Nerves made Natasha antsy as Dimitri drove them to Babe Planet. It was one thing to joke and flirt at home about going to the strip club where she used to work, but actually doing it was something else entirely.

She fiddled with the seatbelt buckle, watching cars streak past them on the freeway. What the hell was she thinking, bringing Dimitri to this place? It wasn’t the worst, as far as strip clubs went, but it wasn’t the best, either. The thing that set it apart, according to some of the other women she’d worked with, was Jeff, the manager. Sweet and compassionate weren’t usual qualities one found in these kinds of places, but because Jeff was in charge, he determined the tone. So even though it wasn’t a job most of the women had set out to do, when they found themselves at Babe Planet, it wasn’t so bad.

From the beginning, Natasha had been up front about her plans with them. They’d known she was there temporarily, to save money until her friend got to LA. Then she would quit. Still, they’d invested time and attention in her, teaching her and giving her room to adjust. They’d been more like family to her than her own relatives back in New York and Puerto Rico, but that might have had something to do with her mother alienating everyone else in the family with her bitterness.

“You okay?” Dimitri glanced over at her as he drove.

“Yeah. Sure. I’m fine.”

“You’ve chewed off all your lipstick.”

“Coño, really?” She flipped down the visor mirror, and sure enough, the red she’d painted on before they left the house was nearly gone. She rummaged in her bag for the tube, then reapplied.

By the time they parked, Natasha was ready to jump out of her skin. This was a terrible idea. She shouldn’t be here at all, let alone with Dimitri. They should leave. Skip the show and go straight to the restaurant. Or go home. Or anywhere other than here.

What would he think of her? Yeah, he’d been all sweet and accepting in the hot tub, lulled by sex and bubbles, but he might not be so nonchalant when faced with the reality. And, god forbid, what if they were recognized? She’d gotten caught up in his passionate words, in the idea that Donna and The Dance Off weren’t a threat to her very survival in this city. They should turn around right now and go home.

But then Dimitri was at her door, helping her out. “Let’s go.”

Taking hold of his hand, she swallowed back her doubts and excited the car.

They’d debated whether it looked worse to walk with a cane or crutches. Natasha felt like crutches indicated a temporary injury, but Dimitri argued that a cane would be better for navigating tight, dark spaces, like the strip club.

In the end, after a lot of testing, she’d worn the boot he’d picked up for her after her first hospital visit. He wasn’t happy about her walking on her ankle yet, but she wasn’t going to sit around forever. And as she pointed out, she wasn’t alone. He was there to help her.

She didn’t miss the way his chest puffed out at that.

Entering the Planet was like the weirdest kind of flashback. The bouncer didn’t recognize her, and he didn’t bat an eye at her boot as he checked their IDs. Inside, it smelled the same, a combo of vodka and perfume. The décor was mostly the same, too—lots of plush red material and shiny black surfaces, and mirrored walls so you didn’t miss anything if you turned away from the action on stage. Tiny lights twinkled on the ceiling like stars, the only nod to the “planet” in the name. Natasha had always thought they should have tried harder to adhere to a sci-fi theme, but she didn’t own the place.

As usual, the clientele was mostly men, but there were always a few women. It seemed like there were more women tonight, maybe because of the burlesque show. A group in the corner looked like a bachelorette party.

Natasha didn’t recognize the bartender or either of the waitresses making the rounds. But then, it had been over five years since she’d worked here, and her tenure had only been for a few months. It was kind of a letdown, though. She’d expected to see a familiar face, or for someone to remember her. She’d amped herself up for it, and now the nerves and adrenaline had nowhere to go.

Dimitri led her to a trio of armchairs. Once she was settled, he stood with his hands on his hips. “Crap.”

“What is it?”

“I want to get us drinks, but I don’t want to leave you here alone. You should come with me.”

