Dance for the Billionaire (4 page)

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.

“Yes,” Dominic confirmed, banging his fist on the beautiful, wooden inlaid dashboard in front of him.  “Where did she go?”

“She just swung out of here in a Ford Escort, boss.”

Alvin knew the brown envelope contained cash—it wasn’t the first time the man had conveyed money to Dominic from his butler.  Dominic knew that the driver would immediately jump to the wrong conclusion, but there was no time to explain.  He ordered, “Follow her!”

Alvin immediately gunned the engine.

“Faster!”  Dominic ordered.

“She raced out of here, boss.”  The driver obediently accelerated, but he shook his head ruefully.  “I don’t think we’ll catch her.”

“We have to.”

“Yes, boss.”

Dominic fumed as they raced along the quiet road.  He would have been faster in his Lamborghini, even if it meant breaking the speed limit.  Damn his wayward cock!  He usually had more finesse than he had displayed tonight.  But the thought of her writhing under him, those long legs wrapped around his waist as he buried himself deep within her had destroyed his customary style.  

They came to a major intersection and Alvin said apologetically, “Sorry, boss, I think she’s gone.”

Dominic cursed again, this time aloud.  He’d envisioned the night ending somewhat differently—with the two of them making love in the back of the limousine and several times more when he got her to his place.  Now, all he could do is go home and imagine it was her tightness, instead of his hand, wrapped around him as he jerked himself off.  There were a dozen or more women he could call and all would be willing for him to come over and warm their bed, but no other women would do tonight.

***

Chantelle reached under her pillow and ran her fingertips over the edges of the envelopes that would radically change her life.

Nothing in the way the night had begun had prepared her for the way it had ended.  When she noticed the man and had had the strange reaction as their eyes had connected, she had dismissed it as one of those strange, freaky moments in life.

Dancing for him had been as easy as breathing.  She might have done it for free, as Tiffany had declared earlier in the evening.  She had good uses for every last penny of the money he’d paid her.  Yet, she had been tempted to toss it back in his face when he had propositioned her like a common whore.

How dare he!

***

Chapter Three

Five months later.

Dominic and the other two panel members all smiled politely as his PA, Angela Daniels, ushered in a statuesque beauty, the last of the five people they had shortlisted for interviews.

The young black woman, Chantelle Payne, was their wildcard.  A recent university graduate, she was by far the youngest and the least experienced of the candidates.  But she had achieved a First in Architecture, Planning and Landscape, and was tipped to beat the rest of the year’s graduates to the prestigious Institute of Architecture’s Most-Promising Designer Award.

Dominic’s breath caught in his throat at the sight of her.  For a moment the young woman reminded him of the dancer from Armstrong’s with her height and smooth dark skin.  This woman was different, though.  Instead of short straightened hair, this woman had tiny plaits which were pulled neatly back into a chignon.  And she appeared warmly approachable—not coolly aloof as the dancer had been.

Forget that damn woman!
he reprimanded himself angrily. 
You’ve wasted enough time, money and effort chasing her!

He could do nothing about heated memories of the dancer invading his dreams, but he would be damned if he let her control his waking moments, too!

“Chantelle, let me introduce the panel.  Lauren Everton, Head of Acquisitions, Mark Albright, Chief Architect and Dominic O’Brien, CEO and—”

The woman’s eyes widened moments before her gasp of surprise interrupted Angela’s words.

Dominic stared at her in shock for several long moments unable to believe what his eyes and the stirring in his groin were telling him—this was too surreal.  His mother always told him that he had more luck than anyone she knew, even with his Irish ancestry.  She just might be on to something, he decided, as he felt his smile turn predatory.  He had searched high and low for this woman, had spent tens of thousands of pounds on the best private investigators he could find to no avail, and now she had flown like a helpless fly into his web.

She wouldn’t escape this time!

“Would you all excuse us for a minute?”  He dismissed the others.  “Ms Payne and I need to have a brief discussion.”

“I knew this was too bloody good to be true!”  Chantelle’s eyes sparked like ebony chips as she glared angrily across at him as the door clicked shut behind his PA and the other two interviewers.  “Did you set up this interview just to embarrass me?”

“No,” he denied.  “I didn’t know it was you.  Armstrong couldn’t tell me your name.”

Colin had warned Chantelle that Dominic had gone back to the club to question him.  She had been so relieved at the time that Colin, though he might have not divulged the information, didn’t know anything about her.

“I spent months looking for you and couldn’t find you.”  Dominic couldn’t help the bitterness that tinged his voice—he wasn’t used to not getting what he wanted.  “I hired six private investigators, all ex-Scotland Yard, and
they
couldn’t find you.”

Dominic immediately wanted to take back the words.  She would think he’d either wanted the money back or had been desperate to sleep with her.  Neither impression made him look good, although the latter was true.  And even more so now that he’d seen her in the daylight and realized that she was even more beautiful than the club’s dim lighting had suggested.

His words hung in the air as they stared at each other for a moment.

“So, what now?” she asked, finally breaking eye contact.

“Do you still want this job?” he asked.

“Yes.  But am I going to be judged fairly?” she responded, cynicism coating her voice.

“Yes,” he promised.  “I will withdraw from the panel and ask the others to interview you.”