She needed to keep enticing him; that was a given. Using her advantage was critical. But she also needed to let him really know her. Not easy for her, letting down her walls. Trust in general was an expensive luxury—and a foolish one. But unless she wanted to lose Luc to this better-than-her bitch, Alyssa must figure out how to let him deep inside more than just her body.

THE silence in the SUV was choking. Alyssa kept biting her lower lip. Her sunglasses protected against the morning glare—and prevented Luc from reading her expression.

Whatever she was thinking shouldn’t matter. But it did. Though she’d betrayed almost no emotion when he’d mentioned his relationship with Emily, he suspected that the words hurt. And he felt like shit. He wanted to say something . . . but why? He was leaving in six days and would probably never see Alyssa Devereaux again. It was better this way.

Except . . . she’d worn another short skirt—white with some curlicue pattern on it—and black garters. Her sheer black hose with a sexy seam down the back nearly made him swallow his tongue. The red shoes were pure fuck-me, as was the matching tank top that hugged her generous breasts and trim waist.

Right now he couldn’t even remember what Emily looked like. And he was pretty sure that in the face of someone stabbing “whore” into her driver’s seat, she would scream hysterically and cry.

Luc swore under his breath.

“With your job, you must have traveled all over the world,” Alyssa offered.

As he cruised to a red light and stopped, he looked her way. She’d pondered a long time before asking him that question. Where was this going? “Yes.”

“What’s your favorite place?”

“You’re seriously asking me about travel?” Not our chat in the hallway?

She bristled, eased back in her seat, looked away. “Just making conversation.”

But why? She wasn’t a talk-for-talk’s-sake sort of woman.

“And you really want my thoughts on travel? Nothing else?”

“Never mind.” Alyssa turned her head to look out the passenger window.

He winced. Maybe she’d extended an olive branch to show that she had no hard feelings. If so, he’d just squashed her offering without thought. He couldn’t afford to be sexual with her—but he didn’t have to be unkind.

“Barbados. I like warm weather. Their beaches are gorgeous. Swimming with the turtles is mind-blowing.”

No reply.

“I went to culinary school in Paris. It’s a great city. Winters are a bit too cold for me. But there’s nothing like the street corner cafés and the culture.”

She sent him a tight smile. “I’ll take your word for it.”

When she turned away again, he frowned. What did that mean? Travel conversation was suddenly boring . . . or that she hadn’t been to Paris. The truth hit, and he sent her a lingering stare before traffic forced his attention again. How often did strippers travel overseas, especially ones who owned their own clubs? And now she had her savings tied up in Bonheur.

So why had she started this conversation? He didn’t think it had anything to do with travel, really. Was she trying to get to know him?

After the way he had fucked her blind, left her, apologized with impersonal flowers, and distanced himself from her again just minutes ago, she could have been a raving bitch. Most women would have. Alyssa had simply asked a question.

Now he found himself intensely curious about the sexpot on his right.

“Tell me something about you,” he demanded softly.

She shrugged, straight platinum hair sliding across her small shoulders. “You know the pertinent facts. I’m twenty-nine and opening a restaurant.”

“You’re a bit deeper than that. Did you grow up in Louisiana?”

Her gaze whipped to her lap suddenly. She bit her lip, looking pensive. “No. You grow up in Texas?”

He shook his head. “Clearwater Beach, Florida. You didn’t say where you were from.”

“I didn’t,” she agreed.

Luc wanted to pry more, but they’d arrived at the club. And he knew a closed subject when he heard one. Why the hell didn’t she want to talk about her hometown?

As soon as he put the car in park, Alyssa jumped, race-walking for the club’s back door. The late-morning sun glared on the chipped black surface, framing Tyler. The bouncer looked tense. He glared when he caught sight of Luc.

“What’s going on?” she asked him as she approached and tried to brush past him.

Tyler grabbed her arms and pulled her against his body. Then he cupped her face in his hand, his mouth hovering a breath above hers.

Everything inside Luc railed at the sight. His mind screamed an order for Tyler to take his hands off Alyssa. Two facts hit him: First, she wasn’t Luc’s, so he had no say in who touched her. Second, she wasn’t fighting Tyler in the least.

He whispered something Luc couldn’t hear. In return, she nodded anxiously. Tyler hesitated, kissed her forehead, then took hold of her hand and reached for the door.

“What’s going on?” he asked the bouncer.

Tyler glared at him over his shoulder. “I’m responsible for her safety, and I take it very seriously. Go back to your fryalator.”

If he’d had any less control over his temper, Luc would have charged the bastard, despite the fact Tyler outweighed him by thirty pounds of muscle. Luc was sure he would have gotten in at least a few good swipes. But why give the asshole what he wanted?

“You give up your stand-up routine because you sucked?”

Alyssa jumped in between them, anger tightening her face. “Could you two stop it? Luc, someone broke into the club between last night’s close and Tyler’s arrival at ten this morning.”

Luc went dead cold inside. Pure coincidence that someone had stabbed her seat with a knife, then her club had been broken into mere hours—or minutes—later? He’d spent enough time with Jack and Cousin Deke. Coincidences made them uncomfortable, and Luc agreed.

“They barged in through an upstairs window. Remy and the boys came over, but so far it doesn’t look like anything was taken. Tyler is trying to figure out how someone bypassed the security system. I’ll have to call Jack and have him figure it out.”

“Deke told me that Jack and Morgan are visiting her mother in California,” Luc supplied.

Tyler clenched his jaw. “Shit.”

“I’ll call Deke and see when he can do it,” Luc offered.

Her wary blue eyes flitted his way. “Thanks.”

Before he could respond, Tyler dragged her inside. Eerie quiet reigned. No one else was inside. Luc didn’t like the interior’s vibe.

