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.

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

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 interested 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.