Her Strong Force

By Megan Slayer

Heather McGraw doesn’t want to strip forever. She has plans for her life and stripping seems like the right choice to make enough money to pay off her debts. She’s not looking for love, but what if love finds her?

Mario Black can’t take his eyes off Heather. The young woman isn’t a natural on the stage, but she’s got a certain innocence and she captivates him. He wants her. When he’s given the chance to protect her while she moves from the stage to the Jordan family inner circle, he’s thrilled.

A demon from her past wants to ruin her future. Can Mario give her the protection, devotion and love she wants while protecting her heart?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Changeling Press
• Release date: Jul 24, 2020

Megan Slayer

Megan Slayer, aka Wendi Zwaduk, is a multi-published, award-winning author of more than one-hundred short stories and novels. She’s been writing since 2008 and published since 2009. Her stories range from the contemporary and paranormal to LGBTQ and BDSM themes. No matter what the length, her works are always hot, but with a lot of heart. She enjoys giving her characters a second chance at love, no matter what the form. She’s been the runner up in the Kink Category at Love Romances Café as well as nominated at the LRC for best author, best contemporary, best ménage and best anthology. Her books have made it to the bestseller lists on Amazon.com. When she’s not writing, Megan spends time with her husband and son as well as three dogs and three cats. She enjoys art, music and racing, but football is her sport of choice.

Book preview

heart?

Chapter One

Heather adjusted the corset she wore and wobbled on her high heels. She wasn’t cut out for stripping. She wasn’t even sure how she’d been hired. Passing the dance routine part of the interview hadn’t been easy. The embarrassment of being on stage overwhelmed her. She never got through an entire routine, either. The only things she had going for her were her chest -- which the clients enjoyed ogling -- and her ability to mend garments for the other dancers.

Hey. You’re on wait staff tonight, Britt said. She handed Heather a tray. Oh, and go to the Jordan box. My guess? You’re being fired tonight.

Fired? If that did happen, it wouldn’t be a shock. She accepted the tray. Thanks for telling me. She wasn’t a fan of Britt, but then again, Britt hadn’t exactly been nice to her.

You’re not that good, Britt said. You’re not coordinated enough and don’t have a gimmick. She poked Heather. And you could stand to trim down. The Jordans want perfect girls.

I’ll keep that in mind. She didn’t have a gimmick and no idea what she might choose for one. But she wasn’t planning on stripping forever. She’d hired on at Catty’s thinking she’d make enough money to get her debts paid. Did anyone really care if their seamstress had once stripped? Probably not, but the college wanted the bills paid.

She carried the tray to the Jordan box and squared her shoulders. She knew she wasn’t perfect. The other dancers were prettier like Britt and liked to remind Heather she wasn’t as attractive as they were. She’d thought the debate team in her public speaking class had been one gigantic clique. They were nothing like the Catty girls.

Heather ducked into the booth and stopped. Christy Jordan sat alone in the box. If she was alone, then Heather was probably going to lose her job. May I bring you a drink, ma’am? Heather asked. Wine? Mixed drink? She wasn’t sure what Christy preferred.

Why don’t you sit? Christy asked. Please?

You’re firing me. Damn. I’m sorry. I’ll get better.

Christy smiled. I am firing you, but not for the reason you think.

I’m a lousy dancer. What other reason do you need?

Others.

I’m a klutz, Heather said. You’ve seen it. I don’t blame you for firing me. Even if she did hate that it was about to happen.

We’re all klutzy at times. Christy nodded to the bench. Please sit.

She braced herself, but complied. Fired. She wasn’t sure where to look for another job. Yes, ma’am.

Christy.

She stared at Christy. She wasn’t supposed to call her boss by her first name.

Please call me Christy. She folded her hands on her lap. You’re a bit of a klutz and yes, you aren’t a great dancer. It’s a skill.

I understand. Heather bowed her head. She had to compose herself. She’d gotten into trouble before and would have to get herself out.

I hear you’re a whiz with a sewing machine, Christy said. You fixed costumes?

I did. She shrugged. Clasps come off and such.

You suggested Cleo use sequins on her skirt and showed her how to attach them, didn’t you? Christy asked. And you designed Nikki’s dress for the sailor bit.

I did. She fidgeted with her stocking top. Nikki hated the dress and told me to stop trying to design.

You know it’s jealousy.

Of me? No. Heather laughed. She’s not jealous.

She is. I got an earful. You shouldn’t have told her how to redo it and been right. You’re new, and she didn’t appreciate being reminded you’re smarter than she is with costumery. Christy snorted. That’s why you upset her -- you were right.

Oh. She slumped in the chair. Are you sure?

Positive. I want you to design other costumes for the girls. Your design is better than anything they’re coming up with, and if you’re the creator, then the outfits will be exclusive to this club, Christy said. I saw your sketches and suggestions. You’re good, and I want your exclusive stuff.

If they hate me for being new and pushy, then they won’t allow me to design for them. I’m the butt of jokes, Heather said.

I know, and I’ve got a plan. You don’t deserve to be the butt any longer. Christy chuckled. I’m assigning you a bodyguard and a better wage. You should be designing, not dancing.

A raise? She sighed and shook her head. Are you sure? A job and a bodyguard? Why do I need protecting? So the bodyguard can ward off insults?

Not exactly, but I like your style. I want him to keep the girls away so you can create, and when it’s time to dole out your costumes, then they won’t turn them down, Christy said. Plus, when the girls see what you can do, they’ll all want your attention. Promise.

They aren’t exactly my fans, Heather said. They’re more likely to kick my ass than like my costumes. They’ll be happy to see me go, and if they see I’ve gone with a bodyguard… it’ll get worse.

Christy crinkled her nose. Are you sure?

I am.

Why don’t you take the night and think about it? Christy patted the table. While you’re thinking, I want you to meet Mario. I’m telling you, you’ll want him around. Tall, dark, handsome, muscles… he’s sin on legs.

A man, the one Heather supposed was Mario, joined them in the box. He said nothing and folded his hands.

Heather fought the urge to squirm under Mario’s inspection. She wished she weren’t wearing a corset with her chest spilling out of the cups. She felt so revealed. He looked a bit familiar, but not much. Had he been working there the whole time?

Christy stood. Mario, take Heather to the dressing room and help her collect her things. Once you’re done, take her to the house. Get her whatever art supplies she requires.

Yes, ma’am. Mario held his hand out to Heather. Let’s go.

Yeah, she said and allowed him to direct her through the club. Sorry.

Mario rested his hand at the small of her back. A couple of the dancers waited backstage. Heather swore she heard one of them say she was being escorted out. Embarrassment swept over Heather. The dancer wasn’t wrong.

Ignore them, Mario said. They don’t know.

She stopped at her makeup table. They do. She shoved her things into her bag, then cleaned out the drawers. Instead of dressing, she donned a long coat. Tears burned at the corners of her eyes, but she swore she wouldn’t crack. No way. The girls had seen enough.

Mario helped her into the coat. As she bent into him, he murmured, Play along.

She wasn’t sure what he meant, but she’d trust him. She wasn’t sure why she should, since she didn’t know him, but whatever. She’d have to trust him if he was going to guard her.

Mario tucked her to his side and carried her bag. Got everything, babe?

Babe? She fought the urge to roll her eyes. She had to trust him. One more thing. She pulled her nametag off the mirror. The poor thing looked so barren and sad. Yeah.

Carla, one of the popular dancers, a tall, raven-haired beauty, sauntered up to Mario. "I haven’t seen you