“Maybe someone who came for the anniversary celebration last night hid upstairs and let a buddy in after hours?” Alyssa suggested.

Tyler shook his head. “We always do a thorough sweep before locking up. And even if someone managed to elude us, opening a window from the inside would trip the alarm.”

“Did you find anything out of place?” Luc asked. “Any . . . messages?”

“Luc, I doubt they’re connected.”

“But you don’t know that they aren’t.”

JUST before eleven thirty, Alyssa followed Luc back outside to his SUV and they headed to Bonheur. The cloudy, muggy October day made the interior shadowy and stuffy. She hit the lights and started the overhead fans. Then she turned to Luc expectantly.

“The contractor is coming at two to fix the wall. Says he’ll be done by sixish. What next?” She made her way to the kitchen, flipping on those lights. “You want to talk about opening day’s specials? Tomorrow is coming fast.”

Luc followed. “Why would someone break into the club?”

She sighed. “I don’t know. Sometimes drunk frat boys get out of hand. I can’t afford to put too much energy into thinking about it now. That’s Tyler’s job. Yours is to make opening day successful. What else do I need to do?”

“Take this threat seriously.” He grabbed her by the shoulders and spun her around.

Alyssa raised a brow at him. He looked agitated, his breath coming fast. She blinked slowly, getting a long look at his erection on the visual journey down. Definitely aroused. She repressed a smile.

“I’d like to, but I can’t afford to ignore the pending opening to focus on a few odd events. How did you phrase it earlier? What I want isn’t what I need.” She smiled at him, crossing her arms under her breasts and pushing her cleavage above her tank’s neckline.

Predictably, his gaze followed. He swallowed hard.

“Don’t ignore the danger because you’re angry with me.”

Alyssa wondered why she mattered to him at all. Interesting question . . .

“I’m not. Just stating facts.”

With that, she pulled away from his grip and spun around. She had a suspicion that Luc was used to being in control and getting the last word in. He wouldn’t like it if she turned her back on him now—especially if the view included her skirt clinging very low on her hips and exposing the rose tattoo on her lower back.

With a sway of her hips, she prowled toward the nearest stainless steel counter, stroked its sleek surface . . . and waited. She barely heard him cover the handful of steps separating them before he fisted her hair in his hand and forced her gaze up to his.

“Stop pissing me off,” he growled.

“Stop telling me how to react.”

Luc’s mouth tightened, as did his grip on her hair. Alyssa merely sent him a challenging stare and a matching smile.

Something about this argument was getting to him, revving his blood. The gentlemanly Southern chef had a nasty side, and she was making him feel it.

“Damn you!” His mouth crashed over hers.

He shoved her against the counter as he pushed past her lips, into the hot cavern of her mouth, and inhaled her all at once. His tongue was everywhere, possessing, tasting—branding. In an instant, her body burned, blood tingling. She clutched at his starched white shirt, grabbing the collar to pull him closer.

Luc was everything she remembered—full of finesse, power, steel covered in silk, insistent—and more. Never had a man’s kiss alone made her wet and aching, made her long to be closer to him in every way.

She ran her hands down his body, feeling every bulge of his shoulders, every ripple of his chest. Her palm flitted down his six-pack—and kept descending. Oh, so slowly, she dragged her hand over his erection. He hissed in a shocked breath, breaking the kiss, and hardened beneath her touch.

Smiling, she reached for his fly.

He groaned. “Alyssa, we—”

She palmed him again, squeezing his cock, then flicked the button of his pants open. His zipper went down, a bare rasp in the otherwise quiet. Then she ran her thumb over the sensitive crest.

“Dear God.” He sucked in a breath. “We shouldn’t . . .”

She said nothing, but simply sank to her knees.

Chapter Four

BEFORE Luc could stop Alyssa, she’d pushed his pants and briefs to his hips and taken his cock in her hand.

To be fair, he didn’t try very hard to stop her.

The moment her palm wrapped around his erection, he sizzled, jolted as if he’d been pumped full of a thousand volts. God, everything about her was potent, overwhelming. He was drowning—the feel of her tight grip, the silkiness of her golden hair in his hands, the gut-punching sight of her licking her lips.

“Alyssa,” he hissed.

Shit. He had to stop this. But how, when he wanted her so badly?

He’d eschewed sex for weeks. After his night with Alyssa, he’d pinned all his hopes for a child on Kimber and Deke, single-mindedly bedding the girl every bit as often as his cousin. But he’d be lying if he said Alyssa hadn’t lingered in his thoughts. Being with Kimber had been absorbing. He realized later it had been the situation . . . not the woman. After that, he’d pushed aside his sex drive in favor of a future, a wife who would be the sort of devoted mom his own was.

Now the woman he’d ached for since that wild, dark night was on her knees in front of him, and God help him, he didn’t have the willpower to stop himself from urging her mouth closer to his throbbing cock.

“You want this?” she whispered.

“Yes!” he bellowed, struggling for control . . . and failing. “Yes.”

She opened her mouth, started to ease forward. Then she stopped. “You’re sure?”

Now she was taunting him. That teasing allure had been his undoing three months ago, turned what should have been a normal night of sex into an unforgettable marathon in which he’d been determined to . . . He almost didn’t have words for his urge. Put some sort of stamp on her. Leave his mark. If she wasn’t careful, she was going to get the same treatment in her very own kitchen.

“Suck me,” he demanded, his voice low and harsh.

Alyssa sent him another of those playful smiles. “Yes, sir.”

Her words set his blood on fire. God, she was going to destroy him. This wasn’t smart, and he knew it. At the moment, he didn’t fucking care. He had to get her mouth around him, had to feel her tongue lash him, see her submissive at his feet.