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“You’ve advised him otherwise?” Even Luc’s voice was dangerously tense.

“Absolutely. Tyler has made it perfectly clear as well. We’ve kicked him out, let him know his advances aren’t welcome. But nothing fazes this kid.”

Luc gripped the steering wheel even tighter. “He ever call you a whore?”

Alyssa shook her head. “He’s usually real graphic about what he wants—nasty, dirty shit—but has never resorted to name calling. That’s Councilman Primpton’s speed.”

“A city councilman? An elected official calling you a whore?”

How naïve was Luc? “Of course. His voting base is very conservative, so if he shut Sexy Sirens down, he’d be their hero. Even some middle-of-the-road folks would be thrilled to see me go. That’s been Primpton’s mission since he got elected eighteen months ago. The attempts started small, but with his reelection coming up, he’s been applying more pressure.”

“How?”

“Protesting in front of the club, scathing editorials in the local paper about the den of sin in the city’s backyard and the ‘trash’ who runs it. Recently, he collaborated with a reporter to wear a wire and solicit me for sex.” She snorted. “I can shove a lot of four-letter words into ‘no.’ ”

Finally, they pulled up in front of her house. She hopped out and motioned for him to wait in the car. Juggling her keys, she unlocked the front door, unset the alarm, then ran around to the garage door and hit the button to open it. Luc drove in, then climbed out of the car, duffel bag in hand. He looked tense and nervous.

“I thought it would be better if you parked in the garage. Don’t want anyone vandalizing your SUV or wagging their tongues. Come in.”

He nodded, his stare glued to her. Alyssa closed the garage door behind them. She’d give anything to know what Luc was thinking. His tense demeanor and unflagging erection told her it was probably ways to avoid having the sex with her he knew he shouldn’t want but desperately did. And after tonight’s interrogation, she was in the mood to make him suffer.

L
UC shut the bedroom door behind him, breathing hard. It wasn’t the climb up Alyssa’s stairs that caused his respiratory distress; it was watching her in front of him. The short black skirt that hugged her ass. Those sexy red garters he had a flash of now and then. The hint of her bare cheeks visible with every step.

Damn it, he wanted to fuck her so badly he could hardly see straight. But messing with Alyssa was like dabbling in recreational drugs—stupid and potentially addicting.

Last week, he’d had his third date with Emily, a first-grade teacher at the local elementary school in Tyler, Texas. It had gone well. Sweet, hazel-eyed, and dimpled, she liked country music, couldn’t stand profanity, and had great relationships with her family and pastor. A perfect wife. A perfect stay-at-home mother, just like his own. That’s what he wanted. He needed to stay focused on her—and stay away from Alyssa this week.

Then never see the sexy stripper again.

Once inside Alyssa’s guest room, he drew his cell from his pocket and thumbed his way down his contact list. Emily’s name was there. He desperately needed the fortification of hearing her sweet, high-pitched voice, but it would be rude to wake her up at four thirty in the morning. She’d ask questions he couldn’t answer. Instead of turning the conversation toward her school kids or her activities with the church, Luc feared what he’d say. Alyssa had scraped him so raw, he doubted he could exercise the verbal control necessary to deflect Emily’s questions. The demands of his dark side juiced his bloodstream. Everything inside him screamed for a hard, pounding fuck.

So he was on his own.

Shower. He needed one desperately. Hot water dousing his skin, spray pelting his body, deep breaths . . . coming down off the lust high so he could sleep.

And not think about the sexy vixen lying in her bed less than fifty feet from him.

Grabbing his pajama pants from his bag, he made his way down the hall, toward the darkened bathroom. Soft light spilled down the hallway from her bedroom.
Ignore it,
he told himself. But when he turned for the bathroom and groped for the switch, he couldn’t resist a peek over his shoulder at Alyssa’s slightly ajar bedroom door.

And her very visible, delectable leg bathed in golden light.

