His Private Dancer

By Megan Slayer

I want what I want, no question -- even her.

Dashiell “Dash” Jordan runs the city of Shaker with an iron fist. Whatever he wants, he gets -- except the woman he craves, who hasn’t been available. He’s waited long enough, and nothing will stop him, not even her bastard ex-husband or her con artist father. But once Dash sets his sights on her, will she allow herself to be owned, or will she walk away a second time?

Christy Lane never loved anyone the way she did Dash. She knew the danger of being with him, but she didn’t care. Then Dash left her. She tried to put her life back together, but that life included marriage to a perpetual cheater, being thrown out of her father’s church, and working in the only job she can get -- stripping. Then Dash reappears. The memories of their life together rush back -- the scenes, the passion and craving. She doesn’t want to be a plaything, but he’s offering her the world. Will she allow him to own her or end their second chance before she’s hurt again?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Changeling Press
• Release date: Apr 5, 2019

Megan Slayer

Megan Slayer, aka Wendi Zwaduk, is a multi-published, award-winning author of more than one-hundred short stories and novels. She’s been writing since 2008 and published since 2009. Her stories range from the contemporary and paranormal to LGBTQ and BDSM themes. No matter what the length, her works are always hot, but with a lot of heart. She enjoys giving her characters a second chance at love, no matter what the form. She’s been the runner up in the Kink Category at Love Romances Café as well as nominated at the LRC for best author, best contemporary, best ménage and best anthology. Her books have made it to the bestseller lists on Amazon.com. When she’s not writing, Megan spends time with her husband and son as well as three dogs and three cats. She enjoys art, music and racing, but football is her sport of choice.

Book preview

again?

Chapter One

Did you see this? Tate Moore strolled into the office. Dash? He threw the newspaper on Dash’s desk. I have found you a wife.

Dashiell Jordan moved his tablet out of the way and accepted the newspaper. He needed a lot of things in his life, but not a wife -- at least not a random woman to be his wife. He wanted his high-school sweetheart.

Sir, you need to see her. Tate pointed to one of the photos. I bet she’d be a good wife.

He turned the paper around and scanned the images. None of the women was his girl. He wasn’t even sure which one Tate meant and didn’t care. He knew where his woman was and when the time was right, he’d bring her home. Why would you pick this one? The woman was pretty enough, but not right. Her hair was too dark, her eyes were brown, and the smile didn’t match the one he remembered. Besides, she was way too young. No, thanks.

Sir, you’re too picky. Tate folded his arms. I get it. You want the right woman, but you’re lonely and I’m tired of women who claim they’ve been with you… they come around and insist they’re your girlfriend. They think they should live here.

At the club? Dash laughed. No one outside of his circle of close associates knew where he lived. He brought lovers to the hotel. Never to his home.

Remember Sasha? She keeps stopping here. She thinks you’re together, Tate said.

I never slept with her. He’d given the woman money and a place to stay because he’d felt sorry for her, but he hadn’t been attracted to Sasha.

But she is telling everyone within earshot that she’s your girl. She says she’s a kept woman, Tate said. You have to set the record straight.

Jesus. Being notorious meant he drew a certain type of people into his orbit, but this was too much. Pay her tab, get her a ride, and make sure she gets home. He couldn’t push too hard -- not in this instance. Sasha struck him as the type to use the courts to get what she wanted -- money. If he danced around her a little more, she might get the message. If not, he had other ways of getting rid of her.

Is that it?

He glared at Tate. Yes.

Yes, sir. Tate left the office.

God damn it. He hated how he’d been turned into a commodity. Sasha and the others didn’t love him. They loved the money and status he brought. They wanted the relative fame of being associated with him. They’d never be able to handle the danger or stress of his life. They’d want him to settle down and create a family. Not going to happen.

He sighed. The woman he wanted wasn’t far away, and once the paperwork went through, he’d have her in his arms. He longed to kiss her -- not stolen kisses or hidden embraces. Not playing games in the dark or under the threat of being caught, but having her on his arm for a night out. Once he had her, he’d never let Christy go. He’d found her, but refused to demand her to become his woman.

His phone rang, jolting him from his thoughts. He read the identification screen. Clint, his brother. He tapped the button to retrieve the call and set the phone to speaker. Yes?

I hear you’re looking at buying the building on the north side of the Copa Room, Clint said. The Sandborn building?

Yes, I want to expand. He turned the paper over without really looking at it, then flattened the page. He noticed the photos of exotic dancers in an advertisement for one of the clubs. The girls weren’t his type of woman, but he appreciated beauty. Maybe this week she’d be one of the featured dancers.

Well, they want two hundred thousand, but because it’s vacant, we can talk them down, Clint said. A hundred-fifty thousand is more reasonable.

Why, if you know what to do and can get the price down, aren’t you negotiating? Clint, I’m one of your only clients. None of the dancers caught his fancy, but he kept looking. He’d found proof Christy was stripping in one of the clubs, but hadn’t come across her yet. Well? You should be in the business with me. We should be a team.

