All the Pretty Poses

by M. Leighton

  ALL THE PRETTY POSES

  He never wanted to be a hero…until she needed him to be.

  Strength…

  It took Kennedy Moore years to put her life back together after Reese Spencer shattered it. But she did. Now, years later, strong and independent, she is in pursuit of a single dream—to dance with the Altman American Dance Theater. Unfortunately, Kennedy is learning that a girl from nowhere with no money and no contacts might never be able to reach her goal.

  That is, until Reese reappears, offering a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity that Kennedy just can’t refuse. In exchange for working on his yacht for a few short weeks, he’ll get her an audition with the famous dance troupe. All Kennedy has to do is keep her head down, work hard and resist Reese. That sounds easy enough, right?

  Weakness…

  Reese doesn’t want to make it easy for Kennedy. Seeing her again has started a fire in his blood—an unwelcome one. It took him years to forget about her before, so this time he has a plan. It’s simple: Get Kennedy on his yacht, seduce her, get her out of his system, move on with his life. That sounds easy enough, right?

  But the one thing Reese didn’t plan for was Kennedy herself—a girl so strong yet so broken, she makes him want to rescue her, to take care of her. To save her. Even if he has to save her from himself.

  ALL THE PRETTY POSES

  A Novel

  By

  M. Leighton

  Smashwords Edition

  Copyright 2014, M. Leighton

  Cover photo by Alexander.Yakovlev

  www.shutterstock.com

  http://mleightonbooks.blogspot.com

  All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior permission of the author.

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to any person, living or dead, any place, events or occurrences, is purely coincidental. The characters and storylines are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  There is no fear in love.

  1 John 4:18

  Being deeply loved by someone gives you strength, while loving someone deeply gives you courage.

  Lao Tzu

  To Courtney

  You are the most amazing friend and crit partner a girl could ask for. I love you to the moon!

  To Autumn, Kathryn and Megan

  Thank you from the bottom of my heart. I feel like you three helped me make this book shine. I adore you all!

  Dear Reader,

  Music is a big part of this book. Songs are referenced in several places, and many have played a big part in setting the emotional tones of certain scenes. If you enjoy listening to playlists or would like to know which songs go with the scenes as described, here is the link to the All the Pretty Poses playlist on Spotify. If you don’t have Spotify, here are the songs in list form:

  Justify My Love by Madonna

  Still Into You by Paramore

  Waiting for Superman by Daughtry

  6’2” by Marie Miller

  Big Girls Don’t Cry by Fergie

  Sail by Awolnation

  All I Want by Kodaline

  Pompeii by Bastille

  Out of My Head by Theory of a Dead Man

  Feeling Good by Michael Buble

  Falling by Haim

  Stay the Night by Zedd

  Have a Little Faith in Me by Jewel

  Closer by Nine Inch Nails

  Right There by Nicole Scherzinger

  What a Feeling by Irene Cara

  Feelin’ Love by Paula Cole

  Let it Go by Cavo

  Ice Cream by Sarah McLachlan

  Called Out In the Dark by Snow Patrol

  Replay by Zendaya

  Fever by Michael Buble

  Say Something by A Great Big World

  Can’t Find My Way by Hardline

  Can’t Get You Off My Mind by Lenny Kravitz

  Whataya Want From Me by Adam Lambert

  Wrecking Ball by Miley Cyrus

  Don’t Cry by Guns and Roses

  Story of My Life by One Direction

  All of Me by John Legend

  How Could I Want More by Jamie Lynn Spears

  CHAPTER ONE- Reese

  “Hot dayum! This is awesome!” Sig Locke says when I lead our little party through the doors of Exotique, one of several high-end dance clubs that I own.

  “Are you sure you want to do this?” Hemi, my younger brother, is speaking to his girlfriend, Sloane.

  She smiles up into his face. “Babe, this is for Sig. I want to make his first trip to Chicago a memorable one. I already told you that. Besides,” she says, leaning up to bite his chin, “maybe I can learn some moves.”

  Hemi’s smile is slow, but I know what he’s thinking. He’s already picturing her working a pole in a private show that’s just for him.

  “Oh, God!” Sig says, covering his ears with his hands. “I do not need to hear this shit!”

  I chuckle and shake my head, stopping for a second to look around.

  I’m always filled with a mixture of pride and arousal when I walk into one of my clubs. I’ve built an empire of very classy, very high-end exotic dance clubs that spans the United States and several other countries. And although I don’t get to visit all of them more than once or twice a year at most, I always get a charge out of walking into one.

  Everything is exactly as I left it when I was here thirteen months ago. The black marble floors are buffed to a shine, the chrome bar sits under a bank of soft overhead lights and all the gorgeous cocktail waitresses are dressed in sleeveless, tuxedo dresses that bear a shitload of cleavage and stop at the top of their thighs. Classy. Sexy. Mine.

