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  “The bullshit you gave me about fighting with Sam. I know the sound of an orgasm when I hear one.” Laura glanced at her, an eyebrow raised. “Although, I never had you pegged as a screamer, hun. Just ‘fess up, girlfriend, you sounded like you were having one hell of a good time, and I’m guessing not for the first time. You look positively radiant, like a woman getting screwed on a regular basis should look. I get the feeling Sam is no My Little Pony and he’s doing you real good.” Laura dragged out the last two words, making them sound more suggestive.

  Meg could feel heat rising to her cheeks. “I don’t know what you thought you heard. I told you what happened. This conversation is closed.”

  Laura chuckled. She knew Laura would only let her close the conversation until she deemed it otherwise. Hell, after a couple of drinks Laura could get her to confess to anything. Maybe she’d stick with soft drinks, diet soft drinks.

  Anyway, her sex life was tame compared to Laura’s. She was hardly in a position to be commenting on what other people did in the privacy of their own home. “What about you and your men. Still boffing two at once?”

  Laura glanced at her and grinned. “Hmm, deflection. Nice tactic. Actually trying to get me to talk about my love life won’t work. I gave up both of them.”

  “Why? I thought you were having a great time?”

  Laura shrugged. “To be honest I get the impression they were happier when I didn’t make up the threesome, besides, the sex shop in Eastlands ran low on lube.”

  “Lube?”

  “Jesus Christ, what planet are you from? It’s not comfortable to go sticking a dick in places that don’t come with their own lubrication. Not fun for either party. Not unless you plan to sit on one of those donut cushions your whole life.”

  Surely not? Laura wouldn’t, would she? The thought made Meg clench her butt cheeks together. She sure as hell didn’t plan to ask. She didn’t need that picture in her head.

  Laura pulled into a parking lot and Meg froze in her seat. The giant flashing sign, complete with a pirate and the slogan, Come shimmy the main mast at the Jolly Roger, lit up the whole street. She should have caught on to where they were going earlier. The Jolly Roger wasn’t a place she had ever been to before, but she’d heard the stories about just how far things could go.

  “You cannot be serious? I am not going to hand out leaflets in there!” If her mother was horrified about Sian taking Michael Monaghan to her dad’s party, her youngest daughter frequenting the town’s lewdest bar would send her into conniptions.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Laura squeezed her car between an enormous, silver SUV and a black Porsche Carrera with vanity plates that read Hard On. Meg shuddered, as her mind conjured up an image of a fat balding man with sausage fingers, the wind whipping his comb over from side to side, as he cruised the beachside suburbs with the roof of his car down, ogling the scantily clad girls playing volleyball on the sand.

  Engine off, Laura reached in the back for her purse and opened the driver’s side door. “Meg? Are you coming or what?”

  Meg shook her head. “No. I have a bad feeling about this. We can’t just wander in there and hand out flyers. I think I want to go home.”

  Laura glared, delivering her, “No way, girlfriend,” with a full head wiggle and raised finger.

  Meg knew she was in trouble. Laura was not in the mood to accept no for an answer. If she didn’t get out of the car, Laura would drag her out kicking and screaming. Even worse, in the onslaught Meg would undoubtedly end up flashing her wares and messing up her hair and makeup while Laura would come out apparently untouched. No matter how tiny her skirt, and today’s little black number barely covered her butt cheeks, Laura never flashed anything. Meg would need hours of practice to master getting in and out of a car if she wanted to dress that way.

  With a sigh of resignation, she climbed out and slammed the door shut.

  “Laura, I’m not sure this is the sort of place we should be handing out leaflets. I thought we wanted a better class of clients. All the women here will only be interested in sex.”

  “And your point would be?”

  Meg glared at her. They had agreed sex was not the main commodity they were selling and Meg had hoped it was something no one would be buying. “We agreed we were selling lifestyle advice not just sex.”

