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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.’
