You and I Alone (3 page)

              “Uh huh. You say that now.” She says, shaking her head back and forth at me. Pulling her laptop onto her lap, she peers back up at me. “What did you say his name was again?” She asks.

              “Bentley Reed.” I say, unable to contain my smile as his name falls off my lips. Quickly trying to recover, I shake my head and turn my focus back to Andrea. “Why?”

              “Because....” She says, typing something into her computer before looking back up at me. “He has information on you. Which puts him at an unfair advantage. We need to find out more about him. Even the playing field if you will.” She laughs.

              “There is no playing field. I've worked there for five months and never seen the man, I hardly doubt his presence is going to become a regular occurrence. Hell, he's probably already long gone.”

              “Well. Well. Well.” She says, tisking as she shakes her head back and forth. “Is this our dear Mr. Reed?” She asks, turning the screen just enough so that I can see the photo displayed across it.

              I don't even have to look hard to know immediately that it's him. “That's him.” I say, surprised that she was able to find him at all.
Allure
is such a secretive place. I doubt you could find anything about it on the internet even if you tried.

              “Bentley Reed, 32. Professional soccer player turned business mogul.” She says, peeking my curiosity to the point that I have to get up and join her on her bed so that I can see what she's looking at.

              There are several articles about his time with the U.S. Open Cup winning soccer team, Chicago Fire, but very little that I can see after the fact. And there is no mention of
Allure,
only that following his soccer career, he became a successful business owner of a chain of private clubs, yet there's no additional information. Clicking on one of the links, Andrea begins to read aloud an article written seven years ago.

              “Bentley Reed, key player for the Chicago Fire, sustained a career ending injury during last months game against Columbus Crew. A collision with a member of the opposing team, broke Reed's leg so severely that members of the team reported you could see the bone sticking through his skin as medical workers carried him from the field. A team spokesperson confirmed today that Reed, 25, will not be returning to the field after medical professionals confirmed that he will not be able to return to the game of soccer. Reed has yet to comment publicly, however many of his teammates have reported that he seems to be optimistic about his diagnosis. Going as far as to say that he will be back next season if he has anything to say about it. While this is a huge loss for Chicago Fire, they are still hopeful that they will be taking home their fourth U.S. Cup win this season.”

              Before she is even finished with the article, I can feel nothing but sadness for this man. My heart breaks for anyone who has ever had their dream ripped away from them in the blink of an eye. It's exactly what happened to me after I blew out my knee. I remember feeling like my reason for existing was gone.

              Dance was all I ever knew. My grandma signed me up for classes shortly after I arrived in Chicago. I know it was her way of trying to distract me, give me something to focus on. She probably never expected for me to fall in love with it the way I did.

              “That's awful.” I say, shaking my head as I stand.

              “Yeah. But look at him now.” Andrea says, snapping her laptop closed and tossing it to the side. “Clearly he's done well for himself.” She says on a shrug.

              “Yeah. I guess. Whatever.” I say, pulling open my bag and emptying out the three large text books inside. “It doesn't matter anyways. It's not like I am planning on being his friend or anything. Besides, I have more important things to worry about.” I say, peeling open one of my text books. “Like how in the hell I am going to get through finals without pulling all my hair out.”

Chapter Three

             
I manage to get through my first dance of the night with no incident and by the time I take the stage for the second time, I have almost completely forgotten about everything that happened the night before. Almost.

              As “Sail” by Awolnation, starts thumping from the speakers, I cross the stage in slow strides, my movements matching the music. Dropping into a straddle on the floor, I lean forward and lay my torso across the smooth marble.

              I love dancing to this song. And even more, I love my outfit for the night. Black lace boy shorts and a polka dot cami that is practically see through but not quite. Partnered with black heels and a black Fedora, I feel sexy. I feel powerful. It gives me a taste of what these men probably feel everyday. Like I can control the world. Pushing my legs together and laying them flat behind me, I push up into a plank position before spinning into a back bend and slowly kicking myself over.

              Grabbing the pole directly in front of me, I grip the smooth metal and climb about two feet with my hands before wrapping one leg around it and doing a half spin, my other leg stretched out to the side giving everyone in the audience a perfect view of my inner thigh.

              After a few more seconds, I lower myself from the pole, tipping my fedora hat down so that the majority of my face is covered in shadows as I make my way to a chair sitting at the end of the catwalk. It isn't until I spin the chair towards me and straddle the seat, that my eyes land on the one person I didn't expect to see again. Bentley Reed.

