Teasing in Stilettos

“Girls, look. It's important you get to know your body. Touch yourself. Don’t worry about someone else watching you. It's why I don't have mirrors in here. Close your eyes. Focus on how you feel. Don’t worry about looking silly." Cara North observed her class as they attempted to slide sexily against their poles.

This was not working, yet. They all were sort of flailing like epileptic turtles.

It always took a while for folks to warm up. She'd run through the usual warm-ups and fun drills to get them comfortable. But they weren't there yet.

Tonight's crew was a bachelorette group. But she insisted that they didn’t drink before class. It was obviously a huge liability if they were swinging around poles wasted. They wouldn’t be doing anything super complicated, but they would be moving, so better to limit all of that.

"You have a huge bottle of champagne waiting for you when you’re done."

One of the women on the end, a busty redhead that looked like she should have been made for this, couldn’t get around the whole close-her-damn-eyes thing. "Uh, Cara, I'm sorry. I am, but maybe you could tell us what to do exactly, like a dance count or something? That would be easier."

Cara sighed and walked over. "Libby, right?"

The redhead nodded.

"I know this is harder than anything anyone has ever asked you to do. But do me a favor and just close your eyes. Don’t judge yourself. No one else is looking at you. I promise. Look inside." When Libby closed her eyes, Cara lowered her voice to a whisper. "Now imagine you’re in your bedroom. Just you and your partner. He loves you, and he's already ready to go. He wants you so much. He's waiting for you on the bed, arms outstretched. But, you are in control. You say when to do this. You’re teasing him. You want him crazy for you. Desperate. You want him to watch." The irony of it was, she didn't know that feeling herself. But she'd seen enough stage time to get the feeling.

Libby started to listen to the music and sway her body. Ah good. At least she was finally getting into the exercise, and that's all it was.

When it was one of her regular weekly classes, she could do more with them, start with dance moves and make it a performance. But with a bachelorette party she had less time.

This was a different kind of class. This was about fun for these women. Cara raised her voice. "I want you all to get familiar with touching yourselves." There were a few snickers, but she continued. "I want you to learn to love the body you have. It is a powerful thing. When a woman walks, everything moves. It works in our favor. No matter the body you have, men can’t help but look. Your appeal is in the way you carry yourself. In the way you own it. It's in the way you know your sex. You. Own. Them."

Now if only that was true in her own life. She worked too damn much for that. And you remember what happened last time. But she could teach others to do it. She loved her job. Loved the satisfaction it brought her customers, teaching women to own their sexuality. And most importantly, she got to dance. Every day. She couldn't ask for more.

Granted, this wasn’t the kind of dancing she wanted to be doing forever. She wanted to be a member of Gilbert Dance Company. That was the pie in the sky. She'd been going to shows with her parents since she was little. On their annual trip to DC to see family, they'd always gone to a show.

But now that her parents lived abroad in Costa Rica and she was in DC on her own, seeing a show was more than a little out of reach. Granted, as much as Serena paid her at The Prestige, she could afford to splurge for a few things now.

The job here, at The Prestige, had been a lifesaver. She had a healthy salary, plus bonuses for every client she brought through the door. And she still danced and taught at her other studios.

The money meant she didn’t have to teach at so many different places, which gave her more time to train. Gilbert was holding auditions at the end of next month. They only took a handful to even audition. She was determined to be there, calling every contact she had to get in. Maybe she didn’t have a rat's chance in hell, but she was going. And she would keep going until she made it.

The class gyrated and moved, feeling themselves. By the end of the class, they were all comfortable sliding against the pole and they looked like they were having a grand old time.

Libby came over as the rest of the girls headed straight for champagne. "Cara?"

"Yeah, Libby."

"I just wanted to say thanks for that. My husband and I ... " Her voice trailed. "It’s been a rough patch. You know, in the bedroom."

Cara nodded. She heard similar stories. And she empathized in a way. Unfortunately, so many women thought she was also a sex therapist. Which she was not. Hell, she had no love life of her own and all she was qualified for was dancing. So she always felt weird dispensing any advice. All she could think of to say was, "I’m sorry to hear that."

