Private Dancer

The words were cut off abruptly when the bigger of their two visitors reached out and simply took the microphone out of her father’s hand like a parent taking a toy from a naughty child. He shook his head and made a show of turning the device off. Alicia looked quickly at her father. Red was starting to creep up his neck. He opened his mouth to speak.

‘Reverend Wheeler.’ The man in the sunglasses shoved out his hand in greeting before he could get out another word. ‘I’m Sebastian Crowe, owner of the Satin Club.’

The words were pleasant, but there was enough steel underneath to make a shiver go down Alicia’s spine.

Her father looked at the outstretched hand in distaste. If he took it, he’d be consorting with the enemy. If he denied it, he might lose the chance to convert the misled. Conflict was clear on his face, but he accepted the handshake. It lasted all of a second before contact was broken.

Sebastian Crowe folded his arms over his chest. ‘I understand you’ve taken an interest in my club.’

Alicia edged further away, but froze when Remy Hunt’s dark gaze snapped to her. She stared at him, surprised and breathing a bit too hard. He was even bigger up close. Big, shadowy and daunting. She was unsettled that she’d captured his attention. There was something untamed about the look he was giving her, something primal and overtly … sexual. Her fingers tightened until the cardboard sign scraped her palms.

Instead of moving on, his hungry gaze swept boldly down her body to settle on her breasts. She sucked in a shocked breath. Her nipples were still tight from her daydream. She hoped her bra hid the fact but –

His gaze dropped lower to the sign and one dark eyebrow lifted.

Alicia froze, that familiar sense of fire and ice sweeping through her. Oh, dear Lord. Had he seen her? All the way from across the street?

Had he seen her – humping a stick of wood?

Mortification washed through her, but he wasn’t even trying to hide the way he was looking at her. His intimate gaze was sleepy but steady, and a muscle ticked in his jaw. She might not have a lot of experience, but her feminine instincts recognised the prickling of her skin and the weight in the air between them. The look was one of lust. Pure, unbridled and white-hot. She swallowed hard when she felt her body respond. Heat settled in her breasts and her nipples beaded tightly. Low in her belly, she felt a clench.

‘Free to demonstrate,’ she heard vaguely. ‘But realise that there are other businesses you’re disturbing …’

The conversation continued around them, but Remy Hunt just continued ogling her, practically making love to her with his eyes. Only he wouldn’t call it that. Something warm and heavy coiled tight in Alicia’s belly. This man hadn’t said a word, but she’d got the message loud and clear.

This stranger wanted to fuck her.

The word sounded coarse in her ears, but her body liked the rough sound of it. Her skin sensitised and thighs squeezed. She was so surprised by the intimate reactions it gave her the power to look away. Shaken, she stepped back.

Only he took a step forward until he was only an arm’s-length away.

Her heart skipped, and she cast a glance at Colin. Pink dotted his cheekbones, but he averted his gaze. A tight sound squeezed out of the back of her throat. She sent a beseeching look towards Paul, Steve, Jeanne – nobody seemed to notice what was happening between her and the club’s manager. They were intent on Sebastian Crowe and seemingly ready to pounce.

What was an uncomfortable encounter was turning unstable. She needed to pay attention and defuse the situation – although she had no idea how to defuse a situation like Remy Hunt. The words ‘noise ordinance’ crept into her consciousness.

‘Father, they’re right.’

The words were hoarse when they passed her lips. Out of the corner of her eye, she could have sworn she saw the Hunter smile.

She cleared her throat. She’d warned her father about this. ‘Anything above sixty-five decibels and we can get ticketed.’

Her father’s mouth worked. ‘They can ticket me all they want. I follow the law of God.’

‘And they’ll impound the sound equipment.’

Those words got through to Paul, at least. He’d borrowed the sound system from a friend. Her father’s new follower leaned over to whisper in his ear.

Alicia flinched when she felt a hot touch to the back of her hand. She whipped her head around and found Remy Hunt still watching her, but now holding out the microphone.

She looked at it in his hand. As she watched, his thumb moved suggestively up and down the side of the moulded plastic. It swirled around the silver knob atop the device and her lips flattened. There was no mistaking that gesture.

