Emily Forbes – A Doctor By Day... (страница 4)
On the surface she looked like organised efficiency but his imagination suggested that underneath the surface was a different story. Perhaps he’d been working at the club for too long, he thought as his mind wandered. Maybe he was having difficulty separating fact from fiction, reality from fantasy.
‘What’s so funny?’ she asked.
He shook his head as he realised he was smiling. ‘Nothing.’ She was a doctor who worked with Candice. It wasn’t funny, it was perfect, but the story would keep for another day. ‘I’d better get back to work. Tell Candice I’ll come over later and say hi.’
He watched as she left the bar and crossed the room to return to her table. He wasn’t in a hurry to get back to work—checking her out was far more interesting. Her body was smoking hot. She had poured it into a simple black dress—round neck, sleeveless, zipped down the back. He wondered if she was trying to disguise her assets, but the sway of her hips drew his attention to her narrow waist and round bottom. He was enjoying watching her walk away.
Her dress stopped just above her knees and his eyes travelled lower. Her legs were bare, no stockings, and her calves were pale, her ankles slender. She was wearing heels, ridiculously high heels, which might explain the sexy sway of her hips. He just had time to notice her shoes had a leopardskin pattern before she slid into her seat at the end of the catwalk and the stage hid her legs from view.
He was fascinated. Her swollen lips, mysterious eyes, generous D bust and her unexpected shoes all contrasted sharply with her no-nonsense hairstyle and plain dress. She was a bombshell disguised as a secretary. Which part of her was real? Was she even aware of the bombshell? Was her outfit smoke and mirrors or did she really not know how hot she was? Did she ever let the bombshell out and how could he arrange to be there if she did?
By the time she sat down at her table, Evan, the sailor stripper, had been replaced by Caesar, a muscular man of Fijian descent, who was clad only in a loincloth. The guys were warming the crowd up again with their routines. As Jake mixed a fresh batch of cocktails Caesar backflipped off the catwalk and began dancing through the crowd, looking for a willing participant for his act. Jake watched Candice’s friend as he measured and poured. He could see she was trying to avoid eye contact with Caesar, desperate not to be picked and dragged into the spotlight. Just watching her made him grin. She was definitely a club virgin.
He watched as she dipped her head to the side, bringing him into her line of sight. She saw him watching her, a reversal of their earlier roles, but not one to be embarrassed at being caught out, he gave her another wink.
Scarlett felt herself blush again. What was wrong with her? Why couldn’t she keep her eyes to herself? Why did she keep seeking him out? She’d just turned down a marriage proposal and yet her head was full of lustful thoughts about a complete stranger.
She tried to focus instead on the dancer,
‘Good evening, Rooster!’ A chorus of women’s voices split the air as the majority of the audience called out a greeting in return.
‘Listen up, ladies, the Himbo Limbo is about to begin. Choose your competitor and send them to me,’ he said, as he spread his arms wide in an expansive, all-encompassing gesture that made the muscles on his chest and arms ripple.
‘I nominate Scarlett!’ Candice shouted, as she bounced in her chair.
Scarlett frowned. She had no idea who this Rooster character was or what he was talking about. ‘What on earth is a Himbo Limbo?’ she asked.
‘IT’S JUST A limbo competition,’ Candice told her, ‘with a twist.’
Scarlett felt her antennae twitch. She could sense a disaster in the making or at the very least some embarrassment. ‘What sort of twist?’
‘The “Himbo” part refers to two strippers. Instead of using poles, the Himbos hold the rope,’ Candice explained.
That didn’t sound nearly as risqué as Scarlett’s imagination had led her to envisage but she couldn’t understand why Candice was sending her up if it was all so tame. ‘Why don’t you do it?’ she asked, as Rooster called for the nominated hens or chicks to come forward.
‘You do yoga, you should be flexible,’ Candice replied, ‘and, besides, I can’t limbo in this skirt, it doesn’t leave much to the imagination when I’m standing up straight, let alone if I’m horizontal.’