Because I don’t want to live with the danger. I like being legitimate, Clint said. But I’m already negotiating. They’re coming down on the price, so stay tuned.

Danger isn’t the only thing I live with. He doubted Clint got death threats or was shot at on a regular basis. He turned the page of the paper. A slew of ads for strip clubs decorated the space. He looked over the images of the dancers for the one he wanted. There she was, right where he’d expected her to be -- Chastity Lane at the X-Caliber Club. Time to visit. Do you know the X-Caliber Club?

Dash. Clint groaned. You didn’t hear a word I said, did you? And no, I don’t. I’ve never been to a strip club. Father made sure my handlers didn’t take me to one. Why?

I heard nothing past a hundred-fifty thousand. If you can get the deal going, do it, Dash said. I’ve gone to a couple clubs, but not the X-Caliber. He remembered how his father sheltered Dash’s oldest brother. Their father wanted Clint to stay clean and be the face of the family. Good for public relations, but bad because the family had never left the nightclub business. Clint had a head for real estate, but not running the string of entertainment hotspots.

Who is she? Clint asked. I know it’s a chick.

Would you believe me if I said I found Christy?

Wait. Clint didn’t speak right away. For a second, Dash thought the call had been dropped. Clint sighed. Christy? As in Christy Lane? Dash, you have to quit. That girl is long gone and was out of your league.

Asshole. She wasn’t out of his league. Okay, maybe she was, but he couldn’t help his feelings. She had been sweet, innocent, and wonderful, and he wanted to make a move.

She got married, Clint said.

And divorced. He’d done his research. He knew about her life up until the last two years. That’s when she’d dropped off the earth, but he hadn’t given up.

Are you stalking her?

I’ve kept tabs. He turned his tablet around. If the X-Caliber Club was like others he’d dealt with, then they’d have a website and the dancers listed. He found their website. The photos online were much better than those used in the print media. He located Chastity’s section. The images showed her dressed in a tight blue baby-doll dress and too much makeup. But he knew Christy. He’d recognize her anywhere.

Dash?

What? His heart hammered. He needed to find her. Nothing else mattered. Where was this fucking club? If he visited, though, she’d treat him like a client. He wasn’t about to be a customer. He’d own her.

You’re not listening, Clint said.

No shit. Why listen to his brother when his dream woman was within reach?

What?

It’s high time I made a move on Christy.

Are you sure? She can’t be here in Shaker. She moved years ago. That dick Peter wanted to keep her away from you, Clint said. He knew you were the only one who had her heart.

He hadn’t known that for sure, but assumed what his brother said was the truth. He loved Christy. Always had. Always would. I’m positive it’s her.

I see. Are you going to get in touch with her?

No.

But you’ve been jonesing for her forever.

I’m buying the X-Caliber Club.

You are?

Yes.

Dash, what if they won’t sell? Clint asked. It’s owned by Dick Ballinger and run by Mauricio Dario. He’s not going to turn his business over to you, no matter how much you pay.

He will. He knew how to apply pressure -- ways his brother didn’t know about and would blow a fucking gasket if he did know. Besides, Dick Ballinger, like everyone else trying to make a buck, wanted quick cash. Look into it, but I’m going to own that club.

Clint didn’t reply right away. Instead, he gasped. Holy fudge.

You’re in the office, aren’t you? His brother hated to swear at work. Christ, no one cares if you let a bad word slide here and there. Let it out. Holy fuck. What’s the deal? He turned his laptop around. Look at the website. I’m going after Christy.

Clint sighed. If you knew she was there, then why would you let her work there? She’s stripping?

She has to make a living. I don’t agree with it, but that’s what she’s doing. Why in the hell had his brother doubted him? Jesus. Sometimes he hated having a brother. No, sometimes he hated having four brothers.

She won’t appreciate you buying the club. The girls make their living doing their thing, Clint said. Don’t put them out of business just because of her.

I don’t want them out of business. I want her to stop stripping. He refused to let her strip. If she needed anything, he’d provide.

You’re too pushy.

You expect anything less?

No.

She’s headstrong, Dash. She won’t let you run her over the way you did with Mom, Clint said. She’ll put up a fight.

I know it. He expected Christy to give him hell. He deserved it. He’d walked away from her when every cell in his body screamed to be with her. She wasn’t a possession, but damn it, she flowed in his blood. Once he had her, he wasn’t letting go.

Then will this work? Clint asked. The deal? Because I know Christy won’t tag along mindlessly.

Enough money will make the deal happen, and I’m not taking no for an answer. I want that building, Dash said. And the woman who came with it.

All right. I think you’re crazy, but I like the commission, Clint said. And I know lovesick when I see it.

When you find that one person who makes you whole, you’ll understand. He’d known all along Christy was his other half.

Sure. I’ll be in touch. Clint hung up without giving Dash a chance to answer.

Dash pushed the phone across his desk. He’d have Christy. No club, booze, or bet demanded more of his attention than her. She’d be his salvation. She’d bring him away from the edge.

Christ, he had a lot riding on