Книга - Private Dancer

Private Dancer
Kimberly Dean


Torn between two worlds, Alicia struggles to find a way to walk with her faith, but still dance with sin.When Alicia gets caught in the conflict between her father’s church and the Satin Club owners Bas and Remy, she is the only person willing to act as a mediator. Alicia is intrigued by the high class gentleman’s club and its two sexy proprietors. She tries to stay impartial, but the sensuality of erotic dancing pulls at her, begging her to indulge.Bas and Remy are more than happy to satisfy her curiosities and secret desires. Both offer dark temptations she can’t resist and the provocative dancing and passion awaken something long repressed. For the first time, the preacher’s daughter feels like her own person – yet at her core, she’s still a good girl. As the tension between the warring parties reaches fever pitch, she struggles to find what is right for her.









PRIVATE DANCER

Kimberly Dean





(http://www.bit.ly/KqDOG3)


Table of Contents

Title Page (#u97df97b6-90eb-595f-a13a-cd90f8d0ee09)

Chapter One (#u729bd38e-d10a-55c7-9e86-05a3ee40e70e)

Chapter Two (#uab0d8dc6-d712-5207-a209-0c116e5c8c59)

Chapter Three (#u428c6704-5cb6-57bb-a352-3cd685addbbe)

Chapter Four (#ucb35a55b-0dae-5e73-a4e7-3a518238c315)

Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)

More from Mischief (#litres_trial_promo)

About Mischief (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)




Chapter One


The spotlight was bright as Alicia stood on-stage, pinned in its crosshairs. The light felt hot on her face and even hotter on her body.

Awareness blistered inside her.

There was nowhere to run. No place to hide. She felt like a bug under a microscope.

A vulnerable, prized bug.

The brightness made it difficult to see, but she could feel the attention focused on her. The hungry, lustful eyes of a crowd of men. If she listened hard, she could hear their short, panting breaths.

Around her, music began. Its hard-driving rhythm caught her in the chest and she gasped. The beat reverberated between her breasts, and her nipples tightened. They felt hot and pinched. Shy. The bass started creeping through the floor and into her feet. It jumped higher and higher, grabbing her thighs and encouraging her to move. To dance.

‘Come on, baby. Show us what you’ve got.’

It was time for her solo.

Her heart beat faster in her chest, excited and scared at the same time. She’d never done this before. Of all the solos she’d performed in her life, she’d never stripped off her clothes while going through the motions.

Yet that was what she was here to do.

Unable to fight the tug of the rhythm any longer, she swept her arms over her head. Her hips swayed back and forth timidly, and then with more vigour.

A wolf-whistle cut through the air. The male approval was clear.

She was here to strip. Just the word alone sent a flush of fire through her nervous system. She was going to end up practically naked, her body on display for the Satin Club’s wealthy clientele.

She was going to end up dancing with a pole.

‘Oh, man. Look at her,’ someone groaned.

She couldn’t see who was admiring her, but she could see that pole. The gleaming brass fixture stood at the end of the long runway in front of her. Her knees went a little weak when it glinted under another spotlight, almost as if winking at her. Daring her to come play.

Her palms became damp and she swept them over her undulating hips.

There was just something about that pole. Something hard, challenging and outright sexual.

‘Enough with the teasing,’ a rough voice growled from the darkness. ‘We paid to see skin.’

That’s what they wanted, wasn’t it? To cut through the social niceties, straight to the need that drove mankind.

Sex … or at least the simulated dance of it.

Obediently, she reached for the zipper at the back of her skirt. As she looked down, it seemed odd that she was still in her street clothes. But maybe that was what they wanted. The church secretary fantasy …

The beat of the bass settled between her legs, warm and pulsing.

The heavy skirt suddenly felt too confining anyway. The cut was binding and the material couldn’t breathe. She worked the ugly skirt over her hips and kicked it aside. It was only then that she noticed the stilettos on her feet. Definitely not the church secretary kind.

But maybe the sexy church secretary fantasy.

The naughty black shoes lifted her bottom and pushed her weight onto her tiptoes. Air swept between her legs as she widened her stance to retain her balance. A groan from her left caught her unaware, but the sound reminded her that she was supposed to be performing. Still unsure of the high heels, she did a slow bump and grind.

More groans joined in.

She fought to hold back one of her own.

Oh, the shoes felt incredible. They lifted her up, making her aware of the muscles in her legs and the point of her toes. They certainly drew the attention of the male species like a laser.

In that moment, she felt powerful. Sexy.

Her confidence soared as she strutted down the runway. The heels had ties that wrapped around her ankles. She could feel the ribbon tickling her Achilles tendons. The feeling was surprisingly sensual, like intimate kisses.

She opened the top button of her shirt – and then another to let in the cool air.

Which wasn’t really so cool at all.

Alicia felt like she was going up in flames. She knew the point of all this was to arouse the crowd, but she was naïve enough that she was arousing herself.

And she hadn’t even started in on the pole yet!

Her blood began to pump, warm and thick, through her veins. The tails of her shirt brushed against the back of her thighs and between her legs. Beneath the stiff cotton, her breasts felt achy and full. Her nipples were so tight, even the cups of her bra seemed rough.

‘Take it off. Take it off.’

The chant started, low and steady. It grew in strength and volume as she reached for the remaining buttons on her shirt. The crowd of men was goading her, begging her. She toyed with them for a while, sashaying around on-stage, dancing as the shirt hung open. She wore a sensible white cotton bra and panties beneath it, but even they seemed to push the boys to the edge.

They loved it. The chanting grew louder and more raucous. They loved her.

Gathering her nerve, she swept the shirt off her shoulders and let it fall to the runway behind her. The almost complete bareness sent a shock through her – like ice had just been brushed over her skin. Her nipples became turgid, poking against her bra cups. Very few men had seen her like this. Only two, in fact. Now, an entire roomful of strangers was getting an eyeful.

Arousal gripped her as sure as a hand between her legs. It held her there as she walked determinedly onward, facing her greatest fear.

And possibly, one of her sharpest desires.

The pole.

Reaching out, she caught it with one hand. The brass was cool. Unyielding. A shudder went through her. Stepping closer, she leaned her forehead against its hard length. Her breasts plumped on either side of it, and her hips rolled forward.

When she softly kissed the hard metal, a hush went throughout the room.

They wanted to see her dance?

Kicking one leg high, she wrapped it around the brass pole. It gripped the back of her knee and the skin of her thigh pinched. That secret spot between her legs squeezed convulsively and then moistened.

Oh, heavens.

Alicia arched her back, letting her breasts thrust upwards. They felt trapped in her prim white bra. She was almost desperate to get it off. The sensation was making her lightheaded.

The confinement was too much.

Reaching back, she undid the hooks from the eyelets. She sighed when the cups loosened. The beat of the music intensified. She could almost feel the crowd leaning forward, wanting to see.

She wanted to show them.

She wanted to feel the freedom. She wanted to feel the nip of nakedness.

Using the leg that was wrapped around the pole, she pulled herself upright. Still, the straps of her bra and the cups remained in place.

In the distance, she heard somebody swear.

The frustration made her smile. Poor baby. She shrugged her left shoulder and the strap fell. She shrugged her right and the elastic snagged on the point of her shoulder.

The music reached a crescendo, and she couldn’t tease any more. She whipped off her bra and threw it away. The crowd went wild as her breasts were exposed. Her nipples pointed at her appreciative fans, pink and proud.

Not so shy anymore.

The act freed her, too. She spun around the pole, holding on to it tightly. Her breasts jiggled as she twisted and arched. She moaned aloud when her nipples bumped against the cool hardness. It felt so good. Her leg tightened, and the metal warmed from the heat of her skin. It pressed tight against her mound, smooth and insistent.

Arching back again, she spun and spun and spun –

***

‘Sinners repent!’

The words blasted next to Alicia’s ear. She jerked in surprise, and her surroundings changed in an instant. She was no longer in the cool confines of the Satin Club. She was outside, across the street, stuck in the crowd of protestors. An electronic squeal made her wince. Her head whipped around and she saw her father. He’d upgraded from a megaphone to a microphone with speakers. Loud, crackling speakers. She plugged her finger into her ear to stop the assault.

Confused, she tried to orient herself. She wasn’t on the Satin Club’s stage; the bright light shining on her was the sun. Her toes weren’t pinching because she was wearing stiletto heels; her feet were sore from standing too long on a concrete sidewalk. And the hard pole she’d wrapped herself around?

