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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.