  As if she was scared Meg might leg it, Laura strolled around and linked arms with her before leading the way toward the entrance. “We agreed that men offering the full package were the niche market we planned to target. I don’t believe women at the bowls club or the Women’s Institute want help dressing or fucking. This is the place to find the women who need our services. But you could be right. Perhaps you want to give your mum some leaflets to hand out at her next committee meeting?”

  Laura had called her bluff. She didn’t want any of the women in her mother’s social circle to ever see a leaflet or hire their guys. Besides, Laura had a point about the type of women who frequented The Jolly Roger. She still didn’t feel comfortable about selling sex. Perhaps a change of tack was in order? They hadn’t reached the door yet. There was time to plead her case. At best this whole experience would be embarrassing; at worst they would get their heineys kicked to the curb. “Laura, I don’t think the bar staff will appreciate us handing out leaflets to their clientele.”

  Laura tugged her harder. “How stupid do you think I am?”

  Meg opened her mouth but before she could respond Laura continued. “Don’t answer that. I have permission. Now let’s go.”

  “Permission from whom?”

  Finally at the door, Laura let her arm go and shoved her inside. “You’ll see.”

  Her senses assaulted by hypnotic music, flashing lights, the combined odor of perfume, booze, and sweat rolling from the heaving crowd of people, Meg took a second to get her bearings. She didn’t know what she had expected but, if you ignored the men in skull and crossbones G-strings working the bar, it seemed like any other drinking establishment. Well, any other establishment with a stage set up on one end adorned by men in pirate attire working a very sexy groove as they tossed their clothing aside.

  Meg was as mesmerized as the rest of the mostly female audience as one extremely rakish looking pirate tossed his long, dark, shaggy hair from side to side whilst sliding his breeches to his feet. The tiny scrap of fabric covering his main mast left nothing to the imagination, not that she would have to wait long to find out if her imagination did him justice. When he tossed the final garment aside screams and moans of appreciation filled the room, talk about shiver me timbers. Despite having nothing left to remove, it appeared the act was far from over. Hands behind his head, he ground his hips, making his pendulous dick jive to the music as he strode off the stage toward the audience. See, now, that was what she’d heard about this place, the ‘dancers’ liked to get down and dirty with the crowd. The thought of a total stranger swinging his cock in her face scared the shit out of her. What were you supposed to do with it?

  Laura jabbed her in the ribs. “Close your mouth, Meg, or you’ll swallow something. Unless that’s what you were hoping for.”

  Meg glared at her. No doubt Laura had amused herself no end. Of the two of them, Laura was the one most likely to manhandle the dancer with the massive dong the slavering female crowd was currently petting.

  “Ah, let her enjoy the show. I hear she doesn’t get out of the kitchen much these days. How about I take you to meet Roger in the dressing room later and you can take your turn petting him if you like?”

  She recognized the accent. Please God, say it isn’t so. Turning her head, she took in the full costume, tricorn hat, thigh high leather boots, blousy cotton shirt open almost to the waist, and skin tight black leather pants. Cute outfit or not, she did not intend to converse with a man who had accosted her in her own flat.

  “Laura, I think we should go.”

  Laura stared at her. “Go, are you crazy? Michael just offered to let me pet Roger.”

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nbsp; Meg gave the man behind Laura a withering look then turned to stare at the stripper moving dangerously close to where they stood. “Roger needs to put his pants back on, and we need to find somewhere with a better class of bar staff.”

  Michael chuckled. “Do I look like one of the bar staff?”

  He had a point, he was completely overdressed, and for that she was eternally grateful. The two mental images she already had of his erect dick were more than enough.

  “I’m the manager. And Roger doesn’t usually wear pants. Some woman drew a face on Chad’s dick with a sharpie a few weeks ago and we decided he needed a name of his own. We ran a contest, with the prize being dinner and dancing with the newly named cock and his owner. The winning vote was for Roger. Now he’s the bar’s unofficial mascot. We’re going to put his picture on the wall behind the bar.”

