MG FF: Forbidden Stranger Updated Part 20 pg 130 - Page 2

Chapter One

At 1:55 a.m., Geet Handa finished her last dance. After stopping in the dressing room to pull jeans and a T-shirt over her hot pink bra and Brazilian thong and to replace six-inch heels with flip-flops, she was out the back door by 2:01, keys in hand, way past ready to go home.

There were still customers in the club, finishing one last drink, some of them trying to buy companionship for the rest of the night from the girls willing to be bought. Those who weren't willing were still in the dressing room, unwinding, taking off stage makeup, making plans to go out and party. Geet was the only one in the shadowy parking lot behind the club. That fact creeped her out and made her walk a little faster, clench the keys a little tighter. She had strong lungs and stronger legs, as well as a container of pepper spray in her purse, but she didn't want to be forced into a test of her ability to defend herself.

She was only a few yards from her car when a shadow separated from the darkness and moved towards her. Her heart jumped and her throat tightened in the instant before she recognized him.

Maan Khurana, part time bartender, full time hunk. He'd been at Almost Heaven only a few weeks, and that was all the girls knew about him. Well, that, plus the fact that he was the epitome of tall, dark and handsome.

But Geet wasn't just one of the girls. She knew Maan was six years older than her, that he came from the small Georgia Town of Copper Lake, that the crook in his nose was the result of a high school brawl, that he had two brothers, Dev and Aditya. She also knew that he hadn't recognised her or her name, and for that she was grateful. Growing up in Copper Lake was an experience she preferred to leave in the past.

"Hey, Geet. Sorry if I startled you."

"You didn't," she lied. She used the remote to unlock her car, the headlights automatically flashing, illuminating him for a few seconds. He wore jeans, faded and snug, and an emerald green polo shirt, also snug. His dark hair curled over his collar, his olive toned skin was stubbled with beard along his jaw. His eyes were surprisingly blue, like Dev's, and his voice sounded enough like Dev's had fifteen years ago that she would need more than a few words to tell them apart.

In his two weeks at club, he hadn't spoken to her more than a few times, and then only to steer her towards a customer who was dropping big bucks. She'd spoken to him to thank him with a share of her tip. She never got cozy with the guys at work, neither the manager nor the employees nor the customers. She particularly didn't want to get cozy with Dev Khurana's brother.

After tossing her gym bag into the backseat, she turned to face him. "Is there something I can do for you?"

"yeah." He shifted awkwardly. In all the times she had seen him, awkward hadn't been his style. "I have a friend who, uh, wants to learn to dance. I was wondering if'" he shrugged "'if you'd teach her."

Geet has always a been dancer. Her earliest memories were of twirling around the living room, alone or in her father's arms, while her mother watched with an indulgent smile. Then the accident had happened and her father never twirled her nor did her mother indulge her again.

She'd never had a lesson. She didn't bother with the routines, didn't care about the choreography. Moving to music came naturally to her. What little training she'd gotten had been on the job; watching the other dancers at that first club, getting a feel for what the customers liked and making it her own.

"There are classes she can take," she said at last.

"She's a little shy."

"She can buy a videotape."

"She does better with hand-on instruction."

"Does she want to do this for a job or just for you?"

With the only light coming from the nearest street lamp, it was impossible to say for sure, but his cheeks seemed darker. His voice was definitely a shade hoarser.

"Uh, both, I think."

Stripping could certainly bring a shy woman out of her shell. Not that Geet knew from experience. She'd never had a shy bone in her body, her father used to say. She has always been brash and bold, going after what she wanted. She still pursued her goals, but the brashness and boldness has worn off after twelve years on the club circuit.

"I'd pay for your time, of course," Mann said.

She smiled thinly. Money ' the magic word. Every exotic dancer she knew was in it for money. It was a job that always outdid minimum wage and, if a girl was lucky and stayed in good shape, sometimes paid extraordinarily well. The trick was to put some of the good money away to help out through the-not-so-good-times.

That was a lesson Geet had learned early on. She had for her car with her savings, bought a house and put herself through college. When her thirty first birthday rolled around in six weeks, she would officially retire from this business. No more bikini waxes, diets, working nights and sleeping days. No worrying about her body mass index or jogging three miles daily in Atlanta's muggy heat. No wearing clothes that wouldn't adequately cover a toddler...

