Sins Of The Flesh

She laughed. “You know I don’t own any clear heels. I’m not embarrassed of my career. I love absolutely every moment onstage. I’ll miss it when it’s over. But you know this city as well as I do.” To tourists, Las Vegas could be considered more of a risqué city, but she knew that outside the famed Strip, the desert city more or less leaned conservative, and voters would not approve of her side job. She knew it was a risk to dance even now, but going out of state helped, and the money she earned helped with her campaign expenses. “So, it’s time to leave it all behind. I knew that I couldn’t dance forever. And there are things I need to do. It’s time to focus my attention on helping people, and making the city better. I’ve got to be the change I want to see in the world.”

“Trade the pole for a podium.”

“Exactly. I’ll miss the money, though,” she said. But that wasn’t it. Early on, stripping had been a way for her to make money and pay for college. But eventually, she realized she had a great flair for it. After a lot of hard work, she became well-known around the country for her skills with the pole. Being onstage was an empowering, fun, great exercise and she was extremely good at it, and high in demand. “You want to come with?”

“Nah, I’ve got another date with Mr. Cute-but-Dumb-as-a-Post. I just might invite him over, take advantage of having an empty house.”

“Remember the pants-on-in-the-kitchen rule,” she reminded him.

“That’s your rule, not mine. But seriously, though, what’s your plan for how you’re going to beat him?”

“I’m going to beat him by being the best candidate.”

Her roommate looked at her skeptically. “Is that going to be good enough? Why don’t you let me talk to some people...see if we can dig up a little dirt on him.”

“What people do you know?”

“I know people who know people.”

She shook her head. “I don’t think so. I don’t want to win with underhanded tricks.”

“You think Rafael Martinez doesn’t know any underhanded tricks? I’m just saying that maybe you’ll find out something interesting about him.”

“I don’t know,” Jessica said, leaning in to give her friend a kiss on the cheek. “Sounds sketchy. I’ve really got to get ready now, though. I’ll see you on Sunday.”

“Bye, baby girl, have fun in San Francisco.”

“I intend to.”

CHAPTER TWO

THE NEXT NIGHT, Rafael walked into Charlie’s Gentleman’s Club, which he’d learned was one of the classier strip clubs in San Francisco. The space was dark, like many nightclubs, and most of the light came from the stage, which was highlighted in yellow-and-red up-lights. A woman was on the stage, naked but for a G-string and a pair of platform heels, dancing to a classic rock song, and he watched her with some interest. He might have enjoyed the show more if he hadn’t been there strictly on business. The woman, though gorgeous and talented, wasn’t the woman he was there to see.

He stopped at the bar and ordered a beer, and turned around on the barstool to watch the stage. Charlie’s was not anywhere near as seedy as he’d imagined it would be. It was clean, hip and filled with mixed patrons who were all respectful and well behaved, as they took in a show and socialized.

From being in the nightclub business himself with Di Terrestres, The Brotherhood’s erotic members-only club, he knew that a safe and clean environment was the most important factor. Their club was a popular Las Vegas gathering place, an erotic playground for its exclusive clientele on every night of the week. They were the only thing like it in the city, and he was glad that he and his friends had clinched the market early on. Di Terrestres was the crown jewel of all their combined ventures and had proven to be their most profitable. In fact, being at Charlie’s in San Francisco felt kind of like being at Di Terrestres in Vegas, except that here, Rafael most certainly did not have the home court advantage. This was Jessica’s turf. But luckily, he had the element of surprise in his favor.

“Is Jessie M working tonight?” he asked the bartender over his shoulder.

She didn’t respond at first, probably not too eager to talk to a random man who was looking for one of the dancers, in particular. She rolled her eyes and went back to her work, serving other thirsty patrons. Rafael slid a fifty across the bar top.

“Is Jessie working?”

The bartender looked at it before picking it up and slipping it under the low neckline of her tank top, which was almost bursting at the seams with ample breasts. “She’s on in five minutes,” she answered.

“Sounds like I’m just in time, then,” he noted, and sipped his beer.