  Laura glanced at Chad still working the crowd. From the way Roger was heading northward, it appeared he loved the attention from his adoring female admirers. Getting a woody while naked in the middle of a room filled with fully dressed women was tacky in the extreme. Meg’s stomach heaved when one of the girls grabbed a handful of Roger and lathed her tongue over him. How could she lick a stripper? He could be carrying any number of fatal or painful diseases.

  She stuck out her tongue. “Ew, this place is gross. I’m going to vomit.”

  Michael chuckled. “You’re the only one complaining. I bet you’re so uptight you’ve never even sucked cock.”

  She glared at him. Smug bastard, if only he knew. Despite spying on her and Sam in action at her parents’ house she bet he had her pegged as sexually repressed just like everyone else. Well, he was so wrong. She loved sex, in fact, she would do sex twenty-four/seven if she didn’t need to work. She shifted her focus to the carpet, determined not to respond to his jibe.

  Michael slid his fingers under her chin and tipped her face up to meet his gaze. “You look like you want to deny it. So, anything you want to tell me? Have those luscious lips ever sucked a guy off? Do you like to deep throat men when you’re not busy in the kitchen? Has your little friend Sam been the recipient of a delicious blowjob?”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Meg felt blood rush to her face, but she refused to answer him. If they were going to hand out flyers she wanted to get it over with ASAP and get as far away from Michael Monaghan as possible. Laura had disappeared and Meg glanced around. She didn’t have to look far. Her friend was over admiring the stripper, along with the rest of his slobbering fan club, who were now taking it in turns to kiss Roger.

  She glanced at Michael, who stood with arms folded, legs akimbo, and a damned stupid, self-confident grin plastered on his face. With what she hoped was a dismissive toss of her head she strode across the room.

  She grabbed at Laura’s arm. “Are we handing out leaflets or not? Because if not, then I’ve got better things to do with my time.”

  Laura glared at her. “Keep your pants on. Lighten up and enjoy yourself. You’re way too uptight. Get a drink, dance, mingle. If you don’t look like you belong, no one is going to want to take anything from you.”

  A dull pain throbbed at the base of Meg’s skull, if she died from a blood clot on the brain she sure as hell didn’t want her exit on a gurney to be photographed, filmed, and discussed on the local news. What would her mother think? What would Sam think? She took a deep breath.

  “Just put down the damn stripper and give me some flyers or you can hand them all out yourself.”

  Laura dug in her bag and came out with a bunch of papers, shoving them in Meg’s direction. “For your information, talking to Chad is work. He’s offered to help hand out leaflets, once he gets his pants back on.”

  Meg mumbled, “I bet that’s not all he offered to do.” If Laura heard, she chose to ignore her. She began to suspect the visit to the strip joint had more to do with Laura finding a more challenging place to pull men than with drumming up clients for Male Order.

  No matter, the sooner she got rid of her pile of leaflets the sooner she could go home. Turning on her heels, she bumped into Michael hovering behind her. She moved her gaze from his semi naked chest to his dark eyes. His lips twitched with amusement, pushing her anger up another notch. Between clenched teeth she growled out, “Do you want to move?”

  “Nope, I figured if Chad is helping Laura then I should offer to help you. After all, we’re all in this together.”

  She stared at him, not sure she knew what he meant. “You what?”

  “Didn’t Laura tell you the good news? I got the job. I’m your first employee.”

  Meg shoved him aside, this was not happening, not now, not ever. There were hundreds of men who could do the job a million times better than him. Laura had only hired him in the hopes of riding his cock. Didn’t she know mixing business and pleasure was a terrible idea, especially if the pleasure involved the smug Irish bastard currently grinning at her like a Cheshire cat? After catching him half naked in their kitchen, Sam would be very unhappy if she got involved with Michael. Hiring him as an employee was the stupidest thing Laura had ever done, and she had done some dumb shit in her time. “Over my dead body!”

  His deep throaty laughter accompanied her retreat. The way the pain was building inside her skull it might well be over her dead body. She needed a stiff drink before she began to work the women hanging at the back of the room. If she were at a strip joint for the show that’s where she would be sitting, too afraid and too frumpy to be seen close to the action. Yep, the back would be the place to find their future clients.

