, high school dropout, stripper, was going back to college.

This time as a teacher.

For the first time in her life, she was going to be one hundred percent respectable.

If he were alive today, wouldn’t her father be proud?

Bleary-eyed after less than five hours’ sleep, Rick Calloway slid into the booth across from his sometimes-partner and removed his sunglasses. He winced at the bright light and put them on again, then took a swig of coffee. What it lacked in heat, it more than made up for in bitterness, but he didn’t bother doctoring it. He wouldn’t bother finishing it, either.

“You look like you had a tough night.” Julia Dautrieve’s voice was just like her—no-nonsense. Everything about her was function over style, from her black dress with matching jacket to her low-heeled shoes. She was smart as hell, handled a gun better than most of the men they worked with and was more capable than just about anyone he knew. He just couldn’t see her handling this new job.

“My night would have been fine if someone hadn’t dragged me out of bed at an ungodly hour for coffee,” he grumbled. The club closed at two, but by the time he got everyone out so he could clean and lock up, it was usually after three. This morning it had been four before he’d made it home, five before he’d showered and fallen asleep.

Thinking about Amanda Nelson.

He’d noticed her his first night on the job. Hell, he was alive, wasn’t he? Five foot six, slender as a reed but with some very nice curves, too. Long auburn hair that curled wildly, endless legs, pale golden skin. And she’d been showing a lot of skin that first night, wearing a tiny yellow bra that covered only the necessities and a breakaway skirt that was about the size of a paper towel.

It had been clear that night that she was a lot of guys’ fantasy come to life, but not his. She was part of the job and Harry had told him with a wink and a grin, “Look, but don’t touch.” That was official policy at all the clubs, though it was broken at all of them. He hadn’t yet met the bartender, bouncer or manager who hadn’t had a thing with one or more of the girls at their clubs.

Look, but don’t touch was his official policy. His bosses at the Georgia Bureau of Investigation would frown on him hooking up with a stripper while in the course of his investigation.

“Did you talk to her?”

Julia’s businesslike tone cut into his thoughts and made him scowl. “Yeah. She said okay.”

“Damn.” Julia’s voice held more emotion than usual—disappointment, irritation. “I was hoping…”

That Amanda would turn him down. That all the girls would tell him no, earning Julia a reprieve. Amanda had agreed for a price, though they hadn’t settled on an amount yet. Most of the dancers at Almost Heaven would have agreed for free—at least, for no cash payment. Most of them had already come on to him.

Except Amanda.

“You can tell Baker you won’t do it.”

Now it was her turn to scowl. “I’ve never backed away from a challenge. I can’t afford to.”

Being a woman in a still predominantly male field probably did have its challenges. Rick wondered if that was the reason for the ugly shoes, the plain clothes, the severe hair. Was this her way of making her gender less of an issue, or was she stuffy and uptight by nature? He’d worked with her for three years, but didn’t know. Didn’t know much at all about her personal life. He’d asked. She’d just never answered.

“He can’t make you go undercover as a stripper.”

Julia shrugged. “It’s just part of the job. No big deal.” Then she slid her cell phone across the table. “Call her. Set up an appointment.”

Rick ignored her phone and pulled his out instead. Before leaving the club that morning, he’d put Amanda’s number in his phone book. She would think he’d gotten it from Harry, which suited him just fine. None of the girls needed to know that GBI had done background investigations on them all.

As the phone rang, he idly wondered if it was too early to call. She’d left the club two hours before him, but that didn’t mean she’d gone home and to bed. She could have stopped for something to eat, gone out with friends or had a date. Not his business if she had.

But she answered on the third ring and her voice was too cheerful and alert for her to have been sleeping. The simple sound of her hello conjured an image of her, not in the skimpy clothes he usually saw her in, but the way she’d looked that morning, in faded jeans and a T-shirt advertising Atlanta’s zoo. She’d looked so different. Still pretty, still sexy, just wholesome. Unjaded.

She’d repeated the hello before he prodded himself to answer. “Hey, this is Calloway. Did I wake you?”

“No, not at all.”

