Bare Necessities

BARE NECESSITIES

Marie Donovan

MILLS & BOON

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To my sweetie pie. I’m glad you’re better.

And to the staff of Children’s Memorial Hospital.

The work you do is the greatest love of all.

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Epilogue

1

“HOW DO MY NIPPLES LOOK?” Sugar Jones craned her head around to check in the trifold mirror, her long blond extensions getting in the way.

Bridget Weiss brushed them aside. “Just a sec, I’ll tell you when I’m done in the back.” She finished pinning the silver bra band around Sugar’s perfectly tanned, perfectly toned rib cage. A rib cage that carried a brand-new set of G-cup breasts, courtesy of a pricey suburban plastic surgeon and paid for by the slack-jawed patrons at Frisky’s Gentlemen’s Club, not a club that any real gentleman would belong to.

Sugar shifted from one foot to the other and circled the carpeted pedestal, her butt cheeks flexing in the costume’s matching silver thong. Bridget bet she could bounce a quarter off those buns. The exotic dancer frowned at her reflection. “I don’t think the doc got them quite even.”

Bridget stared at the silver-spandex-clad breasts, as dispassionate as a pastry chef making sure her cake was frosted evenly. Sure enough, the left nipple was maybe a half inch higher than the right. At least they weren’t off-center, like some other clients of hers. One girl had gone to a cheaper doc and wound up with a pair so asymmetrical, Bridget had found herself tilting her head in a futile attempt to see them as a balanced set.

But padding or a good pasty hid a multitude of sins. Even before starting fashion-design school here in Chicago last fall, Bridget had learned all the bra-design tricks in the book, plus a few more. “Let me pin up the left strap just a smidge.”

She quickly made the alteration and Sugar smiled. “Much better. Now that I’m healed from my surgery, I’m going to be a feature dancer—finally a Frisky’s Kitten!” She bounced up and down in her excitement.

Bridget backed away, not wanting to get biffed in the face by Sugar’s frighteningly firm breasts. “A Frisky’s Kitten, huh? That’s quite impressive.” She sincerely meant it. The stripper—rather, exotic dancer—business was as cutthroat a business as any of the high-pressure Chicago law firms or commodities trading partnerships that supplied most of Frisky’s patrons.

Adam popped to mind, and just as firmly, Bridget tried to pop him out again. No such luck. She pursed her lips in aggravation. Adam Hale could do what he wanted, and if he wanted to lose a few brain cells and a lot of cash in Frisky’s after a long day trading pork belly futures at the Mercantile Exchange, it was his business.

“Impressive and lucrative.” Sugar closed one blue eye in a big wink. “According to the projections in my business plan, my implants will pay for themselves within eight to ten weeks.”

“Business plan? Like spreadsheets and things?” What did Sugar do, calculate how many lap dances per night she needed to average? Bridget’s business plan consisted of scraping together enough money to pay the large rent on her small apartment and grocery bill. Whoever thought you couldn’t buy groceries for ten bucks a week just wasn’t eating enough ramen noodles and peanut butter sandwiches.

“Spreadsheets, trend forecasts in the adult entertainment industry, the whole nine yards. I wrote my plan as a final project for my marketing class. I got an A-plus on it, too.”

Bridget nodded. She couldn’t imagine Sugar getting anything less.

“And my accountant thinks I might be able to write my implants off as a deduction on my tax return.”

Wow, she needed a business plan and Sugar’s accountant, as well. She had a hard time getting up the nerve to deduct basic things like fabric and thread. And heavy-duty silver spandex was not cheap. “Okay, I can have the bra ready for you the day after tomorrow. And I’ll keep the pattern for your new measurements on file so you can call and order new bras whenever you need them.”

“Great! I go through a ton of bras. Sometimes the customers grab them and won’t give them back, or they land in a puddle of beer,” Sugar complained. She unclipped the band and slung the bra to Bridget with practiced ease. “Oops! Thought I was at the club for a second.”

Bridget didn’t bat an eye as she folded the bra and set it next to her industrial sewing machine. Three months ago, the sight of another woman’s breasts had made her blush hard enough to make her dizzy. Now even the extremely large pair a foot away from her face was simply another day at the office.