Libby nodded. "Thanks. I just wanted to say I appreciate it. I figured out that I was the problem."

Cara barely refrained from rolling her eyes. She hated that shit. Donovan, her ex, had made her feel like that. Like just because she wasn’t willing to hop into bed with him quickly there was something wrong with her. "I'm sure that's not true. Once you loosened up, you were great."

"Thank you. I overthink things sometimes. I appreciate the patience."

"Of course." It never hurt to make a client happy. Especially a Prestige client. The Prestige was one of the hottest clubs in DC. They had politicians, musicians and billionaires as members. She’d asked once how much it cost for a membership and one of the girls had laughed, then said, "If you have to ask, then you can’t afford it." To her, that meant somewhere in the a-jillion times-her-rent-money category.

It always amazed her the things that bored rich people would pay for. Sure, the club was beautiful. Just coming into the completely white lobby was like stepping into the twilight zone.

Will, the concierge, directed members to the floor they sought. The club had also opened up to teach women who wanted to learn how to dance sexy. The club had both male and female dancers, each room with an exotic vibe.

Cara handed off her students to the hostess in her room, and took her key to the elevator. She wore the thing on her neck at all times. Her boss's rule. It was the only way she was allowed in the place. And if someone ever stole it, there would be hell to pay. Especially since membership was exclusive and confidential.

Cara had asked Serena once if anything extra happened at the club. All Serena had said was that was not the purpose of the place, but she and the other owners were aware that relationships sometimes formed between dancers and clients. As long as people did their jobs and kept things above board then no one cared. But above all, everyone had to be treated with respect.

In every hallway, there were massive bouncers posted. In each room there were also bouncers and female security staff with hidden tasers to protect all the dancers and the patrons. But one rule was hard and fast: No touching any damn body in the hallway.

It was kind of funny because it was like prison rules. No eye contact. Like, "nothing to see here folks," but in the rooms some touching was permitted per the room’s rules.

As a teacher, she had all the access she wanted if she wanted. But she still hadn’t found the nerve yet. Male entertainers just didn't do it for her. Though some of them were fucking beautiful. From what she heard, they could move. Though, nothing killed a buzz more than a guy who couldn’t move well. As far as she was concerned, he didn't have to be a great dancer, but he did have to be enthusiastic.

The elevator door opened on the second floor and several patrons fell out in various states of drunken debauchery and laughter. She kept her eyes averted and skirted into the elevator around the crowd. She pushed the button for the fourth floor administrative offices so she could pick up her check, but out of the corner of her eyes, she thought she saw someone familiar.

Something about the tilt of the head, and the unkempt dark hair and that laugh ... Tate? Her heart slammed against her ribcage and she held her breath, but as the guy clapped an arm around his companions, laughing loudly, she realized she was wrong. That wasn’t Tate. It was someone far worse. With two inches left until the doors shut, he turned his head back and their gazes locked.

No. That wasn't Tate Anders, the one guy guaranteed to have her ready to drop her panties ... if she was feeling masochistic. Far, far worse. It was her ex, Donovan. Tate's twin brother.

His gaze narrowed just as the doors shut and she nearly choked on the breath she held. Of course he'd be a member here. But how? Serena was anal about background checks on the clients. No hint of any sexual misconduct. Ever.

Do not pass go. Do not shove a $50 down a stripper’s G-string. But you never told anyone, did you?

Maybe he was here for a bachelor party or something. But the Anders were just the kind of men that frequented the club. They were rich, privileged and expected the best. And they could afford it.

Cara's head started to spin but she held back the bile. Donovan was out of her life for a good reason. She was in control. She didn't need to be afraid of him.

One. Two. Three. She forced in deep breaths and steadied her body against the wall.

Shit. It was your fault for ever dating him.

From the start, she should have known something was off. They'd met at a Gilbert benefit. She'd been there as a volunteer and it had been his mother's foundation fueling the event. The Anders were huge supporters of the arts.