              He's sitting at the table that sits just a foot from the end of the catwalk. His eyes are dark and he slowly bites down on his lower lip like he is physically trying to restrain himself. Feeling empowered by the clear effect I have on him, I slide down the seat of the chair, spinning around so that my ass is right in his line of sight. Lowering myself into a split, I look in his direction as seductively as I can muster before twisting my body back around and pushing up into a handstand, my legs still completely spread apart.

              As the song winds down, I straighten my legs into a full handstand and push myself forward into a front walkover and then immediately drop to my knees directly in front of Mr. Reed. Once again pulling my hat down as the last beat of the song pounds from the speakers and the lights go black.

              My breathing is ragged and I can feel the beads of sweat forming at my nape as I quickly stand and exit the stage, not looking back in his direction again. The minute I step into the lights of the back room, regret hits me full force. What the hell was I thinking just then? Did Josh see that little display? But before I have another second to even think about it, I hear someone approaching from behind and quickly spin around to see Mr. Reed closing in on me.

              Gripping my forearm, he pulls me along side him, back out into the main room of the club before veering left and leading me down the dim hall that leads to the private rooms. I don't have time to protest. Hell, I don't even have time to think, as he opens the door to the last room on the right and pulls me inside with him. The click of the latch causing me to jump slightly.

              At first, I think he's going to say something, do something, anything. Instead, he stares at me for a long second before turning around and walking the distance of the small room, making a selection on the digital screen on the side wall that controls the music, before taking a seat on the red bean shaped couch that sits along the far wall.

              Immediately the silence fades away and a slow seductive beat I don't recognize fills the space. I don't know how long I stand there not able to move, not able to think. Seconds? Minutes? All I know is that when his lips part on his words, my insides literally melt. I didn't know it was possible to physically want someone so badly, but something about this man has me wanting to do all kinds of things to him that I know I shouldn't.

              “Dance for me.” He says, hitching his finger, gesturing for me to come to him. As if my body is being controlled by his voice alone, I slowly cross the space until I am standing directly in front of him. There is something so wrong about this and yet, it feels so right. So exciting.

              If you would have asked me an hour ago if I knew what I would do in this situation, I probably wouldn't have had an answer, but somehow my body seems to know exactly what to do. Pulling off my fedora, I toss it across the room before running my fingers through my long hair, noticing immediately how hyper sensitive my skin feels as the strands brush against my shoulders and back.

              I hear his breath hitch when I turn around and lower myself into his lap. Grinding my backside against him, I can feel how hard he is through the fabric of his pants. A dead giveaway that whatever I am doing, it's clearly working for him.

              Gaining even more confidence, I turn back around and straddle his lap, not minding one bit when his hands go to my hips. Normally I would never let someone touch me like this here, but with him, it feels different somehow. I don't feel like a dancer doing something forbidden with a client. I feel like a woman, doing something thrilling with a man that seems to want me as much as I want him.

              Grinding my body against his lap, I can feel the dampness inside of my panties as my arousal takes hold at the forefront of everything else. Dropping my face to the crook of his neck, I run my tongue along his skin, immediately loving the way he tastes. I trail it up to his jawline and then moan so softly in his ear, it's more of a purr than an actual moan.

              His hands tighten on my hips, gripping me so tightly that it's borderline painful and yet, makes it that much more thrilling at the same time. I am no stranger to the art of seduction. I am not embarrassed or self conscious when it comes to sex. To me, it's natural. It comes easily. I'm not ashamed or afraid. Sex to me, is like dancing. It's thrilling. It's freeing. It's exhilarating.

              As the song begins winding down, I slowly peel my body from his, nipping at his earlobe before pushing into a full stand in front of him. Even in the dim lights, I can see how much I have affected him and that thought alone makes me want to repeat the process all over again, only this time without the barrier of clothing.

              “You're incredible.” He rasps, his breathing coming out uneven as the silence, once again surrounds us.

              “So I've been told.” I say, finding a confidence I don't usually display in front of clients, or my boss for that matter. Maybe the way I am acting is purely a result of being in the company of the man in front of me.

              I consider turning around and walking right out of the room without another word, but his eyes hold me in place, as if somehow controlling my very movements, or maybe even my thoughts. Within seconds, another song fills the room, this one even slower than the first. A stripped down, acoustic version of “Heartless” by Kanye West.

              Reaching out, he takes my hand and pulls me closer to him. Without really thinking, my hips begin swaying in time with the music. “You're breaking the rules.” I say playfully, leaning forward and securing my hand on the back of the couch to hold myself in a position where I am practically laying on him but not touching him at the same time.

              “Is that so?” He breathes, his eyes not leaving mine as I trail my hand across the side of his face, down his neck, across his shoulder and down his bicep, as my body sways above him.