Sugar was shimmying out of the silver thong and into her civilian underwear, a plain black thong and ugly white cotton bra. She caught Bridget’s surprised expression. “You know, I’m happy with my implants and all, but it’s almost impossible to find sexy bras this size with good support. The straps are cutting into my shoulders and my back aches by day’s end.” Her glossy lips pouted.

“Tell me about it. That was how I got into designing lingerie.” Bridget rolled her shoulders, stiff after bending over her sewing machine before Sugar’s arrival. “I never found anything that fit me.”

“I was wondering.” Sugar gave her an appraising look. “No offense, but you don’t seem like someone with a background in adult entertainment.”

“No offense taken.” Bridget wasn’t the type to inspire men to stuff money in her garter. With her light brown hair and pale skin freckled from too many summers hauling hay on the family dairy farm in Wisconsin, men were more likely to dismiss her as the younger-sister type. Like Adam.

“So no implants for you? And you must be at least a D-cup.”

“Double-D actually and all natural, for better or worse.” It had mostly been worse.

“Lucky! Do you know how much dough these set me back?” Sugar plucked at the plain white cotton bra.

Dough that she would make in less than three months of part-time work. Suddenly, Bridget was sick of ramen noodles and discount-store shampoo. She wasn’t going to take off her clothes for money, but she could make more of an effort to build her business. “A great bra is essential for supporting large breasts or else they start to sag.”

“Sag?” A look of horror crossed Sugar’s face. “No one told me implants sag.”

“Ah, but what about the skin holding them up?” Bridget nodded significantly. Especially skin that was already stressed by tanning booths and sprays.

Sugar put a protective hand over her bosom. “I never thought of that.”

“Tell you what. I’ll make you a nice, supportive, everyday bra and matching thong on spec. Your money back if it’s not the most comfortable bra you’ve had. And you can keep the thong.” She couldn’t exactly resell a used thong.

Sugar paused from pulling on her white V-necked T-shirt. “A risk-free offer.” She grinned. “I like it.”

“Good.” Bridget smiled. “What color would you like?”

“Ivory lace. And cut lower in the front so I can wear my plunging-neckline shirts.”

“No problem.” Bridget made a note on Sugar’s client file. “So, I’ll see you Friday at four when you come for the silver bra.”

“Great.” Sugar pulled on a pair of painted-on pencil-leg jeans and white ankle socks. She sighed as she tied her running shoes. “Stupid plantar fasciitis. My podiatrist says I’ll need foot surgery unless I save my high heels for the stage. And dates, of course.”

“No, those wouldn’t work on a date,” Bridget agreed. Not that she’d been on any in quite a while. “Unless you were going to the Cubs’ game.”

“True.” Sugar got a speculative look on her face. “Or maybe I could choreograph a routine around my sneakers. An unbuttoned baseball jersey with a bra and thong underneath.”

“With a team logo over each breast and one in the front of the thong,” she suggested, half-jokingly. Although she could buy patches and appliqué them onto matching bras and thongs. Would the major-league franchises sue her if they found out? Probably nobody cared. Professional athletes were always going to strip clubs and they’d get a kick out of it.

“Brilliant! The baseball season openers are in a couple weeks, and I could wear a football jersey during the fall.”

“Go Bears!” Bridget made a cheering motion. She was a Green Bay Packers fan herself, something she didn’t advertise living only a few miles away from Soldier Field, the ancestral home of Chicago’s favorite gridiron underdogs.

Sugar picked up her duffel bag. “Go money! That’s what I cheer for. Speaking of…” She handed Bridget several bills. “Always get cash up front, that’s my advice.”

Bridget wrote a receipt and handed her the carbon duplicate. “To make your accountant happy.”

“And I want to keep her happy. She used to dance at the Love Shack to pay for her CPA classes, so she knows the business inside and out. See you Friday.” Sugar breezed out of Bridget’s apartment and waved as she disappeared down the two flights of stairs to the quiet street.

Bridget returned to her working area. She’d only been able to afford a one-bedroom apartment, so she’d turned her entire living room into her design studio and sewing room.