  I know I could walk up to any one of them and, within ten minutes, leave with them. I wouldn’t even have to tell them who I am. It’s just one of the many gifts I possess. I’m not arrogant about it. It’s just fact. I have something they want. And they have something I want. For the night anyway.

  But now’s not the time for that. Tonight, I’m here for my little brother, Hemi. I told him he and his girlfriend, Sloane could sail with me on one of my luxury yachts to Hawaii where we’d drop them off for a two-week vacation that I’ve arranged for them. Her brother was a surprise, but… whatever. It’s the least I could do for Hemi since he found and brought to justice the dirty cop whose actions led to the death of our youngest brother, Ollie.

  “Come on,” I tell our group, “this way.”

  When Hemi told me they wanted to come out here tonight, I called and had the manager hold open one of the VIP seating areas for us. It sits slightly to the left of the stage, close enough to smell the dancers’ perfume. If my brother’s innocent little girlfriend wants to learn some moves, I’ll give her the best seat in the house.

  I recognize a few of the girls we pass. I’m surprised they’re still here. I don’t remember their names, but I do remember something distinct about each one.

  Blonde waitress—screamer.

  Red-headed bartender—likes it rough.

  Another blonde waitress—clingy. Seeing her glare at me as I walk by reminds me of how unpleasant things got when she finally realized that I meant what I said. Don’t get attached. I’m not interes
ted in a relationship.

  She found out the hard way.

  Once we’re seated, a nice-looking brunette with mile-long legs and tits that sit up under her chin comes to take our order. The smile she gives me is very… interested. Whether she knows who I am or not, I’d bet anybody a thousand dollars I could get her to sneak into the bathroom with me. Something quick and hot. Something meaningless. But with my current company, I can’t really do anything like that tonight.

  Pity, I think as I appraise her surgically-enhanced figure once more.

  “I’m sorry, what did you say your name was again? Or should I just call you ‘mine’?” I tease with a wink.

  I’m not surprised by the reaction I get. She leans down closer to me, giving me a bird’s eye view of her assets, and whispers huskily, “Pandora, but you can call me anything you want, including yours.”

  I arch my brow and give her a half smile. “How about we start with a round of shots first? Patron. On me. Start a tab. Keep ‘em coming.”

  Her eyes are gleaming with attraction. I know it when I see it. I’ve seen it a lot. “And your name, sir?” she asks, her tongue sneaking out to wet one corner of her full lips.

  “Reese Spencer.”

  Her eyes round almost imperceptibly.

  Almost.

  She knows who I am. It’s not easy to find out that I own this club, but word gets around occasionally. And word must’ve gotten around to her.

  “Yes, sir. I’ll be right back with those shots.”

  I nod my thanks and turn my attention to the stage as the house lights dim and the spotlight flicks on. The music changes and all eyes turn to see the gorgeous platinum blonde strut out onto the T-shaped runway that leads from the back and the dressing rooms to the stage.

  I watch with muted enthusiasm. I enjoy watching the dancers and I’m glad the club is running smoothly and that things are in order, but more than anything, I just want the night to be over so that I can go and get some rest before tomorrow. I have a funeral to attend.

  I drink while my brother and his girlfriend tease each other. I would find their easy love enviable, if I cared anything about having that kind of relationship. But I don’t, so I barely pay them any attention.

  I look away from them, ignoring their gushing and public displays of affection in favor of Sloane’s older brother, Sig. He seems to be a pretty nice guy, and he’s enjoying the hell out of my club.

  “Good god! She needs to bring that ass right down here and sit it in my lap,” he says when another pretty blonde with more pronounced curves comes out onto the stage.

  He laughs and howls, throwing back another shot and chasing it with his Southern Comfort and Sprite. He catches me eyeing him and howls even louder, giving me a playful punch in the arm.

  “Drink up, man! I need somebody to get drunk with. Something about being at a club like this with my sister is flipping my shit!” He laughs a little harder than what is probably warranted.

  “I think you’re doing just fine on your own,” I tell him, making note of it when he loses his balance and nearly falls out of his chair.

  I’m thinking of making my excuses and leaving when the music changes yet again, stopping me. The sexy thump of Madonna’s Justify My Love strikes me as an interesting yet odd choice for a dance, and it draws my attention back to the platform.

  From the left side of back stage, a girl emerges. She walks slowly along the runway. The spotlight follows her and I see that she’s wearing a man’s dress shirt and tie. And nothing else.

  Her legs are long—with the stilettos she’s wearing, even longer—and perfectly toned. Dancer’s legs. Strong. Graceful. Sinful.

  Each step she takes is a sexy, sensual movement of them. Slow. Deliberate. I sit up a little straighter in my seat. I’m immediately catapulted from mildly interested to extremely intrigued and I don’t really know why. I’ve seen hundreds of dancers do hundreds of dances. But I’ve never seen this one. And something about this one has all my senses on point.