Luc sucked in a breath as a million images of her in that bed bombarded him. Her arms and legs wide-open to him, her husky taunts and whispered encouragements drowning out logic. God, her mouth on his cock had been the most amazing experience . . . until he’d worked his way into her tight pussy and damn near lost his mind. Then she’d topped that by allowing him into that delectable ass, and he’d sunk into her with barely leashed abandon, amazed by the fit and feel of her. And the fact she opened herself completely to whatever he wanted for six undivided hours. No one had ever affected him that much before. Or since.

So being in the house with her now was as dangerous as bathing in gasoline before dancing around a bonfire.

Suddenly, she twisted on the bed. The perfect view he’d had changed as she moved her leg to the side, allowing him an unimpeded view of her taut calf and inner thigh.

A few inches to her left and, if she’d ditched her panties, he’d see every spectacular bit of her wet flesh. Even now, his mouth watered as he remembered the addicting taste that had kept him coming back to her again and again.

Alyssa moaned. Then thrashed again.

Holy shit, is she
—
?

“Yes!” she cried out, then gasped to catch her breath.

Masturbating. Hell.

Go in the bathroom. Shut the door. Stay the fuck away
. The litany of good advice ran through his head, and he sucked in a harsh breath, trying to force himself to hear it over the pounding of his heart and the blood rushing to his cock.

“Oh, yes!”

Her hoarse, broken whisper fried his blood in his veins. He had to see her. Had to. Yes, she was bad for him, and he didn’t want to be one of the many in her bed. But the woman was temptation personified. He’d never seen another woman more equipped to lead a man into sin.

Just one step
. . .

Luc left his pajama pants on the bathroom counter and moved closer to Alyssa’s bedroom, wincing when his jeans chafed his erection. But one step was enough to bring only her hip into view. Lovely, but he wanted to see her self-pleasure. How she was doing it, how seriously she pursued it, how her body bowed when ecstasy hit.

Damn, he felt like a sick bastard, but no way could he stop.

Another step closer, then a third, until he was hovering just behind the crack in her door.

Then he got an eyeful that lit him on fire. Alyssa wearing nothing but her red garters, sheer hose, and fuck-me shoes. She gripped her breast in one hand and, with the other, dove into her very wet folds.

Luc staggered back, gripping the wall beside him for support. And he stared. Flames engulfed his balls, licked his cock.
Fuck, fuck, fuck
. . .

Alyssa’s fingers fluttered around her clit. Moisture gushed. Her thighs tightened, her back arching. He panted, glued to the sight. Seared.

She thrashed again, spreading her legs wider. Then she plunged her fingers inside her drenched opening and bucked, whimpering.

Luc clutched the doorknob tighter. God, how badly he wanted to go in there and give her relief, put his mouth right over her aching clit until she came across his tongue, then plunge deep inside her pussy with unrelenting strokes. Once she’d come a half dozen times and taken the edge off his hunger, then he’d turn her over and use all her delicious lubrication to slide into her backside and linger there, thrusting slow, hard, deep.

Her muttering suddenly broke into his thoughts. She whispered, and he couldn’t make out her words. He wanted to—desperately. Needed to know. What was she thinking while she fucked herself ? Whom did she think of ?

Turning off the voice in his head that told him he was stupid to court danger, he shoved the door open another few inches and eased inside the shadowed corner. Her little bedside lamp spilled light across her body, illuminating golden skin, the pale blond strands of her shining hair—and her nearly bare pussy.

Again, she muttered something, and he still couldn’t hear. The suspense was killing him. The anxiety. Would Tyler’s name fall from her lips? Someone else’s?

“Fuck me . . .” she cried softly.

Damn, he wanted to, so, so badly. He scrubbed a hand down his face, then fastened his gaze on Alyssa again. He couldn’t stay away. Simply impossible. She was his weakness. His drug of choice.

Luc swallowed against the lust. He had to be strong. Once he married Emily—or someone like her—he couldn’t think about Alyssa, only about the wife who would make his every dream come true. He had to keep his dick out of the equation.

Step back. Shower; sleep; forget Alyssa
.

Gritting his teeth for strength, Luc lifted a foot and set it behind him. But still he couldn’t leave. She had increased the tempo of her fingers over her clit. Now her hips thrashed. Her skin was flushed, and the air smelled like aroused female. Perspiration broke out between her breasts. She was the most beautiful, sexual creature he’d ever seen. And ever would. How was he supposed to walk away?

