The Dancer (Dark Side of the Moon #1)

Chapter Three

Quinn

The moment I step from the back, Abel has a sizeable calloused hand wrapped around my elbow as he leads me to one of the back rooms. In my three years here, I have never given a private dance. It’s my hard limit. I don’t spend one-on-one time with clients. Ever.

I pull to a stop outside the closed door and wait for Abel to look at me. He knows exactly what I am waiting for. He better explain what the hell is going on before I walk out of here tonight and never look back. Job be damned.

“Quinn,” he says lowly, rubbing a hand over his face. I know this is something big when he uses my name instead of calling me Dancer.

“Abel, you’re kind of freaking me out.” I can feel the nervous energy pouring off him in waves and it is making me jittery.

“I’ve never asked you to do this and always respected that it was a hard limit for you. But I need you to do a private dance tonight.”

I’ve never heard my hard-ass boss plead with anyone. Abel is always confident and in charge, and the way he is acting right now doesn’t make me feel even the slightest bit safe. It actually makes me want to run in the other direction and never look back.

“Who is in there?” I’m not sure I want to know but I ask the question regardless.

“Elias Anderson.”

When I don’t say anything, he explains what he clearly thought I would know.

“He is one of the most powerful Alphas in the United States. He commands one of the largest packs on the damn continent. How do you not know this?”

“Not being part of a pack means you don’t care about stuff like that, Abel,” I throw back at him. “I’m not part of the dynamics, so I don’t give a shit about the politics.”

“Elias Anderson is the Alpha of the Whychwood pack and the owner of Whychwood Industries. He is the most powerful man we will ever meet and asked for you specifically.”

“Abel,” I start, but he cuts me off.

“I will give you anything you want if you do this for me.” I know he is always looking for ways to build bridges with powerful Alphas.

I watch him closely, assessing him carefully. He really is desperate, and I am going to use that to my advantage. If he wants to use me, I will be returning the favor.

“I’m done dancing,” I make sure to speak loudly so he hears me. “I want the manager’s position.”

“Done.”

“Fine.” That was so much easier than I thought it would be.

I glare at Abel one last time before I school my features into the sultry smile I perfected over time and push open the heavy wooden door.

The lighting in the room is low, but my eyes adjust easily to spot a large man reclined on a black leather couch. The moment my eyes land on him, I know this is a bad idea. He is the perfect specimen of a predator. His body is massive and dominates the space even when he tries to seem relaxed.

It takes me a moment to gather myself before I can speak, his presence messing with my senses.

“I’m The Dancer,” the words leave me in a husky whisper. “You requested a private dance?”

“Come here,” he commands, his voice low and sexy, sending goose bumps skittering across my skin.

I want to protest, but my legs are already moving. I would love to say he used his Alpha compulsion on me, but we both know that isn’t true. My body is reacting to him of its own volition. I’ve never felt this strange draw to another person in my entire life.

He shifts his legs, widening the space between his thighs and making room for me to stand. His gaze is like a physical caress as he watches every step I take toward him until I am directly in front of him.

“Turn around. Slowly.”

The pupils of his dark eyes are blown out, and I can see the ring of gold around the iris, betraying his beast lurking beneath the surface. He is working hard to keep his animal at bay. The thought should terrify me, but knowing I have this effect on him is a heady feeling, and I comply to fulfill his wishes. I turn in a slow circle hoping I look as sexy as I feel beneath his gaze.

I can feel the dark energy rolling off him in waves. He is holding back from touching me, and even though I have never allowed it, I honestly think I might let this man.

Once I face him again, I can see his clenched jaw, the strain in his shoulders, and his fisted hands beside him. But the thing that has my full attention is his massive cock straining at the front of his dark suit pants. I lick my lips like a wanton whore before gazing back at his face.

“Dance for me, Beautiful,” he all but growls the words.

I slowly make my way over to the docking station in the corner and select one of my favorite songs. The moment the music filters through the speakers, I sway my hips, running my hands up the side of my body until they are tangled in my hair. I let the rhythm sweep me away from this room and the man in it, and I do what I do best.

I dance.

The rustle of clothing draws my attention, and my gaze flicks to him. He removed his jacket and rolled his white dress shirt above his forearms. The dark ink that covers his flesh intrigues me, and I want to see it up close. My feet carry me closer to him once more, all while keeping to the song’s beat.

He leans forward, resting his forearms on his knees.

“Who are you?” he asks darkly.

“The Dancer. I already told you.” My words are husky, with the unexpected lust running through my veins. “Who are you?”

“Elias Anderson. Now tell me your name, Beautiful.”

His gaze locks with mine, and I feel entranced. I lose myself in his dark eyes and it takes me a moment to break out of the trance he has put me in.

“Quinn,” the word slips from me before I even have the chance to think about it.