Oh, dear Lord.

Her face heated to the point where it had to be crimson. The hardness pressing against her mound and biting into the back of her knee was the yardstick they’d stapled to the back of her sign – the one that said ‘SATIN = SATAN’ She quickly pulled it from between her legs and set it a good foot away from her. She pressed her hand to her face and hoped that nobody had noticed.

If they had, they didn’t say anything. All around her, Sunlight Epiphany’s parishioners were intent on waving their signs at anyone who dared to even pass by the Satin Club on the street.

‘Deny these evil temptations! Cast out your demons and follow the one true light!’ The words boomed from the speakers that had been set up in the back of a pick-up truck. Her father was on a mission and, when he got like this, nothing could stop him.

Alicia winced. She understood their cause, but she wasn’t sure they should be harassing random pedestrians.

Besides, did they really know that the Satin Club was evil? None of them knew for sure what was going on behind that red door. That’s what she’d been trying to figure out when she’d slipped into that fantasy.

Daydream, she quickly amended. It had been a daydream, a flight of a bored mind.

Not a fantasy.

She shifted her weight, trying to bring some relief to her aching feet. She couldn’t help it. She had an affinity for dancers. She was just trying to understand.

What would it be like? she wondered.

She stared unblinkingly at the club across the street as those around her yelled at cars stopped at the light. What would it be like to work in such a place? To dance without clothes? To perform for the specific purpose of titillating those who looked at you?

Her body tingled, wrapped up in the idea, but her brain just couldn’t comprehend. It was just so foreign to her, so dirty. She’d danced nearly all her life. She understood what it was to portray emotion through dance, to tell a story. The stories they were telling at the Satin Club, though … those tales were suited for the deep of night, in the privacy of a bedroom. What were they thinking, putting them out there on display for everyone to see?

It was disturbing and shocking – and, admittedly, a bit intriguing.

‘Turn away from the devil!’

Alicia stepped further away from her father. The noise was just too loud. Instead of screaming at the club, shouldn’t they be trying to talk with the people inside? To explain the dangerous path they were on? Her church was protesting against this place for a reason. How did those women feel about what they did? Did they hate it? Were they yearning for a better life and holier pursuits?

Or did they do it because it felt good?

‘There they are!’ someone behind her gasped.

‘The devil rears its ugly head.’

Rapid-fire words started coming through the speakers. All around her, Alicia felt the energy of the crowd of protestors surge. She looked around, trying to figure out what was going on.

Her eyes widened when she realised that the door to the Satin Club had opened and two imposing men had walked out of it. Men in suits seemed to flock to this place, but these two were different. Their clothing might be expensive and impeccably cut, but it did nothing to civilise the men wearing it. The one on the left was shorter and leaner, with the body of a fighter. And the nose, she thought as he slipped on a pair of sunglasses. For all his ruggedness, he wore an air of gentility, a hard-won polish of money and power. The other did not. Big, muscled and intense, what you saw was what you got. And the big man was unhappy.

Sebastian Crowe and Remy Hunt, owner and operations manager of the Satin Club.

Her sore toes began tapping nervously against the sidewalk. She knew the two men on sight and she instinctively stepped further into the shade of an elm tree. As bad as it had been before, the conflict between her church and the Satin Club had just become more real.

And more dangerous.

Heaven help them.

***

Bas strode across the parking lot with Remy at his side, but his gaze was centred strictly on the crowd gathered across the street. Enough was enough. He’d been trying to turn the other cheek, but the assholes had upgraded from a megaphone to a speaker system. It was time to settle this.

‘I’m sick of these religious nuts.’ Remy cracked his knuckles, but his hands clenched right back into fists. ‘Do we stand outside their church yelling at them on Sunday mornings?’

‘They think they’re saving our souls.’

‘My soul is just fine. They’re the ones who need to “do unto others”.’

The corners of Bas’s mouth curled. ‘The Golden Rule? Really?’

‘Even my grandmother would want their heads. This isn’t spreading God’s word. This is harassment.’

It was, but there was also that tricky business about freedom of expression and the right to assemble.

It was mid-afternoon. The Satin Club opened their doors early for those white-collar good-ole-boys who still liked to conduct business the old-fashioned way – with booze flowing and skin flashing – but Remy was right. This irritant wasn’t just a nuisance anymore. It was beginning to affect business, not only for them but for their neighbours. Hetty from the 24-hour diner next door had already called to voice her complaints. It was time to do more than sit back and take the high road.

Besides, he and Remy had always been more comfortable on the back alleyways, anyway.

Bas’s eyes narrowed. They’d been watching the protestors from Sunlight Epiphany Church ever since they’d shown up a week ago. Reverend Harold Wheeler was the loud-mouthed leader of the bunch. From what they’d been able to gather, the rabble-rouser had moved to town from Birmingham a few years ago after his former congregation had found him elbow-deep in the collections plate. His new followers either had forgiven that little discretion or didn’t know about it.

The decibel level rose when the crowd saw them, and Bas’s jaw hardened. He had nothing against religion – until it was used against him. Then, he wasn’t afraid to fight back.

And fight dirty.

His attention moved over the angry bystanders. As always, it settled on one trim figure off to the side – a feminine figure with soft, curling brown hair and a sweet innocent face – a silent figure with a body that screamed.

‘What did you learn about the angel?’

‘Her name is Alicia Wheeler.’

The way his operations manager drew it out, it sounded like something he’d like to taste. And savour. And lick all over again.

Didn’t they both?

‘The reverend’s daughter and, as luck would have it, a dancer.’

Bas stared at her. Sweet little Leesha was a knockout. She wore boring, prim clothes and flat shoes, but that only made her all the more tempting. His gaze traced down her body, over her full breasts and along her trim waist to nudge at the secret spot between her legs. Did she really think it was hidden by the dowdy skirt she wore?

‘A dancer,’ he murmured under his breath. Now wasn’t that interesting? ‘Is she any good?’ His gaze hadn’t left that private spot. He could practically feel her lush, innocent pussy opening up to him, taking him deep. She’d be tight.

Would she be wet?

‘Not our type of dancing,’ Remy replied, ‘but she can move – although she seems to have given it up since moving back to work at her father’s church.’

Bas’s mouth watered. Now wasn’t that a shame? He could see that sensual body filling out a ballerina’s leotard, her breasts stretching the fabric tight. His palms tingled, thinking of those trim hips rolling and her hair flying around her shoulders. He could hear her breaths panting as her legs flexed and her toes pointed tight.

He’d known there had to be an outlet for her frustration, because, whether she knew it or not, that was one frustrated woman. It radiated all the way across the street and through a security feed. She looked so buttoned up and tied down. She showed up every day at her father’s side, but her expression always seemed calm and controlled. Almost distant. Was that because she was secure in her beliefs? Or was she there only because she was expected to be?

Everyone knew that preachers’ kids could go one of two ways. They either toed the line or went a little wild. Being lashed down with rules and bound by strict expectations could drive anyone to act out, to rebel and experiment with the wrong kind.

He wondered which way Alicia Wheeler went.

‘She’s clean as a whistle,’ Remy said, practically reading his mind. ‘From what I could find, she’s always been a good girl. A model of good behaviour, right down to those succulent toes.’

Her toes weren’t what Bas wanted to suck on.

‘Any vices or kinks? Anything we can use?’

Remy shook his head, but his gaze was locked onto the pretty brunette, too. He’d done the background checks on everyone in the crowd they could identify. He probably knew what kind of perfume she used, what size bra she wore and if there were any toys in her bedstand. ‘She got top grades. She volunteers. Doesn’t smoke or do drugs. She doesn’t have so much as a parking ticket on her record.’

‘Kind of makes you want to shake up her structured little life, doesn’t it?’

A sound came from deep in his friend’s throat.

‘What about sex?’ Bas pressed.

‘She dates the Joe Schmo to her father’s right. I doubt he’s even found a way into her pants yet.’ Remy shook his head. ‘Makes you sad for the girl, doesn’t it? Look at that body. She needs someone who can ride her good and long, someone who could make her moan.’

Maybe someone who could break the chains that were holding her back?

‘Let me take care of this,’ Remy said. ‘I could have this crowd gone by tomorrow.’

Bas didn’t think they were quite to that stage. Yet.

