Harlequin E New Adult Romance Box Set Volume 1: Burning Moon\Girls' Guide to Getting It Together\Rookie in Love (11 page)

Damian looked at it and suddenly shot out of his chair. “I need to be somewhere and I am running late. Thanks so much for lunch, Lilly.” He took a pen out of his bag, grabbed my arm and started writing his number across it. “I’m leaving tomorrow, but call me.” And then he leant down and kissed me on the cheek. Although he was in a hurry, the kiss was not. It was slow, and he let his lips linger for a moment too long. I slowly turned my head toward his and our lips brushed past each other. I looked at him and his eyes were closed. He opened them slowly and looked straight into mine. We were so close I could feel and taste his warm breath; it was sweet with a hint of red wine on it.

“Goodbye, Lilly. Thanks for lunch,” he whispered, before turning and running out of the door. That same anxious feeling rose up again, and I jumped up and ran over to our waiter.

“How much is the check?” I practically shouted in the poor guy’s face.

He told me and I quickly dug in my bag, grateful that I had almost the exact amount in cash. I shoved it in his hand quickly and then ran outside as fast as I could under the weight of all my shopping. Damian was only a little way up the road and I screamed as loudly as I could.

“Wait up!” He turned, and although he was far away, I could tell he was smiling.

“I’m coming with you.” I said finally catching up to him.

“But you don’t even know where I’m going.”

I shrugged.

“If you knew where I was going, you probably wouldn’t want to come.” His expression was serious, but I didn’t care.

* * *

Twenty minutes later, we were back in town. When I’d decided to go with him, I hadn’t imaged a long jog in terribly humid weather under the weight of my recent splurge.

Although it was night now, Phuket was even busier than before. It was humming with people and lit up like Las Vegas. The market that I’d been to earlier was bursting at the seams with tourists and partygoers. I was so busy looking around in awe of the transformation that when I looked back, Damian was gone. I tried looking for him, but there were so many people that for me to actually get anywhere, I had to physically push them out of the way. I made a move for the less crowded street, hoping for a better vantage point, but was very suddenly—and very nearly—knocked over by a man on a bicycle. I tried to jump out of the way, but it looked like the collision was inevitable, until I felt something pull me to the pavement. It was Damian. He gripped my arm tightly and shook his head at me with a smile.

“Someone as clumsy as you shouldn’t be left unattended in a place like this, who knows what could happen?”

And then we were off again. He dragged me through the streets, past restaurants and karaoke bars with badly sung Justin Bieber blaring out of them. I was struck by just how many there were, it seemed that every second restaurant had some kind of karaoke happening. Drunk students swayed together singing, while hot Thai girls dressed in heels and short skirts dropped it like it was hot. Old men with beers cheered them on.

But Damian was pulling me further and further into the bowels of the city.

The hordes of people started to dissipate and began to be replaced by small groups of the sexiest women I’d ever seen. They all had long, black shiny hair and the most incredible figures, with legs that went on for miles. Some of them were wearing garish outfits, complete with diamanté bikini tops and feather headdresses, and others were wearing almost nothing at all. The atmosphere had suddenly changed from the happy-go-lucky energy of the night market, to something that was much darker and sexually charged. The light around me became very red, and colorful neon signs lit up all the puddles in the road. I knew where we were.

I stopped walking and let go of Damian’s hand.

“Where are we going?” I looked up at the neon sign of naked woman with ginormous breasts flashing at me.

“I told you, if you knew, you wouldn’t have wanted to come.”

I heard a buzzing and looked behind me, the word
nightclub
was blinking at me angrily and it was enough to give anyone an epileptic seizure.

“Why are we here?”

“Well…” Damian paused for a moment. “I kind of need to make some quick cash.”

I gasped. “You’re a male prostitute!”

Damian looked at me for a moment and then burst out laughing. “Is that what you think of me?” He was laughing even harder now.

“It’s not quite like that, I promise.” And he continued walking even though my feet were glued to the pavement. He turned to me and threw his arms in the air. “To come or not to come, Lilly, that is the question.” His corny words seemed to taunt me, as if he knew that I was the kind of girl who’d never been to a place like this, and probably never would. I looked around nervously; drunken men were stumbling into clubs with women draped over them. Women on street corners were hiking up their skirts and whistling loudly. Well, I certainly wasn’t going to wait here alone, that’s for sure.

