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“You’re too good to be alone. The girls all worship you. You treat everyone fairly and work damn hard. You’re sweeter than you give yourself credit for. You haven’t resorted to murder when that asshole Councilman Primpton comes around, making trouble.” He sent her a considering stare. “You’ve had it tough lately. You deserve a break.”

If she wasn’t careful, his caring would make her cry. A pity party would be marvelously easy to indulge in—and an utter waste of time.

Alyssa anchored her hands on her hips. “Not in the cards.”

“Maybe you should postpone the restaurant opening for a few weeks.”

“Why?”

Restraint left Tyler. He reached out to her, caressing his large hand down her arm in a soothing gesture. “Your mama has only been gone two weeks.”

She tensed. “I hadn’t seen her in fourteen years.”

“Doesn’t matter. You’re still dealing with her loss.”

She’d done so with mixed feelings. Anger, grief, sadness, rage, a need to rail at the woman who had done nothing to help or understand her. Pity that she’d been so self-absorbed.

And beside her grave had stood the blackhearted reason for the rift between them: Joshua. Even after a dozen years, beyond a hundred feet, and through a pair of two-hundred-dollar sunglasses, there was no mistaking the boyish-faced bastard. At least he hadn’t seen her. If he had, Lord knew what he would have done.

She shook off the thought.

“Tyler, thanks for your concern, but I’ve put too much time and energy into this opening to put it off. I need to get it off the ground for cash-flow purposes. Besides, what good would wallowing about my mom do?”

He cupped her shoulders in a tender gesture. “You left here at three this morning, and Sadie told me you were back by eight. Baby, you’ve got to sleep and give yourself time to grieve.”

She’d rather not.

Leaning forward, she placed a soft kiss on his cheek. “You’re going to make some woman a great husband someday.”

“You asking me?”

Alyssa snorted. “Do I look like the white-picket-fence type? Get your ass back to work.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He saluted her and turned away, only to turn back again. “Oh, I forgot to tell you, some guy is here to see you. Some chef.”

“Luc Traverson?” she breathed.

“Yeah. He said you two had an appointment. He didn’t look too happy. Is he the dude doing the guest chef gig this week?”

Tyler’s question registered, but she didn’t answer. Instead, she glanced around Tyler, to the club’s front door.

Boom!
There he stood, all six feet plus of him, his elegant, rangy body tense. The sight of him was like a visceral blow. She swallowed . . . and let her hungry gaze eat him up. Inky hair hanging around his wide shoulders, jeans hugging him in all the right places. Those dark, burning eyes. A hot flush swept up her body. Her heart didn’t just start racing faster; it careened out of control. Far more than her palms went damp. She swayed in dizzy excitement.

Tyler caught her; his beefy hands slid around her waist to steady her. Then he glanced back to Luc. “You’ve got to be kidding me. Him?”

“Shut up, Tyler.” She pulled away and took a decisive step forward.

Luc Traverson was here. Finally. She did her best to hide a sly smile. There was no way he was going to ignore her anymore; she’d make certain of that.

UNTIL Alyssa Devereaux, had he ever gotten stone hard just by looking at a woman from across a room? Luc didn’t like the answer.

He didn’t have to wonder what was under that little skirt; he knew. Sleek thighs surrounded by garters in some color designed to drive a man wild. A lacy thong that would reveal far more of her assets than it concealed. And under that . . . The feel and taste of her slick, swollen folds dive-bombed his memory and revved him up, as if he’d injected rocket fuel in his bloodstream.

And now he had to work beside her for a week. Hell. How was he going to prevent a recurrence of the event he wanted to forget—yet couldn’t?

You’re a professional. Cook and keep your hands to yourself.
Besides, it wasn’t as if he had nothing else to think about. Negotiations for his cable TV show were nearly at an end. He had a bit of editing to do on his latest cookbook. There wouldn’t be that much downtime this week, but what little there’d be, he would fill.