‘I’ve got something else in mind.’

The operations manager sent him a quick look, but then followed his gaze back across the street. Back to sexy, repressed Alicia.

‘Dancers need to dance,’ Bas said softly.

He knew a weak link when he saw one.

The Satin Club was the classiest and most exclusive gentlemen’s club in town. It was also his baby. He’d built it from the ground up, and nobody was going to tear it down, harass his clients or threaten his girls. Protecting it was his job, but he couldn’t attack a church outright. There was no winning that kind of battle.

No, this might take a bit more finesse.

And that’s where the sweet-looking Ms Wheeler came in.

She might not approve of the naked gymnastics their girls performed, but she appreciated art. She appreciated physical movement and expression. As a dancer, there would be empathy there.

Strip away the nudity and the voyeurs. Ignore the money that exchanged hands and all the extra-curricular activities that happened behind the red satin curtains. At the heart of the Satin Club was movement of the human body. The female body. The beat, the rhythm, the instinctual response to the sound of music.

The freedom.

Oh, yeah, as prim and proper as Alicia Wheeler seemed, she’d respond to the core of what happened here. Good girl or not, she’d respond to the dance.

‘Let’s go introduce ourselves,’ Bas said.

It was time to see what would happen if all that repression was unleashed.

***

Alicia watched Sebastian Crowe and Remy Hunt approach like two black panthers stalking their prey. Whenever her father decided to stage one of these protests, she always made sure to do her homework. She studied up on the city’s laws on assembling and permits. She determined the most effective, yet safest places to gather. Most importantly, she learned all she could about the people they were about to aggravate – because people were always aggravated when her father started one of his campaigns.

What she’d learned about these two had made her antennae go up.

Despite appearances, she didn’t like confrontations. She hadn’t wanted to tangle with these two, but her father had insisted. A den of iniquity, he’d called it.

The lion’s den was more like it.

‘Heathens! Lust worshippers! Bow down and repent before the Saviour!’

Grimacing, Alicia worked her way through the crowd towards her father. She wished that Paul hadn’t bought the speakers. They had her teetering on the edge of a migraine. ‘Dad, stop yelling. They’re coming to speak with you.’

He ignored her completely. ‘Admit your sins! Beg for forgiveness!’

She cast a glance at Colin, silently asking for help, but he lifted his hands in defeat. She sighed. If anyone disliked confrontations more than she, it was her boyfriend. If she wanted to even call him that.

That was another problem, but this one was more pressing.

She wrapped her fingers around her father’s shoulder. ‘Please stop.’

A frown momentarily settled on his face. He’d become thinner in recent months. The gauntness almost made him look fragile, but there was a glint in his eyes when the two representatives of the Satin Club began to cross the street. Eight days of this, and he’d finally got a response.

Alicia clutched the top edge of her sign. Please be civil. Everyone, please be civil.

‘God knows,’ her father spat at the two men. ‘The Lord sees what you do in that depraved –’

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.

The woman’s body was amazing. Strong and toned, with such fluid control. She wore tiny scraps of material that covered her breasts – or really, just her nipples – and her … other private places. Warmth settled in Alicia’s face, but she couldn’t look away. There was nothing repulsive in the scene before her. On the contrary, it was captivating … and somehow right. The dancer’s moves fit the music, and her body was something to be admired.

The way she moved …

Alicia’s jaw literally dropped when the dancer gripped the tall pole and stepped up close … and then …

The heat in her face suffused her entire body.

Oh, so that was how it worked.

She watched in fascination at the way the dancer used the pole, or, in some cases, let it use her in return. When the woman straddled the hard brass fixture and suggestively rubbed her crotch against it, Alicia froze in surprise.

And felt a somewhat ashamed arousal.

Erotic dancing, indeed.

A glass of white wine was pressed into her hand, and she blinked. Sebastian Crowe. She’d nearly forgotten he was still there, but he merely nodded at her and turned his attention back to the stage.

So did she.

She took a deep drink of the cool alcohol, but she was more aware of her surroundings now. The air in the club had definitely got thicker and closer. It was as if everyone was breathing in rhythm. Deep and slow. Hearts steadily picking up speed.

Crowe’s hand settled low on her back, and her breathing fell out of sync with the crowd’s. The touch felt personal. Polite, but too intimate. She tried to discreetly separate herself from it, but his fingers spread wider and his thumb stroked against her spine.

It was then that Alicia realised her hips were rocking in time with the music.

Her wine sloshed in her glass.

‘Don’t stop,’ Crowe murmured. Again, that thumb stroked against her spine, so warm even though her knit top kept the contact from being skin-on-skin.

She gave a quick shake of her head, embarrassment running through her.

‘But you were enjoying yourself,’ he said. ‘It was giving you pleasure.’

Pleasure. There it was again, that dangerous word.

‘Mr Crowe –’

‘Call me Bas.’ That thumb moved again, seemingly harmless, but oh-so-attention-demanding. ‘Why don’t we go into my office where we can speak in private?’

That sounded like a very bad idea. On the other hand, she might be able to regain her composure there. She could put a desk between them and organise her thoughts. She nodded mutely.

That hand at the base of her spine turned her towards the far side of the room. She followed along, but her steps hitched when she saw the nook on the other side of the bar. Still out in the open but tucked in the corner was another dancer, one she hadn’t noticed – but several of the patrons had.

The woman was also dancing on a slightly elevated stage.

Only she was in a cage.

All the air left Alicia’s lungs. A gilded, very pretty cage, but a cage nonetheless. The dark-haired brunette was wearing a tiny G-string, stiletto heels and a smile. Her body rocked in time with the music, but her style was more aggressive. Blatantly sexual. She gripped the bars of the cage in a way that could only remind Alicia of fingers wrapping around a headboard. The woman’s hips ground and her breasts bounced, their tips beading up tight and red. What was most shocking of all, though, was the hands on her.

‘They’re touching her!’ Alicia gasped.

This! This was what her father had warned her about. This was the debasement of women, the objectification.

The hand at the base of her spine rubbed in soft circles. ‘Only because she’s letting them.’

‘What?’ She snapped her head towards Bas and found him much too close. Instead of standing beside her, he was behind her now, his mouth only inches from her ear. She could feel his hot exhales on her neck and goosebumps spread down her spine.

‘Look more closely,’ he said softly. ‘She’s the one in control.’

Uncertainly, Alicia looked back, her chin swivelling in jerky increments. Once she took in the picture again, she couldn’t look away. He was right. The dancer was in charge. Men circled the platform, looking up at her. They could reach inside the bars any time they wanted, but the dancer could stop their caresses by simply moving to the centre of the cage. Yet she didn’t. With a gleam in her eye, the seductress kept her curvy body all but plastered against the bars where her admirers stood. She rocked and swayed in time with the music, but her lips trembled when a hand thrust inside the cage and stroked over her calf and ankle.

The dancer was letting the men touch her, and she was enjoying it.

Alicia was flabbergasted. She knew a lot about performing and she knew a fake smile when she saw one. This one was not for show. This was about …

Pleasure.

There it was again.

The hot, tight feeling in the pit of her belly drifted lower.

‘The Petting Zoo is only for dancers who want to enter it,’ Bas said into her ear, ‘but I must admit, most of our girls do. In fact, they’re the ones who came up with the idea.’

Alicia let out a shaky breath. ‘They did?’

That one hand at the small of her back became two as his hands fell lightly on her hips. Her lashes fluttered downwards. Her body was moving again, dancing in time with the sultry tune floating in the air.

‘It’s not only the gentlemen who become aroused by exotic dancing.’

No. No, it wasn’t. She took another quick drink of her wine and discovered it nearly gone.

‘Some of the girls felt frustrated by the all-look-no-touch model.’

‘But what … what if …’

‘If things go too far, there’s always someone watching out for them.’

Someone …

Her gaze lifted and she found herself pinned by a familiar stare. Remy Hunt lounged in the corner, his arms folded over his muscled chest. A flash of heat went through her and the tightness low in her belly throbbed, pulsing in time with the music. The thought of him watching while other men touched her … The idea of him looking at her while a stranger’s fingers plucked and pinched …

Oh, dear Lord.

She had to go. Her hand trembled, spilling the rest of her wine on the expensive thick carpet. She had to go now.

She turned but nearly ran smack dab into Bas’s chest. He took the wine glass from her and passed it to a waiter.