  As she draws closer, I can see that her rich brown hair is covered by a hat that sits at a cocky angle on her head. In her hand is a shiny black cane. When she gets to center stage, she stops, swinging the cane once before propping it out in front of her body. In one excruciatingly measured movement, she stiffens her legs and bends forward, showing off the length of her perfect thighs as they ease into the curve of her perfect ass.

  Before I’m finished looking, she straightens, twirling the cane up over her head and taking one end in each hand. She arches her back, forcing what looks like some luscious tits up and out. Then, still moving slowly, she eases the cane down the front of her body.

  Each action is smooth and unhurried. Each movement is sexy and fluid, her body melting from one into the next in perfect time to the music.

  I glance up at her face. Beneath the shadow of her hat, all I can see is her mouth. But damn, what a mouth it is! Her lips are painted bright red and are probably the lushest ones I’ve ever seen. They’re what I’ve always called dick-sucking lips—plump, pouty and perfectly formed to slip down over the head of my cock.

  Not having been overly enthused about coming tonight or about the entertainment, I’m surprised that my dick twitches when she pulls her lower lip between her teeth and bites down. But damn if it doesn’t.

  I feel a groan build in my chest when she drops slowly to her knees, sliding the cane away from her body like she’s doing a push-up, slinking down onto her stomach. After a few beats, she abandons the cane and eases over onto her back, her hips turning last, like a cat that’s getting ready to stretch. I can almost feel the purr.

  Legs flat on the stage, she runs her hands from the tops of her thighs to her stomach, pulling the hem of her shirt up just enough to give a teasing glimpse of what she’s wearing underneath before moving on to her breasts and throat. Her nimble fingers work loose the tie, dragging it slowly from around her neck. Purposefully, she twists her hands, winding the silk around her wrists.

  For a few seconds, it’s just me and this girl. Alone in this room. With nothing between us but this music. And that damned tie. All too clearly, images of me tying her up with that scrap of red material flit through my mind, making me throb behind my zipper.

  Languorously, she stretches one leg straight up into the air, the other lying flat on the stage. She reaches up and grabs her ankle, skimming her bound hands to her knee, pulling that leg toward her face. Her thighs widen into a perfect split that reveals little black, satin panties. When I see them, all I can think about is kneeling between those legs and kissing that silky material.

  I see her lips pucker as she puts one chaste kiss on her knee. I’m enthralled. But it’s when I see her tongue flicker out that I feel like I could punch a hole through the bottom of the table with my hard-on. There’s something about her that’s so understatedly sexy. It’s like she doesn’t even know we’re here, like she’s lost inside her own head. And God, how I’d love to be part of what she’s imagining!

  I feel a hand on my arm, interrupting the scene. I’m instantly aggravated by the intrusion. I jerk away, not even bothering to turn around until I hear a voice.

  It’s my brother. And he’s determined to get my attention. Finally, I turn, not even trying to hide my agitated glare.

  “What?”

  “Can you take us back home? Sloane’s not feeling well. Something she ate earlier maybe.” He gives me a meaningful look. It takes me a second to fully disengage from the girl that had me so rapt, but eventually (reluctantly) I do. And I remember that Sloane didn’t drink her shot of tequila. Then I remember why. Hemi told me she’s pregnant, but that they haven’t told her family yet, so he asked me not to say anything.

  “Oh…right,” I respond a bit too sharply. “Yeah, I can take you.”

  Hesitant to leave just yet, I glance back toward the front of the room in time to see that the dancer is on her knees again, throwing off her hat. A mane of silky chestnut curls falls down. I only get a brief flas
h of her face. Her hair swirls around to obscure her features. But not before I get a glimpse of one pale green eye. And the way it widens when it meets mine.

  Instantly, I’m transported back in time. Years and years ago. To the soft grass of a clearing in the woods. And the smooth skin of the girl beneath me.

  I remember those eyes. That mouth. I remember a slightly ganglier, less mature version of this woman’s body. How it felt to touch her, to hold her. How she laughed, how she tasted. How it ended.

  And how I could never forget.

  Holy god!

  It’s Kennedy.

  CHAPTER TWO- Kennedy

  My heart slams to a stop in my chest and I forget to breathe when my eyes collide with the luminous blue-green ones that I’ve never been able to completely put behind me.

  Reese.

  As he stands before me, I take him in. Within a fraction of a second, I catalog his every feature.

  He’s aged beautifully. He’s still the same tall, ungodly handsome guy that he was all those years ago, but now he’s a man. A breathtaking man.

  His shoulders seem wider, if that’s possible. Stronger. His arms are long and powerful in his dress shirt, his biceps straining against the expensive material, even in rest. His waist is trim, his stomach flat and his thighs are as thick as ever. It’s what lies between them that brings color to my cheeks—the impressive bulge behind his zipper.

  As much as I’ve struggled to put that day out of my mind, it all rushes back with crystalline clarity. I remember what it felt like to be pierced by him, both emotionally and physically. And I remember what it felt like to be crushed by him, too.