She snatched the phallic symbol from his hand, but was horrified when she heard him chuckle. She looked at the death grip she had on the microphone and nearly dropped it. She hadn’t wanted it because he’d made her think of his cock. A cock, she quickly amended. Any cock … penis … manhood …

Her cheeks flared and she quickly hid the microphone behind her sign.

That only drew his attention back to her breasts that were now hard and feeling twice as heavy.

Alicia licked her lips.

And regretted that, too.

Damn the man. What was he doing to her?

Determinedly, she focused her attention on the discussion going on between her father and the Satin Club’s owner. Reverend Wheeler looked flustered and upset, while Sebastian Crowe looked controlled and relaxed. With his sunglasses in the way, she couldn’t see his eyes. As she watched more closely, though, the lines around his mouth deepened.

For some reason, the subtle reaction made her shiver. It was an intriguing mouth. Firm, yet lush for a man. With that nose, the contrast was sexy.

Sexy. The word rang in her thoughts and she tried to push it aside.

These two did offer temptation, she realised. A dark temptation she’d never encountered before so up close and personal. They were both attractive, in a wicked, forbidden way. Her spine stiffened in defence even as her hand turned a bit sweaty against the microphone.

Her father was right about these two.

‘I’m simply saying you should know all the facts before you start to judge,’ Crowe said, his voice reasonable and calm. The line at the corner of his mouth sharpened, though, and Alicia felt that hot, tight sensation in the pit of her stomach slide even lower. ‘Have you or any of your people experienced my club?’

‘We would not set foot inside that devil’s lair!’ Paul snapped.

‘And you couldn’t, because you aren’t a member,’ Crowe continued, unfazed. ‘We screen our clientele. This is a gentlemen’s club. We offer a respite for businessmen looking for an escape from today’s pressures, emails, phone calls and negotiations.’

‘You have whores stripping and showing their wares.’

Alicia gaped at her father. When had the focus changed from the men who paid to enter the club to the women who danced there?

Crowe pulled himself at least an inch taller and that calm composure slipped away to expose a grittier underbelly. ‘My employees are not whores. They are dancers. Artists.’

‘Showing their naked bodies is not an art form.’

‘Are you saying that the female body that God created is not beautiful?’

Her father was taken aback. ‘I … I …’

‘Praise his name with dancing,’ Crowe quoted. ‘Is that not what the Bible instructs?’

Alicia blinked.

‘Don’t you quote the Bible to me,’ her father snarled. ‘It is an abomination coming from your lips.’

Crowe slowly turned his head and Alicia felt pinned. Hunt’s gaze hadn’t moved from her either. She’d felt it stroking over her, hot and slow, even as she’d hid behind her sign. But now she’d drawn the attention of both men. Both stalking panthers.

‘Isn’t your own daughter a dancer, Reverend Wheeler?’

Her father sputtered in surprise before slashing his hand through the air. ‘She doesn’t do that anymore.’

Alicia sucked in air so hard, it hurt her tight lungs. She didn’t know what surprised her more. Crowe had obviously studied her as intently as she’d studied him, but her father …

She’d expected him to say, ‘Not that kind of dancing’. But he hadn’t.

His tone had been so cutting, so disparaging. Had her dancing been an embarrassment to him? Was he really condemning expression through all movement of the female body?

‘That’s a shame,’ Crowe said. ‘I heard she was very good.’

‘Don’t you miss it?’ Hunt said quietly.

They were the first words the big man had spoken and, like his gaze, they were directed at her. The question was so unexpected; Alicia didn’t know what to say. She did miss dancing. She missed it desperately.

‘Don’t you miss the music flowing through your veins?’ Crowe asked, double-teaming her. ‘The rhythm beating in your chest? The passion pulsing?’

The hot knot inside her lodged directly between her legs, and she could feel it throbbing.

Had these two seen her get caught up in her fantasy?

He’d made it sound so basic, so elemental, so … so carnal. She licked her lips and her skin heated in discomfort. She’d never considered it sexual before, but she did miss the way dancing made her feel. Strong, in control and desired. She’d loved becoming one with the music, letting it enter her, thrill her and soothe her. She craved to put her body through the exertion again, to feel her muscles straining and air stroking over her skin as she moved.

