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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.