“Fuck me. Yes. Yes!” She moaned long and loud as she came.
“Luc!”

She gasped
his
name? Shock burned him. Christ, he was about to come in his jeans.

Alyssa flopped back on the bed, eyes closed, breathing heavily. Luc stood still, transfixed, dick aching, heart racing.

Then she lifted her head and looked right at him. Heat arced between them for a heartbeat, two. Suddenly, an audacious smile shaped her lush mouth . . . just before she raised her hips to him in offering. “Please . . .”

Fire speared him. Leave or fuck her now—his only two options. Fucking her would be sublimely easy. And would do absolutely nothing to help him achieve the future he yearned for.

With a curse, he whirled out of her bedroom and raced into the bathroom, locking the door behind him. He leaned against it, every breath a harsh saw out of his chest. But the image of her self-pleasuring was burned into his brain, his name on her lips reverberating in his head.

How could he want someone so much who was so bad for him?

Shaking his head, he started the shower. One way or another, he needed relief now. If he was going to be smart and resist Alyssa, it was going to have to be by his own hand. Otherwise, he would never sleep. And be far too tempted to stalk into her bedroom and have her every way known to man.

Quickly, he dropped his clothes and stepped under the slowly warming spray without checking the water temperature first. He hissed at the cold, but his body was too overheated to care.

He rolled his shoulders under the spray, then grabbed his cock, trying to picture Emily—light brown hair, hazel eyes, apple-pie appeal. He knew she was kind and optimistic and eager for a family. But what would she look like without clothes? What kind of lover would she be?

Luc couldn’t picture her sexually at all.

But sex wasn’t everything. He enjoyed her sense of humor and friendship, her sweetness and . . . The idea of sex with her bored him.

A vision of Alyssa burst across his brain. His cock jumped in his hand, and he stroked it eagerly, hungrily.

Why her? Of course she was sexy. A man would have to be blind not to notice her beauty, the easy sway of her hips, those blue eyes that could tempt a man to sin. But today had shown him sides of Alyssa he hadn’t known.

She was smart and determined. Bonheur proved that. She’d done a great job building the restaurant, despite not knowing a lot about the business. And she was brave—maybe too much so for her own good. That knife a prank? He didn’t think so. But she’d taken it in stride. No drama, no tears, no hysteria. She was one cool customer. And she understood the people around her. Remy, Homer, Tyler, even the girls at her club. She seemed to know exactly what to say for maximum results.

All that only made him desire her more. Writing her off had been easier when he’d assumed she was just a good lay. Now . . . she revved him up on a whole new level.
Damn it
.

He stroked faster, tingles leaping up his cock. He swiped a thumb across the head and hissed in pleasure. His thighs tightened, and he clenched his jaw, picturing the way Alyssa had danced at rehearsal this afternoon, as if dancing for him alone. He envisioned her masturbating, fingering her way to orgasm, then lifting to him in invitation.

In his head, he again heard her beg him to fuck her. Pleasure soared. His hand moved faster on his turgid flesh, his rhythm and hold almost brutal. Need clawed its way from his balls, up his dick. Orgasm wasn’t far behind . . . and thoughts of Emily were long gone.

In that moment, pressure built and heated. It burst, Alyssa at the center of the storm. Clamping his lips shut, he groaned as orgasm slammed him, clenching his balls, cramping his stomach. Semen spurted into the porcelain tub, then washed with the water down the drain.

Luc leaned against the tile, more relaxed, but vaguely unsatisfied. Yes, he’d gotten off, but need still keyed him up. His hand was a lousy substitute for Alyssa.

He dropped his grip from his cock and turned off the shower. Damn, he felt worse now. Not high on lust anymore, but confused. Depressed. What the hell was the matter with him?

You want something you can’t have,
the voice in his head taunted him. He’d tell it to shut up . . . but it was right.

Grabbing the shower curtain with an impatient fist, Luc thrust it back. To his shock, Alyssa stood three feet away, hip leaned against the vanity, a towel in her hand. She looked furious—and hurt.

“So, was that good for you?”