Fresh out of Juilliard with stars in her eyes, she'd been moved by Donovan's commitment. They'd been helping handicapped kids through modified dance classes.

And she hadn’t been able to keep her eyes off of him.

She’d watched as he spoke with the children, making them laugh. In her head, she'd crafted a whole story about who he was. Someone caring and loving. At one point, their gazes met, his silver-grey eyes so intent and focused on her that she hadn’t been able to breathe. His dark hair had fallen into his eyes as he grinned and introduced himself. "Hi, I'm ... Donovan. Something tells me you're going to be better at this than I will."

They'd been locked in each other's gaze for so long, the little girl at her side had leaned over to ask if she was okay. She'd shaken her head and taken his hand. She still remembered the jolt of unexpected electricity. "I'm Cara."

His hand had been warm and strong, enveloping hers. They’d been so busy they hadn't had the opportunity to talk that much. Until the next day. He'd been sweet, charming. But on the third day he'd been odd. Acting confused. Almost as if he didn't know her or the kids he'd been so great with. He'd been flirtatious. Almost coming on too strong. But like a fool she'd gone out with him hoping to recapture the connection from the first few days. On their third date, she realized he had a twin brother.

Donovan had been charming and funny, obviously handsome as he looked just like his brother, but that instant connection wasn’t there. It had been a party at their estate. And there had been a girl surgically attached to his twin's arm.

So like a moron you settled.

She felt so stupid. But in those early days, she thought Donovan could be sweet like his brother. And she'd never regretted anything more than she'd regretted that decision. Donovan had been a cheating, lying, asshat, douche waffle, who liked to make her feel bad about herself. It was like he got off on humiliating her. He was also a would-be ... She couldn't let herself finish that thought.

He also had a penchant for trying to make out with her when Tate was around. He'd spend half an afternoon ignoring her, and then when his brother walked into the room, he'd start kissing her neck and try to sneak a hand up under her shirt.

Once Tate figured out what his brother was doing, he'd leave them to it. The moment he was gone, Donovan would go back to ignoring her. She had no idea how Donovan had figured out her crush on Tate, but everything had blown up after that. He'd once asked if she wanted him to pretend he was Tate when she said she wasn't ready to sleep with him.

Asshole.

But she'd gotten out. Eventually. And she hadn't looked back.

And bonus, she’d found some self-esteem since then. But now he was a member here. So that changed things.

The elevator opened on the fourth floor and Cara resolved to use the back stairs from now on. No way would she risk running into Donovan again. She was no masochist.

***

Tate Anders scrubbed a hand down his face. As usual, he was the last one left in the office building. Everyone was always asking him why he worked so hard. Right now, he wasn't entirely sure. He was twenty-five. He should be out partying. Like your brother.

But he hadn't become the youngest vice president in the history of Anders Financial by partying. Hell, sometimes he wished he was the one out having a good time and not the one locked in the Anders’ cage.

But he was the good son. As his brother liked to say, he was the one everyone called on. He was responsible. Did what was expected. For his brother, for his family, for the company. You made a promise. And despite the thin thread of resentment, he wouldn't break that promise he made to his mother.

How have you gotten lost in this cage? You did it to yourself. The work didn't satisfy him. It was fine, but he'd rather be working in philanthropy. His dream was to do microloans for those that would most benefit from the money. To make a real difference. And not just the loans, but the infrastructure to sustain those businesses built. As his father said, the bleeding heart who wanted to save the world.

What really killed him was that Anders could do that. But the old man was money obsessed. Ever since he and Donovan's mother died, his father closed off his heart. Or at least the purse strings. The Anders foundation gave money but had no real impact. And it was a modest sum considering what they actually could give. Then do something about it. Yeah, first he needed to get his brother under control. The phone rang. Donovan. Think of the devil and he will appear. "Hey, Donovan." Wherever Donovan was, it was noisy as hell and his brother had to shout into the phone.

