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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?”

44

Shayla Black

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.

“Hey, I was just thinking about you.”

“Yeah?” He sounded really happy about that.

“Punching the hell out of my bag and pretending it‟s your head,” she

teased.

“Funny,” he intoned. “Look, I know it‟s early, but you should come to

the club.”

Alyssa froze. “What happened?”

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Shayla Black

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.

“Just come to the club,” he said finally.

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

“The sooner, the better.”

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

and into the hall. She ran smack into Luc.

“Sorry.” She backed away from him. It was either that or jump on him.

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.

“Good morning.”

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.

“Yeah. I have to run, grab a shower.” She held up her phone. “Tyler

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.”

“I‟ll take you.”

“It‟s no problem for him to—”

“I said, I‟ll take you,” he snapped, his stare roaming her flushed face

and sweat-damp T-shirt.

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

“Fine. I‟ll meet you in the kitchen in thirty.”

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—”

“Not an invitation,” she lied. The truth would just get his back up. “Just

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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Shayla Black

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.

“But you‟re not into
me
, just my body. Got it.” And it hurt like hell.

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.

“Does this have something to do with the woman you‟re seeing?”

“Yes.”

Damn, how could one word hurt so much?

“If you picked her, I‟m sure she‟s a great girl.” She tugged her arm

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
.

“Sure. Fine. See you downstairs in thirty minutes.” She eased out from

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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Shayla Black

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.

48

Shayla Black

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,

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Shayla Black

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