Private Dancer. Kimberly Dean

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