Clearly, Alyssa had a way to fill her time as well. The huge slab of man at her side whose cheek she’d kissed a moment ago wore a Sexy Sirens T-shirt stretched across his enormous chest. A bartender? A bouncer? Whoever he was, the guy slanted a possessive glance at Alyssa that Luc couldn’t miss, then glared at him.

Tamping down his irrational anger, Luc reminded himself that if Alyssa wanted to fuck her hired help, that was her business.

The violent urge to dismember her employee would pass.

Alyssa took a step toward Luc, then another.

“Mistress Alyssa,” a female called over the speakers in a saucy vamp voice. “Your turn!”

She stopped. Closed her eyes. Sighed. Bracing herself ?

Then, as if the hesitation had never been, she flashed him a cool blue gaze, pointed at a chair in front of the stage, then turned away and strode backstage. Luc couldn’t help himself. He watched her walk away, the sway of those curvy hips a siren call. Damn.

If they had been alone, there was no way Luc could have prevented himself from touching her. Period.

Unless he wanted another brush with his uncontrollable wild side, he needed to forget his reckless promise to her and get out of this job. Now.

Reluctantly, Luc sauntered to the front of the stage and sat in the chair Alyssa had indicated. As soon as she finished whatever the hell she was doing and talked to him, he’d tell her all bets were off. Hell, he’d pay her for her inconvenience.

Because if he stayed, his dick would get him into trouble. He’d have her naked and be between her legs in two minutes. Or less. And that would be bad. He was looking for Mrs. Right, someone uncomplicated who wanted children as much as he did and would help him keep his beast at bay. Alyssa Devereaux, stripper divine, was definitely
not
that woman.

Suddenly, music pounded through the speakers, blaring with a naughty beat, a wicked slide of horn. Every note suggested sex—the hot, sweaty, no-boundaries variety.

The type he’d had with her and wanted again.

Pulling his loose shirt over his lap to cover his erection, Luc watched as Alyssa strutted onto the stage. She’d piled her straight platinum hair into some wild arrangement on top of her head and donned a sequined bolero jacket in red. He was dying to see what she wore underneath. The way she moved was an invitation . . . and a promise.

She planted her stiletto-clad feet in front of him with a decisive step, then swung her hips, making a sensual circle. She flattened her palm across the bare skin of her tanned abdomen—and began lowering it. She reached down . . . so damn slowly. Luc’s breath caught in his chest until, finally, she touched herself.
Oh, hell
.

Her fingers glided between her legs, and she tossed her head back as if she were in utter ecstasy.

Luc swallowed. And started to sweat.

With a jerk of her head, Alyssa snapped her gaze back to him, her eyes like focused blue lasers jolting him to his toes.

Damn it, his nine weeks of dating church secretaries, interior decorators, and elementary school teachers showed. Not one of them had incited an erection. During that time, he’d awakened in the middle of the night more than once, sweating, his dick in his hand and Alyssa’s name on his lips. Now, after less than five minutes in her presence, he felt ready to explode.

He had to think about the
right F
words—future and family. Unfortunately, with Alyssa near, the urge to fuck her again kept killing his good intentions.

In the next moment, she released the soft strands of her hair, which hugged her shoulders, clung to her breasts, flirted with her waist. Then she peeled off the little jacket and left it carelessly on the floor, exposing a tiny half top Luc could swear showed the shadows of her areolas. She stepped over the jacket and strutted toward the pole in the center of the stage. When she gripped it with both hands and undulated against it, pressing it to the juncture of her thighs, Luc damn near choked.

And still she continued to stare as if she danced just for him.

The music swelled, wailing with sensuality and suggestion. Alyssa upped her game, sticking a finger into the wet cavern of her mouth and sucking. More blood rushed to Luc’s cock at the memory of her mouth around him, her tongue slick across the head, inciting a sizzle that burned his whole body. Even months later, he could feel the lash of her tongue, the hot silk of her mouth. He shuddered.