When the music quieted, Rafael turned back to the stage to watch the previous dancer leave, gathering her bills and clothing as she went. The buttery-voiced DJ came over the loudspeaker. “Everybody give Lola another big hand.” After a burst of clapping from the audience, he played some prelude music as he spoke over the beat. “And now, ladies and gentlemen, we have a special treat for you. We don’t see this lady perform here every day, but we love it every time she comes home. Tonight it is our pleasure to welcome, for one night only, the wonderful, sexy, award-winning, world-champion pole dancer, Jessie M, to our stage.”

World champion? He turned at the sound of the huge round of applause, toward the stage in time to see a Las Vegas councilwoman, his main political opponent, the opinionated thorn in his side, Jessica Morgan, Jessie M, take the stage as her music, with its fast, steady, driving hip-hop beat filled the club.

She was confident and graceful, her movements quick, trained, controlled, completely in time with the music. She was passionate as she moved about the edge of the stage, making eye contact with every patron in the first couple of rows. He knew the look. It was the same she gave when she spoke one-on-one with a person. Sure, her gaze was somehow just as intent, but it was more intimate from the stage than it was when she spoke to her constituents or colleagues. He knew the passion was there no matter what job she undertook. And to Rafael, that was admirable. She gyrated on the stage and removed the top of her stage costume, revealing a rhinestone-covered bra that pushed her already high and full breasts to an unbelievable level.

When she approached the pole in the middle of the stage, Rafael pushed away from the bar and walked closer; then he took a seat at an empty table next to the stage. He almost missed it when, in one quick spin, she was at the top of the pole. She wrapped her legs around it and inverted her body, holding herself aloft with just the strength of her thigh muscles, gripping the metal, while somehow managing to still spin. With careful, deliberate moves, she lowered herself down the pole. He bit back a groan, as she spun again and held herself by her arms as she performed moves of acrobatics and flexibility, as if it were as natural as breathing. Rafael was in great shape himself, but he wasn’t sure if he possessed the sheer strength that Jessica was exhibiting onstage while she worked the pole.

As he watched her, he felt his temperature rise as a flush of desire broke out all over his body. She might be his political rival. He might have gone to San Francisco to bust her. But goddamn, watching her perform was the hottest thing he’d ever seen. She stood in front of the pole and dipped low, spreading her legs. Then pushing herself back up and popping her round, firm ass at the audience, she undid the snap between her breasts with a quick flick of her fingers and shrugged off her bra.

Rafael’s breath stopped in his chest as the article of lingerie hit the floor, the rhinestones clattering on the stage. Now topless, she held the pole and ground against it, her hips moving to the thrum of the music. She reached back and undid the bow that held her skirt together, and it fluttered to the floor, as well. Now wearing only a thong and her high-heeled shoes, she did a few more spins around the pole. Meanwhile, Rafael left his beer untouched, the rest of the room was forgotten, and he watched her as she swayed and swiveled under the spotlight, so comfortable there.

It was impressive, and Rafael sat back as Jessica commanded the crowd. She dropped to her knees on the stage, she crawled slowly over to him. Then, in a controlled movement that involved every muscle of her upper body, she pushed her chest down to the floor, and then arched her back, gracefully pushing herself up. Maintaining eye contact, as she danced for only him at the edge of the stage, Rafael reached into his wallet and pulled out a one-hundred-dollar bill. He stood close enough to slip the bill in the string of her thong over her hip, letting his fingers graze her soft skin. She winked at him and blew a sultry kiss, but the realization dawned in her eyes, followed briefly by panic, then fear. She knew it was him, but somehow schooled her reaction to keep cool, then she sauntered away as the lights dimmed and the music stopped. The crowd erupted in applause for Jessica. But Rafael took a seat, certain that she would come find him.

He sat stunned, his heart pounding, his dick straining against his zipper, as he watched his competitor in the Las Vegas mayoral race, almost naked, gathering her clothing and the various bills that had been thrown across the stage, trying not to look directly at him. He had shaken her. He’d gone to San Francisco to bust her, to make her quit her campaign, which would hand him a tidy victory by default. But something had sparked a change in him. He was no longer quite as interested in outing her, and now he was intrigued, and he wanted to know more about her. More than what she looked like dancing in a thong and high heels, he reasoned.