The room’s corner was curtained off into a changing area. Most of her clients didn’t bother to use it, not being the shy types. Her large drafting table faced the window to get the maximum light for her design sketches and pattern cutting. The trifold mirror and carpeted pedestal for fitting appointments were next to the huge sewing table with her machine on it.

Her sewing table was actually the old Ping-Pong table from her family’s basement. It was big and sturdy enough to hold heavy projects like beaded wedding dresses, but had been a pain in the butt to move, needing Dad, her two brothers, Colin and Dane, and Adam to haul it into her third-story walk-up.

Adam had acted funny the whole time she was moving in, only talking to her when he needed to know where to set a box. It had been so awkward that she’d pulled Colin aside to ask him what the problem was. As usual, Col was clueless except to offer that Adam’s girlfriend had made plans and wasn’t happy that Adam had already agreed to help Bridget move.

A dutiful obligation. And that was just why she’d moved away from Wisconsin, from being Bob and Helen Weiss’s baby girl and Colin and Dane’s kid sister. She brushed some scraps of silver material and bits of underwire into her palm and threw them away.

She peered down her neckline as she bent over the wastebasket and saw a boring white bra. She also distinctly recalled pulling on discount-store cotton briefs that morning. Why didn’t she take her own advice and wear something nicer? She’d left her family to go to fashion-design school in the big bad city exactly so she could create pretty, comfortable lingerie for women who were difficult to fit, large or small.

Bridget grabbed her sketchpad and markers. Sugar wasn’t the only one who was going to get a sexy lace bra and matching thong. And whatever lucky man eventually got to see Bridget in lingerie wouldn’t be thinking of her as somebody’s little sister.

ADAM HALE CHECKED the number on his ringing cell phone. He sighed but answered anyway. He’d been ducking this call long enough. “Hello?”

“Hey, Adam, what’s up?” It was Colin Weiss, his old college roommate.

Adam settled into his leather desk chair and minimized the futures trading window on his laptop. Colin was a bit of a talker, and Adam didn’t want to get distracted during their conversation and accidentally buy high and sell low. No point in getting canned before he finished building his nest egg.

“Hey, Colin, nothing much. How are Jenna and the kids?” Colin had married his college sweetheart right after they graduated from University of Wisconsin-Madison and already had two rug rats.

“Fine, fine. In fact, we’re expecting another one in about five months.”

“Congrats!” Three kids, and he and Colin were only twenty-eight. Adam couldn’t even imagine having one kid. Of course, he kind of needed to actually find a woman to settle down with first. He looked at the pile of work on his desk and realized the futility of that wish.

“Yeah, well, what can I say? She can’t keep her hands off me.”

“After a full day of chasing after a five-year-old and three-year-old?” Adam laughed. “You wish, Col. How’s the farm doing?” Colin had majored in dairy sciences and had taken over his in-laws’ small dairy farm a half hour away from his parents’ farm in rural Wisconsin.

“Busy as hell, but you remember that from when you visited.”

“Right.” During those visits, they all worked hard. Adam, Colin’s parents, younger brother, Dane, and Bridget, his younger sister.

As if he’d read Adam’s thoughts, Colin brought up the subject Adam wanted to avoid. “How’s Bridget doing, Adam?”

“Fine, as far as I know. I stopped by her apartment a couple times to make sure she got settled and I’ve left her a bunch of voice mails.” Bridget hadn’t been home when he’d visited and she never returned his calls. Adam wasn’t sure whether to be disappointed or relieved.

“Man, I wish she hadn’t moved down there,” Colin fretted. “She’s a farm girl, sweet and naive. You know what those city guys are like.”

“Almost as bad as you country guys,” Adam retorted. “You weren’t always the happily married father of three and you had plenty of stories to tell about those so-called sweet, naive farm girls.”

Col grunted. “Bridget’s different. I couldn’t believe it when Mom and Dad let her move to Chicago to go to that fashion-design school. What was wrong with going to school at the university in Menomonie?”

“That isn’t exactly Chicago, Col.” Menomonie was in northwestern Wisconsin and its flannel-clad residents were not notably fashion-conscious. “Besides, Bridget’s twenty-four, a full-grown woman.” He veered away from that dangerous path. Col didn’t need to know how much a woman he considered Bridget.

