Private Dancer. Kimberly Dean

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