* * *

Oh, my God. Oh, my God. Oh, my God.

It was him.

Jessica stepped behind the curtain and emerged backstage, where the other dancers were preparing, chatting, lounging between their own performances. She’d danced a great set, and performing always left her with a rush and gloriously fatigued muscles. She relished the lights, the applause, but she’d almost passed out when she saw Rafael Martinez standing next to the stage. The bill he’d slipped into her G-string was still there, wedged between the polyester and her hip. She could still feel the way his fingers had grazed her skin as she pulled it out, frowning when she saw the denomination. A hundred dollars? What is he doing here?

She’d been able to keep her cool out on the stage, when she’d looked down and realized it was him sitting there, front row. Rafael Martinez. He was in her club, he’d seen her dance and now everything was over for her. He was there to bust her, he would tell everyone that she was a dancer, ruin her career, her life, everything she’d worked for. So, she’d maintained eye contact with him when she recognized him, then she’d stood straight and held her head high as she left the stage.

The more she thought about it now, however, her bravado waned. Her hands shook, and she could barely maintain her grip as she fisted her costume, and her money. She had to get dressed and face him. Reminding herself that she had nothing to be embarrassed about, she felt her anxiety diminish. But she knew that in his hands, he held the power to destroy her dreams. She had to see what he was doing there, and somehow try to convince him to keep her secret.

“Hey, great set, Jessie,” one of the other girls said, but she couldn’t be sure who said it. She was too focused on figuring out a way to save everything she stood to lose. She dressed quickly in a skirt and T-shirt, and toyed briefly with cutting out the back door, to get away without seeing Rafael, or even siccing one of the bodyguards on him. But neither of those things would solve her problem. She would have to see him at some point, better here at her regular club than at a debate. Taking a deep breath, Jessica steeled her resolve and stepped out from the back room to find him.

She looked around the club and, ignoring the glances of the patrons who’d just seen her perform, she found Rafael almost immediately, sitting at the table near the stage, casually sipping from his beer bottle and already watching her, his lips curved upward in a smug, amused smirk. Goddamn him. Straightening her shoulders, portraying what she hoped was an air of confidence, she walked toward him.

Taking a seat, she slid his one-hundred-dollar bill across the table to him, then leaned back. “I’m not taking your money,” she told him, crossing her arms.

“Then how will I pay for my private dance?” Rafael asked, his right eyebrow raised. “I’m a customer.”

The man was unbelievable. “You aren’t getting one. And I don’t care who you are. I don’t do private dances. I haven’t in years.”

“This is a good time to break that streak, isn’t it?” he asked with a sly smile.

“If I did, you certainly wouldn’t be the recipient. What are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” he returned, taking an easy look around the club. She followed his eyes, watching women casually stroll through, wearing skimpy lingerie, if they were dressed at all.

She scowled. A new dancer had come out and the attention of everyone else in the club had turned to the stage as music filled the room. “Are you going to answer any of my questions?”

He shrugged. “I don’t think I need to. I’m the one who’s here for answers.”

She sighed. “What do you want?”

He lifted his wrist, and she saw from the large face of his Hublot watch that it was after 3:00 a.m. She rolled her eyes at him—that watch could pay her mortgage for at least a couple of months. Such pointless luxury. Yeah, he was certainly a man of the people, she thought with scorn.

“What do I want?” he repeated. “Well, right now, I kind of want an early breakfast,” he told her, leaning across the table. “Want to join me?”

She looked at him, in his casual clothing. He looked good in his suits, but in street clothes, he looked great. No, she didn’t want to go anywhere with him, and she was about to tell him as much, but she needed to figure out what his plan was with his new information. It had been a while since she’d eaten, and betraying her, her stomach rumbled loudly. “There’s a twenty-four-hour diner a couple doors down if that suits you. They have a pretty good breakfast menu. Unless you want something fancier, but in this neighborhood, you might be out of luck. And—” she gestured to his watch “—you probably shouldn’t flash that piece around here.”

“I’m not too worried about it. I can defend myself if I need to. But that diner sounds great,” he said with a smile, standing. “Let’s go.”