Scarlett couldn’t argue with that, Candice’s skirt was incredibly short. She didn’t know if she was any more suitably attired, her little black dress was hardly limboappropriate, but regular yoga classes meant she was reasonably flexible so maybe it wouldn’t be all bad. She hadn’t expected games but it was highly likely there would be more embarrassing contests to come and this sounded like it could be one of the lesser evils.
She glanced around the room. Most of the tables seemed to be nominating a participant, although the majority seemed to be brides-to-be, not ‘chicks’. She finally clicked why the club was named The Coop—it was full of hens and chicks and one very loud and proud Rooster.
‘C’mon, Scarlett, do it for me, it’ll be fun,’ Candice pleaded.
Scarlett thought it would be about as much fun as getting her legs waxed but she wasn’t sure how she could get out of it. It was unlike her to put herself in the spotlight but as the girls continued to egg her on she found herself giving in. Maybe she’d had one too many cocktails, she thought as she said, ‘All right, I’ll do it.’
Just as she stood up the two ‘Himbos’ appeared front and centre on the floor beside the catwalk. Scarlett breathed a sigh of relief. At least it seemed as though she wouldn’t have to actually get up on the stage. The men were both very toned, no surprises there, and dressed in what could only be described as very tiny, very snug leather shorts. Scarlett thought one of the men was the stripper who had just finished his routine. He had swapped his loincloth for white shorts, which were a sharp contrast to his dark skin but left nothing to the imagination.
The other ‘Himbo’ was in a pair of slightly more respectable black leather shorts. Scarlett had never thought she’d consider men wearing tiny leather shorts ‘respectable’ but it seemed as though there was a fair bit about tonight that was going to challenge her traditional and conservative views.
Just when she thought it was safe to join in, the Himbos sprang up onto the stage and Rooster called to the girls, ‘Okay, hens and chicks, make your way up to me.’
A spotlight swept the room and came to rest on the gaggle of women gathered by the stage before it moved to illuminate a short flight of stairs leading up onto the catwalk. Scarlett was horrified to realise they were expected on the stage after all but slightly mollified by the sight of the stairs. It was a relief to know they weren’t expected to spring onto the stage in the Himbos’ footsteps—she certainly wouldn’t be springing anywhere in her borrowed platform heels.
The women made a beeline for the steps, eager to get the competition under way, as Scarlett held back. The steps had no railing and she didn’t want to get jostled and go sprawling up the stairs in front of everyone. She was going to be embarrassed soon enough just doing the limbo, she didn’t need to start by making a complete fool out of herself.
The women clustered around the Himbos as the deejay played dance music. The women and the Himbos were all dancing, with the exception of Scarlett, who tried her best to blend into the background behind the others, although that was hard to do given she was almost five feet eleven inches tall in her five-inch heels. Fortunately Rooster began to introduce the Himbos to the audience, which Scarlett took to mean that the contest would be starting soon and she wouldn’t have to be embarrassed for too much longer. The Fijian stripper in the short white shorts, Caesar, was introduced first, followed by Rico, who was introduced as the ‘Italian Stallion’. The audience cheered and clapped as the Himbos took their places.
‘And now I’d like to introduce our judge for this evening,’ Rooster crowed, somehow managing, through sheer force of personality, to keep the attention on himself. ‘A favourite among the chicks, our very own Judge Jake.’
The cheers of the audience turned into wolf whistles and the noise in the club reached maximum volume as Candice’s friend, the barman Scarlett had been talking to earlier, came up onto the stage. It seemed she wasn’t the only one who thought he was delicious.
He had changed his outfit but Scarlett was happy to see he wasn’t wearing leather pants—she’d seen enough leather pants tonight to last her a lifetime. He’d changed from regular denim jeans into a black pair, which hugged his thighs. His chest was still bare and he had a length of rope looped over one shoulder and slung across his torso. He jogged across the stage, moving lightly and waving to his adoring audience, and Scarlett’s level of embarrassment increased with every step he took towards her. It was too late to back out now but she wished the stage would open up and swallow her. She tried in vain to hide, even though she knew it was futile. He was going to see her standing there sooner or later.