“Tate! Dude, come out. You can use the fun. You should see the tits in this place.”

Tate ground his teeth. Tits. That meant his brother was at a strip club. Again. On a Wednesday night. When he should've been here. Helping Tate decipher the paperwork on a phantom account.

Tate glared at his computer. He knew most large accounts by heart. But the Rutherford account stumped him. They appeared to be a subsidiary of the Amalfi Corp. account, but he had no paper trail on them. “No can do. Maybe if you had turned in your report on time, I’d get to see those great tits."

“Oh, don't be salty. You and I know you're better at those reports anyway. Always so precise, my brother. I'm better at this. We all have our strengths."

Tate took a deep breath. There's no point being irritated. This was Donavan. Besides, if his brother wasn't going to do the reports, he would have to. “So, yeah, I'll be staying in the office."

“You're no fucking fun. Honestly, how are we twins?”

“I have no idea.”

“Fine. Killjoy. But one of these days, you got to loosen up. Can guys become revirginated? Because you are well on your way. We have to get you laid. Preferably not by a girl I'm dating."

And there it was. The guilt card. The reminder of the woman who’d nearly come between them. Cara.

His ill-advised flirtation with her was one of the reasons he put up with his brother’s shit. Guilt, plain and simple.

Cara and Donovan had only dated for a few months, but his brother had always claimed he loved her. He had a shitty way of showing it.

Add Cara to the fucked up cocktail of family obligation and his promise to his dying mother to look after his brother, and yeah, Donovan took fucking advantage. “For fuck's sake, nothing happened, Donovan."

“Yeah, yeah, but you wanted it to.”

Tate wasn't doing this. Not now. It was Donovan's favorite needle to prod him with. “It was a long time ago, Donovan. Let it go."

“I will. I wonder what would happen though if you ran into her again.”

“Nothing. Nothing would happen. Just like last time. Now, if you don't mind, I have to finish my job and yours too."

“Go on, be the good son."

Tate hung up and swallowed the fact that he just lied to his brother. If he ever did see her again he wasn't sure if he could walk away again.

Maybe he hadn’t seen her. Cara knew she was being ridiculous but Donovan Anders had fucked her up and she wasn’t in the kind of place to be seeing him again. That was just the truth, she told herself. The next day, she took precautions as she headed to the club. Her scarf and sunglasses were just giving her some cover.

Oh who are you kidding? You’re hiding. This shit was like witness protection. She was never going to talk to him again if she could help it.

After class that day, she threw on her baseball hat and her Sophia Loren sunglasses. A few of her students lingered and normally she would have invited them to coffee or something, because after all, happy students were repeat customers. But today, she had an audition. It was for a coffee commercial. She needed to be dancing coffee. Not exactly the kind of dancing she had in mind, but whatever. Money meant protection and cushion.

She could call her parents of course, if she needed money, but she wasn't going to do that. She knew they supported her, but she wanted to do this stuff on her own.

She said her goodbyes and headed into the warm DC afternoon. The last few weeks had been unbearable, but today it was just eighty degrees and pretty nice out.

Dupont Circle was bustling with tourists, politicians, and families. She did love the city. She turned left on 19th and slammed into a wall of muscle. Before she knew what was happening, she fell flat on her ass with her bag flying. The fuck?

"Oh shit, I'm so sorry. I didn't see you." A deep male voice washed over her like warm chocolate.

Cara took mental stock. Was she hurt? If she was hurt she could kiss dancing goodbye for a few days. But her legs felt fine. Her ass though, that throbbed, and the palms of her hands stung a bit. But it was better than searing pain. She was okay. "I, uh, I'm good."

"I'm so sorry. I thought I heard my name and I turned to look. My bad. Let me help you up."

Cara peered at his shoes. BLOMA from ECCO. New-ish, but well used. She only knew the brand because a client had them. No-show socks barely peeked out of the running shoes. Black, utilitarian. Tanned legs with a smattering of dark hair on them. Very toned calves. Athletic. Knees were scarred and scraped. Nothing recent. More like from years of playing sports and playing on hands and knees. Her eyes ended up at the hint of thigh under the dark blue shorts. She gulped.