‘My office is this way.’ He turned her and Alicia found that Hunt had moved as well. Silently, swiftly. The operations manager pressed against a door that blended so well into the wall, she hadn’t seen it. It swung open on oiled hinges, and Bas gave her another nudge. Hunt gave her no space as she walked by him and her shoulder brushed against his chest. Heat spread down her arm, making her fingers tingle.

She was playing with danger here.

Her feet moved fast, and she separated herself from the two powerful men. She looked around for an escape, but instead saw a wall of television monitors. She took a step closer. One was trained on the spot across the street where her group of protesters stood every day.

Her body flashed hot. They had seen her! They’d been watching her for days.

She shouldn’t have come here. This had been a very bad idea. She was in over her head, and she knew it. Her hands shook as she opened her clutch and searched for her keys.

‘Please,’ Bas said, ‘have a seat.’

‘I’m fine,’ she said. ‘Really, I should be going now.’

He continued around his desk as if he hadn’t heard her and took a seat in the leather chair. ‘I’m glad you came here today, Alicia. I’ve been trying to be patient, but I’m not quite sure what it is that the Sunlight Epiphany Church wants from us.’

Her chin jerked upward. Once again, he’d shifted gears on her.

Her fingers finally wrapped around her keys, and she looked at the door. Once again, Hunt stood silently watching her. He leaned against the wall, seemingly at ease, but that image of a lounging black panther returned to her mind’s eye. She could feel its intense gaze upon her as its tail swished back and forth.

‘Leesha?’

The soft sound of her nickname had her looking back to the desk. There were two panthers here, she had to remember. One somewhat domesticated, the other not.

‘I’m sorry. You really should talk to my father about this. I could set up a time and –’

‘Do you want to close us down? Because there are families who depend on paychecks from the Satin Club to survive. We pay our employees very well.’

‘Our intent isn’t to make anyone want,’ she said immediately.

A grunt came from the side of the room, the first sound that Hunt had made. When she threw a worried glance his way, she found his gaze raking down her body. With wanting.

She shifted uncomfortably.

His look finally settled on her breasts, hot and blatant. The crisscross design of her top was fashionable and not all that exposing, but it did dip lower in the neckline than she normally wore. The bodice was fitted and complimentary – if she wanted to showcase her breasts, she finally realised. She wore a bra, but she could feel her nipples stiffening and swelling.

Unable to stand his attention, she sat in the chair facing Mr Crowe. Bas. She swept her hair over her shoulder. These two unsettled her, but she needed to get the situation back under control. She’d come here to speak to them and, although she was distracted, that finally seemed to be what the club owner wanted, too.

‘Would a donation to the church help?’ Bas asked.

She shook her head. ‘Money isn’t the issue.’

‘Then what is?’

His gaze was solidly on her face, but as Alicia settled her clutch in her lap, even she was aware of her body’s response to what was happening around her. Trying to be discreet, she pulled at her top.

And nearly moaned.

Her nipples were so sensitive.

‘The sexual …’ Her words were so soft they were nonexistent. ‘The sexual nature of what goes on here.’

‘Do you consider sex a bad thing?’

His words were steady and clear, not embarrassed at all.

She cleared her throat. ‘Not between a married man and woman, but –’

‘But you’ve had sex, haven’t you?’

If her embarrassment had been bad before, it went white-hot now. She stared at her lap, unable to meet his green stare. She couldn’t answer that question, not from a man she didn’t even know. It was private. Confidential. And with what her father and church preached, she shouldn’t be able to answer yes.

‘Yet you’re not married,’ Bas continued. Her lack of virginity was a foregone conclusion to him but here it wasn’t an issue. Outside, in her world?

She cringed.

‘Sex is not evil, my dear. Sex is about gratification, for both men and women and any combination thereof. God gave us the wonder of sex in order to procreate. It’s only man who made it complicated.’

Well, they’d done a doozy of a job. Alicia crossed her legs, but that only increased her tenderness. Her private woman place felt so hot and achy. This kind of talk was so foreign to her, so taboo. Pressing her legs together helped, but she wanted to rub. She needed to rock against the chair, something, anything, hard.

‘Couldn’t you change the style of dance?’ she suggested hopefully. ‘Make it a dinner club with shows and performances?’

Behind her, Hunt made a sound that sounded like a scoff. It was quiet, but it reminded her he was there.

As if she could have forgotten.

Sex with him wouldn’t be complicated. No, it would be straightforward, raw and hungry. Why had she given him her back?

‘Dinner theatre wouldn’t be financially feasible,’ Bas said, shaking his head. ‘The production costs would go up for staging, lighting and music. We’d have to drop our exclusivity clause for members and open up to the public. Even then, with our location, we wouldn’t draw a large enough crowd to keep us in business for more than three months.’

‘Don’t forget wardrobe costs,’ Hunt added.

Bas laughed at that, and the low rumble made Alicia rub her thigh. They were being so pleasant and respectful, but the undercurrents in the room were tugging at her. Sloshing her to and fro.

‘Wardrobe costs would definitely skyrocket.’ Crowe leaned forward, balancing his chin in his hand as he watched her. ‘So again, I’m at a loss as to what I’m supposed to do to satisfy your church.’

The questions he was asking were valid. He was running a business. Admittedly, it was a business some might not like, but he had employees who depended on the incomes they made here.

‘Would you consider apologising?’ she asked. ‘Admitting your indiscretions?’

‘What indiscretions?’ For as polite as he was being, his voice had an edge now that she’d only heard arise when he’d spoken to her father.

‘The dancing …’ she said weakly.

‘You like the dancing.’

She jolted in surprise. The edge in his voice had become a lash.

‘You enjoyed what you saw out there,’ he said, challenging her to deny it. ‘You thought it was beautiful and intriguing. I saw it.’

He had. She hadn’t been able to keep her body from responding to the rhythm of the music. ‘That doesn’t mean I approve.’

‘Bullshit.’ His hand slipped from under his chin and slapped against the desk. ‘I’d lay money on the fact that you liked it so much, you want to try it.’

Her gaze jumped to his. ‘I do not.’

‘Thou shalt not lie, honey cakes.’ Those green eyes of his sparked, and his stubborn chin jutted forward. This was the fighter she’d seen, the uncivilised scrapper. ‘You don’t follow your made-up rules any better than I do. I felt your hips working out there. I could feel the rhythm taking over your body. You want to dance.’

‘Of course, I do. I’m a dancer, but not like –’

‘Exactly like that.’

Her mouth clamped closed. She couldn’t argue like this. She did want to dance again. They’d set off something inside her last week. She’d been all around town looking for a studio where she could train again, shake off the cobwebs and wake her body up. All she’d found were prima donna studios that catered to pre-teens. She didn’t need to learn how to do an arabesque, she just needed the floor space and time to practise. But she didn’t want to move like –

Thou shalt not lie.

He’d trapped her again with her own beliefs.

She had been fascinated by what she’d seen on that stage. The sensuality the redheaded dancer had displayed had shocked her at first, but then she’d sensed the honesty in the movements. It was the one overriding theme she’d noticed when she’d first walked in the door. This place was open and honest about sensuality, something she’d never been allowed to, or had the audacity to, explore.

‘I could never –’

‘You could. I invited you here, and you accepted.’

‘I wanted to talk.’

‘And we’re talking. I’m trying to understand why you and your people feel the need to repress what others want to do. Why do you ignore your own needs? Why is pleasure such a bad thing to you?’

‘It’s not a bad thing.’

‘But sex is?’ He sighed. ‘You want to dance, Alicia. Let’s just start with that. Why don’t you dance for me?’

Her eyes went so wide, they went dry. ‘What? No, I couldn’t.’

‘For yourself, then. On the stage, any style you want. You pick the music. Our customers would love you, and I can’t stand the thought of you holding yourself back. All that talent going to waste? It’s a shame.’

Her toes curled again, remembering that floor. That pole!

His eyes narrowed and the spark turned into something more calculating. ‘All right, here’s my deal. If you dance and you don’t enjoy it, we’ll close down the club for a month.’

Her breath caught. ‘A month?’

‘Bas,’ Remy warned from behind her.

Crowe held up his hand. ‘Will that settle the gripe with your church?’

Alicia’s lips moved, but nothing came out. It was more than she’d expected and she wasn’t sure how to respond. Her father would be thrilled with the outcome – as long as he didn’t know the means she’d used to achieve it. A month would give things time to quiet down. Church members would move on to other issues, hopefully not so volatile.

