Sixty

BEING THEIR STRIPPER

Finally, Madonna and Savannah reached the top of the landing. The blonde led her through the door at the end of the hall, into a small but surprising luxurious suite.

Savannah shut the door behind them, blocking out the loudest of the music’s throb. The floor beneath them still shook. The sexy tempo resonated around her, stark in its suggestion.

Madonna looked around the room. A large, rumpled bed lazed in the center, as a standing lamp cast muted golden light over the white sheets. Hardwood floors gleamed cherry beneath her feet. Soft beige walls accented flowing white sheers at the large window. Four black-and-white landscape photographs formed a grouping above the bed.

“You were expecting a red bedroom with a stripper pole in the middle?” Savannah asked with a cocked brow.

Embarrassment stung Madonna. She had wondered… “I had no idea what to expect. This is lovely.”

Some of the starch bled out of Savannah. “It’s peaceful. C’mon, let’s get you out of that ugly