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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.