‘Yes.’

The word was out of her lips before she knew it. Before she could take it back, Bas’s chair rolled back and he stood. Behind her, a sound came from Remy as if he’d been punched in the gut.

She knew how he felt. She’d just agreed to dance for these men.

She lifted her shaky fingers to her lips. She was horrified at her impulsiveness, yet suddenly so excited, the proof was in her panties. All that heat and tightness had finally let go. She was wet.

‘Excellent,’ Bas said, moving around his desk. ‘Let’s go to wardrobe and find you something to wear.’

Her hair flew over her shoulder as her head whipped towards him. ‘What? Now?’

‘No time like the present. I want this disagreement solved.’

Hunt finally pushed himself away from the wall and was in their space. Alicia rose, not wanting to be in a submissive position next to him, but standing wasn’t much better. He towered over her and his mood buffeted her. He was not happy about this.

‘What do we get out of the deal?’ he growled.

‘If she enjoys herself, Alicia will get her father to close up shop and move on.’

She nodded mutely. That was reasonable. It would be a fight, but she could do it.

‘And she’ll dance at the club for a month.’

Her lips parted on an exhale. She couldn’t agree to that. One time was a risk, but she couldn’t dance here full time. Others would find out. The scandal would be horrific.

‘No risk, no reward,’ Crowe said with a steely smile.

Oh, he was a tricky one.

Alicia felt her heart pounding against her ribcage. Her breasts were still peaking against the soft fabric of her top and the wetness in her panties was threatening to seep into her jeans. How had she got herself into this situation? What was she supposed to do?

Dance. Nervous as she was about it, that was the one thing she knew she could do. At least once. The rest would just unfold as it would.

But the pole!

She couldn’t lie about this. She’d already seen how the dance worked, and honesty was above all else. They would know if she’d enjoyed herself.

And so would she.

‘All right,’ she agreed, steeling her spine. ‘I’ll dance on your stage.’

‘Fuck that,’ Hunt said, stepping into her space and stealing her air. ‘For a month, you’re going in the cage.’




Chapter Three


Alicia stared at herself in the mirror, horrified and transfixed in one improbable moment. What was she doing?

Her hand trembled as she pressed it against her stomach. Thank goodness Chanteuse had helped her with her wardrobe. She doubted she could have handled trying on the Satin Club’s skimpy outfits in front of either Bas or Remy. Still, the costume she’d ended up with was little more than a bikini. Make that a little less …

Her fingers brushed against the low-riding edge of the bottoms. They barely covered her pubic hair, and she’d tried on several pairs before she’d found ones that would.

Her face flared, indescribably hot.

She kept herself tidy down there. She just didn’t realise that most of the dancers waxed. She bit her lip. The mere thought of letting some aesthetician touch her, see her private area and groom her …

Her fingers pressed against her throat. Oh, things were spiralling out of control so fast, her head was spinning.

She turned to see herself from behind. The G-string fit her like a glove, but covered much less. The tiny bands of fabric that lay against her hips continued around to the small of her back. The stretchy fabric outlined the top of her buttocks, but left them bare. She’d never, ever, displayed so much skin. Her butt looked rounded and firmed, muscled from so many years of disciplined exercise, but the thong design let a thin strap of material part her rounded cheeks and delve into the crack between them.

That intimately placed strap of fabric bit. And rubbed.

She shifted in discomfort, but the binding material only moved with her.

How was she supposed to dance in this? She’d already used the bathroom to clean herself up once. With this intimate caress following her around, she’d be in a constant state of distress.

And arousal.

Oh, heavens.

She faced the mirror again. She couldn’t go out there where everyone could see her like this! Her breasts looked plump and firm, overspilling the tiny pink cups of the bikini top. She tugged at the fabric, trying to cover more of herself. She’d always been self-conscious about how full she was up top. For as sleek and toned as the rest of her body was, her curves were generous. Almost too generous for a dancer.

But that’s what they wanted her to do – dance. Dressed like this. In that dreadful, conspicuous, tempting cage.

She pressed her legs together so tightly, her ankles rubbed and her knees ground.

‘I can’t do it,’ she whispered. She couldn’t stand it. Dancing was one thing, but the touching? By strangers? Men with sexual intent?

Her private area clenched, threatening to dampen again.

She doubted she’d be able to step out of this room in this get-up.

But she’d agreed to a deal.

The thought whispered through her mind. She didn’t give her word lightly, and there was a huge reward waiting if she lived up to her part. There was a reason she was here, stripped down bare. Her fingers clenched. She had a fundamental disagreement with the two men who stood somewhere outside the dressing-room door. What they called ‘pleasure’, she called ‘sin’. They might enjoy the things that went on in this club, but what about the dancers? Did they feel objectified? Ashamed? Dirty?

She hoped her church’s picketing had caused some self-analysis, but the situation had become stalled. Something needed to be done before a peaceful protest turned into something ugly. Bas had given her an opportunity to push past that barrier.

She just had to dance.

In these tiny strips of sparkly fabric.

That left her virtually naked from the back.

Her stomach twisted. ‘But you’ll get your way …’ she insisted to her reflection.

There was no way she was going to enjoy this. It was so much more than in her dream. More nerve-wracking. More scary. More immoral. Her palms were damp and her pulse was racing. The thought of walking out into the main room sent a wash of cold through her. And climbing up into that cage? She felt like she was going to be sick.

The end was worth the means, though, and the end was a foregone conclusion.

Now. She had to do it now before she lost her nerve.

The heels of her borrowed shoes clicked against the floor like a countdown clock as she walked to the door. Bas would be there to accompany her to the stage. She had to think of it as a stage, because that was what it was. Once she started thinking of it as a cage, she would lose it.

Her fingers were tremulous as she opened the door. When she saw the man waiting for her, her nipples pinched just as surely as if he’d reached out and nipped them himself.

Remy.

He was leaning against the wall again, his shoulders taking his weight, but he stiffened when he saw her. Her self-preservation instincts kicked in and she tried to close the door. He stopped her with one hand spread wide against it. Taking one step, he entered her space. His heavy gaze chafed as it moved down her body.

Alicia quivered.

The air had become charged, staticky and ready to spark. Goosebumps popped up on her skin and her breasts ached. Their tips were unbearably tight, pressing against the thin fabric and catching his attention. A muscle in his jaw worked.

She let out a surprised whimper when he rubbed the back of his hard knuckles over an engorged nub. That was it, just a nudge, a hard bumpy caress and her breast felt like it was on fire.

Unlike Bas, he didn’t smile. If anything, the line of his jaw only hardened.

The door swung open as he pressed on it harder and Alicia had to accept the inevitable. It was time. She had to dance.

If she didn’t, she knew she’d be flat on her back on the dressing room floor with this big, intimidating man rutting into her.

Her private area clenched again, and this time wouldn’t relax.

Hunt’s hand settled on her lower back as he accompanied her down the hallway. It felt hot and huge, his fingers tickling the line of her thong. She folded her arms over her stomach. Her breasts felt full and they bounced with every step she took. Her butt felt exposed and that insidious strap of fabric between her cheeks was driving her mad.

Too soon, they were out in the main room.

She sucked in a hard, nervous breath and felt every man’s gaze in the room turn to her. She felt vulnerable then. There was nothing between them and her. Their lecherous hands, those hungry eyes.

Instinctively, she moved closer to the big man at her side. His hand slid from her back to settle at her waist.

‘They’re looking at you because you’re hot,’ he said softly. ‘Dance, and they’ll be begging at your feet.’

Her breath hitched. She’d been told she was beautiful before, both in body and spirit, but being hot was something else entirely. It made her feel feminine. Womanly. Powerful.

‘I’m ready,’ she whispered.

The cage would protect her, put some solid bars between her and the crowd.

And deep down in that secret place inside her, she wanted to be trapped inside it. On display.

Alicia was vividly aware of her nakedness as she walked across the room. There was no place to hide and she felt the stares on every inch of her bare skin. Too soon, they were at the cage. A series of steps lifted her to the small enclosure. Hunt held her hand as she climbed, her thigh muscles quivering with every step. Her fingers wrapped around a bar as she stepped inside. It felt solid and sturdy. The door clicked shut behind her and she spun around.

Had it only been a short time ago that she’d walked into the front door of the Satin Club? Fully dressed with good intentions?

