Professor Melanie Stevenson’s naughty twin crashes an open mic event and lets everyone there, including the stranger she seduces, imagine the racy woman reciting suggestive poetry is the unplugged version of the uptight professor.
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HE LEANED BACK casually in his wooden chair, his battered leather motorcycle jacket hanging from the back, long leg crossed at the knee, but his foot bounced impatiently. His body seemed ready to spring, eager to act. His restlessness drew her, a banked energy that smoldered beneath his surface and threatened to erupt at any moment.
She wanted to be there when it did. She wanted to make it happen.
In her mind, he seemed to be waiting for a big moment, for something to happen, for excitement, for her to waltz in and make his night. Her head filled with vivid images of his hands in her hair, his lips at her neck, all that coiled energy unfurling for her.
She didn’t have to care whether her target was married or had a girlfriend. She didn’t plan to steal him away, only to borrow him for a short time, long enough to be wild and free.
A bouncer halted her single-minded advance. “Cover’s fifteen bucks,” he said, “unless you’re here to take a turn at the mic.”
“You have a shortage of acts?” she asked.
“No.” He looked her up and down. “But I’d pay to see you up there instead of another one of these poet laureate wannabes. It’s open mic night, not a poetry slam.”
“What makes you think I wouldn’t recite poetry, too?” she asked. Her twin would have taken an event like this very seriously. If she ever got up the nerve to approach the mic and share her own verses, Melanie would select something deep and obscure, designed to make her seem intelligent and hide her insecurities, a set of words that jangled against each other and sounded slightly artful.
“Baby, I don’t care what kind of poetry you recite or song you sing, I won’t be listening anyway.” His eyes roved over her again, and she stuck out her chest and posed under his scrumptious scrutiny.