Dance of Seduction by Elle Kennedy
Dedication
To my critique partners for being so darn supportive, and to my editor for letting me know how she feels about wandering body parts…
Chapter One
Find her and bring her home.
Luke Russell repeated the words in his head, over and over again, as he glanced around the dim-lit club. Well, club was an exaggeration. The Dancehall was nothing more than a bar with a stage in the corner. But hey, if calling it a club made the owner feel better, more power to him.
“Another beer?”
Luke looked down at the longneck he’d been nursing, and then up at the redheaded waitress. “No, thanks. I’m good. When is the show going to start?”
The woman shrugged and her ample breasts, barely contained by her low-cut belly top, bobbed in front of his face. “A few minutes. The dancers are just warming up.”
He stared at the drawn velvet curtains shielding the small stage area. Was Ellie behind those curtains?
He wanted to ask the waitress what kind of show this was. A part of him prayed it was a ballet. God, how he prayed. But that seemed far-fetched, considering the atmosphere. Most of the patrons littering the bar’s tables were male, though he did spot a few females. Everyone wore shorts, T-shirts, sandals—hardly the kind of attire one associated with tutus and classical music. Yet, despite the casual environment, Luke continued to maintain some degree of hope that at any second the curtain would open to reveal dancers in elegant leotards and the bar would fill with the tasteful sound of Tchaikovsky.
Glancing back at the waitress, he tried to hold on to that hope. “By any chance, does the show feature ballet dancers?”
Her blue eyes grew wary. “Ballet? Honey, I think you’re in the wrong place.”
“Waitress!”
“Excuse me,” she said before flouncing off in the direction of the heavy-set man who’d just signaled her.
He watched her go, all hope deflating in his chest. Well, how bad could it really be? He directed his gaze to the stage area, deciding the place looked fairly tame. A piano sat in the corner of the room, the man on the bench smoking a cigar, looking bored. Everyone else in the bar was engaged in idle chatter and the occasional burst of laugher rang out.
He sipped his beer, suddenly wishing he were back in San Francisco. The temperature down here in San Valdez was grueling, far hotter than he’d expected, and his black T-shirt seemed to attract the heat, even indoors. But hell, it beat the expensive suits he’d been forced to wear just a couple months ago. Not to mention those stuffy tuxedos. Guarding a senator didn’t provide one with the luxury of jeans, and he knew he should be grateful for the reprieve.
Unfortunately, comfortable attire didn’t exactly make his current situation any less annoying. Sometimes he wished he’d never heard of the word loyalty. Those who knew him said his loyal nature was his best quality, and it did come in handy in his line of work. This time, however, he wondered if he should’ve put his foot down and told Josh Dawson to find someone else for the job.
Bottom line: Josh wanted his sister to come home. And since he didn’t trust anyone else to do it, he’d asked his best friend to make it happen. Easier said than done, of course. Luke had no clue why Ellie Dawson had decided to run off to this obscure one-horse town but he was fairly certain she wouldn’t leave without a fight. There would be no white flag with Ellie, no calm surrender, no complacent obedience.
She was going to give him hell—fire and brimstone included.
“Ladies and gentlemen…”
Luke lifted his head as a male voice blared over the loudspeaker and the lights in the bar dimmed. A spotlight focused on the stage as the voice continued. “Get ready to go wild!”
Go wild?
“You all know ’em. You all love ’em. Give a big hand for…the Dancehall Dolls!”
Before Luke could register that odd introduction, the curtains parted to reveal the most shocking sight he’d ever encountered.
Dear Lord, Ellie, what are you doing?
A sexy jazz tune filled the bar as the half-dozen figures on the stage began to move. The dancers were not wearing the tutus and ballet slippers Luke had hoped to see. Not wearing much at all, in fact. He saw lace and mesh, some sequins, and a lot of skin. Too much skin.
Danger! his head shouted. His traitorous eyes, however, refused to unglue from the sight in front of him.
The dancers moved in sync, everything choreographed, from their high kicks to the way they spun around and wiggled their hips. One by one, each girl made her way to the front of the stage for a sultry solo.
It wasn’t until the third dancer came up that Luke nearly choked on his beer.
Elenore Dawson.