Maan cleared his throat and she refocused on the subject. Did she want to teach Maan Khurana's girlfriend how to turn him on by taking off her clothes? Not particularly. Was she willing to take his money in exchange for a few hours of her free time? Why not? It wasn't as if she would be spending time with him. He would remain just as clueless about her as he was now.

"Okay. Tell her to call me." Climbing into her car, she started the engine, and then backed out. When she drove away, he was still standing there in the parking lot watching her car as it disappeared into the night.

It was a ten minutes drive to her neighbourhood where her house in the counterpoint to the entire white house's on the block. Its wood siding was the colour of a pumpkin pie fresh from the oven, its trim the same hue as whipped cream. It was small, little more than thirteen hundred square feet, but came with a decent sized yard and a big front porch. And it was hers. Until she bought it, she had never really had a place that was hers.

She parked in the drive way and climbed up the steps to the porch. It was deep enough to provide a sheltered view of the frequent summer storms and held a swing, a pine rocker, three wicker chairs and matching tables. With floral cushions and the potted flowers scattered around, it was the fussiest space in her house.

Like her, the house was a work in progress; unlike her, it would soon be finished. She had done the labour herself, hauling out the cheap carpet and pad, stripping the heart of pine floors, sanding and refinishing them. She had hung sheetrock, replaced molding, and completely retiled the fireplace surround, the kitchen and the bathroom. The only room left to finish was her bedroom, which would be done about the time she retired from dancing and started a new life.

Her puppy greeted her with a sleepy one-eyed look before rising to her feet, stretching then padding over for a scratch. Geet obliged her for a moment, and then opened the door so Dancer could trot out into the yard. In a minute or so, she was back, tail wagging lazily as she headed for her spot on the bed.

Stifling a yawn, Geet wandered into her bedroom, still a ghastly "before" that would soon become a fresh "after." Not that there was a rush. She hadn't brought anyone home to see it in more months then she wanted to recall.

And that admission was certainly no reason for Maan Khurana's image to pop into her mind. She'd had enough of the Khurana's to last a lifetime. Her father had worked for Khurana industries, as his father and grandfather had. They lived in houses and apartments owned by Khuranas, had shopped in Khurana store in town whose mayor was always a Khurana. Her own first job had been for the family, and her first broken heart had come at the hands of Dev Khurana. When she had left Copper Lake almost fifteen years ago, she'd thought she had seen the last of them.

Then Maan Khurana had walked into the club. There was no mistaking that he was one of those Khuranas. She may have not seen one in ages, but the family resemblance was strong. She'd held her breath for a time, hoping he wouldn't recognize her before realizing her own conceit. He had never noticed her when they lived in the same small town. He'd been older then her, she'd been poorer; he'd been special, she had been nobody. How could he recognize someone he hadn't known existed?

Giving into a yawn, she kicked off her shoes and went into the bathroom, the tile cold beneath her feet. While the tub filled with hot water, she stripped off her clothes, removed her makeup and secured her hair to the top of her head before sliding into the tub. There was a time when she had danced a six or eight hour shift, then gone out to party for another three hours. Not anymore. Stripping was a demanding job that took its toll on a body. A dancer had only so many good years and she was at the end of hers.

Her new career wouldn't be nearly as strenuous. Walking across campus, carrying books, handing out stacks of papers... eyes closed, she smiled, her satisfaction so intense that the water around her particularly vibrated with it. Geet Handa, poor girl who would never amount to anything, high school dropout, stripper, was going back to college.

This time as a teacher.

For the first time in her life, she was going to be one hundred percent respectable.

If he were alive today, wouldn't her father be proud?

Precap: "sure, anytime. I'll be here until six thirty. My dress is..."

Maan didn't pay much attention. He'd already gotten that from her file, too. He was thinking about

the fact that it was a puppy, not a boyfriend, who'd distracted her, and the fact that the knowledge

was somehow satisfying when it shouldn't mean a damn thing.

"Okay," he said when she stopped talking. "I'll tell her. Thanks."

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