With a kittenish smile, Alyssa popped her finger from her mouth and drew the damp fingertip down her cleavage. Then her palm took over, smoothing her right breast with an invitation to pure sin on her gorgeous face.

Dear God, no wonder she’d built herself a little empire here in Lafayette. The woman was a walking wet dream and did her job well. No red-blooded, heterosexual male could withstand such intense teasing and stay sane.

Out of the corner of his eye, Luc saw Alyssa’s employee, the one she’d touched earlier, sidle closer to the stage. With a quick turn of his head, Luc quickly saw that the mountain in the tight black T-shirt was tense, panting, and sporting a bulge that said he wanted to get busy.

Luc wished he could say that didn’t piss him off. But he’d be lying.

Then, as Luc’s stare returned to the stage, he damn near forgot his own name.

Alyssa turned her back on him and bent at the waist, staring at him over one mostly bare shoulder with a fuck-me look that stunned him. Luc gripped the arms of his chair, willing himself to stay in it, not charge up on the stage, lay her flat, and get inside her again this instant.

The spaghetti strap of her little top was falling down her arm. And that indecent skirt . . . With her bent over, the hint of the bare ass cheeks flashed from beneath the black silk. Her garters were a come-hither red. Her thong—he could see only a scrap of it—matched.

Soft fingers teased their way up her shin, her thigh, and disappeared under that little skirt. Her eyes half closed, her sultry mouth parted on a silent moan of seeming self-pleasure. His entire body tensed.

He had to get the hell out of there.

Her hands swept up her undulating hips, gathering the skirt with them. She tugged at the little black garment, and it fluttered to the floor. The tanned halves of her backside, bisected by a bit of red lace, crashed fresh lust into his chest, making it damn hard to breathe.

Alyssa had a gorgeous ass. But he’d known that. Luc squeezed his eyes shut so the visual temptation of her bare flesh didn’t taunt him. Memories of tunneling into her ass pounded him instead. Her perfect willingness to take him any way he’d wanted. The tightness of her damp, musky body clasping him. The sweat dripping off of them as he’d thrust deep. Her moans.

Christ, the burning lust had to stop—at least long enough to tell her that he wouldn’t be staying.

Praying the torture would end soon, Luc opened his eyes. And sucked in a breath.

Alyssa flashed him a naughty smile of invitation as she ripped her small top right down the front to reveal a red demi bra that barely covered her nipples. Hard nipples. Pink, melt-in-his-mouth nipples he remembered all too well.

Luc squirmed in his chair—and nearly went off like a teenage boy. Beyond aroused, his cock was so sensitive, the feel of denim sliding against the head nearly had him coming.

He had to leave. Forget the polite conversation; he’d send her an e-mail with an explanation. Because if he stayed, he would shove his long-term goals aside and fuck her senseless.

As he stood, Luc mentally reviewed a list of chefs—female ones—he could pay to assist Alyssa this week. A short list, but a few durable names. He’d send idiotproof recipes . . .

The red bra dropped to the ground at Alyssa’s feet.

Her large breasts were as golden as the rest of her body and swayed gracefully with her every undulation, every step. Those nipples he remembered so damn well beckoned,
Taste me
.

Turn away!
he demanded of himself.

His legs didn’t move.

Alyssa danced her way down the stairs, holding her breasts up in offering. She pranced past her aroused employee and shot the man a mirthful smile as she caressed the side of his face. Luc tensed when the beefy guy tried to snatch her up in his arms. But Alyssa was too fast and spun out of his grip, toward Luc.

The damp spot at the front of her thong kicked him in the gut. He clenched his fists as she danced closer, closer . . .

She dropped to her knees before him and looked up. Their gazes locked. She panted. Hard. Despite his jeans, her hot breaths caressed his cock. Release broiled in his balls, and he hadn’t touched her once.