“The ‘stripper’ is me, George.”
George’s jaw dropped. “You’re going to do it yourself?”
“I thought the fewer people involved, the better.”
“But do you know what you’re doing?” he demanded with outraged professionalism. “It’s an art, you know. It ain’t just taking your clothes off any old how.”
“I know that. I’ve had a lesson from one of your own models. What’s the matter? Don’t you think I’m up to the job?”
She laughed as she said it for she knew that she brought first-class equipment to the task. She was five feet nine inches tall and slim but curved. Her pale, almost silvery blond hair added a touch of glamour. She wore a short, tight, black leather skirt, and a black leather jacket that was designed to be provocative. It was skintight, emphasizing the swell of her breasts and her tiny waist. There were no sleeves and the shoulders were cut away almost to the neck, but the neck itself was high and the edges kept in place by a zipper. “Yes—No—Try your luck!” That was the message that it sent. Debbie knew she looked dramatically effective, and when George regarded her with a critical eye she met his gaze unafraid. “You’ve got some very nice assets there,” he said at last, judicially. “If you ever need to earn a bit extra—”
“Cut it out, George,” she told him with a chuckle. “Save the spiel for someone who doesn’t know you as well as I do.”
He sighed. “Can’t blame me for trying. What about this bloke? Is he photogenic?”
“No idea. My client didn’t have a picture of him. She says he’s tall and dark, late thirties. I’ve given him a description of myself. As far as he knows I’m called Esther Bridges.” She checked her watch. “I’m meeting him downstairs. If you’re sure everything’s all right here, I’ll go down and wait.”
“I’ll put some music on,” George suggested. “I’ve got a very quiet camera, but a little extra noise doesn’t hurt.”
It was twenty minutes before Speke was due but she preferred to be there early. It was part of being on top of the job. And she was glad she’d done it when after five minutes a sleek sports car drew up outside the hotel and a tall, dark man in his late thirties leapt out. Debbie’s soul burned at the sight of that car. She knew how much it cost. She’d sighed over it, yearned for it, twisted her budget every which way in a fruitless attempt to convince herself that she could afford that high-priced beauty. And this man had bought it with money from the wife he was deceiving.
But none of this appeared on her face. She was regarding the door with a cool expression as Speke strode into the hotel lobby. He glanced around and met her eye. There was a question in his face and his eyebrows lifted slightly. She answered with a nod and sauntered forward. “I believe I’m the person you’ve come to see?” she said.
“If you’ve got something for me, then you’re the person I’ve come to see,” he agreed.
“Oh, yes,” she said sweetly. “I’ve got something for you, something you’re really going to like.”
“Well?” he said impatiently.
“You don’t expect me to have it down here, surely? It’s upstairs in my room.”
“Then let’s go and get it.”
Debbie led the way upstairs, concealing her surprise. He wasn’t exactly as she’d expected. The car fitted Jane’s picture, but apart from his shoes, his clothes didn’t. As Jane had said, the shoes were handmade and, like the car, they gleamed with costly quality. But everything else about his looks took her aback. He wore old jeans and a leather jacket that might have been expensive when it was new, but that was a long time ago. Nor did he have any of the smooth charm of the con man. His manner was rough and almost irritable. But perhaps that was his method, she reflected. Maybe smooth charm was a played-out commodity and he’d calculated that roughness looked more like sincerity.
But in one thing Speke fitted her mental picture. He was as attractive as Jane had suggested, with lean features that might have been almost too handsome if they hadn’t become weather-beaten along the way. His voice had a melodious bass beauty that had given her a shock, and beneath the shabby clothing his body had a powerful athleticism that nothing could hide.
The room was empty as she led him in. Cool, sultry modern jazz came from the radio. Debbie didn’t even glance at the mirror. All her attention was focused on what she was about to do. “Let me get you a drink,” she offered, swaying over to the refrigerator.
“No, thank you,” he said. “I don’t have much time. You know what I came for. Why don’t we get straight down to business?”
“Because there are things we haven’t discussed yet,” she said in a soft, husky voice that was calculated to melt his bones. “Besides, you don’t mind spending a little time with me, do you?”
He opened his mouth as if to argue, then something seemed to arrest his attention. Debbie was surveying him in a languid manner that was full of invitation, and a smile just touched her curved lips. “That might be—interesting,” he agreed.
“Oh, I’m a very interesting woman,” she promised. “Wouldn’t you like to find out just how interesting I can be?”
His eyes narrowed. “Is this how you normally do business?”
“That depends on who I’m doing business with. With some people I take more trouble than others.”
The corner of his mouth quirked. It wasn’t a smile exactly, certainly not a friendly smile. There was something wary and suspicious about it, but it also made his face disconcertingly attractive. “And you plan to take trouble with me?” he queried.
“I think I’ll enjoy taking trouble with you,” she agreed. “Don’t you find it a little hot in here? Why don’t you take this off?” She indicated his jacket, and he didn’t resist when she slipped it off his shoulders. “That’s better,” she purred.
He put his head on one side and regarded her cynically. “I guess the next step is for you to take something off?” he suggested.
She gave him a wide-eyed gaze. “Do you think I should?”
“I think you should do whatever you want,” he told her. “This is your party. I’m just fascinated to see how it’s going to develop.”
Without answering, Debbie began to pull down the zipper that secured the tight leather jacket. Her companion didn’t move a muscle as it went lower and lower, but she could hear the soft rasp of his breathing that had suddenly grown faster. His eyes were fixed on her as her pale, silky skin came into view inch by inch. At last she shrugged off the jacket, revealing beautiful breasts, barely confined in a wispy black lace bra. She smiled at him with confidence. She knew her body was beautiful.
She was swaying in time to the music now, infusing her movements with a sensuous, erotic grace that she could see was having its effect. Her companion was watching her, riveted, and the jeering smile had died on his lips. She unfastened her skirt and let that, too, slip to the ground. She wore no tights beneath it, only skimpy black panties that matched the bra. She pushed her fingers up into her pale blond hair and let her head fall back as she sashayed about the room in time to the music. The movements were intended to suggest ecstasy and display her shape to the fullest advantage.
“Now, what about you?” she murmured, beginning to finger the buttons of his shirt.
He closed one hand over hers. “Before we go any further, there’s something we should get straight,” he said in a husky voice.
“What’s that?”
“I don’t play games, and I won’t stand for a woman playing games with me. Do you understand me?”
Now she could believe that he was a ruthless blackmailer, for there was hard intent in his eyes that boded ill for his enemies.