You and I Alone

YOU AND I

Alone

You and I

Book One

Melissa Toppen

Copyright © 2015 Melissa Toppen

All rights reserved.

This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events

are entirely coincidental.

You and I,

Alone

You and I Book One

Written by Melissa Toppen

Table of CONTENTS

Chapter one

chapter two

chapter three

chapter four

chapter five

chapter six

chapter seven

chapter eight

chapter nine

chapter ten

chapter eleven

chapter twelve

chapter thirteen

chapter fourteen

chapter fifteen

chapter sixteen

chapter seventeen

chapter eighteen

chapter nineteen

chapter twenty

chapter twenty-one

chapter twenty-two

chapter twenty-three

chapter twenty-four

chapter twenty-five

chapter twenty-six

chapter twenty-seven

chapter twenty-eight

Chapter One

             
I don't know how I ended up here exactly. I mean, I have always loved dancing. It was my escape after my parents died. I was four. We were in a car accident. I remember my brother crying, that's it. The next thing I knew, I was being shipped to Chicago to live with my grandma. My family was gone. A family photo that has been on my nightstand ever since, the only proof that any of them ever existed in the first place.

              So as I stand on stage, dressed in a black corset and matching black panties, with heels that take my normal five four height to damn near five eight, I try to remind myself what all this is for. Sure, years of ballet made this job a possibility, but it's not the long term goal. I lost my dream of dancing professionally five years ago when a knee injury squashed any hopes I had. I just need a way to pay for what my scholarship and loans don't cover and put food on the table.

              Don't get me wrong,
Allure
is not your typical strip club and I am extremely lucky to have found this place or rather, have it find me. But a part of me still feels ashamed. I was working at a coffee shop when the manager Josh approached me. At first, I thought he was joking when he told me about this place. It wasn't until I showed up two days later for an audition that I realized just how serious he was. And that was after making me sign a non-disclosure agreement.

              Looking around, I take a deep breath and grip the pole that sits in the center of the stage. Hooking my leg around the cool metal, I lean my head back and spin in time with the music pulsing around me. Tonight's song selection is one of my favorites to dance to. “Hell on Heels” by Pistol Annies.

              I can feel all the eyes on me. The heat of their stares hot against my flesh. I try to keep my focus on my movements, the music, the way it feels to dance. I haven't been at
Allure
long. About five months now. It's an underground club. Very secretive and only open to a couple hundred members, all part of Chicago's elite. Politicians, business moguls, the clientele screams wealth, as they should considering the cost of a membership runs in the high thousands per month.

              While the membership fee may seem a bit steep to most, especially considering it's not even a nude club, the establishment does much in the way of making sure the members get their monies worth. From lush surroundings to an open bar,
Allure
is the perfect escape for those wanting to slip out of the public eye for a little while and just kick back.

              The building doesn't look like much from the outside, purposely done to conceal the identity of the club. Residing in the basement of a two story brick building in the heart of downtown Chicago, to the blind eye you would never know that just below the ground is the most elaborate night club you could ever imagine.

              The interior is an open space with a long cat walk that extends from the stage out into the main part of the room. Small circular tables are scattered throughout the first level, while the second floor makes for a more comfortable sitting area, with large couches and a perfect view of the stage below. To the right of the stage is a bar that extends the length of the room and is usually manned by Malcolm or Sean.

              The club is pretty slow tonight, which is not unusual for a Sunday. I only work three days a week and I rarely work during the busiest times, which is Friday and Saturday. This is purposely done on my part as a smaller crowd suits me better.
Allure
pays a set wage to all dancers and a very good one at that. So tips and private dances are never an issue for me.

              While the club has five private rooms set up in the back, I have yet to agree to accompany anyone back there. Dancer's choice. That's what I like the most about this place. I don't have to do anything I am not comfortable with. Some of the girls do them frequently, and while I realize that it's not much different than what I am doing on stage right now, something about being in a small private room with just me and another person makes the situation feel wrongly intimate and as such, I can't bring myself to do it.

             
Allure
screams wealth, power and sex. Every dancer, bouncer and bartender is damn near perfection. I still doubt myself everyday being among such beautiful people. I have never been an overly confident person when it comes to my appearance, except when I'm on stage. On stage, I'm untouchable. I'm free. Even in this kind of establishment, I find it unsettling how comfortable I feel on stage.

              As the song winds down, I turn my attention to the few people in front of me, for the first time acknowledging that there is even an audience in the room. My eyes quickly scan the faces and immediately land on a very attractive man leaning against the far wall, arms crossed in front of his chest.

              I dart my gaze away from him the moment I realize that his eyes are locked firmly on my face. Something about the intensity of his stare makes it impossible not to look back in his direction again. The moment our eyes meet, a chill runs through my entire body. He's close enough that I can register the heat in his eyes and the beauty of his face, but far enough away that I doubt he can see the way my cheeks heat crimson under his glare.

              He's tall, maybe six two, with a body that looks like he lives in the gym and a face that I swear belongs on every modeling magazine in the world. The man is perfection. My stomach twists tighter when he runs his hand through his messy short brown hair and lets out a slow exhale, his lips forming around his breath.

              I barely notice the lights dull around me, until I am shrouded in near darkness. Slipping off the stage as the last note of the song dies off, I quickly duck into the back and try to shake the nervous energy suddenly rushing through my veins.

              Making my way towards my dressing room, I push my way inside of the small space, stopping in front of my vanity to check my make-up and run a quick brush through my long brown hair. Slipping out of my black corset, I immediately replace it with a red one with matching lace underwear. I take one last look at myself in the mirror, making sure everything looks okay before I have to head back out into the main room of the club.