She shook her head at him. “Don’t worry, Macho. I used to work here, remember? I’m fine. Besides, no one is going to mistake me for the talent.” She plucked at the modest neckline of her simple black mini dress, the nicest of the few wash and wear dresses she’d brought with her since most of her going-out wardrobe had been ruined or was back at her apartment wrapped in airtight plastic. She wasn’t even wearing heels. She couldn’t, with the boot. “Go get us drinks. I need one.”

Maybe then she’d forget about being here.

With a nod, Dimitri headed for the bar, and she let out a breath. If he got the sense that she was bothered by being here, he’d probably insist they leave. And while part of her wanted to leave, the part of her that loved dance was also curious about what Renee had in store. While she waited, she turned her attention to where two women twined around poles at either end of the narrow stage. One of them was quite good, her body strong and flexible, but the other relied more on bouncing her fake tits around.

Natasha glanced down at her own breasts, and the fairly modest amount of cleavage showing above the neckline of her dress. The irony was, she’d gotten the boob job after working here, using money earned on this very stage. Babe Planet clientele appreciated a good show, which was why the better pole dancer would take home more tips tonight than the bouncing boobs. Patronizing the clients with talentless jiggling wouldn’t make you more than a few pity tips, no matter how pretty your face or how good your boob job.

Dimitri dropped into the chair beside her. She reached for her drink, then snatched her hand back. Alarm streaked through her. The man in the other armchair wasn’t Dimitri.

The man smiled wide. “Maya.”

The name gave her a jolt. No one had called her that in years. All the adrenaline she’d entered the Planet with came rushing back. Of all the people to recognize her, why did it have to be this guy?

The rank smell of liquor and sweat emanated from him. Natasha fought the urge to wrinkle her nose. Already, old habits fell back into place, just from being here. Keep boundaries, put the men in their place, but don’t make them feel ashamed. The final rule was twofold. Men who felt shamed didn’t spend money and didn’t come back. But a drunk man, when embarrassed, was dangerous. In those cases, they called in the bouncer to handle it.

“Hi, Rob,” she said, keeping her tone even.

If he wasn’t gone by the time Dimitri came back, this could end badly. She kept her voice low, but firm. “Are you here alone? Where are you sitting?”

“Maya, you haven’t been here in such a long time.” He leaned toward her and slid a hand down her arm. “You were my favorite.”

Ick. Gently, she plucked his damp hand from her and returned it to his armrest. “No touching, Rob. Remember? And I don’t work here anymore.”

Slight emphasis on “work.” Maybe reminding him that she was a real person with a job, and not his personal fantasy, would help establish boundaries.

Nope.

His eyes lit. “That means we can touch each other.” He pitched forward toward her again.

Reflexes kicked in. She planted her feet on the floor to spring up and away, but her ankle twinged, throwing off her balance. She fell back onto her seat. Throwing up an arm across his chest, she held his weight off her as he tried to clutch her arms with cold, clammy hands. So gross.

“Rob, go back to your own seat.” She made her voice low and severe, hoping it would cut through the music and his own drunkenness. “Go now.”

“Yeah, Rob.”

Natasha’s pulse picked up at the sound of Dimitri’s deep, commanding voice. He was there, one of his big hands clamping onto the back of Rob’s neck. Rob flinched, and once he’d released Natasha, Dimitri tossed him back into the empty seat. Then Dimitri sat across from him and leaned forward, resting his arms on his thighs. His hands hung between his knees, not clenched into fists—no, Dimitri wouldn’t need to be that stereotypically threatening—but terrifying even in rest. He was a dancer, yes, but powerfully built, and intimidating even on the best of days. Rob was practically trembling.

Natasha bit her lip. The show hadn’t even started and this night was already a disaster. They should have stayed the fuck home.

A wicked scowl darkened Dimitri’s face. When he spoke, it was through gritted teeth. “You want to tell me why you had your hands on my woman?”

