Private Dancer

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.’