              While the majority of my job is dancing, there is a required amount of mingling that must be done. And while I find most of the conversations I have dull, there is something to be said about getting to pick the brains of some of the smartest and wealthiest men around. You would be surprised by the amount of people that come here just simply for the social interaction. Rather than being the focal point, us dancers are more like background scenery, and that I am perfectly okay with.

              “Hey, you have a private dance request.” Lo says, pushing her way into my dressing room without making sure I am decent first. Typical Lo.

              I look at her in the reflection of my mirror before spinning to face her. “You know I don't do privates.” I say, taking in her annoyed expression at my words.

              “Come on Anna.” She says, rolling her eyes when my nose crinkles. She is the only one here that can get away with using my real name. Everyone else knows me as Logan, and I prefer to keep it that way.

              “Sorry. Logan.” She says, correcting herself. “They aren't bad. You don't have to do anything but dance. I mean, if you don't want to.” She tacks on with a wink.

              I immediately burst into laughter. Lauren, or Lo as she goes by at the club, is my closest friend here and one of the most promiscuous dancers on staff. I often refer to her as my wing woman and while I love her dearly, we don't always see eye to eye on what is and is not acceptable during work hours.

              Not that the club allows anything like that to take place. And while most of the dancers are young and, believe it or not, innocent girls who would never dream of doing anything of the sort, there are a select few who I have no doubt will, and have, done certain things in the privacy of one of the private rooms.

              “He's super hot.” She says, taking a step towards me. “He must be a new member because I have never seen him before.” Lo has been here for over a year and a half and knows the clientele much better than I do. A good deal of our members only pop in a couple of times a year, which kills me considering the amount they pay monthly. But I guess when you have money to burn, it's worth the expense.

              “I don't care how hot he is Lo. I don't do privates. You know that.” I say, stepping past her and making my way out of the small room, Lo following directly behind me.

              “Fine. If you aren't going to entertain, then I would be happy to fill in for you.” She says, playfully pushing her way past me and practically skipping out into the club, her long blonde hair brushing against her near bare ass.

              It isn't until she stops in front of the man from earlier, that my heart skips a beat. He's the one who requested a private? She leans against his broad frame and whispers something in his ear causing a small grin to pull up the corners of his mouth revealing two identical dimples, one on each cheek. He shakes his head at her and then turns his gaze towards me, finding my eyes immediately.

              I instantly lose my breath and wonder what the hell is wrong with me. I am a dancer. This is a club full of men. It is so wrong on so many levels that I am allowing a member of the club to affect me so much, and with nothing more than a look at that.

              It isn't until he brushes off Lo and steps out of her grip that my heart kicks into overdrive and some sense of my sanity seems to return. As he starts walking towards me, I immediately slide into the nearest table, which just happens to be occupied by Brent. A forty something attorney that hides out in the club to escape his wife most nights.

              He smiles the moment he registers my face. “Logan. How are you?” He smiles even wider, leaning in to rest his elbows on the table.

              “I'm well. And you? How's Shari?” I ask, not missing the way his features tighten at his wife's name. I like to think that if that was my reaction to my spouse, that I would have the balls to just pack my stuff and walk away.

              “Doing well.” He tries not to show his dislike for his wife but I see right through his act. “How's school. Classes going well?” He asks, making small talk.

              “Really well.” I answer, knowing he doesn't really care one way or another. “Do you need a drink or anything?” I ask, gesturing to his nearly empty glass of scotch. While it is not my job to be a waitress, I find that most nights it gives me more to do.

              Before he has a chance to answer, someone clears their throat behind me and pulls my attention away. Turning my head to the side, my breath hitches when my eyes land on the handsome stranger that seems, for whatever reason, hell bent on talking to me. First he requests a private, then he interrupts my conversation with another member?

              “Sorry to interrupt Brent but do you mind?” He asks, gesturing for him to leave the table. Surprised that the two men seem to know each other, I can't do anything but stare blankly at Brent as he nods and throws me a small wave before standing and leaving the table, the mystery man slipping into the now vacant seat next to me.

              “I requested a private dance with you and yet, you deny me?” He says, turning his face to the side to study me, his lips curving into a slow smile, revealing a row of perfectly straight white teeth and those damn dimples. “I don't like being told no.” He says, almost playfully but still with a serious undertone.

              “And I don't do privates.” My response is quick and cold. He sits back, studying me for what feel likes forever, his muscular arms crossed in front of his broad chest. I can't stop my eyes from dancing across his face, down his neck, across his torso and then back up to his face again.

              I am searching desperately for some type of imperfection, something to make this man a little less desirable and yet, I can find nothing. Quite the opposite actually. His jaw is cut and defined, his cheekbones perfectly accenting his blue eyes, which when I look close enough, I can see have tiny speckles of green and gold in them. His lips are full and when he drags the tip of his tongue across the lower one, it takes everything I have not to lean in for a taste. This man bleeds power, seduction, sex. He is the embodiment of everything I know I should avoid and yet, that doesn't stop my mind from wondering what it would be like to spend just one night with a man like this.

              His body is covered in a black, no doubt tailored made, suit. Nothing that I don't see almost every time I'm here. Though I must admit, there's something so powerful about the way he wears it. How it clings to his broad shoulders and shows off his lean waist.

              When my eyes finally make it back up to his face, I realize that he's one hundred percent aware of where my thoughts are going. And I can tell by the way his eyes dance that he's no stranger to getting this type of reaction from women. Determined not to be like every other women he's crossed paths with, I straighten my posture and clear my throat.