She watched the crowd as it started to gather around her.

She’d definitely crossed a line.

Silence boomed around her, and her fight-or-flight instinct kicked in. She wanted out. She needed to run.

But the music started then, and her eyes drifted closed. ‘Feel Like Makin’ Love’ by Bad Company. Her belly clenched. Oh, that was so not the song she needed, with its grungy groove and insinuating rhythm.

It got to her just like every other time she’d heard it.

The beat of the song awakened her muscles and the sensuality flowed through her veins. Still, she stood frozen. There were so many eyes upon her, so many men gathered round her tiny, elevated stage. Bold eyes, lustful eyes.

A steady green gaze caught hers. Bas. She looked at him, her panic mounting.

‘Dance,’ he mouthed.

Dance. Right. That was their agreement.

Her hair brushed against her back as she looked nervously from right to left. The club’s patrons had gathered around her and she was fully circled. Her skin tightened. She felt self-conscious and uncertain. Indecent. A high wolf-whistle permeated the air, competing with the soulful song, and her face flushed.

Dance.

She had to dance.

Five minutes and it would be over. She could get dressed, the club would go on hiatus and she could get her father and his followers to move on. Hopefully, somewhere far, far away.

Her hips gave a little twitch.

‘Ooo, baby. That’s right.’

She nearly laughed, she was so nervous. Really? That was all it took?

She closed her eyes and let herself slip further into the music. She’d always been able to vanish into its midst. Her hips started rocking, though her legs were still pressed together tightly. She made her arms drop from where they were wrapped around her waist.

The song really was wicked. It pulsated, advancing and retreating with clever guitars and a booming bass line. A groan sounded somewhere behind her, and her body loosened. All she had to do was listen and move. And it felt good to escape, to go somewhere else in her head and become someone entirely different. Suddenly, the music had her. She was in the song, in the moment.

Instead of growing louder, the small group of men around her went quiet, almost as if holding their breaths.

That was when she truly began to dance.

Staying firmly in the centre of her cage, she let the music take over. Her hips swung with the beat and her hands reached out to catch it. Her hair flew and her breasts swayed. The sensation made her bite her lip. She’d always had to lash her breasts down when she danced, to the point where her flesh couldn’t move. Here, today, her breasts were moving. They were swaying, jiggling and jouncing. She lifted her arms over her head and her head dropped back.

Mmm, it felt good.

‘Oh, sweetheart,’ someone said in a rough voice.

That’s right, honey, she thought. Her legs spread as she found better footing. She’d never tried to dance in heels so high, and they made her very conscious of her legs … and her bottom. The feel was unnerving. So bare, so perky, so –

Available.

She’d strayed from the safe zone and the tips of a stranger’s fingers glided over her left buttock. Alicia jerked so hard, her breasts nearly bounced out of the string bikini. Her body flashed hot and then cold – and then hot again. She spun around, her hair flying around her shoulders.

They couldn’t touch her there! They’d only stroked the other dancer’s legs. Below the knee. She could deal with that. Nobody had told her they could do more.

A young businessman stood with his arm outstretched into the cage.

She looked at him, wide-eyed and uncertain.

‘Come on, sweetie,’ he said. ‘Let me pet you.’

The Petting Zoo. Her panic flared, but somewhere in there was excitement, too. Her gaze searched the crowd, and she connected with an intense green stare. Bas’s eyebrows lifted.

It was her decision.

She was in charge.

She sucked in a hard breath. Someone swore, and her excitement mounted. So did her self-confidence. They could touch her – but only when she said so. And if she did this, nobody could argue that she’d dodged the bet. With her legs spread, she did a deep squat, almost a plié, before rising again with an exaggerated grind of her hips.

Her gaze connected with the man who’d touched her. He looked so boyish. Harmless. His fingers curled towards her, almost begging.

Power solidified in her chest. Remy had been right. She held the crowd’s attention in the palms of her hands, and they were all attracted to her. They liked what they saw. Her body and the way she used it pleased them.

It pleased her, too.

After so many years of rules and chastisement, the feeling was surprisingly freeing. A link or two of the chain that bound her broke and slipped away. Hesitantly, she turned, giving the man her backside again. Her skin prickled when she felt him and others staring. They could see every flex of her muscles, every shiver of her flesh.

She edged back one step and then another.

She shuddered when those strong fingers stroked her cheek.

Oh, this felt good.

Sinful.

Her breath went jagged when another hand cupped her right buttock. Cupped her and squeezed. Hard.

Oh, dear … dear … heavens!

‘Baby, you’re like velvet.’

Her eyes shut tight. Her body was suddenly guided not only by music but by touch.

More hands braved to reach through the bars. One lone finger traced the line where her bottom met her leg. Another stroked down her spine while a bold, calloused hand reached between her legs and stroked her inner thigh from her knee all the way up to –

She gasped, and her eyes flew open.

Her gaze connected this time with Remy’s.

His dark eyes were steady as always, hot and intent. And mocking?

The hand on her right buttock squeezed again, making her muscles bunch. He was watching the whole thing, just like she’d imagined.

Just like she’d fantasised.

Her breaths went short, and her … her womb pulled tight. She was suddenly so aroused, it hurt. Taking a bigger step back, she put herself fully into these strangers’ hands. Her body vibrated, threatening to spiral out of control.

‘Come on, honey. Give it to us. You know you want to.’

She did. With everything inside her, she did.

The music poured over her, while countless hands touched her. She watched Remy watching her and her anticipation mounted. She hadn’t known she’d wanted this, needed this. She danced and was rewarded with admiring hands, fingers and dark whispers.

She gripped the bars of the cage as her hips worked. Not being able to see the men helped her courage, but it made their touches more unsuspected. More shocking. Just when she thought she was getting used to them, a thumb slipped under the band of her thong.

‘Oh!’ she gasped.

It was the masterful hand that still clenched her right butt cheek, the one that had refused to let go. That firm thumb stroked up and down, up and further down … Her butt clenched when it slid between her cheeks, rubbing flesh that had never seen the light of day, much less felt a caress.

‘I don’t –’

‘You do.’ The voice was gruff behind her.

She looked over her shoulder and was surprised to find an older man with silver hair at his temples. He was handsome, fit and carried an aura of authority. Somebody’s boss, no doubt. Her gaze shied away. She couldn’t look at him. She couldn’t look at any of the men touching her. Not yet. But she didn’t move away as she looked to Bas for support. His eyes were hot and curious. He lifted his shoulders. It’s your decision, she could practically read.

The thumb stroked deeper into her crack, and her body shuddered, all thoughts of dancing gone. Move away. The decision should be easy. Just say no and step forward. The thoughts were just a whisper in her mind. They paled to the roar in her ears.

‘Bend over,’ the gruff voice said.

The silver-haired businessman. She couldn’t get the look of him out of her head. His instructions were simple, but devastating. She couldn’t. She shouldn’t –

But her body was no longer her own. Her motions were no longer guided by her training. They came from the gut, were driven by nature.

‘Bend. Over.’

And sexual need.

Another hand spread wide across her spine and pushed her forward. Alicia bent at the hips. The hand on her inner thigh pulled her leg outward and she widened her stance. She gripped the bars in front of her to retain her balance and to try to keep herself together.

Her fingers turned white when the thumb underneath her thong began wiggling. Her toes curled inside her shoes. She waited for that insidious touch to delve deeper between her legs. She was ready for the stroke, craving it, but she was stunned when instead that thumb flicked.

Every muscle in her body clenched when the crotch of her tiny panties was pushed aside. Another flick tucked it up in the notch between her vulva and her inner thigh, and she was exposed completely.

She squeaked in distress. That tiny placket of material hadn’t been much, but she’d relied on it to protect her modesty. Now it was gone. Her private womanly area was bared to all the strangers’ eyes. Her pink flesh. Her dampness. Her curls.

She wanted to die.

Behind her, there was a chorus of groans and moans.

‘Now that’s a pussy.’

She went white-hot at the word, but she remained bent over, frozen and trembling.

The tremble became a shudder when that masterful thumb slid over her, finally touching her. Her back arched hard. ‘Oh, please. I – I can’t –’

‘You’re so soft and gorgeous.’

It was the baby-faced businessman who’d first asked to pet her. A finger glided over her swollen flesh and slipped into a crevice. Her spine stiffened. Was that him?

