Sins Of The Flesh. J. Margot Critch

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