Dance for the Billionaire - Page 4

Colin was a gem of a boss. He wasn’t married or in a relationship as far as she could tell. Some of the women hinted that he may be in the closet, but Chantelle wasn’t so sure. He treated his employees well—often giving advances to them when rent or a bill payment was due which they couldn’t meet.


Her fellow dancers hadn’t been as welcoming. One of the dancers had called Chantelle ‘a stuck-up cow’ for not wanting to give lap dances. Most of the others seemed to have the same impression, but they had thankfully not been quite so vocal about it. For them, as it was in her case, the job was a means to an end. They failed to understand why she wouldn’t use the chance to maximize her earnings.


What she couldn’t tell them was that she was serious about pursuing a career in the male-dominated world of architecture and didn’t want anything to jeopardize her plan now that she was so close. Heaven forbid, she shook a potential business colleague’s hand in greeting as she moved up the career ladder later in life and be recognized as the woman who had once danced on his lap!


Her student loan had gone towards paying household bills and keeping her brother and sisters fed and clothed. Her evening job at Waitrose had been physically exhausting and as a result had affected her studies. Dancing at the club had enabled her to be at home with her siblings six evenings a week and provided the extra money to pay for the course materials and expensive text books she needed for her degree, instead of spending hours in the library using their ‘Reference Only’ copies.


The job at the club had changed her life for the better.


Now, just one lap dance could make her dreams come true.


Please, please, please, please, God! she prayed fervently, yet felt guilty about bothering Him about such a matter. It felt wrong to pray about it, clad in nothing but a robe and three strategically placed tiny triangles of material held together by flimsy straps.


But, if He answered her prayer, this would be her last night in the club.


It was too much to hope for and yet she found herself praying desperately.


***


The dancer walked slowly into the room, her smooth skin glowing with youth and vitality.


My God, she’s even more beautiful close up!


Dominic barely restrained the urge to get up and touch her as she closed the door behind her.


She placed a handbag on the small table by the door and stood staring across at him.


“What’s your name?” he asked.


She quirked a beautifully-arched eyebrow, widened her stance, then placed her hands on her hips and continued to stare at him. After a long pause she finally answered, “Grace Jones.”


“That’s not your real name.”


“Does it matter?” Again the raised eyebrow.


“Yes,” he insisted.


“Sorry. If it was important you should said so before you paid the money.”


Dominic smiled and shook his head. She was confident for someone of her age—she looked about nineteen, but likely had to be over twenty-one to work in the club.


“Okay,” he conceded. “You win this round of negotiations.”


“Is there a special song you’d like?” she asked, coming a little closer. But not close enough for him to reach out and touch her.


“Private Dancer.” It was clichéd and overdone, but it fit the moment.


The rules disallowed the clients touching the dancers. Dominic swore under his breath. He would have a hell of a time keeping his hands to himself.


She pressed a few buttons on a panel on the wall and the introduction of the song filtered through the speakers in the private booth. She hesitated fractionally, as if she was nervous, then gave a little shake of her head and undid the tie of her robe.


It fell apart to reveal the matching black lingerie she’d been wearing, to the crowd’s disappointment, when she’d finished dancing on the stage. But instead of disappointment, he’d felt a strange kind of relief when he’d realized that she wasn’t going to reveal herself completely to every man in the room.


His eyes met hers and Dominic acknowledged just why he hadn’t wanted her to strip entirely—he wanted to be the only man who saw her naked.


“Come to me,” he commanded softly, settling himself more comfortably in low, armless chair he’d occupied while awaiting her arrival.


***


Heart beating in triple time, Chantelle straddled his muscular legs. She wasn’t frightened—a single press of either alarm button near the chair would summon one of the club’s four bouncers.


She’d never been this close to an adult male, black or white, before. It should have felt strange, but it didn’t. She lifted her hands to his shoulders and her eyes to his as she started to slowly undulate her waist and move her hips in perfect time to the beat of the song.


Her stomach clenched as once again she felt a sort of electric shock run through her as she held his gaze. His eyes were a beautiful hazel, she realized and shivered in surprise—she’d thought they would be blue. His thick hair was dark, and wavy though it was not particularly long. His nose was bold and well shaped. His full lips were another surprise—shaped in an almost perfect Cupid’s bow, and so…kissable.


Kissable? Where the hell did that thought come from?


“Tell me your name,” he demanded again, holding onto her hips and pulling her forward onto his lap.


Chantelle gasped as she felt the hard length of his erection beneath her. She took a deep steadying breath and her nostrils filled with his woody, subtle yet heady aftershave as she continued the dance. Seated on his lap, her legs in the high-heeled shoes were almost in line with her ears. She moved her waist in small circles, imitating the moves she would make if they were making love and she was on top.


“Tell me.” This time the words were whispered persuasively into her ear as he pulled her torso closer to his.


Her nipples tightened as they came into contact with his broad chest. His groan told her that he felt her reaction through the soft cotton of his shirt.


Following a womanly instinct that shocked her even as she did it, she rubbed herself harder against the bulge pressed against her.


“I want you.” The words were almost a growl as he clamped his hands on her hips and stilled the movement. “I’ll pay you another fifty thousand pounds if you sleep with me.”


Disappointment flooded Chantelle. She knew that a few of the dancers occasionally had private dates with select club members—Colin was aware of it, but ignored the practice once nothing occurred on his property—but she would never sleep with a man for money.


She had wanted to make the lap dance memorable for the client, had been willing to stretch Colin’s rules but stay within their boundaries. He would never know how grateful she would always be to him.


But she wasn’t that grateful!


“Most men seem to think that the words stripper and prostitute are synonymous. I was mistaken in thinking that you were intelligent enough to know the difference,” she told him scornfully, abruptly swinging her right leg up and over, narrowly missing his arrogant head. Standing, she glared down at him and snapped, “Look up the meaning in a frigging dictionary.”


Whirling, she raced out of the room, only stopping to grab her handbag and robe before slamming the door behind her. Then turning left, she headed to the back door.


It was hard to walk away from the money she had earned tonight although it was a paltry sum compared to the amount she had in the handbag clutched at her side. Tomorrow she would call Colin to let him know that she wouldn’t be returning. And she would forfeit the night’s wages—a small price to pay for his generosity. Technically she didn’t need that money now and though there would no doubt come a day when she would regret not collecting them, she was certainly not going to wait around!


***


Dominic took a moment to bring his body under control before he left the private room.


He cursed as he almost stumbled in the now-darkened club.


The dancer on stage was using the lights as an effect, so they’d been dimmed further to enhance her act. Glancing left and then right, he saw no sign of the dancer who had given him the lap dance. As skimpily dressed as she was, she would have to get changed first, he decided, and rushed to the exit. He would be waiting when she left the club.


He dialed Alvin’s mobile number as soon as he was outside and instructed, “Pick me up at the entrance.”


Alvin came speeding around the corner moments later. He was more suited to a race track, Dominic always thought, but he wasn’t about to let a brilliant, safe driver out of his employ. He paid the man more than double what he would have received elsewhere, which may him less likely to try out as a stunt car, or racing, driver.


“Did you see a woman leave the club?” he asked the driver as he jumped in the car besides him—this wasn’t the time to stand on formality and get in the back. If by chance she’d left the club, he needed to start pursuit immediately.


“A tall black woman?” Alvin queried as he swung the car around to the exit.

Tags: Jewel Moore Billionaire Romance
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