Private Dancer. Kimberly Dean

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      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.

      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.’

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