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«Pawns of passion», Norma Egan

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CHAPTER ONE

Pat Adams, a statuesque brunette of thirty-eight, was backed up against the office wall, staring at her new boss. "You want WHAT?" Pat said incredulously. "I couldn't have heard you correctly, Mr. Spalding."

"Then I'll say it again," Brock Spalding said. "I want you to undress."

Pat couldn't mistake his words that time. Still she couldn't believe he'd ask anything so outrageous. She remained silent a moment, wondering just how she'd gotten herself into such a fix. It was only her first hour on the job, and already she was in trouble.

For five years, ever since her husband died, Pat had worked for long hours and poor wages at a dime store to support herself and her daughter Trish. Finally she'd made the break and taken a better-paying job at the Tango, a new nightclub run by Brock Spalding. But she was nervous about being a cocktail waitress, and Spalding's astonishing request certainly hadn't helped calm her down.

Finally she managed to speak again. "Mr. Spalding, you have my work application, and I think everything is in order. I don't see any reason for me to take off my clothes. I'm only going to wait tables, not do a striptease."

Brock Spalding, a handsome dark-haired man of twenty-eight, sighed impatiently. "Look, baby," he said, "you're not just a waitress. Not at my place. I only hire the best-looking chicks, because I want to attract customers. I have to make sure you've got what it takes. And I have to know how you're gonna look in your costume."

"Costume?" Pat asked. "Isn't an ordinary waitress' uniform good enough?"

"Not at the Tango," Brock replied. "Come on, Mrs. Adams, take it or leave it. I'm a busy man. What's it gonna be?"

Pat felt torn between modesty and greed. She didn't want to undress in front of a stranger, but on the other hand she needed the high wages and good lips this job would bring her. She needed the money for Trish. Now that her daughter was eighteen and thinking about college, Pat wanted to give her everything she might need for her future.

It was the thought of Trish that did it. Pat would do anything for her daughter. "Very well, Mr. Spalding," she sighed. "I want the job."

"Then get on with it," Brock said, lighting a cigarette. "Show me your stuff."

Blushing with embarrassment, Pat kicked off her shoes and began unbuttoning her modest white cotton blouse. It had been five years since she'd undressed in front of a man, and even then it had been her husband John. She couldn't control her trembling hands as she fumbled with her buttons. Her conscience told her this was all wrong, that she ought to walk out – but, dammit, she needed the job.

Brock leaned back in his chair behind his desk, smoking, watching her intently. Pat removed her blouse and set it on his desk. She was wearing a dainty white lace bra that seemed to barely contain her large full tits. She saw Brock raise an eyebrow in obvious appreciation. That only made her feel more mortified.

On the other hand, as she fumbled with the zipper of her sensible tweed skirt, she couldn't help observing how attractive Brock Spalding was. Tall, lean, with coal-black hair, he was deeply tanned and expensively dressed. Pat had been deeply devoted to her husband, and it wasn't often that another man turned her on. She was surprised at how excited Spalding made her feel.

"Come on, honey," he said impatiently, "I don't have all day."

"Sorry," Pat muttered.

She quickly unzipped her skirt and let it drop before she could lose her nerve. In just her bra and her little white lace panties, she presented a spectacular sight. Brock's eyes widened. Pat Adams certainly didn't look thirty-eight years old, and no one would have guessed she was the mother of a teenage daughter.

Pat stood five-feet-eight in her bare feet, a long-legged big-breasted girl with a tiny firm waist and trim but curvy hips and ass. Her raven-black hair hung straight and gleaming below her shoulders. She had big brown eyes fringed with heavy natural black lashes, a delicate up-turned nose, and soft sensual mouth. She was the kind of woman who made men turn and stare in the sheets.

"Not bad," Brock said softly, "not bad at all."

"For an old lady," Pat added dryly.

"Honey, I read your age on the application," Brock said, "but nobody would ever guess. That's not gonna be a problem at all. Now I just wanta see how you'll look in the costume."


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