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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.
There was no way he could stop himself from reaching out to tangle his fingers into her hair and bringing her mouth closer. Except when he did, he grabbed air. Alyssa had already strutted away, that golden body of hers burned into his brain.
The music boomed one final time as she artfully fell to the stage, her body sprawled with legs parted, knees bent, hands half covering her breasts, her back arched . . . as if she were ready for him to cover her, take her.
Luc took a step toward her. Then he forced himself to stop and breathe deep.
Self-destruction wasn’t his bag, and he wasn’t going to get caught up in the trap now.
Beside him, the beefy bouncer clapped wildly and whistled like a man possessed. “That was hot, boss lady. Damn!”
Alyssa stood and smiled, her arms falling to her sides, as if totally unaware or unconcerned that she bared her breasts to her employee and her guest chef.
She did this for a living, he reminded himself. She displayed her body for strangers—and did who knew what else with them. Why should it matter to her who saw her tits?
“Thanks! I’ve been working on the routine for a while.”
“Toward the end there, if you need to fall at someone’s feet, I’ll volunteer.” Her bouncer winked.
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
She reached for the bolero jacket, thrust her arms into the capped sleeves, then covered her breasts with the lapels. Sort of. The garment had no front clasp, so it hung open, flashing cleavage and the generous swells of her breasts as she made her way down the stairs.
“Mr. Traverson, good to see you again.” She held out her hand to him.
She expected him to touch her in a businesslike fashion? Luc steeled himself against the electric current that buzzed through him anytime he touched this woman. But no amount of bracing diluted the jolt that shocked him when he took her hand.
“Ms. Devereaux. We need to talk. Is there someplace quieter? More . . .” Luc glanced over at the bouncer’s curious, intrusive stare. “Private?”
“Tyler.” She snapped her fingers. “Back to work. It’s four, right? Open the doors.” Then she turned her stare back to Luc. “Follow me.”
As if he could have resisted when she turned that gorgeous ass in his direction and pranced away . . . Impossible.
He followed her backstage, then down a hall that had been painted black. Red lights shined overhead, giving the back a Goth feel that contrasted with the public area’s warmth. Then they ducked into a room at the end. White. Soothing with black-and-white photos on the wall. Splashes of red color in silk flowers and a desk chair.
Alyssa held the door wide, then closed it behind him once he’d entered. He realized that none of the club’s other sounds could be heard. He cocked his head, listening to the crisp silence.
“Soundproof,” she confirmed, perching her hip on the edge of the desk in a relaxed pose that somehow managed to scream sex. “Hard as hell to be bookkeeping at two in the morning with the Pussycat Dolls blasting out your ears.”
That made sense, but had nothing to do with this meeting. “Listen, I—”
“Before we get down to business, can I ask your opinion of my number? I haven’t danced around a pole in two years. I’m out of practice.”
She hadn’t danced around a pole in two years? Wow . . . He didn’t frequent gentlemen’s clubs; he found nothing gentlemanly about them, so he had nothing to compare her to. But if she thought her performance was out of practice, Luc decided he’d likely have a heart attack if ever he saw Alyssa in what she considered to be prime form. “Why ask me?”
She frowned. “Other than Tyler, who likes anything I say or do, you were the only man watching. I need a male opinion on this. Did it work for you?”
And then some. “Um . . . It was good.”
“Good.” Alyssa sighed. “I need it to be great. Damn! Tonight is Sexy Sirens’ fifth anniversary, and I promised to perform. I don’t really do it anymore. But I’ll try harder when I take the stage later. Thanks for the opinion.”
If she tried any harder, she’d incite instant orgasm in half the audience in the first thirty seconds.
“So how have you been?” Her smile lit up her whole face, the whole room. Hell, his whole body.
“Fine. Very busy. You?”
“Oh.” She rolled her eyes. “Crazy busy! I had no idea the restaurant business was so tough. You’d know all about it, of course. But I’m still learning. Anyway, I’m glad you’re here. I’ve been looking forward to watching you in action.” Her smile was a tease in itself. “In the kitchen, of course.”
His body temperature went up again. If he didn’t leave soon, she would see action in the kitchen and anywhere else she would consent to let him fuck her. But how could he say this without upsetting her? He definitely owed her.
“I hear your cousin got married,” she commented.
Luc tried not to wince. “Yes. Deke and Kimber were married a couple of months ago.”
Alyssa paused, cocked her head, assessed him with those cool blue eyes. “You okay with that? I know you had a relationship with her, too.”
Yes, one that had ended with the near death of his greatest dream. He’d engaged in a wild ménage with Kimber and his cousin, knowing that she loved Deke. Still, Luc had hoped to marry her, that Deke would get her pregnant, and they would all live as a happy family. All too soon, they’d paired off and left him alone. Possibly his last chance to raise a child with even a drop of his blood walked out the door with them.
He hesitated, then hedged. “She’s still special to me.”
It wasn’t a lie, but not the complete truth, either. Kimber and Deke didn’t need anyone but each other, and Luc had only been in their way. He’d accepted that because, while he’d adored Kimber, he hadn’t loved her. He had, however, wanted the one thing they could have given him, wanted it so bad sometimes that yearning clawed a deep crater of longing out of his chest.
He wanted a child. And he couldn’t father one.
“You all right?” Alyssa asked. “Can I get you a drink?”
No. What he had to do was get out of here before he let his dick lead him to stupid acts, like forgetting the fact that he needed to find an acceptable woman who wanted a child as badly as he did. Alyssa . . . She was sexy, determined, all woman, giving and mind-blowing in the dark. But she wasn’t anyone’s ideal mother material. If he ended up going the adoption route, case agents would take one look at her and run screaming. Even if she wanted children now—and why would she?—he didn’t think she’d agree to dash to the nearest sperm bank or sit through rounds of in vitro fertilization. She’d want a man who could father his own children the normal way.
At thirty-five, Luc should be way beyond this blinding sort of adolescent urge for sex, the kind that obliterated all logical thought. Alyssa wasn’t going to help him obtain what he most wanted in life. Somehow, he had to get the news flash to his dick.
Hell, he’d never before wished he were impotent, rather than sterile. Here was a fun first.
“No, thanks. Alyssa, I can’t stay.”
“Right now? I’m sure you’re tired. No problem. I’ll give you a tour of the restaurant and kitchen tomorrow morning. It’s just a few blocks from here. I ordered all the food your assistant indicated and—”
“I meant this week. I can’t do it.”
“Another commitment?” Her sharp tone would have told him she was pissed off, even if her starchy expression didn’t.
Luc wanted to lie, but he was already bailing on her. Lying would add insult to injury, and she deserved the truth. “It’s what’s between us.”
“We had sex, and now you can’t cook for me? What, exactly, does one have to do with the other?”