More touches came, and her head bowed. How many were back there? How many were touching her? She couldn’t look again, any more than she could control her hips. The movement they were following was natural, guided by need and something more.

Desperation.

Oh, stars, she’d never felt like this. Her body was spiralling upwards, clenching tighter and tighter. Her skin felt hot and prickly. Her – her p-pussy was fluttering and so, so achy and wet.

A moan ripped through her lips when a determined finger circled her sensitive opening. Round and round, it stroked her until her hips were pressing back, the bars biting into her flesh.

‘Fuck her,’ someone growled. ‘She wants it bad.’

The finger penetrated her, going deep.

‘Ohhhhhhh,’ she cried.

From then on, everything circled in her head. The music, the thrill, the hands, the fingers, the kisses. Lips touched her butt as the one finger inside her became two, and she sighed in delight. She hadn’t expected gentleness.

She didn’t get much.

The pressure increased and her brow furrowed. Another finger had penetrated her, but was it from the same hand? They worked inside her, pumping like pistons until she didn’t care.

Someone played with her clit. The touch was shocking and intimate. She flinched away, but strong hands clenched her hips and offered her up. That touch was ruthless. Alicia looked down between her legs and watched as fingers tugged on her pubic hair and a thumb worried her overly sensitive nub.

‘God, look at her.’

Her eyes flew open and, in that moment, it was as if cold water had been thrown over her. No, not God. God couldn’t see this.

But Remy could.

Her gaze locked with his, and her nipples tightened until they threatened to poke right through the sequined material of her tiny bikini top. He’d touched her there, rubbed her briefly with his knuckles. The way she was bent over, her breasts were on display for him. They swung and juddered with every move she made.

And she was moving faster, almost jerkily now. Her breaths sounded harsh in her own ears.

‘That’s a hungry pussy,’ someone said.

Another tug at her curls. ‘I like that she doesn’t shave.’

‘I want to suck her.’

Her ears felt hot from talk like she’d never heard, but that didn’t stop the desire moving through her. The overwhelming need.

‘She’s close,’ another man said.

‘She wants this bad. Fuck her harder.’

No, not harder!

‘Yesss,’ Leesha groaned when the fingers inside her became rougher.

They weren’t moving in sync, and it felt like a hundred fingers were filling her. When they found their rhythm, her knees nearly buckled. The pressure was thick, and the fingers at her clit teased round and round. She lurched hard, though, when the pad of a foreign finger pressed directly over a place she hadn’t expected.

Her most secret place.

Panic washed through her. ‘Remy!’

It was Bas who came to her rescue. ‘No anal penetration,’ he barked at her side.

The crowd behind her went quiet for a brief moment.

‘Her ass is mine,’ Remy finally growled.

Someone behind her chuckled, and the momentary reprieve was gone. Her ass was his? Alicia felt herself going under as the finger-fucking intensified. Her pussy was theirs. Nobody was stopping them. Not Bas or Remy.

And not her.

She was so wet, her dampness dripped from her. Her hips were working. Fingers were plunging. A touch stroked over her inner thigh, picking up her wetness. It lay deliberately on the bud of her anus again. Shocked, she looked at Remy, but the finger obeyed the rules. It pressed firmly against her tender opening, touching her in a shocking way. Wetting her.

And it wouldn’t go away.

Was it the young businessman? The silver-haired boss? The black man she’d seen?

‘Oh … Oh!’

Her lungs worked like bellows, and her blood thundered through her veins. Her hips began to jerk hard and then the orgasm hit.

Like a tidal wave.

Right there in public, in front of a bunch of strangers who now knew her intimately, Alicia reached her sexual peak. A hoarse cry left her lips, reaching above the music that still wafted through the air. The fingers inside her stilled, grinding deeply and she shuddered again. That insidious touch on her anus swirled, and she dropped helplessly to her knees.

Pleasure.

She’d thought she’d known what it was.

She hadn’t had a clue.

She let it settle over her as another tremor clutched her and then gently left. The fingers slipped out of her as she rested in the middle of the cage, out of their reach. She was almost sorry when the hot finger on her anus left her, too. Her body felt warm, replete. Heavy. She let her hair fall forward to hide her face. Her muscles were relaxed and her womb was positively glowing. She’d never felt like this before. She’d never come like that, not in private. Not with someone she cared for.

A dark, scared feeling fleetingly passed through her chest.

What had she just done?

The door to the cage clicked as it opened. Another mark in time.

She felt herself lifted into strong arms and she curled against a muscled chest. She pressed her face into Remy’s shoulder as he carried her from the room. He wasn’t safe, but he was protective.

Alicia swallowed hard.

There was no argument to be had here. They had a deal, and they all knew how things had turned out. The Satin Club wouldn’t be closing down for a month; she’d just become their star employee. The truth couldn’t be hidden. Not here, not out in the open where everyone had laid witness.

They’d challenged her to dance and not like it. How could she have enjoyed it any more?

She’d just come for a group of complete strangers.




Chapter Four


‘Dad, do you think we could skip the protests today?’

Alicia sat on the edge of the wooden chair in front of her father’s desk. They were in his office at the church. The room was sparse with white walls and stern furniture. A Bible sat on his desk and a picture of a lost lamb graced the wall behind him, but the room was so quiet – in colour, in warmth and in volume. A radio sat on the shelf to his left, but no music came from its speakers. The only sound to be heard was that of the air-conditioner, and it was working overtime.

‘It’s supposed to get into the high nineties this afternoon,’ she explained, latching on to the excuse. ‘I don’t want anyone to overheat.’

‘It’s hot in hell,’ he muttered, not looking up from the paper on which he was scribbling. A computer sat at his side, but he rarely turned it on. He was an old-school man, in thoughts and in actions. He viewed the Internet as a playground for degenerates, and the only use he had for it was his email. ‘We will not let the devil push us away simply because we’re uncomfortable.’

Alicia toyed with the ledger in her lap, lining it up against the hem of her skirt. She was certainly uncomfortable, but not because of the heat. Tonight was her first night dancing at the Satin Club. She was nervous, scared and queasy over the situation she’d got herself into. She’d barely slept all night as she’d tried to think of a way out of this mess. Step one had to be getting her father to stop his boycott.

‘We’ve had some elderly parishioners showing up. I’m worried about heat exhaustion.’

‘Then bring bottled water and fans.’ He slapped the desk in annoyance. ‘We’re making progress, Alicia. We can’t stop now. Crowe and his depraved minions are on their heels.’

Hardly. Leesha pressed her thighs together tightly. Bas wasn’t backing down. No, he was a fighter, just like she’d pegged him. He might use unusual tactics, but he’d stand his ground. Just look at what had happened to her when she’d tried to go toe-to-toe with him.

Her face heated and she pulled her skirt and the ledger further over her knees.

She still hadn’t got over what happened the other night. The feelings were still so close to the surface: the embarrassment, the horror – and the astonishment, the adrenalin and the bliss. She still couldn’t believe what she’d done, but dancing like that? Feeling those strangers’ hands on her? They’d brought her to such a sharp state of ecstasy, she still had to be careful how she walked or sat.

Even this hard wooden chair was getting to her. She shifted in distress. She’d been so sensitive ever since it happened. It was as if an awareness had been lit inside her. She had a sexual side, a side that needed gratification.

Apparently it had been starved for too long.

‘Please, you need to reconsider.’ She opened the ledger determinedly. ‘The number of worshippers in attendance on Sunday mornings has dropped significantly.’

He waved off her worry. ‘We don’t need the meek or the non-believers.’

‘We need their offerings.’

His blue eyes finally met hers. They were watery, but steely with fire. ‘Are people not tithing?’

‘Well … yes,’ she admitted. As far as their numbers had dropped, the actual dollars in the offering plates had gone up. The believers were showing their faith where it counted. ‘But we’ve got several comments on how radical we’ve become. We haven’t had any new attendees in weeks.’

‘Radical?’ That one word brought her father to his feet. ‘We’re fighting against evil.’

Leesha rocked slowly in her chair. This was not how she’d wanted things to go. She’d hoped to approach this logically, to have a straightforward discussion, but she could see it was too late for that. He was committed to his cause.

He rounded his desk, his blue eyes narrowing. ‘Has Lucifer touched your thoughts? Are you wavering in your commitment?’