* * *

Being seated across from Rafael in the diner was a surreal experience for Jessica. She was physically tired from her performance, but she was mentally exhausted trying to figure out a way out of her current predicament, afraid that her secret would ruin her, but she couldn’t help looking at Rafael, regarding him quietly, trying to figure him out.

She had always been attracted to him, since the day she’d first met him. But she’d never let herself get close to him, and on only a few occasions had she ever been one-on-one with him. The reason why? Those dark brown eyes, his deep, low voice that flowed from his lips, effortlessly transitioning between Spanish and English. He was normally so polished, looked every part the well-put-together politician. But at three o’clock in the morning, the dark shadow of a beard colored his strong jaw and his hair was slightly disheveled, and it made her fingers itch with the need to reach across the table and smooth it. He looked rugged in nice but worn jeans and a fitted black V-neck T-shirt. It showed that there might be more to him than the arrogant politician-slash-businessman.

They looked at each other, not saying anything. She imagined that, like her, he was trying to figure out what to make of their current situation. Silent, until the shadow of the waitress fell over their table.

“What can I get for you folks?” she asked them, barely looking up at them from her notepad, seemingly unaware of the tension that radiated between Jessica and Rafael.

“I’ll have a coffee,” Rafael said.

“How do you take that?”

“Black.”

“And you, hun?” She turned to Jessica.

“I’ll have tea. Something herbal, if you got it.”

“Lemon okay?”

“Sounds good.”

“Any food?”

“No.” She shot a pointed look at Rafael. “I’m not hungry.” She was, in fact, starving, but she couldn’t afford to spend any longer in his company than she needed to.

The server turned to Rafael, pen poised to take his order. “Nothing else for me, either. Thanks.”

When the waitress walked away, Jessica folded her arms and leaned across the table. “I thought you wanted breakfast.”

“Well, I don’t want to order food if you aren’t going to have any. I can’t have you seeing my food, getting jealous and stealing any of my bacon.” He said, serious, before flashing a bright smile at her.

Flabbergasted, Jessica shook her head. Rafael had her at his whim, and he sat there joking. “So, what now?” she asked him, ignoring his attempts at humor. She needed to get down to business. “Are you going tell the press? Or leak the fact that I strip online? Or just plain old blackmail me into dropping out of the mayoral race altogether?”

Rafael honestly seemed to consider his response. “That was my first thought. But, you know, it’s not really my style to go to the press. Maybe I’ve had a change of heart. I’m not a snitch. And God knows I’ve got my share of skeletons.”

“Oh, really? So, what then? What are we doing here?”

He shrugged. “Intrigue, maybe? I guess I was curious why a fairly popular city councillor and mayoral candidate has stripping as a side gig.”

“Only fairly popular? Check the latest polls, bud.”

“Polls don’t mean anything,” he said with a wave. “Up, down, whatever. The only thing that matters is election night.”

She sighed. “I’m going to ask once more—what are we doing here? It’s late, and I’m too tired for this.”

“Why do you do it? Is it the money? Councillors make a decent salary.”

The waitress reappeared with her tea and Rafael’s coffee. When she shuffled off again, they both sipped from their cups until Jessica spoke again. “It’s fun, it’s empowering and I’m good at it. And it isn’t a side gig. For a long time, stripping was my full-time job. I know I won’t be able to do it for much longer without being found out, especially not when I’m mayor.”

“You are good at it. One of the best I’ve seen.” He nodded and looked her over. His heated gaze made her breath halt. “You’re still so confident that you’re going to win? I’m also curious what the more conservative Las Vegans would think about your job when they find out?”

She said nothing, bristling at the implication, still unsure of what his plans were. “When they find out? I thought you weren’t going to tell.”

He chuckled, and the sound resonated deep within her, and she realized that she’d never heard him laugh before. Hell, she’d barely even had a conversation with him. And damn him, she was starting to like it. He took a sip of coffee and leaned closer. “Why don’t we get out of here?” he asked, his deep and dark tone told her exactly where he wanted to go with her.

She stilled. And that was it. Angry words bubbled to her mouth. She leaned across the table and pointed her finger in his face. “I’m not going to sleep with you to keep your mouth shut. You can forget that.”