              “One dance.” I say. “You only get one dance in a private.”

              “Perks of being the owner I guess.” He says, pulling my hand from the back of the couch, causing my body to collapse down on top of him, my chest resting against his, our faces just inches apart.

              The movement causes me to falter for a moment as I get lost in the feeling of his body against mine, his scent swimming around me. Honestly, this man is so intoxicating I feel like I have had several drinks when I haven't had a drop of anything.

              “Abusing your power.” I breathe, tensing when he leans in closer.

              “Never.” He breathes against my lips before pulling away again. Needing to put a little distance between my face and his, afraid that any minute I might have a brain malfunction and actually close the gap between us, I hitch my leg across his and once again straddle his lap.

              Settling down on him, I pull my knees up and rest my elbows on them, temporarily halting all my movements. “So tell me something.” I say, smiling when his lips turn up in grin and two adorable dimples make an appearance.

              “What's that?” He asks, running his hands across my outer thighs causing my skin to prickle under his touch.

              “Well, how about you start with why you requested my personnel file yesterday.” I say, not missing the way his eyes widen a little. Clearly he didn't know that Josh had shared that information with me.

              “I like to know about the girls working in my clubs.” He says, letting his hands wander from my outer thighs to my knees and then back again. I try to keep my breathing calm and not let him see how much his touch is affecting me, though I am not entirely sure that I am being successful.

              “And.” I say, waiting for him to comment on what he found. “What did you learn?”

              “Anna Blake. Twenty-one. Originally from North Carolina. Moved to Chicago when you were four to live with your grandma. Entered foster care at the age of twelve. Spent the next four years in two different homes before finally being adopted by one Patricia Wade when you were sixteen. You were an honor student in high school, landing a pretty hefty scholarship to the University of Chicago, where you are currently a Junior majoring in Sociology. You live on campus. Roommate is Andrea Johnson. You have a 3.8 GPA. And you, at some point in your life, were a dancer.”

              “It says that in my file?” I ask, referring to the dancing part.

              “It doesn't take a genius to see how technical and precise your movements are. An inexperienced dancer doesn't usually have such amazing technique. That only comes with years of training. So my next question is this, why do you dance here and not pursue dance when you are clearly very talented?” He asks.

              Taking his hand, without a word, I trail it down my leg and across the bottom of my right knee where a pretty thick scar shows the evidence of my knee surgery. His eyes register that he understands the moment his hand skates across the marred skin.

              “Blew out my knee. Sophomore year of high school.” I say on a weak shrug, surprised that I am opening up to him so freely, especially given our current situation and that I am still straddling his lap half naked.

              “No way to correct it?” He asks, seeming to really care, which kind of throws me off kilter a little.

              “Nope. It's strong enough to dance. Just not strong enough to take the demands of dancing professionally.” I say, trying to keep my voice strong and not let my emotion show through.

              I don't know anything about this man and suddenly the room feels too small. Sex I can do. Intimacy, not so much. Feeling an overwhelming urge to run, I make a move to stand, but his hands hold me firmly in place.

              “Mr. Reed.” I say, meeting his eyes again.

              “Call me Bentley.” He says, his smile returning. “Anna.” He tacks on.

              “Logan.” I correct him.

              “Logan.” His smile spreads even wider. “Tell me something I don't know about you.”

              “I thought you had already learned everything there was to know.” I retort, my voice coming out with a hint of bitterness.

              “At the end of the day, it's just a file. A person's life typed out in bullet points. It doesn't tell me who you are as a person. What your dreams are.” He pauses, trailing his thumb across my collar bone. “The kind of noises you make when you come.” His last words are raspy and catch me completely off guard.

              Like I have been doused in cold water, suddenly I feel like I am seeing clearly again. And as much as I would love to just strip bare and let him take me right here and now, I know that professionally, I simply can't. Even if he is the owner, it still wouldn't sit well with me. It's bad enough that I am sleeping with Josh. I can't just turn around and sleep with his boss too. What kind of person would that make me?

              I know he wants me. Correction. I know he wants to fuck me. That much is clear. And I would have to be blind to not want the same thing. But I can't risk losing this job.

              “I really should go.” I say, once again making a move to stand. Again, my attempts being thwarted by his strong hands.

              “Okay.” He says, smiling playfully and making no move to lessen his grip on me. The music changes again and the moment the crisp piano cuts through the air, it's like we enter an alternate universe.

              My face is lowering to his before I can do anything to stop it. The moment our lips connect, an electrical current explodes through my body, causing every nerve ending to stand to attention. Reaching up, he clasps his hand around the back of my neck and pulls me deeper into the kiss, his tongue sweeping inside of my mouth.