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“Encore! Encore!” the crowd roared.

Thunderous applause exploded as Orlando—skimpily dressed in a bush warrior’s loincloth, wearing straw ankle wreaths, a leafy headpiece made of sticks, and twirling torches—finished his exotic-dance routine and left the stage. He jammed once per set. On opening night, his arms had tired after back-to-back encores. He’d set the headpiece on fire by accident. Scared the life out of him and Killer’s owners.

“Boys are hot tonight,” Galaxeé said. Bracing one foot on the floor, she sat half on, half off the barstool. “Did you see that little girl up front? I’m thinking she got in on a false ID. The child had her hands all up and down Orlando’s pretty legs. Mercy.”

“You remember Myrtle Thomas, don’t you?” Rio asked. “That’s her daughter Afrika. She’s well over twenty-one.”

“Texas Myrtle? Hell, we are getting old.” She bit off the queen olive from the decorative toothpick, then drained the martini and slid the glass across the bar top. “Luanne! I need another drink, honey. Get one for my partner, too.”

Rio gave her the subtle look and Galaxeé begrudgingly ordered Frankie’s standard cocktail, Bacardi and Diet Coke.

Galaxeé had reached the rowdy level already while Rio nursed her wine, the Silver Oak cabernet she’d ordered the bartender to decant and allow to breathe. She took another sip. The subtle hint of wild berries swirled over her tongue, teasing her taste buds.

“Do you want to introduce Bryce?” Galaxeé asked.

“Not a chance. That’s your job. And please don’t stumble on the stairs,” Rio hinted as her friend stood. “Imagine yourself sprawled across the floor, kissing the stage, a two-hundred-dollar dress wrapped around your waist.”

“I never stumble.” She grabbed the remote microphone, took one step and Rio caught her arm. “These heels—”

“Sure.” Sighing, she handed over a napkin. “Spit it out, girlfriend.”

“It’s my last stick.”

“Good. Obviously you can’t think, chew and walk at the same time after three martinis.” As loud as she popped gum, and with the speakers, everybody in the club would duck for cover, thinking someone had fired a shotgun.

The introduction went well. Galaxeé built up Bryce as an ace performer. She had the audience electrically wired for fire. When the music began, she left the stage and came back to the bar, grinning. The soundman upped the speaker volume. The curtains shivered, signaling Bryce’s appearance at any moment.

“They’re going to love him,” Galaxeé said.

“We’ll see.”

Another few seconds went by.

“Where the hell is he?”

The curtains fluttered again. Rio knew the signs, fear. Somebody had attempted to push him onstage. That somebody was probably Dallas.

“Wait a minute. Here he comes,” Galaxeé said.

When Bryce stepped out, the big open room fell completely silent except for the music’s bass beat. Not one person clapped, screamed or yelled.

“Uh-oh,” Galaxeé breathed.

Rio held her breath. He just stood there like a block of stone. “Do something!” she said quietly.

“Oh, shit. We’re in trouble. Luanne, tell Mikey to crank up the music, maybe Bryce can’t hear the lyrics.”

“Bull,” Rio snapped. “He froze.” And the crowd would laugh him off the stage if he didn’t move soon.

“You do something, Rio. We can’t let him stand up there looking stupid.”

“What can I do? Get Dallas up.” What a fiasco this mess would make. They’d hear it from their friends.

Where’d you get that dumb white boy? Thought this place had all black dancers. We might as well go to SS. The white boys there will at least perform, offbeat maybe, but they’ll attempt to satisfy us.

“Go dance with him, Rio. Get him started.”

“No. Absolutely not.”

Huffing, Galaxeé stood. “Fine. As drunk as my ass is…This dog-and-pony show ought to close us down permanently, damn it.”

“I’ll go,” Frankie slipped in. She was always ready to help, but if glares contained the power to kill, Frankie should’ve dropped dead before the words left her lips.

Through an oily smile, Galaxeé said, “Honey, you couldn’t begin to keep up with him, let alone keep beat.”

“Stop it,” Rio hissed. Sometimes this woman’s mouth overloaded her behind. “Get up there, Galaxeé, these people are restless!”

To her horror, Galaxeé stumbled on the first step, and Rio grabbed her arm. “All right. All right. I’ll do it.” Lord. She’d blame herself seeing her partner horizontal on the stage or, worse, toothless after a spill on the staircase.

God help them. Sliding off the barstool, she dragged her gaze from Galaxeé’s and caught Bryce’s a second later, held it while smoothing the clinger down her hips.

