TROUBLE – Chapter One

It was easy for Samair Jones to stride past the crowd lined up outside the club Risqué and through its entrance. All it took was a sultry smile for the doorman and she was in.

Okay, so it was more than just the smile. It was the attitude behind the smile. And the happenings of the past few hours had given her just the kick in the ass she needed for an attitude adjustment.

For the past three years she’d been a good girl. She’d worked a ‘proper’ job, had a ‘proper’ relationship, and a boring, uneventful life. Now it was time to remember how to live.

Samair knew there were times when the image she showed to the world shifted and a certain energy emanated from her that made people sit up and take notice. It was something she used to hate.

The energy was from deep within, and one she hadn’t felt in way too long. It was the same energy that had made teachers single her out as the troublemaker in school, and her parents berate her for being too flamboyant. But tonight she’d decided to give it free rein.

To give herself free rein.

She looked out over the dimly lit dance floor. Friday night and the place was packed. Bodies of all shapes, sizes, and sexes filled the club in varied levels of dress – or in some cases undress – undulating to the music, and an almost forgotten spark of energy flowed through her. Risqué had a reputation as the classiest dance club in the city, and she could see why. The place was perfect.

Tension eased from between her shoulders as the steady throb of a heavy bass beat seeped into her through the floor, her pulse starting to pound in time with it. She turned from the railing and started for the stairs. Three steps from the top she spotted a good-looking stud on his way up. She smiled at him, held his heated gaze as they passed, and felt the thrill of the hunt shoot through her.

The time had come to stop kidding herself and embrace who, and what, people always told her she was.

Trouble.

Valentine Ward noticed her as soon as she set foot in Risqué. From the vantage point behind the one way mirrored wall of his office, he could see everything that happened on the floor of his club. He liked it that way. He needed to know what was happening at all times.

He studied the contradiction of the pretty blonde. The sinuous way she moved had caught his attention. But the longer he gazed at her, the more a subtle air of innocence seemed to come through. “Val, are you listening?”

“Not really,” he murmured.

Karl Dawson came up behind him and looked over his shoulder. “Ah, now I see why. A playmate of yours?”

Val watched as she stepped to the side of the landing and surveyed the club from the top floor. She was less than fifteen feet from his office, so he got a good look at her.
Dressed in black slacks and a simple white blouse she should’ve looked out of place in the nightclub. The clothes certainly weren’t anywhere near the type of party clothes most club-goers wore. They did nothing to hide nor accentuate her curvy figure, and he wondered if she always dressed like that. It looked wrong. Too plain … too strict for the raw sensuality she exuded.

Tousled dark blond hair that reached a couple of inches past her shoulders framed a face that housed delicately arched eyebrows, a straight nose, and full lips. The lips were really something. Full and shiny, they formed a natural pout that gave him the urge to suck the bottom one into his mouth for a quick nibble.

He couldn’t help but stare, wishing she would look his way. He wanted to see her eyes. Instinct told him they held the key to her.

Val watched those tempting lips tilt in a predatory smile as she started for the steps, and he felt the long forgotten pull of lust stir.

“Not yet,” he finally answered Karl. “But she will be.”

Bodies brushed against her as she walked, and Samair felt alive for the first time in way too long. Almost as if she were waking from a deep sleep.

She watched the couple behind the bar as they mixed drinks for the crowd. The male bartender was tall, slim and clean cut while the girl was the complete opposite with vivid purple streaks throughout her black hair, heavy eye make-up, and black lipstick.

Despite being the odd-couple, it was clear they got along as they moved in a synchronized dance behind the bar. When she was up, Samair ordered her drink and decided to do things the easy way. “Is Joey Kent here tonight?”

“Joey’s here somewhere.” Purple and black curls bobbed as the bartender squeezed a lime into Samair’s drink. “If you can’t find her in the crowd, wait ten minutes and you’ll see her in one of the cages. She never breaks for long.”

That sounded like the Joey she knew. Full of fire and never far from a dance floor.

“Thanks.” Samair put a ten-dollar bill down and picked up her drink. “Keep the change.”

“Anytime, sweetness,” she replied with a wink and a grin completely at odds with her dark Goth look.

Glass in hand, Samair started the stroll around the club. A tingle of awareness danced up her spine and she looked over her shoulder, but saw nothing unusual. She continued her walk around the club, heading for the dance floor, unable to shake the feeling that someone was watching her through the packed crowd.

Her blood hummed as it raced through her veins. Anger, determination, and excitement all combined to give her just the push she needed to take control of her life again.

For twenty-eight years she’d listened to her parents’ lectures and done her best to live up to their expectations. She took business courses in college instead of art or creative design, she worked crappy hours in a small boutique just so she could be near what she really loved, clothes. She’d been undemanding in the bedroom, and put up with lousy sex so she could have a steady boyfriend.

Okay, so the putting up with crappy sex hadn’t been part of her parents’ lectures, but having a steady relationship had been. And that meant putting up with mediocre sex.

Somehow, after high school, she’d done everything proper, and it had bitten her in the ass.
Well, she was done with it. It was time to do things her way, and she knew just the person to help her relearn what that was.

Just as Samair reached the far corner of the room she heard a piercing rebel yell, and turned to see a striking redhead climb up into one of the platform cages on the edge of the dance floor and start shaking her booty.

Despite the long, straight, brilliant red hair pulled back in two high pigtails, the neutral makeup, and the porcelain complexion, Joey Kent did not look innocent. Maybe it was the custom-made leather halter-top, short shorts and knee-high boots.

Whatever it was, it didn’t matter. All that mattered was that Joey was there, and she was a friend.

Samair chuckled and made her way in that direction. She ran her hand up Joey’s calf to her bare skin, and tickled her behind the knee to get her attention. Joey swung around sharply, and saw Samair.

“Sammie!” The last vestiges of Samair’s anger and frustration slipped away at the pure welcome in Joey’s grin.

“Hey, baby!” Samair shouted.

“Get your butt up here, girl!”

Without thinking twice Samair set her drink on the edge of the platform, and tossed her worn leather backpack into the cage. She gripped the bars, hoisted herself up, and squeezed between the metal into the cramped space. And was instantly wrapped in her old friend’s arms.
Joey must’ve picked up on something in her hug, because when she pulled back, there was concern in her expression. “What’s wrong? What happened?”

Samair shook her head and flashed a wicked grin. “Later,” she shouted. “For now I just want to have a good time!”

“Let’s do it!”

Joey reached for the buttons of Samair’s simple blouse and started to undo them while both girls moved to the music.