Kimberly Dean - Private Dancer

And fight dirty.

His attention moved over the angry bystanders. As always, it settled on one trim figure off to the side – a feminine figure with soft, curling brown hair and a sweet innocent face – a silent figure with a body that screamed .

‘What did you learn about the angel?’

‘Her name is Alicia Wheeler.’

The way his operations manager drew it out, it sounded like something he’d like to taste. And savour. And lick all over again.

Didn’t they both?

‘The reverend’s daughter and, as luck would have it, a dancer .’

Bas stared at her. Sweet little Leesha was a knockout. She wore boring, prim clothes and flat shoes, but that only made her all the more tempting. His gaze traced down her body, over her full breasts and along her trim waist to nudge at the secret spot between her legs. Did she really think it was hidden by the dowdy skirt she wore?

‘A dancer,’ he murmured under his breath. Now wasn’t that interesting? ‘Is she any good?’ His gaze hadn’t left that private spot. He could practically feel her lush, innocent pussy opening up to him, taking him deep. She’d be tight.

Would she be wet?

‘Not our type of dancing,’ Remy replied, ‘but she can move – although she seems to have given it up since moving back to work at her father’s church.’

Bas’s mouth watered. Now wasn’t that a shame? He could see that sensual body filling out a ballerina’s leotard, her breasts stretching the fabric tight. His palms tingled, thinking of those trim hips rolling and her hair flying around her shoulders. He could hear her breaths panting as her legs flexed and her toes pointed tight.

He’d known there had to be an outlet for her frustration, because, whether she knew it or not, that was one frustrated woman. It radiated all the way across the street and through a security feed. She looked so buttoned up and tied down. She showed up every day at her father’s side, but her expression always seemed calm and controlled. Almost distant. Was that because she was secure in her beliefs? Or was she there only because she was expected to be?

Everyone knew that preachers’ kids could go one of two ways. They either toed the line or went a little wild. Being lashed down with rules and bound by strict expectations could drive anyone to act out, to rebel and experiment with the wrong kind.

He wondered which way Alicia Wheeler went.

‘She’s clean as a whistle,’ Remy said, practically reading his mind. ‘From what I could find, she’s always been a good girl. A model of good behaviour, right down to those succulent toes.’

Her toes weren’t what Bas wanted to suck on.

‘Any vices or kinks? Anything we can use?’

Remy shook his head, but his gaze was locked onto the pretty brunette, too. He’d done the background checks on everyone in the crowd they could identify. He probably knew what kind of perfume she used, what size bra she wore and if there were any toys in her bedstand. ‘She got top grades. She volunteers. Doesn’t smoke or do drugs. She doesn’t have so much as a parking ticket on her record.’

‘Kind of makes you want to shake up her structured little life, doesn’t it?’

A sound came from deep in his friend’s throat.

‘What about sex?’ Bas pressed.

‘She dates the Joe Schmo to her father’s right. I doubt he’s even found a way into her pants yet.’ Remy shook his head. ‘Makes you sad for the girl, doesn’t it? Look at that body. She needs someone who can ride her good and long, someone who could make her moan.’

Maybe someone who could break the chains that were holding her back?

‘Let me take care of this,’ Remy said. ‘I could have this crowd gone by tomorrow.’

Bas didn’t think they were quite to that stage. Yet.

‘I’ve got something else in mind.’

The operations manager sent him a quick look, but then followed his gaze back across the street. Back to sexy, repressed Alicia.

‘Dancers need to dance,’ Bas said softly.

He knew a weak link when he saw one.

The Satin Club was the classiest and most exclusive gentlemen’s club in town. It was also his baby. He’d built it from the ground up, and nobody was going to tear it down, harass his clients or threaten his girls. Protecting it was his job, but he couldn’t attack a church outright. There was no winning that kind of battle.

No, this might take a bit more finesse.

And that’s where the sweet-looking Ms Wheeler came in.

She might not approve of the naked gymnastics their girls performed, but she appreciated art. She appreciated physical movement and expression. As a dancer, there would be empathy there.

Strip away the nudity and the voyeurs. Ignore the money that exchanged hands and all the extra-curricular activities that happened behind the red satin curtains. At the heart of the Satin Club was movement of the human body. The female body. The beat, the rhythm, the instinctual response to the sound of music.

The freedom.

Oh, yeah, as prim and proper as Alicia Wheeler seemed, she’d respond to the core of what happened here. Good girl or not, she’d respond to the dance.

‘Let’s go introduce ourselves,’ Bas said.

It was time to see what would happen if all that repression was unleashed.

***

Alicia watched Sebastian Crowe and Remy Hunt approach like two black panthers stalking their prey. Whenever her father decided to stage one of these protests, she always made sure to do her homework. She studied up on the city’s laws on assembling and permits. She determined the most effective, yet safest places to gather. Most importantly, she learned all she could about the people they were about to aggravate – because people were always aggravated when her father started one of his campaigns.

What she’d learned about these two had made her antennae go up.

Despite appearances, she didn’t like confrontations. She hadn’t wanted to tangle with these two, but her father had insisted. A den of iniquity, he’d called it.

The lion’s den was more like it.

‘Heathens! Lust worshippers! Bow down and repent before the Saviour!’

Grimacing, Alicia worked her way through the crowd towards her father. She wished that Paul hadn’t bought the speakers. They had her teetering on the edge of a migraine. ‘Dad, stop yelling. They’re coming to speak with you.’

He ignored her completely. ‘Admit your sins! Beg for forgiveness!’

She cast a glance at Colin, silently asking for help, but he lifted his hands in defeat. She sighed. If anyone disliked confrontations more than she, it was her boyfriend. If she wanted to even call him that.

That was another problem, but this one was more pressing.

She wrapped her fingers around her father’s shoulder. ‘Please stop.’

A frown momentarily settled on his face. He’d become thinner in recent months. The gauntness almost made him look fragile, but there was a glint in his eyes when the two representatives of the Satin Club began to cross the street. Eight days of this, and he’d finally got a response.

Alicia clutched the top edge of her sign. Please be civil. Everyone, please be civil .

‘God knows,’ her father spat at the two men. ‘The Lord sees what you do in that depraved –’

The words were cut off abruptly when the bigger of their two visitors reached out and simply took the microphone out of her father’s hand like a parent taking a toy from a naughty child. He shook his head and made a show of turning the device off. Alicia looked quickly at her father. Red was starting to creep up his neck. He opened his mouth to speak.

‘Reverend Wheeler.’ The man in the sunglasses shoved out his hand in greeting before he could get out another word. ‘I’m Sebastian Crowe, owner of the Satin Club.’