Her nerve-endings tingled.

Had her dancing been about more than she’d known? She’d loved the attention of the crowd. She’d savoured their eyes upon her as she’d revealed her innermost self.

‘My club and patrons appreciate our dancers,’ Crowe said. ‘The Satin Club values women.’

‘You objectify them,’ her father said.

‘We empower them. I’d be happy to give you a tour of the place anytime so you can see for yourself.’

Alicia’s gaze flicked up reflexively, only Crowe wasn’t looking at her.

‘Anytime.’

The word was practically whispered in her ear. Remy Hunt was.

‘Come see our stage,’ Crowe offered. ‘We have more than poles. Our dancers pride themselves on their routines. We allow expression that the strip clubs you lump us in with do not. Hell, one of our most popular performers never takes off a piece of clothing.’

‘Hell is right,’ her father snarled. ‘Hell and damnation. We will not set foot inside that viper pit.’

‘Yet you’ll judge it.’

‘We’ll fight the devil wherever we find him.’

But had they? None of them really knew what went on inside that building, Alicia thought. Shouldn’t they learn more before they cast the first stone?

Crowe’s words had struck a chord within her. He’d verbalised her feelings in a way she’d never been able to. This man knew the heart of a dancer and he allowed grown women to do what they loved for a living.

Was that so wrong?

‘So be it,’ he said. His eyes were still hidden, but the chill radiating from him told that they’d gone cold.

As if on cue, a police car crept into view behind them, parking along the curb. Seeing that he had backup, the Satin Club’s owner stepped away and wiped his hands.

Of them? Of the possibility of working towards a truce?

‘When any of you are willing to have an adult discourse about this, let me know.’

This time Alicia knew his gaze was on her. She was the only one who’d tried to keep the discussion polite and open.

‘My offer stands,’ the enigmatic man said before turning and walking away.

A sandy-haired cop passed him, coming towards them. His ticket pad was already out and he was frowning at the size of the speakers that were perched in the back of Paul’s pick-up truck. It was clear that he’d been called about the noise. If only they’d listened when Crowe had warned them.

‘So does mine,’ Hunt said quietly.

Alicia shivered when the words were practically whispered in her ear. When she glanced up, she found the man’s gaze settled suggestively on her hand. She realised that the microphone was snuggled into her palm, and her thumb was worrying the shiny knob atop it. Round and round, the pad of her thumb went. Over and across. Flicking against the edges.

She dropped the microphone like a hot potato and Remy Hunt chuckled as he walked away, leaving her flustered.

Alicia looked around worriedly, but her group’s attention was on the police officer now.

She let out a shaky breath and eased the vice-like hold she still had on her sign. She felt like she’d just escaped danger – or more precisely, that it had just let her go.

She knew about the devil and the temptations it put in good people’s paths. She’d listened to the sermons and read the texts herself. She forced herself to take another step back, only to bump into the tree behind her. The rough bark bit into her shoulders and buttocks as she watched the two black panthers glide away, their strides masculine and confident. Temptations were dark, attractive and hard to ignore.

Her gaze dropped to the microphone that sat propped up suggestively in the grass.

She’d just never realised how sharply temptation could bite. Or how strongly curiosity would pull.

Chapter Two

She shouldn’t be here.

Alicia knew that. She stopped even as her fingers wrapped around the knob on the door to the Satin Club.

This was a mistake in the making.

For a moment, she stood still, just staring at the red wooden door. When she crossed its threshold, would she be crossing the line? Or would she be broaching the divide?

It had been over a week now since the stand-off between Sebastian Crowe and her father, but things hadn’t got any better. What had been tension between the two groups before had stretched to a high-wire level of strain. She was afraid that something would soon pop and she’d be left to clean up the pieces. Wasn’t it smarter to stem off the problems now? To try to reach a compromise before things spiralled out of control?

Deep down, she believed that it was.

Only she knew she wasn’t the one who should be knocking on the door to the lion’s den.