He blinked quickly, and paused, as if he were trying to choose the right words. “Trust me, sweetheart, I’ve never had to resort to blackmail to get a woman into my bed. I’m not about to start now.” His eyes searched her upper body, and she felt the burn from them. “No matter how good of an idea it might be.” She remained unconvinced, and tried to stop herself from thinking about him getting her into his bed. He kept going, and she had to focus her attention to hear what he was saying. “You clearly have the wrong idea about me,” he started. “You don’t seem to like me very much.”

A shocked laugh made its way past her lips. “How fragile are you? Is that what you’re worried about? People not liking you? So what if I don’t? You’re everything I don’t like, everything that’s standing in the way of real change.”

“No, not quite.” He held up his hand, cutting her off. “I know that there are quite a few people around town who don’t like me, and I don’t care. But for some reason, I’m just concerned about you not liking me.” He paused to let it sink in. “I’m not a bad guy, Jessica, really. And even though you think you know a lot about my life and my upbringing, you really don’t. And that’s unfortunate. And seeing as how we’re spending so much time together lately, going to the same events, I think we should get to know each other.”

She rolled her eyes, used to having men propose that they get to know each other. “I’m sure you do.”

“Come on.” He smiled. “My closest friends, at least four people who aren’t blood-related, agree that I’m actually a pretty great guy.”

“And what if I already feel like I know enough about you?”

He yawned. “You know, it is pretty late. We should probably go. My flight leaves in a couple of hours.”

“Wait. We aren’t done discussing what you’re going to do with the information you plan to hold over my head.” His constant switching of gears, changing the conversation, had her experiencing whiplash.

He shrugged. “I don’t know what I’m going to do with it yet. Maybe I’ll give you the opportunity to plead your case. Spend some time with me when we get back to Vegas. I’m sure we can talk through this.”

“I don’t have time to spend with you. I have to work.”

“Stripping or campaigning?”

She seethed. “Campaigning. I don’t strip in Vegas.”

“That’s unfortunate for Vegas.” He frowned, looking her up and down. She was grateful for the table, as it stopped his gaze from lighting the rest of her on fire.

Jessica looked across the table at him. His dark brown eyes were warm, disarming and held the slightest bit of humor. Part of her knew all she needed to know about Rafael Martinez—that he was a self-interested businessman. It wasn’t common knowledge just how deeply lined his pockets were, or just how well connected he was in the local business scene, but she’d learned enough in her time working with him to know he wasn’t what Las Vegas needed right now. But she was attracted to him, there was no denying that. Just looking at him stirred the interest between her thighs. Maybe the other part of her wanted to get to know him in a physical way. Either way, she was too exhausted to put up much of a fight. She wanted to sleep, and she would let her brain and her loins fight it out tomorrow. She blew out an impatient breath. “Fine. What do you have in mind?”

“I don’t know. How about dinner tomorrow night? A drink or two. We’ll talk.”

“We can talk now.”

He looked around the restaurant. “Nah,” he told her, shaking his head. “Let’s do it when we get back to Vegas.”

“I get it. You want the hometown advantage, hey?”

He grinned again. “Maybe you know me better than I thought.”

Her energy was flagging, and she knew she wouldn’t be able to stand up to him much longer. “Okay, fine, I’ll have dinner with you.” She could spare at least an hour, to talk to him and keep her secret life exactly that. She paused. “This sounds an awful lot like blackmail, though.” He was sipping his coffee, but his eyes smiled at her from behind the mug. “So, how did you find out I was here?”

“I don’t know how that matters.” He shrugged. “I found you, either way.”

Unbelievable. His reluctance to tell her made her angry. “Are you not going to tell me anything? How dare you just waltz into my personal life and completely turn it upside down by holding this over my head, and then not even explain how you found out?” She watched him, noting how sure and confident he was, sitting in the booth. She rolled her eyes, put down her mug of tea and stood. She threw a twenty-dollar bill on the table for the tab—she didn’t want to owe him anything. “I don’t have time for your mind games, Rafael. I’m tired, and I just want to go back to my hotel.”