operator’s attention. She shook her head and bent forward to grab her purse. Virgin or not, her drink could use refreshing. Might as well do it while they were setting up for the next dancer.
Air whispered around her as the owner of black wingtips stopped in front of her chair. She froze. Cologne, musky and rich, tickled her nose. The spotlight pinpointed her, and she swore it burned hot as the noonday sun.
A work-roughened finger hooked under her chin and gently lifted.
This was not happening. She didn’t want to be chosen to help the policeman or chef or magician or whatever he was going to be dressed as take off his clothes. She just wanted to watch. And tip. And watch some more. But be part of the act? No.
In spite of herself, she let her head tilt back and slowly took him in. Her eyes raked across a tall, hard body. He pulled her up until she stood in front of him. Subtle pressure encouraged her to meet his gaze. Shock made her draw in a sharp breath.
Dark brows arched elegantly over pale blue irises ringed in navy blue. His lashes were so thick she almost hated him. Almost. His jaw was chiseled. The way his mouth tipped up at one corner said he smiled regularly, and she had the strangest urge to see that smile now. Not his stage smile, but a genuine one. His lower lip was full, made for nibbling, while his upper lip formed a perfect cupid’s bow. She couldn’t stop staring at his mouth—no surprise. It had always been this way with him.
“Justin Maxwell,” she whispered. The one man in the world she’d hungered for on every level. The one man who had been out of reach for three years. Every cell in her body heated until a fine sheen of sweat decorated the nape of her neck. She licked her lips as her breath came short. How could he be here? Tonight? Why? And why couldn’t he be wearing more clothes when he touched her?
He tipped his fedora in acknowledgment, leaving it sitting at a cocky angle. “I’ll need you to come with me, Ms. Cooper.”
The soft timbre of his voice whispered through her, caressing and igniting parts of her that had no business being on fire.
Grace opened her mouth to politely decline. Yes, she’d harbored a major crush on the man for years, but that didn’t mean she’d hop on stage with him at his request. No, she couldn’t. “Absolutely, Professor.”
“Never was a professor, and I’m not standing in front of anyone’s whiteboard anymore, sweetheart.” And she wasn’t sitting in a lecture hall anymore, either.
Her stomach flipped over as anxiety landed dead center in her belly.
Taking her hand, he backed through the crowd with confident steps, as if he knew exactly who and what was behind him.
He led her up a short set of stairs and stood her in the middle of the stage. “Don’t think about the crowd. Focus on me. I’ll take care of you,” he said quietly.
Her inner wild child stretched and purred, tired of being put in a box over the years as she’d busted her ass to earn her undergraduate and graduate degrees. Now all that wild part of her wanted was a piece of him. “I’ll hold you to that.”
That coveted smile pulled at one corner of his mouth. “Please do.”
She gave a short nod, and he raised a hand as he stepped away from her. The lights immediately dimmed and several women screamed while others whistled.
Music started, soft at first. Initially it had a digital feel, and then the first electric guitar cords drowned out the synthesizer. Bass guitar dropped in with a deep, almost drumming line. The music hammered at her nerves, lighting her up from the inside and making her hyperaware of the way her clothes rubbed over her skin.
The spotlight flashed on, narrow at first and then widening to show Justin moving toward her in a Milan-worthy stalk-walk through the artificial smoke billowing across the stage. His feet hit the floor in time with the music. He flicked his trench coat open, letting it billow behind him as he moved. Tuxedo-style pants were held up with black suspenders. He wore a cummerbund of white satin. And that was it. His bare chest showcased his warm skin and ripped physique. He wasn’t huge but, damn, she would have given just about anything to trail her fingers over his defined pecs and down those rippling abs.
She glanced at his face and froze.
His eyes were hot, his smile one of pure seduction. He arched a brow as he closed in on her.
Grace licked her lips again, the action partly nerves but predominately anticipation. She wanted his hands on her in the worst way and, surprisingly, it turned her on to know that other people were watching.
As if he’d heard her thoughts, his eyes grew hooded. He stalked her in an ever-tightening circle. Whipping his coat off, he flung it to the side as the lyrics settled around her in a haze of lust. The singer was instructing the woman in the song to beg. But instead of encouraging Grace to go to her knees, Justin did.
He dropped behind her and ran broad hands up the backs of her legs, over her ass and settled them at her waist, making her skin suddenly feel too tight. His hot breath skated along the hollow of her spine as his thumbs lifted the hem of her shirt and he placed his firm lips against the soft sway of her back.
She involuntarily arched.
Strong hands tightened around her waist, holding her still. The tip of his tongue traced the tiniest line up her skin.
A whimper caught in her throat. Heat flooded her sex.
He moved behind her, scaling her body like a half-naked superhero.
She absently wondered what his superpower would be and realized, without a doubt, it would be the power of seduction. The power to make her crave him. The power to make her beg if he wanted her to.
Smooth hands slid under her shirt and up her belly. Thumbs traced ghost-like over the lower swells of her breasts. Her nipples pearled.
Lost to the sensations, her eyes fluttered shut.
Then he was gone.
Her head snapped around, searching for him.
He’d moved into the shadows near the edge of the stage to retrieve a chair. Pushing it toward her, he moved with lithe grace. His skin gleamed, pulled taut over those defined muscles, and his eyes burned as his lips curled with that superpower, seduction. And the closer he came, the hotter she got.
Three things hit Grace all at once.
One, she genuinely wanted this man in every sense of the word want.
Two, she was going to have him.
Three, she was going to enjoy every minute and consider the consequences later.
JUSTIN HADN’T TAKEN his rip-away tuxedo pants off yet. He should have. The routine called for it. But he couldn’t. Not until he got his cock under control. The minute he laid his lips to the small of Grace’s back, that traitor had stopped listening to his demand to stand down. Primal hunger had roared through him at the slight taste of salt on her skin. Then the faint musk of her arousal had punched his lust up to uncontrollable levels. Never had he responded to a woman this way. Something about her made him lose control, and, as usual, that both fascinated and irritated him. He was famed for his control.
Seating her in the chair, he went to his knees in front of her, legs spread wide. He leaned back on one hand and pumped his hips toward her. Sure, his arousal was apparent—she might as well know up front. Keeping things the way they’d always been was no longer an option. Now that she’d seen him here, had discovered that he danced, the knowledge couldn’t be taken back. He was going to run with it as far and fast as he could go before she called stop. For the first time since he’d started dancing, he wanted the patron, this patron, to see him as available.
Her eyes locked on his groin. Then they dragged their way up his body to meet his.
The sheer hunger that smoldered in their depths stole