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“Yeah.” He glanced at me from the doorway of my office.
“I know I didn’t say it before, but thanks for staying behind and helping me with this problem. I know you wanted to leave with your buddies, and I appreciate it.”
Ben studied me for a moment before he nodded, but some of the starch in his collar had dissolved. “You’re welcome.”
And then he left me alone in my office. Which was good. It was Saturday night, and those could get crazy in an instant.
* * *
Iwaltzed onto the stage in my costume for this evening’s performance and felt familiar butterflies. I’d been performing on stage most of my life. Growing up, I was allowed to take dance lessons at one of my foster homes. Those dance lessons opened a doorway for me. I was only with the McClouds for two years. But during that time, I took ballet and tap and was hooked. I was eight at the time. And I knew then that dance was my ticket out. So I studied, mainly on my own. I rented dance videos and books on choreography at the library. I’d practice in my room, if I had one at the time, and on the playground at school, ignoring the other girls as I practiced.
None of them understood what it was like growing up without a family or being passed from one home to the next when it was convenient and having no power or control over my life. Through dance, I just knew I was going to be a star.
I taught myself gymnastics and Pilates. I ran on the track team to keep my body lean and learned how to build muscle. In high school, I tried out for the dance squad and became captain in my sophomore year. Unheard of by my high school’s standards. Even though I hadn’t had more than the basic principles of dance, I scored an audition to Juilliard.
And I got in. I was even able to score a scholarship with my grades and the fact that I didn’t have any family supporting me.
I thought at the time that I was on my way. That I was going to make it in the world as a dancer and eventually a choreographer. But I was so damn wrong.
During a performance, I landed wrong on my left leg, and my knee crumpled. And Juilliard withdrew my acceptance over my career-ending injury.
But I couldn’t leave the stage behind. Once I fully rehabbed my leg, I knew I would never dance formally again. And it was by accident that I fell into stripping.
Yet it satisfied my need to be on stage, my need to be admired and fawned over. And I had to admit the money I’d made over the years wasn’t too bad either. It had afforded me the money to buy my house and this club.
The spotlight fell on me as I prepared for my number. The crowd was rowdy tonight. But that was Saturdays at Madame X’s. Some of my girls were entertaining the bachelor party in attendance.
As I lifted my face with the opening strains of music, my gaze landed on Ben. He sat at a table in the back, his face hidden in shadows. I latched on to him as I began to sway and gyrate my hips to the music. As I gripped the pole and swung myself around, I felt Ben’s eyes on me.
Every time I saw the bastard, I experienced a lightning strike of energy at my core.
He left me breathless. Aching. For this feeling I couldn’t name, because I’d never experienced anything like it. It was longing. A desire for a man at the root of my being so profound I knew I couldn’t keep myself from taking what I wanted.
How could I when my need for him had reached epic heights?
I wanted to do dirty and depraved acts with him. I wanted him to use me like a damn toy for his pleasure and take out all his frustrations, the darkness that resided in him and was present just beneath the surface, on my pussy.
And when he was finished making me see the face of God, I’d have him do it all over again.
The entire club dimmed until he was the only one I could see. I danced for him tonight. I wanted him, was drawn to him more than any other man I had ever met.
I knew he felt it too. The chemistry between us was palpable, increasing as I removed layers on stage until I was in nothing but a silver strip covering my sex.
Ben rose from his seat, heading toward the back as I made my way off the stage with a dark scowl. I raced to beat him to the office door. What crawled up his ass?
17
From the moment I met Moira, I wanted her. It was that simple—and that complex. I’d vacillated back and forth, wrestling with my desire for her while dealing with boatloads of guilt over lusting after Evan’s girl.
But I wasn’t prepared in the slightest for Moira dancing on stage with her gaze trained on me. Unlike last night, where she played up the audience, her entire focus was on me tonight.
And I sat in her darkened club, fighting the mother of all hard-ons as she gyrated her lithe dancer’s body on stage.
Any thoughts of finding her stalker went out the window. A portal to a demon dimension could open up in the wall behind me, and I wouldn’t know it until I’d been sucked inside. My entire focus, the entirety of my being, centered on Moira and her glorious, toned body as she danced.
Her act was personal tonight. Like she was dancing just for me.
And I’d never wanted another woman more. I craved her. Lusted after her in ways I’d never felt before. It was primal. And I felt as if I stood on the edge, my control fraying, and I worried about the devastation should that control finally snap.