Her fingers turned slippery.

Nobody knew she was here. Sunlight’s protesters had left soon after rush hour traffic, and the day was at that lingering stage between sunshine and darkness. She glanced back to her car, knowing she should hop into it and drive away before the night came out to play. But now was the perfect time to accept Crowe’s invitation. She scanned the parking lot. Few of the other spaces were taken. If she was going to reach out to the Satin Club’s owner, this was the time to do it. She wouldn’t have the nerve once the sun went down and the place got busy.

Besides, she was curious what lay behind this red door.

Her fingers curled again, obtaining a tighter grip.

She’d been staring at it for the better part of a month. She knew what others in her group thought went on behind it – or she thought she did. The whispers and innuendo were hard to follow, and her imagination only went so far. But Crowe and Hunt had left a definite impression.

They’d also made her painfully aware of how sheltered a life she’d led.

A breeze blew across the parking lot, ruffling her hair and brushing against the back of her neck. The sensation made her shiver, and she jumped reflexively.

She also inadvertently opened the door.

She was caught before she could close it again. A bouncer leaned against a tall stool just inside the entryway, and he’d already caught a glimpse of her. A long glimpse. She felt the caress of his hot look as it stroked over her hair and down her body all the way to her high-heeled shoes.

The door suddenly became her shield.

‘May I help you?’ the man asked.

From his polite tone, she could tell he thought she’d made a wrong turn. Her cheeks heated. He was probably right about that. She cleared her throat. ‘I’m here to speak with Mr Crowe.’

His eyebrows rose and the interest in his eyes sparked. There were questions on his face as his gaze swept over her once again.

Alicia couldn’t help it, she edged another inch behind the red door.

She’d vacillated on what to wear for this meeting. What she’d worn the other day had seemed so stiff and church-like. Definitely not appropriate for the Satin Club – despite her twisted daydream – yet she hadn’t wanted to dress up to the level in which she saw the businessmen and their lady guests entering the club. She didn’t own any sparkly cocktail dresses, and she didn’t want to show the club that kind of respect until it earned it.

So jeans and a trendy knit top were it.

She tugged the neckline up towards her chin.

‘Your name?’ the man asked.

‘This is Ms Alicia Wheeler, Charlie,’ a low voice drawled.

She looked sharply to her right and discovered the infamous club owner walking towards them. She frowned. How had he seen her?

He extended his hand and she found herself in the predicament her father had experienced – only for very different reasons. Sebastian Crowe was an extremely attractive man and this evening he wasn’t wearing dark sunglasses. His eyes were green, a deep forest colour that somehow made them even more intense. He was only an inch or two taller than she was in her heels, and it left her with nowhere to hide. She pressed her palm against his, and he kissed the back of her hand.

The gesture disarmed her. Her stomach gave a funny twirl, but her knees nearly unlocked when the tip of his tongue darted into the dip between her knuckles. She tried to pull her hand back but, instead, found herself pulled forward.

‘I’ve been waiting for you to join us,’ he said, a hint of a smile on his lips.

She was surprised when the door shut behind her. The soft click shouldn’t have been audible, but it was like a time mark in her brain. She’d crossed the line, and she didn’t even remember doing it.

She glanced over her shoulder and tugged discreetly at her top again. ‘How did you know I would come?’

The hint became reality when the corners of his mouth curled. ‘I just knew.’

He cupped her elbow. ‘Let me show you around my club.’

He steered her past the coat-check desk and into the open room. The feel of his hand on her bare elbow was distracting, but Alicia was curious. She’d been on the outside looking in for so long. She was here to talk, but she found herself looking around, trying to take everything in at once. Half of her cringed at what she might discover. The way her fellow church-goers went on, she expected to be subjected to lewd acts and wild music.

It was just the opposite.

‘This is our main show floor,’ Crowe said, sweeping his hand over the expanse. ‘Things are quiet now, but Chanteuse should be starting her routine in a few minutes. What do you think of our stage?’

‘It’s … beautiful.’ The word wasn’t something Alicia had expected to use, but it was true. She looked around in wonder. The stage was at the far end of the room, but it was much larger than she’d expected. They could perform shows there. A dancer could do runs and leaps. The floor looked professional, sturdy and immaculate. The polished grain made her toes curl hungrily inside her shoes.