She slinked her way around tables, chairs, heading for the stage in long, runway strides. At the base of the stairs, she heard a few whispered murmurs by wary customers. In rhythm with the music’s downbeat, Rio climbed each riser, swinging her hips slowly, her heart pounding to the bass rhythm. Dancing with Sullivan was only to save the club, to save face.

Onstage now, settling one hand on her hip and tapping the toe of her shoe, she crooked her finger at Bryce. Without a response, she tried a second time.

Darn him. This impromptu sideshow had better look like part of his routine.

Dragging her feet across the slick wooden floor, Rio glided toward their first statue still cemented to the same spot for the last minute or more. She ran her fingertips across his collarbone, stepped behind him, never losing contact with his body. His flesh felt hot, on fire, and a slight tremor skittered through his hard muscles. She continued circling. Skimming her fingers through the soft hair on his broad chest, up again to his shoulder, she finished with a butterfly’s caress down one hardened bicep.

“Bryce,” she whispered fiercely. “Dance with me.”

When Rio faced him again, a flicker in his gray eyes, a gleam boasting wicked sex and sin snatched her breath away.

Moving closer, he slid his arm around her waist, forced one bulky leg between hers and yanked her forward, hauling her up against his solid chest, pressed so tightly that dragging in the next breath was a haphazard struggle. Behind her, a few stretched “oohs” hummed through the audience.

He threaded his fingers into her shag hair, tugged and leaned her backward, exposing her throat down to the rise of her breasts. White-hot, he licked a long, slow path from cleavage to chin. There, he bit gently.

Electricity fired a high-voltage current through Rio’s body. At the same time, the silent crowd noisily sucked in the last few atoms of oxygen.

Oh. My. God.

He held her suspended, hovering intimately over her body, his penetrating eyes boring into hers, his lips a mere inch away—close enough to kiss. But Rio was more aware of him near to half-mast. In vibrant contact with her pelvis.

She swallowed. “Let me up.” He’d never allow her to fall, not with the coiled strength in his arms. Still, she was helpless in this position, helplessly enjoying his hot, minty breath scorching her face and the dominant pressure from his very hard, very large…screwdriver.

“Yank on my shirt. It’ll come away easily. Do it now.”

Rio conceded and tossed the black fabric aside, which brought the throng of female watchers statically to life with a blaring roar of approval. Up close and personal, she quickly scanned his upper body—powerful, pure brawn.

As if on cue, the soundman swapped the song for a sensuous tune. Bryce drew her upright, bent her back again in three successive movements, swaying from side to side. Each time, tantalizing hardness pressed a delicious slide-and-skim cadence at the juncture between her thighs.

Yelps, hoots and whistles echoed throughout Killer’s, but Galaxeé’s voice over the microphone rose above the rebel rousers’, repeating the phrase, “Go, baby!” She sang along with the lyrics, sounding amazingly like Alicia Keys on her first top-ten hit—“I Keep On Fallin’.”

Ooh, Bryce was good, and Rio followed his lead. They dipped, spun, grinded, rubbed and gyrated to a beat exclusively meant for their bodies. He kept her firmly against him, a taut mass of male potency, and never allowed air to circulate between them.

Bending her backward again, the bunched muscles of his chest flexed under her hands. She ran her fingers through the dense mat of hair up to the pair of generous shoulders, caressing his sweat-slicked skin, and spread them along his corded neck, where his pulse throbbed, beating an unruly pace. She glided her hands higher, laced her fingers into his sable hair. The silky waves parted, settled into smooth layers.

This was the closest she would ever get to screwing this gorgeous male and she enjoyed every touch, every caress, every second.

Mercy.

Sliding one hand down her body, he grazed the side of her breast, continued down to her midriff, her hip, and palmed her behind in a gentle squeeze, a caress that lasted seconds too short in her estimation. His hand eased under her thigh, drew her leg around his hip.

Rio sucked in air, a hiss threatening to leave her lips.

She knew better than to let him continue. He was in full-blown erection. She would bust a nut in another second or two if she didn’t watch out. The head of that stout tree was there—right there!—at the gateway to her heat, damp already, quivering with need as thick, bulging meat throbbed against her sensitivity.

Staring into his eyes, she made the second serious mistake: circling her hips, wanting to feel every satisfying inch of him inside her if possible. But she failed to corral the sensations striking her infallible senses, one by one.

Her mouth watered, ears rang…her brain shut down.

She came.

Climaxed ferociously and unraveled. The tide rushed through her system speedier than a shattering ride under an avalanche down a steep mountain.

Rio gulped in air, stifling the shriek rising in her throat, and gripped Bryce’s shoulders, sinking her nails deeply into his skin. She held on for dear life to keep from tumbling completely out of control, to keep her sanity intact.