“Wait for me!”

After walking up yet another two or three bright-red alleys, we finally stopped outside a club called Tai Po. It looked exactly like the other five hundred we’d just seen, complete with bright, flashing neon lights and a constant buzzing sound coming from the wattage of a thousand lightbulbs.

“Here we are,” Damian said, letting my hand go.

I turned to survey the outside of the club, and then I saw the sign.

Male strippers needed. Total nudity not required. We pay cash. 1,500.

It took me a few seconds to make the necessary mental links; they were offering money for men to take off their clothes, and Damian was a man and he needed money, and now we were here, which meant that….

And in five, four, three, two…
Oh my God, I got it!
And I couldn’t believe it.

I swung around to confront Damian and voice my vehement disapproval, but he was already walking inside. I folded my arms angrily. There was no way I was going into an establishment like this. No way.

But then I looked around me; I was alone, in a dimly lit and excessively red alley, surrounded by scantily clad women who oozed sex and desperation, drunken men who were thinking with their dicks and people who kind of looked like boys, but also like girls.

I’d never been to a strip club before, so had no way of knowing what lascivious things lurked around the corner.
But,
there was now a disgusting-looking old, fat man licking his thin lips and making a beeline for me at great speed.

Now what?

(Think of Brad Pitt in
Fight Club.
)

So what does the inside of a strip club look like?

I was absolutely
not
looking forward to venturing inside. I’d never actually been into a strip club and I imagined it would be dirty. Very dirty. G-strings, pink feathers and nipple caps probably lay strewn across the floor, while rats used them to make their little nests with. But I didn’t see another option. The man outside had crossed the street and was winking at me with his one eye. Okay I’m making that last part up, but he really was awful. I clutched onto my shopping tightly, and with great fear and trepidation, shuffled inside. But the interior was nothing like I’d imagined. Not at all. It was clean, shiny, well decorated and there were no rodents or discarded tassels in sight. It was also gay, which I hadn’t expected, but was very happy about. I’d always felt comfortable around gay men.

I scanned my surroundings; there was a lot of pink. The tables were full of older men with large sunglasses perched on top of fashionable haircuts—even though it was night and we were inside. There were many tight vests, a lot of unnaturally white porcelain veneers and spray tans.

Because there was nowhere to sit, I slunk into the shadows, hoping to somehow blend in, and preferably disappear. I had no idea what to expect next, and that made me very, very nervous.

“Oh em gee sweetie. You look like a hobo Marilyn Monroe loitering there with all those bags.”

Huh? Was someone talking to me? I stuck my head out of the shadows and surveyed the area. Someone was waving in my direction—a rather flamboyant, red-haired man dressed in a purple silk shirt.

“No, this simply won’t do. Don’t you think, Bruno?” he said, turning to the man next to him.

The man I assumed was called Bruno nodded.

I pointed at myself. “Are you talking to me?” I shouted over the music.

“No, Nora, I’m talking to the girl standing next to you!”

Red jumped up and sashayed over to me.

“A virgin, right?”

“What?”
How did he know?

“First time in a strip club? You have that poor, frightened deer-in-the-headlights thing going on. Nothing to be ashamed of. We all need a dose of beef from time to time.”

“No it’s not like that,” I quickly corrected him. “I’m not supposed to be here. It’s an accident really.”

“Mmm.” He eyed me knowingly. “That’s what they all say, sweetie. Come sit with us. I swear we won’t bite.” And then he quickly added, “Unless you want us to!” He threw his head back and shrieked with laughter. Without giving me much of a choice, Red grabbed my bags and dragged me to their table. “Come, babes, it looks like you’re in desperate need of rescuing.”

And he was right. I definitely did need rescuing.

“I’m Mark, and this is my ball and chain, Bruno.” I looked at Bruno. He was a man in possession of the type of jaw that could easily secure him a starring role in a soap opera. It was that square. He was also a man of few words—perhaps his jaw impeded his speech in some way—he just nodded.