Curse him and Hunt. Their talk last week had made her yearn to dance again.

Her gaze followed the runway out to the obligatory stripper’s pole. Her heart beat faster, and she couldn’t help but stare at it. Despite her imaginings, she’d only seen glimpses in cable TV movies of how dancers actually twirled around such a thing. It stood there, gleaming under the soft spotlight. It was a prop like any other a dancer might use – although a suggestive prop. Her teeth nibbled at her lower lip. Just how creative did some dancers get?

Crowe urged her deeper into the room and she had to tear her gaze away from the centrepiece of the performance area. Her heels sank into deeply padded carpeting.

The room was sumptuous. There was no other word for it. Everything was a lush deep-burgundy colour. The wood was dark oak, and the pole that had captured her attention was brass. Or make that poles. Her eyes widened when she realised there were three scattered around the room. It wasn’t the set-up she’d expected to find. The room had a feeling of a classy dinner club, with half-circular tables directed towards the stage. She’d pay money that the fabric covering all those oversized chairs and settees was velvet.

‘I designed everything to speak to comfort,’ Crowe said as he led her to the bar. ‘And pleasure.’

His thumb brushed against the back of her arm and she fought off another shiver. ‘I believe that’s what we need to speak about.’

‘I’d be happy to talk about your pleasure, Ms Wheeler.’

His comeback was so smooth and so soft, her mouth went dry. ‘Not … not my pleasure.’ She squared her shoulders. ‘Your definition of pleasure. It goes against God’s teachings.’

‘Does it?’

She nodded. This was the solid ground she needed. ‘What goes on here should happen privately between a man and a woman.’

‘And what do you think happens here?’

She licked her lips. She had to admit that the feel of the place, the ambience was different from anything she’d anticipated. The Satin Club was clean, classy and, above all, sensual, but she couldn’t forget the darker side of what surely happened here. ‘I really don’t want to get into specifics, but –’

‘I think we should.’

‘But –’

‘Relax, Alicia. You came here for answers to your questions. Let me give them to you.’

Her solid ground suddenly felt uneven. He’d said he was willing to talk, to have an open discourse. ‘We need to work out a compromise.’

‘We will.’

The pulse in her neck fluttered. She hadn’t planned on spending any amount of time here, but curiosity had got the best of her. Now that she’d got past that red door, she didn’t know how she was supposed to negotiate with this man. Her fingers curled around her clutch. The sun had been so close to the horizon when she’d come in. She didn’t want to be here when –

Music came through the speaker system. It wasn’t the soft, piped-in music that was a constant under-beat to the place, but a bluesy number. It started with a slow, grungy beat that picked up with a soulful wail of a guitar. The lighting system swung up and into life, and Alicia’s gaze locked on the stage. She was caught when a beautiful woman with the longest set of legs stepped out from behind the curtains. The redhead was dressed in a man’s tuxedo jacket, stiletto heels and not much more. She looked classy and sexy and perfectly in tune with the club and the music.

Alicia watched with laser-like attention as the woman did a slow pirouette. The dancer found her spot and did another whip turn, stopping on a dime when she faced the audience again. She then went into an exaggerated hip swivel and the game was on.

A whoop went up from the crowd and Alicia couldn’t stop her smile of delight.

This wasn’t random hip gyrating and boob shaking. The woman on that stage had classical training. More importantly, she was doing a choreographed routine. Alicia watched as the dancer performed, becoming more and more animated as the drive of the music became heavier and the crowd became more vocal. There weren’t many customers there at such an early hour, but those that were in attendance were attentive.

How many dance recitals had she performed at where people spent more time checking their watches than watching the hard-practised show?

This dancer had her crowd in the palm of her hand, and Alicia felt her toe begin to tap. It had been so long since she’d felt the thrill of that kind of power. At long last, the beautiful redhead started up the catwalk and she realised why it was there. So dramatic. So commanding. With a flourish, the dancer whipped off her jacket and Alicia gasped.