Skintight by Susan Andersen Page A

place.
    Then one of the doors suddenly banged open behind him, and he swung back. A harried-looking young woman barreled out of the auditorium and headed with long, purposeful strides toward the casino. Jax dove for the door, hooking its handle with a fingertip just before it slammed shut again. He slid into the showroom.
    â€œAnd, rock, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight,” a female voice called out, and he paused at the back of the immense room to stare at the lighted stage.
    At least a dozen women and four men were dancing in sync with directions being snapped out by the young woman who’d made such a production out of Treena’s age on her birthday. Jax swung a chair away from one of the tables at the back of the darkened room and straddled it, looking among the dancers for the woman who’d drawn him here.
    She wasn’t difficult to spot without the showgirl headgear. Her colorful hair was pulled up in a ponytail high atop her head, shining beneath the lights and floating like a cloud on the wind, a dawning sunrise of color above the drab charcoal-colored getup she wore.
    He noticed that there were as many styles of workout gear as there were dancers up on the stage, and that some of the outfits barely covered the essentials. He saw bouncing breasts in tiny tops, G-strings, naked abs and chests, bare feet and high heels. A woman with a long braid wore a crop top and fishnet stockings with minuscule panties built in, and one guy up there danced in nothing more than a loincloth. Treena’s tastes, on the other hand, apparently ran toward old ratty leotardsunder T-shirts with the sleeves and bottom halves hacked off.
    He shifted in his seat. Her gear was a world removed from the costumes she wore in the shows or even last night’s dress. While her breasts were fully covered, her legs were bare. They were sleek, toned, and they exposed a yard of creamy skin from her scuffed black, medium-heeled Mary-Jane-like shoes clear up to the high-cut leotard. And when the line of dancers turned and shimmied with their hands on their knees, he couldn’t help but notice that she had a world-class ass, with a thumb-print dimple where her thigh flowed into her hip.
    So, big surprise, genius—look around you. They’re Vegas dancers, for chrisake. A great body is the name of the game.
    Even so, except for his one brief assessment of dance attire he barely spared a glance for the other females up on the stage.
    â€œRic,” Julie-Ann suddenly barked. “Do you think you could shake a little life into your sorry ass? And you, Treena—let’s see some energy in that high kick. We’re professionals here, so if you two would be so kind as to quit dancing like a couple of first-year students, maybe we’ll all luck out and actually come across that way in tonight’s show.” She strode to center stage and stopped in front of the chorus line, where she turned her back on them to face the showroom. “Now watch and I’ll show you again what I want. Try to get it right this time.” She began moving her feet in rhythm with her snapping fingers. “And two , two, three, four—”
    A guy Jax could only assume was Ric flipped her offbehind her back, but also launched into the routine with the rest of the line and was dancing flat out by the time she turned around to inspect them again. They all looked very professional to Jax, so he couldn’t see what her bitch was.
    On the other hand, what did he know? He wouldn’t expect Julie-Ann to understand the nuances of poker, and he freely admitted he didn’t know squat about the shades and graduations of professional dancing, either.
    They all looked damn good to him.
    After only a few additional snarled remarks from Julie-Ann and one more run-through, the session broke up. Jax watched Treena yank her butchered T-shirt off over her head as she walked over to a pile of gym bags at the back of the stage. She