She wasn’t wavering. Her commitment was just to peace and understanding. She’d already lost one battle to keep that. ‘No, I’m just … Father, we haven’t worked on the bulletin yet for this Sunday’s service. You haven’t signed the checks for the gas or electricity bills. You haven’t spoken to Jeanne about the hymns you’d like her to play. Have you even thought about your sermon?’

He bristled with indignation. ‘I will speak as the spirit moves me.’

Which wasn’t a good thing. He could be a powerful speaker when he planned his services, so eloquent and moving. She hadn’t seen that side of him for a while now. He’d become so myopic. ‘I just think we need to spend less time at the Satin Club and more time here.’

He stood over her, frowning. ‘Did those men at the club get to you? Are you fearful, child?’

Fearful, uncertain, excited – it was hard to tell which way the adrenalin was pulling her.

He knelt before her, taking her hands. ‘Evil can be frightening when you stare it in the face, but we must be strong together. We can’t tremble or let them separate us.’

‘Dad, you know I’m on your side.’

There were still questions in his eyes, worry for her. She took hope in that worry. For the first time in a very long while, he was looking outside himself. Vesting himself in something other than hate and vengefulness.

‘Let us pray together,’ he said.

She bowed her head, warmth filling her chest.

‘Father in heaven, help strengthen our resolve in the face of darkness. Help us cast out the demons. We are your servants, Lord, your soldiers. We will be strong in your stead.’

He gripped her hands so tightly Alicia winced, but then he was pushing himself to his feet. He bobbled slightly when his arthritic knee seized up, but grabbed the back of the wooden chair and pushed himself upright. He lifted his Bible high. ‘Let us be off to meet with our fellow soldiers.’

Stand on the picket line with Bas and Remy watching her through their security cameras?

‘Maybe I’ll stay here, just for today,’ Alicia hedged. ‘I have a lot of work to do.’

‘Nothing is more important than standing tall against your fears.’ He grasped her by the arm and pulled her upright.

She caught her ledger before it tumbled onto the floor. This wasn’t working. Instead of getting him to back down, she’d got him charged up.

There was a spring in his step as he pulled her towards the door. ‘We will win this fight, you and I together. In a few weeks’ time, the Satin Club will be no more.’

***

The Satin Club was hopping by the time Alicia made it there that night. She could see the cars in the parking lot and hear the muted beat of music. She was nervous and uptight as she parked her car at the diner next door. They’d instructed her to park behind the club, but she couldn’t be caught there. She didn’t want anyone to know where she was. How could she ever explain?

For a long moment, she sat in her car just staring at the building. The desire to run was so strong. They had to have seen her on the picket line with their security cameras and spies. Would Bas be angry with her? She hadn’t got her father to budge, although there’d been no microphone or speakers today. She hadn’t lived up to her end of the bargain on that, but she was here.

She was going to dance.

Her stomach clenched. Just dance. Without any clothes, perhaps, but she was not getting back into that cage. There would be no extra-curricular activity tonight, even though her nipples were pinching and her hips were loosening. She was here to entertain … visually, with no touching allowed.

She blew out a breath. ‘A month of this?’

There was no way her nerves could take it.

Before she could chicken out, she got out of the car. She could feel the eyes upon her as she made her way to the club’s back entrance. She keyed in the code she’d been given, but hesitated when she opened the door. On the other side of those red satin curtains, the place wasn’t so lush. The hallway was dark and intimidating. It was industrial with hard floors and metal shelves. The music had a melody now, but it sounded hollow. She wrapped her arms around her waist. Really, it was like the backstage of any other theatre where she’d performed, but she wasn’t comfortable here.

She stayed near the exit as she contemplated what to do next. She couldn’t just walk out into the performance area. How could she show her face? The last time she’d been here, she’d exposed herself, physically and emotionally. Footsteps suddenly echoed over the beat of the music, and she stiffened.

‘Alicia, welcome.’

She struggled not to blush when Bas turned the corner. He was dressed in black, the panther in all his sleek glory. He tucked a hand in his pocket as his gaze skimmed over her. If he was gloating, she couldn’t tell. His green gaze was indecipherable in the dim lighting.

He frowned as he looked up at the burned-out fixture on the ceiling. ‘Sorry it’s dark back here. I’ll get someone to work on that.’

He held out his hand. ‘Come.’

She had no option but to take his hand again, a willing sacrifice. He led her down the hallway to the changing room she’d used before, and it brought up mixed emotions. She was used to getting ready for performances in places such as this. Bright bulbs of lights surrounded big mirrors. Make-up was strewn about the tabletops, and lockers lined the far wall. There were the familiar tools of the trade: legwarmers, liniment and wrapping tape. It was the dance world she was accustomed to.

But, oh so very different.

She chose a spot, set down her bag and clutched her hands together. They were shaking. ‘I’m sorry about the protesters today. I know I promised, but –’

He cupped her shoulder. ‘It’s all right. I knew you wouldn’t be able to stop it in a day.’

His touch was warm and firm, but not angry. He trailed his fingers down her bare arm. She’d worn a sleeveless top to try to stay cool. The heat had been beating down on her all day, but somehow she knew she’d be shivering once she hit the stage. There was already a chunk of ice in the pit of her stomach.

‘Sit,’ he said. ‘I want to go over the rules with you.’

Rules? Really? She’d thought this place was about breaking them.

She was too antsy to sit, so she leaned her hips against the make-up table and wrapped her fingers around its edge.

Bas’s expression was stoic as he watched her. He was so different from Remy. With Remy, she knew exactly where she stood and what he wanted, shocking as it may be. Bas was more calculating, and it put her off-balance. What did he expect out of her this month? Was he trying to prove her wrong? To show her that the club wasn’t depraved and sinful?

Because she’d got a taste of the darker side in that cage. Although she’d been a willing subject …

‘You look like you’re about to face a firing squad,’ he commented. ‘Relax.’

‘I don’t think I can,’ she said honestly.

He frowned. ‘I want you to enjoy yourself here, Leesha. This isn’t a punishment. It might not seem like it now, but this place could be your sanctuary.’

Sanctuary. Her stomach turned. ‘I already have one of those.’

He bowed his head apologetically. ‘Poor choice of words. I just want you to know you can do anything you want here. You can explore things you’re curious about, delve into things you like. You can try new styles of dance and expression. Nobody’s going to judge you or hurt you. You’re safe here.’

She nodded slowly, not quite trusting him. ‘What if I don’t want to take off my clothes?’

The lines around his eyes deepened, and she stilled. It was the one sign she knew that signalled his displeasure.

‘That’s the one thing I won’t allow,’ he said. ‘You will not hold back on me or this bet. The gentlemen who visit this club pay for certain privileges. Seeing your beautiful body is one of those. Besides, this experiment is supposed to push you outside of your boundaries, to get you to experience the pleasure that you’ve denied yourself.’

Pleasure, again. She couldn’t hold his gaze.

‘Clearly, that’s something you need to do.’

There it was: the reference to her time in the cage. She’d been waiting for it, but her reaction wasn’t quite what she expected. She’d expected shame, but instead she felt confusion. He’d watched her lose control, but he was encouraging her to do it again. Demanding it. The idea was so bizarre. Her whole life had been about control and denial.

She bit her lip as that place between her legs pulsed, and she crossed her thighs to try to ease the sensation. ‘But you said that one of your most popular dancers never strips.’

He grinned like a hungry crocodile. ‘That’s because she’s sixteen. Once she hits eighteen, I won’t be able to hold the little minx back.’

‘Sixteen?’ Alicia gasped.

This place was unseemly. Even as she cringed, she felt a spark inside her. Maybe that was why she’d been sent here – to help change the club’s ways from the inside. The Lord did work in mysterious ways.

Bas shrugged. ‘She’s like you, the girl loves to dance.’

‘But –’

‘But unlike you, dance is all she’s allowed to explore here. This is your time, sweet Leesha. Nothing’s holding you back here. I want to see how far you can go.’

‘With dancing,’ she stressed.

‘Sure, with dancing.’ His gaze dropped to her breasts and then the way her legs were rubbing together.

Alicia felt a prickle at the back of her neck. He was so careful in his wording. He’d said he wanted her to feel safe here. Somehow that was one thing she didn’t think she’d ever feel inside the walls of this club. Safe from him? Maybe. He was so controlled, so in charge.

But from herself?

She wasn’t sure. She was experiencing desires she hadn’t even known she had.





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