he and Julia said at the same time. It was one thing to watch Amanda dance at the club, another to do so in the intimacy of her home, and still another to do so with his supposed girlfriend there. He would be safer all around if he left. Now.
“Julia’s going to surprise me later,” he said, making his partner blush again. She really would surprise him if she found the courage—and the sensuality—to go through with the job. “I just came along to perform the introductions. Now I’m outta here.”
Amanda nodded, then went into the living room to the right, giving him privacy to say goodbye to Julia. He grasped her fingers, cold and clammy, and pulled her around so his back was to Amanda. “You okay?” he murmured.
Looking anything but, she nodded.
Not sure whether Amanda was watching, he brushed a kiss across Julia’s mouth. “Call me,” he said, then winked and grinned. “Have fun.”
Before she could react—a forced smile, a sarcastic reply, an internal struggle not to draw her weapon on him—he ducked out the door, trotted along the sidewalk to his car and slid behind the wheel. As he pulled away from the curb, he felt a rush of relief, as if he’d just escaped some danger.
And its name was Amanda.
Until the wee hours of that morning, Amanda hadn’t spent even one second considering what kind of woman would attract Rick Calloway. As long as he paid no attention to her, that was all that mattered. In the past few hours, though, she’d wasted far too much time considering it, and she hadn’t guessed even faintly close.
She’d expected someone pretty, sexy, maybe even edgy. Someone sure of herself personally, professionally, sexually. Someone other guys would covet, who made other women feel insecure.
Not someone like Julia Dautrieve. Oh, she was attractive in a plain sort of way. She needed a more flattering hairstyle and the unrelenting black she wore made her porcelain complexion look pasty and washed out. The below-the-knee dress length was dowdy, and those shoes… Amanda’s only thought on the shoes was burn them.
But she’d caught Rick’s eye.
She was standing in the living room doorway, her gaze returning repeatedly to the stripper pole in the dining room, looking as if she’d like nothing more than to run in those sturdy, plain shoes back to her sturdy, plain car and her sturdy, plain world. But she hadn’t fled yet, so Amanda chose to act as if she wouldn’t.
“Would you like a glass of tea before we start?”
“I’d rather have scotch,” Julia muttered.
“Sorry. I don’t drink.”
Julia smiled unsteadily. “Tea is fine.”
“We can sit on the porch if you’d like. I think it’s cool enough to be comfortable.”
With a nod, Julia went outside. Nosing the screen door open, Dancer followed her while Amanda went to the kitchen for the tea. She carried the two glasses outside a moment later, finding Julia in one of the wicker chairs, Dancer in another. She handed one glass of tea to the woman, then took the third chair.
“Rick says you’re interested in making a career change. What do you do now?”
“I’m a bookkeeper.” Julia’s nose wrinkled. “Big switch, huh?”
“Not really.” Amanda was a stripper about to become a college-level English instructor. That was a big change. “Have you ever danced?”
“I took ballet when I was a kid.”
“Really.” Amanda never would have guessed it, except that she did have perfect posture. But no grace, no elegance, no comfort with her body.
Her noncommittal response didn’t fool Julia. “I know. You’d never know it to look at me, would you?” She ran one fingernail along the rounded neckline of her dress as if it choked. “I’m a little uptight.”
Amanda smiled gently. “I think when it comes to keeping books, being uptight is probably a good thing.”
“Probably, but it doesn’t do much for a woman.”
Didn’t do much for Rick? Was that what she meant?
Gazing at the periwinkles that bordered the porch, Amanda asked, “What made you decide to try this?” If she was forcing herself to act so totally out of character for anyone besides herself, it wasn’t going to work. Like losing weight or getting in shape, stripping was something a woman had to want for herself.
“Oh, I don’t know. I think every woman must wonder what it would be like.” Julia shrugged uncomfortably. “Wearing sexy clothes, doing sexy dances, having men look at you, want you, pay to be with you. Men have probably always looked at you like that, but not me. I just want to know how it feels.”
How it felt was unremarkable. Just as balancing spreadsheets was part of Julia’s day, it was part of the job.
Oh, not in the beginning. There had been a real sense of power in those early days. Men who had never laid eyes on her before were willing to pay money just to have her sit at their tables and talk to them—willing to pay a lot of money for private dances. They hadn’t known or cared that she’d grown up on the wrong side of town, that she’d gone through a wild-child phase in high school, that the boys back home had called her Randy Mandy. All they’d cared about was those few minutes when her attention was all theirs.
“But you have a boyfriend that most of the girls at the club would give a month’s worth of tips to have for just one night,” Amanda pointed out.
For a moment, Julia looked puzzled, then she gave a shake of her head as if clearing it. “You mean Rick. Yeah, he’s a nice guy.”
Funny. “Nice” didn’t come to mind first, second or even third when Amanda thought of Rick—or any other Calloway, for that matter. Handsome, sexy, privileged, snobbish, bastard—at least, when it came to Robbie.
“Did he ask you to do this?”
Pink tinged Julia’s cheeks. No doubt, she hated to blush, but there were men at the club who would pay extra just to see it. Innocence fascinated them, especially when they saw so little of it onstage. “No,” she denied unconvincingly. “I want to give it a shot. See if it will help me loosen up.” She took a deep breath, then her pretty brown gaze met Amanda’s. “I’ve been rigid and stuffy all my life. Just once I’d like to be something else.”
Amanda understood wanting to be something else. She’d felt the yearning, the need, the dissatisfaction. “All right. Let’s go inside and start turning you into something else.”
Julia was slow to rise from the chair. As she did, Dancer jumped to the floor, too, trotted over and walked through the open screen door, stopped at the water dish, then curled onto the one-armed chaise that served as Amanda’s sofa.
“I like your house,” Julia said as she followed Amanda down the hall and into the bedroom.
“Thank you. I did it—am doing it—myself.” She pointed to the chair in front of her dressing table, then slapped down a packet of makeup remover towelettes. “Take off your makeup.”