“She’s only been home once in the six months since she moved, and we hardly ever hear from her. Mom calls every week and we get occasional e-mails, but we don’t really know how she is. You’d be doing me a big favor if you could see her, take her for coffee—”

“And report back to you?” Adam interjected. “She’ll have my ass in a sling if she realizes I’m spying on her and then she’ll come gunning for you.”

“Please, Adam. Mom worries about her. She’s the baby of the family, we only need to know she’s okay.”

He sighed. “All right, I’ll call her and try to pin her down—” whoa, that brought some interesting images to mind “—for a time to take her out.”

“Thanks, buddy. And if you could convince her to come home for a visit after her classes finish, I’ll owe you big-time.”

“You don’t owe me anything, Col. You know that.”

“Okay. But you should take some time off from your wheeling and dealing at the Merc and come for a visit, too. Maybe you can give Bridge a ride.”

Adam gulped. “Sure thing. Talk to you soon.” He clicked off his phone and rested his forehead in his hand. Pinning Bridget down, her soft, pale thighs spread wide beneath him. Giving Bridget a ride as she moved on top of him, her heavy breasts overfilling his palms.

His cock pushed against his zipper as he shifted in his chair. How many futile erections had he sported over his best friend’s kid sister? Ever since his senior year in college when he met her right after her high school graduation.

She had preferred to hide her amazing body under overalls and other baggy clothing, but they’d gone swimming once in the fishing pond behind the barn and his jaw had dropped. Fortunately, the water had been deep enough and his shorts baggy enough so Colin and Dane didn’t notice his extremely inappropriate interest. Being bound hand and foot and thrown under the hooves of Caesar, the old family bull, would have definitely dampened his arousal.

After that, he only saw Bridget occasionally, like during Colin’s wedding when they’d been paired as groomsman and bridesmaid. Sure, she was great-looking with her dark, almost navy-blue eyes and naturally sun-streaked hair, but he’d come to appreciate her dry wit and wry sense of humor.

The last time he’d seen her was when she moved to Chicago last August. He’d had a girlfriend then, but still reacted to Bridget the same way. What a jerk he was. And now Colin and the whole Weiss family were sending the fox to guard their precious chick.

BRIDGET WAS PUTTING the finishing touches on Sugar’s order, the silver bra and brand-new ivory lace bra and thong. The dancer was coming over to pick them up. Hopefully, she’d love the new lace bra and order more. Now that Bridget had figured out Sugar’s pattern, it was simply a matter of cutting the fabric and putting the bra together.

Her cell phone rang. Without checking the caller ID, she answered. “Hello?”

“Bridget?” A familiar male voice rumbled through her phone, startling her so she almost dropped it.

“Adam?” Her voice came out squeakier than she liked, so she forced herself to take some deep breaths.

“Hey, Bridge, how are you doing?”

Ugh, he called her Bridge just like her brothers did. Her nervousness dissipated. “Fine, keeping busy. Calling to check on me?”

“Um…”

Adam at a loss for words? He was so busted. “Colin or Dane?”

“Colin or Dane what?” He tried a valiant comeback, but failed.

“Was it Colin or Dane who called you and sicced you on me?”

He sighed. “Colin.”

“Ah-ha!” Knowing she’d guessed right didn’t make her feel any better.

“Come on, Bridge, they’re concerned, rightfully so, that they don’t hear from you as much as they’d like.”

“First of all, if they heard from me as much as they’d like, I’d be calling down the stairs telling my mother what I wanted for breakfast every morning. Second, I’m an adult and don’t need to check in with Mommy and Daddy all the time. How often do you call your parents?”

Adam didn’t say anything. Bridget smacked her forehead in mortification. To quote her mother, who usually never had a harsh word for anyone, Adam’s parents were dreadful. Bridget had plenty of worse words for them. “Look, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.”

“No, I’m sorry, Bridget. You are a grown woman and don’t need someone who’s not even family butting into your business.”

“Adam, you know I consider you—”

“Like a brother?” His tone was sharper than usual.