And he kissed her, savaging her mouth in a mind-blowing assault that spread her toes and curled her hair. He kissed her so thoroughly, the music, screams and yelling seemed miles away, fading until nothing mattered.

Nothing mattered, except the torrent of emotions flooding her mind, the shock waves jolting her body and the sweet taste of the man who sensuously teased every corner inside her mouth with his tongue. Nothing mattered, except Bryce Sullivan’s fiery lips, how he held her so tightly in his strong arms, preventing her from coming apart atom by devastated atom, protecting her from a tumultuous landing.

As the fierce tremors tentatively wore off, the kiss ending, Rio lifted her heavy eyelids. She blinked, embarrassed and slightly dizzy, barely controlling her breaths. She stared back into his expressive eyes.

He knew. He knew!

Bryce continued holding her, continued caressing her, his sensuous gaze bearing the power to melt her down to a sheer liquid mess, a puddle at his feet like the creaminess soaking her panties right now. She shuddered under his intense scrutiny.

He never let anyone know but her, and he didn’t break a knowing smile. Instead, while one big hand stroked soothingly up and down her body, his gaze shifted downward, focused on her mouth, then up into her eyes again.

Was he seeing the bewilderment she felt inside her body, even now?

He touched her lips with his, light as a snowflake’s landing and fleeting meltdown. Her response was a gasp.

As the music died away, Bryce drew her slowly upright and steadied her. Thank God because Rio’s legs wilted, nearly crumbled beneath her.

He took her hand into his warm grasp, twirled her in two tight circles, finishing their erotic dance, her back flush to his hard chest, his arms wound tightly around her waist. They faced the roar of the crowd through a standing ovation, a call of the wild loud enough to bring down Killer’s roof.

When Bryce lifted her hand and pressed a tender kiss to her wrist, she shivered from the hot contact. But when his warm lips touched the one hypersensitive place behind her ear, Rio thought she would faint.

Certain her legs would indeed hold her, she attempted to step away from a man whose unnatural power ransacked her very being. Bryce held her firmly in place through the second noisy ovation, the room truly vibrating with shrill excitement and unbridled energy.

Finally. Finally, she moved aside. And the ladies went stone berserk.

Rio knew why, but these women would never spoil the exquisite torture she’d experienced minutes ago. An instant later, Bryce released her and strode away. Apparently, they’d ruined it for him.

Slithering down the stairs, she weaved a path through the mass of tables, chairs and women, heading toward the bar, smiling at customers, accepting their lucky-you grins with a yup-I-was smile of her own.

“Ooh, yowza,” Galaxeé said excitedly. “Y’all were too hot up there. Hottest dirt dance I’ve ever seen tear up the stage. You worked it, girl.”

No, not her, and incinerated fit the rocket-ride better, Rio thought. She’d burnt up on reentry. As for Bryce Sullivan, he simply lit the match, watched her burst into flames and kept the fire under his strict control.

“You’re flushed, sweaty. You never perspire in public.”

Rio grabbed a napkin from the bar top. She patted her face, ran it around her neck and over her shoulders. “It’s hot under the lights. Luanne, get me a glass of water, please. No ice.”

“Didn’t seem that hot to me. AC’s running full blast.”

“You weren’t dancing.” Sensuously under spotlights with a hunk. She took the glass from the bartender and gulped down every drop to moisten her dry-as-a-bone throat. Seeing her hand tremble, she set the glass down a little hard.

“None of our boys ever complained.”

“It’s hot, Cecilia. All right?” She didn’t mean to snap the words, but by the look on Galaxeé’s face, she’d made the wrong comment. Flustered when her best friend laughed loudly, Rio realized she’d called her by the name she hadn’t used in years. “Shut up.”

“You busted a nut, didn’t you? It’s written all over your face.” Leaning closer, Galaxeé sniffed. “Oozing from your pores.”

Had they not been friends for thirty-odd years, she would have gladly slapped her partner stupid.

“I knew this would work. I knew it.”

“What the devil are you talking about? What worked?” She’d saved the night. She’d saved Bryce Sullivan from the crowd booing him off the stage. She’d saved their business! That was all.

Until the very end, until she’d made a complete fool out of herself. How could she face him again knowing what he knew? Rio shook her head. He could’ve screwed her blind, in public, without her slightest resistance.

“Honey, you were set up,” Galaxeé said and snickered.

“What?” Blood pumped through her ears, a deep droning hum.

“I talked with Bryce before the show and told him what to do. Not everything, but enough to get you onstage. I thought I’d have to drag you there myself.”