  With a little difficulty, she elbowed her way to the bar and climbed onto a stool. A cute blond hunk wandered over to serve her. Determined to keep eye contact, she stared into his face. She felt dirty the poor guy had to humiliate himself by wearing something barely there to get a job. Mind you, apparently she was now selling Michael Monaghan for sex. What the fuck had she been thinking? She was a pimp—his pimp! Next she would be driving around in a Maserati wearing a fake fur coat and bling.

  “What can I get for you?”

  “Brandy, a double.”

  “You want something with it?”

  Meg shook her head. He placed the drink in front of her and she shoved some bills at him. She told him to keep the change and downed the drink in one large gulp.

  The minute the fiery liquid hit her stomach it threatened to come back up. She swallowed furiously and her stomach settled. After taking a couple of minutes to suck in some air she decided to get to work. Pimp or not, the car payment was due next week, and there was no way she was sponging off Sam when it came time to pay the rent. She’d scour the want ads tomorrow in the hope someone was hiring washed up advertising gurus. Until then she had no choice but to stick with the business. Hopefully Laura wouldn’t take too long and then Meg could go home to her three favorite guys, and a large painkiller. She scrambled off the barstool, grabbing at the counter for balance. The room started to spin and the music faded in and out. Someone was calling her name, it echoed like he was calling her from a great distance. She desperately tried to focus on the face moving toward her, but it was impossible to make out the features through the fog that had invaded her brain.

  Something cold and wet pressed against Meg’s forehead and she tried to push it away.

  “Shh, darlin’, don’t fret yourself. I’ve got you. You’re safe now.”

  The warm Irish accent made her snap her eyes open. A groan escaped her when she came almost nose to nose with her arch nemesis, Michael Monaghan. He had lost the hat but still had the white open necked shirt showing a disconcerting hint of pecs and dark chest fluff. Shoving ineffectually at him, she struggled to sit up. His hands closed in on her shoulders, pushing her back down onto the soft cushioning that supported her. She glanced around the room in an attempt to get her bearings. Last thing she remembered was climbing off the barstool. The loud duff, duff through the wall indicated she was still at The Jolly Roger but clearly no longer in the bar. A large timber d
esk sat across the room, an expansive black leather chair behind it. She glanced down at what was supporting her, and realized she was lying on a red, crushed velvet couch, which matched the red and silver flock wallpaper adorning the walls. She struggled harder and Michael shook his head.

  “Lie still, you crazy woman. You passed out cold in the bar. If you get up too quickly, you’ll do it again.”

  Meg gave up and relaxed. He was probably right. “Where am I?”

  “Fortunately, I caught you before you hit the floor and your head. I brought you to my office. I figured you would prefer I didn’t call the paramedics and cause a scene. You wouldn’t want your ma to discover you hang around with the likes of me in a place like this, now would you?”

  He lifted the damp face cloth from her brow and touched her skin with the back of his fingers. “You seem to have cooled off, but the heat of the bar and one drink shouldn’t have dropped you to the floor. Do you feel sick at all?”

  Oh, he was being nice to her and she hated it. She wanted to sucker punch him in the jaw, not feel any warmth toward him. “Who are you, the ship’s doctor?”

  A chuckle escaped him and his dark eyes twinkled with amusement. “I see you’re still in a good mood. Now as much as you might hate me, I’m not letting you go until I know you’re alright. So, tell me are you sick at all? Had a tummy upset? Up the spout with little Sammy’s kid?”

  Her rage was rising. How dare he? How dare he take the piss when she was unable to defend herself? Shoving him aside, she got to her feet and instantly regretted it as the world started to swim before her eyes. Michael wrapped his arms around her and she had no choice but to collapse against him, or fall like a lead weight to the floor.

  Gradually her vision returned and she pushed at him. “Let me go.”

  He wrapped his arms tighter around her middle. “No, not until I know you’re going to be alright. I shouldn’t have made the joke about you being pregnant, it was in poor taste.”