Okay, yeah. Lean, but muscular. Like a soccer player, tennis player, runner?

She took the outstretched hand and a quick, sharp bolt of electricity had her snapping her hand back. Her body warmed and tingled. Focus, Cara. She looked at her watch and groaned as she reached for the bag. If she didn’t hustle, she'd be late for this audition. Do you even really want to go? "No, I'm okay. Really."

"No, no you’re not. Your hands are scraped. Let me just— Cara?”

Cara's eyes snapped up to his face, but the glare from the sun stopped her from seeing clearly. Who was it? She scrambled to her feet and peered at him. Oh shit. Twice in a week? The Anders boys were trying to fuck with her. They had to be. But instinctively she knew who she was dealing with. "Tate?"

"Yeah." He blinked at her then picked up her sunglasses and handed them back to her. "Wow, I haven’t see you since ..." He let his words trail off.

“Since I ran out of your house with my hair on fire?”

His lips tipped up in a smile. "Yeah."

She gave him a wan smile. "It's been a while." Just one year, six months, four days and a handful of hours, but she wasn’t keeping track.

"You look—" His words cut off abruptly as his eyes tracked her body. "Uh, the same."

Her skin flushed. He looked as good as she remembered. Good enough to eat, with just enough edge to spice things up. Donovan had been right. She had fantasized about his brother. She hadn’t meant to but it was hard. And now here he was. Every wet dream fantasy come true. All sweaty. FML.

"So do you. I'm late so I should—"

One of the dancers opened the side door and stumbled out. "Hey, Cara. Serena was looking for you. Did you find her?"

She was grateful for the distraction, a way to look somewhere else instead of into those beautiful silvery eyes. "Yeah, I found her. Got my check. Thanks, Amber."

Amber eyed Tate up and down and smirked. "Well, see you Thursday."

When she was gone, Tate was staring at her."You work here?"

Cara flushed. Great, now he knew where to find her.

"Yeah. Off to an audition now so …"

But he didn’t take the hint. "Here, at Club Prestige? Doing what?"

She saw it then. The core of the problem and why she should have just stayed in her lane and never gone anywhere near the Anders boys. The judgment, the condemnation. The pity. She tilted her chin up. "What do you think?"

His brows furrowed even more. "But, I remember you wanted to be a dancer. For the Gilbert Company."

He remembered that? "Still do. In the meantime, a girl has to pay for dance shoes, so …"

She had to go. Then why aren’t you moving? Tate had a way of looking through her. It rooted her to the pavement.

"It's been a long time, Cara."

"Established." Time. To. Go.

"I just can’t believe you’re a ... dancer."

The way he said it degraded every single one of the women who worked in there. And she might not be one of the entertainers, but they were her friends. "So what if I am? The concern is touching, honestly, but I have to go."

He frowned. "Cara, come on. It's been a long time. Maybe we could grab a coffee or something."

Her body and the messed up inner romantic wanted to believe in love and possibilities. Wanted to say yes. But she knew better. "Not gonna happen, Tate. Besides, I know how this will turn out."

"Come on." He wiped away the sweat on his brow with his T-shirt. "Just coffee. Catch up, talk about what happened to you. I've always wondered."

You mean besides you telling your brother then leaving me to fend for myself? But no. Bygones. She wasn't going to live in that particular past. She needed to go. But Tate Anders still had the same effect he'd always had on her and she hated it. At this rate, she'd miss the audition.

"Nothing to wonder about. Clearly you weren't curious enough to show up that night." Oh my God. Shut up. Shut up. Way not to look desperate.

His brows furrowed. "What are you talking ab—"

She wasn't going to do this. She couldn't do this. "I'm going. Do the both of us a favor and forget you saw me here." Cara rushed toward the metro and didn't look back.

She’d thought he cared once, but it was a game. And she wasn’t interested in playing. Not when the stakes could endanger her heart.