“You what?” Unsteadily, Rio got to her feet, hands riding her hips, breaths shallow and rapid.

“He did a lot more than I expected. A lot more,” Galaxeé said dramatically. Her smile mutated into the usual cheesy grin.

A setup? What the devil?

“Don’t let Cockroach get near you. He just might jump your tail.”

“Cockroach?” They were talking about Bryce and some stupid setup. Who cared about the Roach? She wanted to know about this other mess.

“Pheromones. The boy can pick up the scent a mile away. I swear he’s got about ten genes of Bloodhound.” She sipped her martini. “Uh-oh. I told you.”

Rio followed her gaze.

A big, burly devil of a man flaunting a bristly beard, eyes the same shade as pecans, and massive hands and feet, Cockroach thought the word “suave” pertained to him. They’d hired him for his size, mainly as Killer Bods’ bouncer. His expertise had come in handy occasionally; he had ejected a couple of jealous boyfriends from the premises.

She knew Cockroach was sweet on her, but no matter what congenial put-down she’d used, he had always managed to return and try, try again. At this particular moment, she had no desire to spend conversational time with the bouncer. She had important issues to discuss with Galaxeé.

“Hey, little momma,” Cockroach greeted. He smiled broadly, showing perfect white teeth. “Looking mighty good tonight. Hot.”

“How many times have I told you, Cockroach?” Rio snapped. “I am not your little momma, your big momma, or any other momma to you. I am your boss.”

“Wuh-oh,” Galaxeé whispered as the bouncer’s smile wavered.

“I tally your hours, sign your checks and I also have the right to dismiss you for insubordination. Is that clear?”

“Yes. Yes, ma’am.”

“Cockroach, there’s a woman who needs a drink over there,” Galaxeé said, using the martini glass to point behind him.

Rio regretted the outburst the second she closed her mouth, knowing she’d hurt his feelings. Cockroach really was a nice guy and he’d protect her with his life.

Guilt raced through her brain for lashing out. She placed her hand on his arm before the bouncer spun away, gave him a light squeeze. “I’m sorry, Barry. I didn’t mean to sound evil and hateful.” She looked over at Galaxeé for help. “We wouldn’t know what to do without you.”

“Rough night, Cockroach,” Galaxeé added. “You’re our most valuable employee.”

He nodded, smiled, but the dull sadness in his eyes crushed Rio’s heart. She hugged him, brushed a kiss over his bristly cheek. “I really do need you as my friend.”

Eyes narrowed, jealousy ran a long, bumpy course through Bryce’s private thoughts.

Were they lovers? Didn’t Rio Saunders have any scruples at all? Seeing her with another man riled every wound-up molecule dividing in his body. And just where had that emotional shit come from when he hardly knew her?

He stood beside the stage, peeking out through the curtain’s sliver of an opening, trying to get a glimpse of the passionate woman who had trembled, surrendered and dissolved in his arms a few minutes ago. The same woman who now hugged another man with dedicated passion. He’d all but screwed her onstage! Now, she was wrapping herself around somebody else like a snug blanket.

What the fuck?

Didn’t he show how well they fit together? Didn’t she recognize the passion they’d shared? Didn’t she feel his goddamn hard-on?

Well, duh. How could she miss it? And look what happened.

He’d swelled to an enormous size while she sizzled in his arms. Hell, he still had an erection. Had the song not ended, he would’ve embarrassed himself and her. He was so close, on the damned edge of blowing his load when she’d viciously clamped the tip of his dick with the strength of pliers, her heat scorching hot.

Drowning in the glorious depths of her eyes, he’d almost forfeited what little self-restraint he had left. Kissing her hadn’t helped. She had the sweetest lips, pliant, irresistible and she’d matched his passion with as much intensity as he’d given her.

Then the music began to fade away, the scent of her sex filling his nostrils while he caressed her back over ecstasy’s threshold. He’d reined in the tempestuous, searing lust charging through his veins, arteries and his throbbing dick.

Drawing her upright, spinning her quickly, he’d tried to hide behind Rio, keep her protectively where she stood. But she eased out of his embrace, stepped aside, exposing his blatant erection—unleashed from his G-string—to a whole goddamn nightclub full of unabashed, uninhibited prowling cats.

And what had the owner of Killer’s done? She’d teased the living shit out of him, then moved on to the next unsuspecting “baby” and enticed him.

Some dick-teasers needed to be taught a lesson or two. And knowing—witnessing—Rio’s seductive response to him, a plan already in motion…

Then turn this freakin’ joint inside out.

“Cake,” Bryce mumbled darkly.