Bare Necessities. Marie Donovan

his hair. “You’re dancing at Frisky’s?”

      She held the green bra to her chest and shimmied a bit. “What do you think, Adam?”

      “Oh, my God.” He looked, really looked around her apartment for the first time. A chrome clothes rack held a black corset thingie, a Day-Glo pink bra and panties, and a white vinyl tube top. No, that was a mini-mini-miniskirt. Bolts of silver, red and gold spandex fabric stood in a corner. But the kicker was a pair of six-inch clear plastic high heels with straps. Nobody wore those except strippers. “Did you dance tonight?”

      She tossed down the bra. “Did you miss my performance, Adam?”

      He laughed nervously and took off his coat. It was getting hot in her apartment. “Come on, I followed you into the club and I never saw you onstage.”

      “You’re the strip-club expert, Adam. Don’t dancers have private clients or do private parties?”

      He plopped onto her futon. “Oh, Bridge. What will your family say?”

      She just laughed. Here he was, picturing her parents’ shock and horror and her brothers’ anger and disappointment, and she laughed? She had changed since she moved to Chicago, and not for the better. “It’s not funny.”

      “Adam, you worry too much.” She plucked the pink bra off the hanger and rubbed her cheek over the shiny fabric. She’d look great in the pink with her fair skin….

      “No!” He’d been imagining her in the pink bra and nothing else and hadn’t meant to say that aloud.

      “‘No’ what?” She gave him a puzzled look.

      He jumped up from the futon and walked over to her. “No, you can’t do that. Since your family isn’t here, I’m going to put a stop to this.”

      “You are? How?”

      “I don’t know—do you need money? I can loan you some.”

      She looked shocked. All right, so he was tight with his money. Then she smiled and trailed the pink bra over his chest. His heart beat faster. “Tell you what. You’re a gambler, big guy. You gamble on corn, soybeans, cattle. Let’s make a bet.”

      “On what?” That smile was making him nervous. That and imagining how her breasts would look in the pink bra, her nipples hard against the tight fabric. Were they pink, too?

      “On you.” She drew out the last word, teasing him. “Since you consider yourself my friend, you can give me an unbiased opinion on whether I’m good enough to make it at Frisky’s. If you say no, I won’t continue my budding career as an exotic dancer.”

      “What? You want to do a demo for me?” His throat grew tight, and he reached to loosen his tie, only to remember he’d stuffed it into his jacket pocket hours ago.

      “Do we have a bet or not?” Her blue eyes bored into him. She wasn’t the shy little farm girl who’d blushed when they first met. And now she wanted to take her clothes off in public for strange men?

      He couldn’t let that happen. “It’s a bet.”

      “Good.” She pushed him toward the futon, and he sat uneasily. It reminded him too much of the couches at Frisky’s.

      She walked over to her CD player and bent over a stack of CDs, her breasts pushing against the front of her dark-blue blouse. Her firm ass was nicely outlined in the swishy black skirt.

      He shifted uncomfortably. If her fully clothed curves were already getting to him, what would he do when he saw more?

      She pressed the start button and stood. Marvin Gaye’s song “Let’s Get It On” started. Oh, no. Marvin was singing about holding back his feelings for a long time. Adam had tried, really tried to do the same, but now Bridget was swaying in front of him to the soulful music and all those smashed-down feelings and desires bubbled up.

      She gave him a small smile and unclipped her hair. Waves of honey, coffee and gold tumbled around her shoulders. She shook them out and he gripped the futon’s edge to steady himself, imagining those strands running through his fingers.

      She squared her shoulders and looked like she took a deep breath. For courage? “Bridge, if you don’t want to do this, we can cancel the bet.”

      Her confidence seemed to come roaring back. “First of all, don’t call me ‘Bridge.’ It’s a man’s name.” She reached for the top button of her blouse. “And I am definitely not a man.”

      No, she wasn’t. Her fingers traveled down the column of buttons in an excruciatingly slow pace, giving him a peek at a black bra and flat belly. Then she shrugged her blouse onto the floor.

      Adam’s fingertips went numb digging into the futon, but that was the only thing numb. At the sight of her black-lace-clad breasts, his disobedient cock came to life.

      Her skin was milky pale in contrast with the black lace, lush mounds of plump perfection curving above the bra. Even from where he sat in silent agony, he saw her nipples tighten against the fabric.

      Her gaze dropped to his lap and her eyes widened in pleased surprise. He knew he’d lost the bet right then, but the fox side of him guarding the chicken coop wanted her to keep going.

      And she did, swaying as she unfastened her skirt and dropped it to puddle around her ankles. He stared at her—from her sexy boots to her black lace garter belt, black sheer stockings and black lace panties. Oh, he loved black lace garter belts and black sheer stockings and black lace panties.

      She kicked the skirt free and did a sexy little twirl, confirming his worst suspicions that her matching panties were indeed thong panties. Her ass was white and firm after years of physical labor and his fingers itched to dig into it.

      She reached for the stocking hooks and he surrendered. “All right, all right, you win! You would make an absolute fortune at Frisky’s.” He would be her best customer. “But you just can’t. Please, Bridget.”

      A broad grin crossed her face. “Not so fast. We’re not done yet.”

      “Not yet?” It came out as a whimper.

      “I don’t think a striptease counts for the whole bet.” She stalked toward him in her boots and lingerie and stopped between his widespread knees. He stared at her in a daze. Marvin was still crooning like crazy. “After all, the girls make most of their money on lap dances. Let’s try it.”

      Adam’s mind blanked. A platonic lap dance from the woman he’d lusted after for years? And just this evening he’d claimed not to be a masochist.

      BRIDGET LOOKED DOWN at Adam, her hands on her hips. She’d thought she would feel awkward or embarrassed prancing around in fussy lingerie with her breasts and hips jiggling all over, but it was just the opposite. She was an all-powerful sex goddess, judging from the glazed expression on Adam’s face. That, and the erection his finely woven wool pants couldn’t hide.

      No more little sister. She took a deep breath and knelt on the futon, straddling his lap.

      Marvin segued into “Sexual Healing” and Adam groaned. “Bridge…”

      He still didn’t get it. “Bridget,” she corrected, swaying over him. Although she wasn’t touching him, the heat from his erection kindled a matching heat in her belly. And parts lower.

      She shimmied closer, cupping her breasts and bringing them closer to his face. Her nipples were achingly hard, and she rolled them between her fingers through the lace.

      His chocolate-brown eyes dilated at her daring and he swallowed hard. She reached behind her and slowly unhooked her bra, her gaze never leaving his. He gulped as her breasts spilled from the cups and she tossed the bra aside.

      She paused for a second, letting him drink her in. Her nipples had always been extralarge, too, and she had tried to mask them for years with special adhesive covers or firm liners in her bras. But no more. Adam extended a finger toward one hard peak