“Oh, no. Two are plenty. But more like…” She couldn’t think of a nice way to say she’d wanted to rip off his clothing and lick him all over ever since she was a teenager. “Like a friend,” she finished lamely.

“A friend.” He paused. “Well, as a friend, I’d like to encourage you to call home more often. You have a great family, believe me. They want to know how you’re doing.”

“You’re right. But I need to prove I can do well here in Chicago since they were so dead set against it. I went to the local junior college and worked all kinds of goofy jobs to save my money for design school, and I’m finally doing what I want.”

“I know you are, and I’m proud of you.” His soft, silky voice sent shivers down her spine. He ruined the effect by asking, “How are you doing for money?”

“Fine.” Sugar’s voluminous bras caught her eye. There was her money right there. Funny, how everybody made money off two bags of saline. The surgeon, Sugar, Bridget, the strip club. Sugar’s breasts were positively a cottage industry.

“You sure? City living is pretty pricey compared to Wisconsin.”

“I’m fine, really. I even have a part-time job.”

“Sounds good. Selling underwear again, like in that discount store?”

She latched on to that with relief. “Yes, I am selling underwear. To a very upscale customer base.” She’d recently learned those buzzwords in her fashion-marketing class.

“Excellent. I know you must be busy, but if we could—”

Her call waiting blotted out his words. She checked and saw Sugar’s number. “Adam, I have to go. One of my customers is on the other line.”

“Customers? Why do they have your cell number?”

Uh…“’Bye, talk to you later!” She clicked over to Sugar. “Hi, how are you?”

“Hi, Bridget,” she shouted over a crowd of female voices in the background. “I got called into work early and can’t come for those bras. We’ll have to reschedule.”

“Oh. Okay.” Not okay. Bridget needed that money. Bad. Her electric bill was due the next day, and as it was she was going to need to walk her payment into the currency exchange to keep her lights on and her sewing machine humming. “Wait! I’ll drop them off for you.”

“But, Bridget, I’m already at Frisky’s. I don’t want to make you come here.”

“No big deal.” She made her voice cheerful. “Just tell me where to go.”

“Are you sure?” Sugar sounded skeptical. “This is a nice club in comparison to some other dives around here, but still…”

“Absolutely.” Bridget was already packing Sugar’s lingerie into her wheeled suitcase, along with some sample bras, thongs and corsets. She threw her sketchpad, colored pencils and some business cards on top. “It’s a good opportunity for me to do some market research, talk about what you ladies need, learn what’s in style right now.”

Sugar laughed. “Bare skin is always in style, but if you don’t mind coming, I’ll introduce you to the girls. They’re always bitching about not being able to find new outfits.” The dancer gave her directions to the strip club. Bridget checked her bus map. It was only a short ride away.

“I should be there in an hour or so.”

“Sounds good.” There was a muffled shout in the background. “Gotta go, I’m next.”

“Knock ’em dead.” Bridget hung up and zipped the suitcase, almost giddy at her daring. The theme song from the Mary Tyler Moore Show popped into her head. She picked up a lime-green bra and flung it over her head, just like Mary’s striped knit cap.

A little bit of Chicago business smarts and some Wisconsin stubbornness and she might make it after all.

2

BRIDGET HAD FOUND Frisky’s. It wasn’t hard, considering the ten-foot-tall, hot-pink neon kitten sign overhead. The kitten smirked at her in the twilight, its tail switching back and forth hypnotically. Come have a good time, leave your money behind.

Hopefully she was here to get some money. But where to find Sugar? She walked to the building’s edge, peered around the corner and didn’t see another entrance. There was probably a stage door for the dancers to use, but she didn’t want to go poking around in a dark alley behind a strip club.

That left the main entrance. Bridget stepped into line behind some guys in expensive suits and overcoats. She ignored their curious stares, hoping the rising blush on her cheeks would be mistaken for reflected neon light.

The line moved quickly, and she found herself face-to-face with the club bouncer. He stared down at her, arms crossed over a fifty-inch chest. “Who ya here with?” he yelled over the pounding bass beat spilling out of the club door. The guys around her shrugged.