Chapter Three

Chapter Three

LUC 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, hazeleyed, 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.

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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— ?

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

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to force himself to hear it over the pounding of his heart and the blood

rushing to his cock.

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

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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?

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?

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 . . .”

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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

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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.

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ALYSSA was still furious six hours later as she pounded on the

punching bag hanging from the ceiling in her spare bedroom. With a grunt,

she kicked it once, twice, then followed with a mean right hook.

What was Luc thinking? She‟d offered herself to him—something she

never did for any man—and he‟d self-pleasured in the shower. Of course

he thought she offered herself to anyone with a Y chromosome and didn‟t

understand that she‟d invited him alone because he was special, because

she thought . . . maybe there was something more between them than

fabulous sex.

Stupid.

Another kick, another punch. Sweat rolled down her body. It wasn‟t

relieving her tension.

Before she‟d guilted Luc into staying, he‟d mentioned that he was

dating someone else. The thought of him with another woman made her

stomach tighten. Insecurity blindsided her. Was Luc sleeping with this

woman? Did he want his new girlfriend more than he wanted her? Was he,

God forbid, in love with her?

She had to know. Throwing herself at a man whose heart belonged to

someone else was both pointless and embarrassing. For a while, she‟d

been sure Kimber was it for him, but then Deke had married her. Then

Alyssa had heard through the grapevine that Luc‟s involvement with the

couple was over, and she‟d had fresh hope. Now . . . she didn‟t know what

to think.

Lying on the table against the window, her cell phone rang shrilly. With

one last punch of the bag, she stepped across the room, tore off a glove,

then grabbed it. The display told her it was Tyler.

teased.

the club.”

Alyssa froze. “What happened?”

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Tyler hesitated—something he never did. That man was as straight up

as they came. She trusted him with her life, so when he hedged, it couldn‟t

be good.

Something was absolutely wrong. “Shit. Give me an hour?”

She hung up, cursing as she made her way out of her exercise room

and into the hall. She ran smack into Luc.

She hadn‟t had the pleasure of “the morning after” last time, and Alyssa

took one look at him, hair softly rumpled, eyes slumberous, and realized

she‟d missed something spectacular.

Her blood heated all over again.

The words were polite . . . but lacked the passion she wanted to hear

when he said those words, his head on the pillow beside her, just before he

kissed her thoroughly and they welcomed the day together with pleasure.

Wasn‟t happening. Grimly, she remembered last night. Rather than

depress herself again, she shook the thought away.

called. I told him I‟d be there in an hour. If you need more time to get ready,

I‟ll have him pick me up.”

and sweat-damp T-shirt.

Was he still pissed about last night or was this about Tyler?

She spun away, wanting the sanctuary of her bedroom, the privacy of

a shut door so she didn‟t have to shut away the pain of his rejection.

Luc grabbed her arm and held her back. “About last night . . . I‟m sorry.

I didn‟t mean to spy on you. The open door was—”

like the guest bathroom door not locking properly, my bedroom door

doesn‟t shut all the way. It‟s an old house. But I appreciate the apology. I‟m

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sorry, too, for barging in during your shower. I only meant to make sure you

had a towel and . . .”

He grimaced. “Look, I‟m not going to lie. We share amazing chemistry.

You turn me on more than anyone ever has.”

Luc didn‟t look at all happy about that fact.

His grip on her arm tightened. “That‟s not it. Yesterday, I discovered

great qualities I didn‟t know you possessed.” He sighed, raked a hand

through his long hair. “It‟s that . . . what I want isn‟t what I need. So if I‟m

cranky and irritable this week, it‟s because you have me tied up in a

thousand sexual knots, and I‟m trying to do the right thing.”

The right thing being not having sex with her.

Did Luc think it was impossible to have an emotional attachment to

someone who owned a club where women took off their clothes?

Whatever. She still wanted him. Wanted him to want her. Burn for her.

Because everything inside her yearned for Luc, his sultry smile, his talent,

the way he‟d made her feel more special in one night than any man ever

had. She wasn‟t willing to give up.

Damn, how could one word hurt so much?

free. “I‟d better get ready.”

As she darted down the hall, Luc gave chase and pushed her against

the shadowed wall. “She is. And that‟s not a reflection on you. You‟re just

different.”

In other words, she’s not a stripper.

between the wall and his hard body, all but running to her bedroom, and

slammed the door.

Once inside the bathroom, she shut that door—locked it—then leaned

against it. And closed her eyes as tears spilled. She swiped them away

with an angry fist.

Fucking hopeless. She sucked at relationships. No, strike that. She‟d

never really had one. From age fifteen on, her life had been a struggle to

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make ends meet, put food in her belly and a roof over her head. She‟d

learned how to read people over the years, but not in a romantic capacity.

As far as she could tell, Luc was being honest with her. There was

someone else he thought was better for him.

How the hell did she compete with that? Should she even try?

Probably not, but something inside her kept screaming that she needed

him.

Luc admitted to wanting her more than anyone. It was a start. Maybe

they had more than great chemistry, and this was his body‟s way of saying

so. It was possible this other woman was “better” for him because Luc

knew her. With just one hot night between them, Alyssa realized he wasn‟t

familiar with her as a person.

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 betterthan-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.

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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.

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.”

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.

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.

Swimming with the turtles is mind-blowing.”

No reply.

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,

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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.

She shrugged, straight platinum hair sliding across her small

shoulders. “You know the pertinent facts. I‟m twenty-nine and opening a

restaurant.”

Her gaze whipped to her lap suddenly. She bit her lip, looking pensive.

He shook his head. “Clearwater Beach, Florida. You didn‟t say where

you were from.”

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.

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.

Tyler glared at him over his shoulder. “I‟m responsible for her safety,

and I take it very seriously. Go back to your fryalator.”

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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?

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.

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.”

California,” Luc supplied.

Tyler clenched his jaw. “Shit.”

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.

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.”

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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.

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?”

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.

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.

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

. .

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

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him cover the handful of steps separating them before he fisted her hair in

his hand and forced her gaze up to his.

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.

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.

She said nothing, but simply sank to her knees.

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