Marty thought fast. If they wanted a stripper, she would be a stripper. At least until she figured out where the hell Stryker was and how the hell to get out of this situation.

"Hi there, fellas," she called out, waggling her fingers at them. "Looks like ya'll are having a real good time tonight."

"It's gonna get better now that you're here," a dark headed guy with a big beard shouted out. The other men guffawed, some of them yelling, "Hell, yeah," and "You bet your sweet ass."

Inwardly Marty flinched, but she kept her smile planted in place. Her legs were shaking right down to her leather flip-flops, but she couldn't break down now. She was just going to have to bluff her way through this.

"Well, aren't ya‘ll sweet. But I don't see the guy who invited me here.  Where's Jake Stryker?"

"Oh, Jake will be around, but hell, no need to wait on him. Let's get this party started!" The redhead who'd manhandled her into the room hollered and the rest of the men responded with clapping and whistling. Geez, what a bunch of degenerates.

"Well, hey, aren't you even going to offer a girl a drink?" Anything to buy some time.

Half a dozen men scurried towards the bar offering to make her a cocktail. She pretended to have trouble making up her mind then finally asked for a Mist and Coke. She giggled and took the glass, drawing in a big sip.

"My, that is might tasty. A girl works up a big thirst doing what I do." She batted her thick, spiky lashes at the men gathered around her, widening her blue-green eyes.

"Well, drink up there, darlin', and let's get on with the show." She spun around and looked at the speaker. A sudden rush of recognition ran through her as she realized it was another country superstar named Legend Hayes. He ran his gaze up and down her body, the gray eyes raking over her with a lustful leer. A single lock of sun-bleached blonde hair fell across his forehead somehow reminding her of a snake slithering down a hill.

"Oh, are you impatient? Haven't you ever heard that anticipation makes the prize even sweeter?" She raised an eyebrow at him then winked seductively. "I did just get here, you know."

He crossed his arms across his chest, his expression unchanging. "I also know what you're getting paid to do and it isn't to stand around drinking."

Marty tossed back her drink in one gulp. This next part was going to take courage, liquid or otherwise.

"All righty then, let's get this party started. Hey, how about a couple of you fellas helping me up on that pool table?"

Marty found herself lifted atop the pool table by a dozen willing hands. She stood up straight and looked down at the crowd of men all standing and watching her with anticipation. She tossed her strawberry curls behind her shoulders and wiggled her hips seductively. She felt like a fool but she had to make it look real.

"Hey, Red, how about handing me a pool cue?" She forced her voice to lower, making it husky and teasing. When the redheaded dude handed her the stick she took it and held it diagonally across her front with both hands, like a baseball bat, staring down the sea of men.

"Now that I've got your attention," she hollered, her voice becoming suddenly more forceful, "I've got an announcement to make."

She made eye contact with each and every man in the room.

"I am not a stripper. I'm Marty Donahue, a painter come to work for Jake Stryker. I don't know where he's at or what you all are doing here, but I need to see Jake—now."

She stood there glaring, armed with a cue stick and ready to do battle if any one of these guys moved towards her.

 

Jake Stryker was staring at the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. She stood on top the pool table like an avenging angel ready to fight for her virtue. Her hair tumbled around her shoulders, glowing like fire beneath the overhead light, her teal blue dress hugging her slender form. Her chin was high, her face pale, but her turquoise eyes shone with determination. She stood with her long, slender legs planted apart, her breasts heaving, every inch of her body announcing her willingness to defend herself. Damn, she looked like some kind of fairy warrior ready to fight for good to defeat evil.

He didn't move for a moment, frozen in the doorway, entranced by the sight before him. She didn't even look real. He blinked twice and realized she was still there. He wasn't imagining things. He hadn't just conjured up this earth angel in his mind.

What had she said? She was Marty Donahue, the muralist? Hell, he'd thought Donahue was a man. Sarah hadn't mentioned she was female. He'd pictured some funky little guy in paint stained pants and a Hawaiian shirt, not an incredibly sexy female who made his heart pound just looking at her.

Her words suddenly sank into his numb brain. Damn. She wasn't supposed to arrive until tomorrow. Why was she here now? Not only that, the woman was squaring off on a pool table with a bunch of his horny buddies who had gathered for the bachelor party he was hosting for his best friend, Lane. Lane was his lead guitar player and he was getting married on Sunday. And these guys were out to howl.

Jake needed to put a stop to this right now. There was such a grumbling growing amongst his buddies that he was afraid he wouldn't be heard, so he put two fingers between his lips and whistled, loudly and shrilly.

"Hold up, fellas." His voice rang above the mingling voices of the other men. "That is not a stripper."

Marty's gaze flew to the man just entering the room. Jake Stryker, in the flesh. And the flesh was so much sexier than his pictures. Slightly too long coffee brown hair framed a square face outlined in 5 o'clock shadow. His dark chocolate eyes sparked with warning, his mouth set in a hard line.

But it was his body that really caught Marty's attention. A tight black Harley Davidson t-shirt outlined a physique that would have been the envy of Adonis. Broad shoulders and bulging biceps paired with a flat abdomen and slender hips. Snug fitting faded blue jeans outlined powerful thighs. This guy was hot right from his silky waves down to his booted feet.

Marty's breath caught in her throat as the hunk of man strode towards her. Damn, she couldn't breathe, couldn't move as she watched him saunter forward and take a stance in front of the pool table.

"This is Marty Donahue, the artist I hired to paint murals for my niece and nephew's rooms. Back off and leave her alone."

He turned and extended his hand to Marty.

"Please, forgive my rowdy friends. I'm Jake Stryker."

Marty couldn't stop the thought streaking across her mind.

And you are my downfall.