“Champagne?” Again, Mark gave me no choice and simply poured me a glass. Though I wasn’t complaining—I think I needed the social lubricant.

“Is that fake Chanel I see?” Mark said, leaning over and practically climbing into one of my shopping bags. “Don’t you just love how cheap everything is here? Hey, Bruno?”

This time Bruno gave a grunt.

I sipped my champagne and looked at my new friends and was very glad they’d saved me from the embarrassment of looking like a pervert leering from the shadowy sidelines. I was just about to thank them when…

The lights dimmed.

“Here we go, here we go,” Mark said, downing his champagne and squealing like a piglet.

I felt a series of frantic tap-taps on my shoulder. “Hold onto your panties, sweetie. It’s about to get steamy.”

By now, I’m sure you’ve become aware of the subliminal messages I’ve been planting in the pages? (
Think of Brad Pitt in
Fight Club
.)

So now the time has come to really think about that image. Imagine it for a moment. Let it marinate, simmer and smolder. Keep it in the forefront of your mind as you carry on. And if you’re struggling to visualize it, for heaven’s sake go and look it up on Google,
now
.

Multicolored lights illuminated the stage and a loud puff of smoke came billowing out from behind a red velvet curtain. The song “I’m a Slave 4 U’” by Britney filled the air and everyone started screaming like high school girls. All I could think about was what a cheesy choice of song it was, but looking around, it was clear that no one else shared this sentiment. But my train of thought was cut short when I saw Damian burst onto the stage, dressed in a suit and tie. The shock was instant and I buried my face in my hands, no doubt going bright red in the process.

“Oh no you don’t,” Mark said, pulling my hands away from my eyes. By this stage, I wasn’t sure if I was more embarrassed for Damian or myself. But I was cringing so badly I didn’t think I’d be able to watch.

Now in my mind, a strip show is a seedy affair, punctuated with much grinding and thrusting and rubbing and gyrating. But this wasn’t the case at all, because as soon as Damian started moving around the stage, it became obvious he was hamming it up. He started his routine with a cartwheel, which made the audience laugh, whoop and whistle. And then in a very dramatic move, he whipped off his jacket and waved it around his head like a lasso, which caused even more laughter and whistling. I felt an elbow in my ribs. “Mmm, yummy, delish.”

Next came the tie, which he made one of the very obliging men in the audience remove. Damian then used the tie as a whip and gave the air a few playful lashings; of course this just caused more mirth. The whole event was ridiculous, he danced around the stage like a clown and at one point did something that crudely resembled the Macarena. By now my initial anxiety had left me, and I was starting to relax and get into the spirit of things, when, without warning, Damian changed it up and pulled out the big guns…

He suddenly slowed
everything
down.

His face became serious.

His black eyes, dark and broody.

Then one by one, and very, very slowly, he undid his shirt buttons. He looked directly at the audience this time; a wicked, naughty-boy look glinted in his eyes. I buried my face in my hands again, but Mark was on it.

“Eyes to the front, this is the good part.”

Damian’s movements were slower, more fluid and highly seductive now. He pulled one of his shirtsleeves down and a surprisingly muscular shoulder slid out. And then another one and then the shirt dropped to the floor and…

A collective gasp of appreciation rose up from the crowd.

They were all silent for a moment; I think it was awe and wonder.

Because he had a body just like—yes, you guessed it—Brad Pitt from
Fight Club.

He was lean, and ripped and chiseled and muscled and lined in all the right places. Who knew that hiding under those dirty, ironic T-shirts was the most perfect male torso? His most striking feature, by far, were those two lines that went straight from his sides down into his pants. The hot lights were making him sweat just enough that his body was moist and slightly glistening. My heart started to pound, and my breath kept getting stuck in the back of my throat. I reached for the champagne and took a sip in a desperate attempt to rehydrate my dry mouth. I felt a little dizzy looking at him. And the dizziness only escalated when I remembered holding hands with him. The way it had felt. The way he’d looked at me. Damian ran his hand through his hair and his six-pack responded by tightening and rippling, this only accentuated those two defined lines that ran all the way down to his…