Private Dancer

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.