“I told Julia, my, uh, friend, that you’d agreed to teach her, and she wanted to know when you could start.”

Her voice hushed, Amanda spoke to someone in the background, and Rick wondered again if she’d had a date and if he’d slept over. What kind of man dated a stripper? Not that there was anything wrong with strippers in general. Most of them he’d met were nice women just trying to make their way. But what kind of man didn’t mind that his girlfriend took off her clothes for the gratification of strangers? Maybe Rick was old-fashioned, but he liked to believe that, when he was involved with a woman, he was the only one seeing her naked, or practically so.

“Sorry,” Amanda said into the phone. “My puppy was trying to eat my laundry. Um, is she available today?”

Today? Rick mouthed, and Julia mouthed back, Now? “How about now?” he asked.

“Sure, anytime. I’ll be here until six-thirty. My address is…”

Rick didn’t pay much attention. He’d already gotten that from her file, too. He was thinking about the fact that it was a puppy, not a boyfriend, who’d distracted her, and the fact that the knowledge was somehow satisfying when it shouldn’t mean a damn thing.

“Okay,” he said when she stopped talking. “I’ll tell her. Thanks.”

Julia waited until he’d flipped shut the phone. “Well?”

“Anytime before six-thirty. She’s working tonight.” Working. Dancing. Taking off her clothes. She was one of the few dancers at Almost Heaven who didn’t strip down to nothing but a thong or g-string. She always kept those teeny-tiny bras on, and the men didn’t mind, always tipping her generously.

But there wasn’t a man among them who didn’t wish she would dispose of the bra just once.

“Are you going with me?” Julia asked.

“Why?”

“Just to perform the introductions.” She was uncharacteristically nervous—her gaze not quite meeting his, her fingers pressing against the coffee cup hard enough to turn the tips white.

“Okay. Sure.” He wouldn’t mind seeing where Amanda lived. Seeing how she looked on a normal day when she was just being herself and not an exotic dancer whose job was to titillate.

Then he would go home and back to bed for a few hours’ more sleep.

Julia left enough money to cover the coffee, then slid out of the booth. Her shoulders were set, the line of her spine rigid. He couldn’t imagine her loosening up enough to mimic even one of Amanda’s fluidly sensual, graceful moves, but she might surprise him. As she’d said, she didn’t back away from a challenge.

He gave her the address in case they got separated, then climbed into his car. The engine growled to life, vibrating through the seat. The Calloway boys all had a thing for old engines with power. His 1969 Camaro was a couple years older than him, with a 454-cubic-inch small block V8 that put out 641 horsepower. It was fast.

With Julia following in her sedan—good price, good mileage, so-so performance, totally forgettable—he navigated through mile after mile of gas stations, fast-food restaurants and used-car lots before turning into Amanda’s neighborhood. The houses were older, probably built in the forties or fifties, most pretty well maintained. Hers stood out, sporting recent coats of orange and off-white paint that looked better than they should have. The grass was neatly mowed and the last of the summer flowers bloomed along the sidewalk and in beds that fronted the porch.

“It’s a homey place for a stripper,” Julia murmured when she got out of her car, parked at the curb behind his.

“You were expecting something a little more club-like? Or just a little more sinnerlike?” When she scowled at him, he grinned back. “Don’t be disappointed yet. She might have the inside all done up in red and black satin with mirrors, poles and chains.”

As they crossed the sidewalk, he took her arm. She stiffened but didn’t pull away. “What’s that for?”

“Didn’t I tell you?” They climbed the steps and he rang the doorbell, then grinned at her again. “Amanda thinks you’re wanting to learn to strip for me.”

Color flooded Julia’s face, but before she could say anything, the door opened. Amanda stood just inside the screen door, long curls pulled up in a ponytail, wearing a faded University of Georgia T-shirt, a pair of denim shorts, no shoes and no makeup. She looked younger than the thirty he knew her to be, soft and pretty and not the least exotic.

Beside her stood a dog the size of a small pony, long, gangly, with feet that would do an elephant proud. Its coat was pure black, sleek except for the cowlick between its ears, and its dark eyes were fixed on Rick. “Some ‘puppy,’” he murmured.