Rob’s pale eyes darted between the two of them, and he wet his lips. “I . . . I hadn’t seen Maya in a long time, so I . . .”

“So, you thought you had the right to touch her?”

Natasha kept her attention on Dimitri. His voice was deceptively calm. She held her breath, but her skin still crawled from the feel of Rob’s touch. As much as she didn’t want to cause a scene—god, what if someone decided to film this and it got to the tabloids?—Dimitri’s presence calmed her.

“We’re not allowed to touch the girls.” Rob gestured at the stage. “But Maya said she doesn’t work here anymore, so I thought—”

“Again, you thought you had the right to touch her.”

Rob seemed to find a semblance of backbone. He sat up a little straighter. “Maya and I have something.”

When Dimitri’s gaze cut over to her, Natasha shook her head. Dimitri tilted his head toward Rob.

Natasha’s heart raced. He was giving her the floor, letting her take the lead in this altercation, if she wanted it. She didn’t doubt he’d haul Rob out of here if she said that was what she wanted, but he was giving her the choice.

She scooted closer to the edge of her seat and looked Rob square in the face. Dimitri’s hand dropped possessively onto her knee, giving her strength. He’d let her fight her own battles, but he was there to protect her and back her up if she needed.

Rob only had eyes for her. “Right, Maya? We have an understanding.” A note of pleading infused his voice. He wanted her to reinforce his fantasy. It was time to pop the bubble.

“No, Rob. We don’t.”

His brow creased. “You used to dance for me.”

“I used to dance. There’s a difference.”

“For me.”

She shook her head. “I danced five nights a week for whoever was here. It was a job. And then I quit.”

He blinked, and his mouth twisted into a confused frown. “I haven’t been able to forget you. I thought there was something in the way you looked at me. In the way you danced for me. You’re saying it was the same for everyone.”

She nodded. “It was a job,” she repeated.

“I wasn’t special.”

“No.”

When he sighed, all the life went out of him. His shoulders slumped, and he looked half his size. “You’re just a stripper.”

He didn’t say it accusingly. More like he was coming to terms with it.

“I was,” she said. Maybe she had to come to terms with it, too. It was just a job, not a secret shame to carry forever. “Not anymore.”

He wiped both hands over his face. “Sorry I bothered you,” he mumbled. Then he got to his feet and ambled away.

As soon as he was gone, Dimitri leaned back into his chair and covered his face with both hands.

“It took everything I had not to rip his head off,” he said, voice muffled.

“I’m glad you didn’t. I don’t have the money to bail you out of jail.”

He gave a surprised laugh and leaned over the armrest to cup her jaw. Caressing her cheek, he captured her gaze. His eyes were like black holes in the dim lighting of the club, and she was caught in his pull. What was it about this man that made him impossible to resist?

He drew her in the rest of the way and laid his lips on hers. Instead of fire, he met her with sweetness. His lips nibbled and his tongue soothed. His fingers slipped into her hair, massaging.

The contrast between this kiss and how he usually kissed her disarmed the last of her defenses. She sank into it, letting his mouth calm her racing heart. The adrenaline from her encounter with Rob faded. Everything faded—the music, the nerves, the worry over what Dimitri would think of seeing her here.

He was here now, with her, and he’d just been the best kind of hero. The kind who let her stand up for herself.

Stupid hope starting fluttering again. This time, she didn’t tamp it down. Let it flutter, if it wanted. Maybe there was something to be hopeful for.

When he pulled back, he pressed his forehead to hers. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“For what just happened. For men being assholes. I shouldn’t have made you come here tonight.”

If they’d stayed home, she might have never realized she still had unfinished business here. “Thank you for letting me handle it.”

He exhaled and eased back. “I didn’t want to. I wanted to drag his ass outside and pound him into the ground. But then he was so pathetic, I just felt sorry for him.”

“I kinda did, too. But not enough to let him touch me.” She cringed. “His hands were so sweaty.”

Dimitri scowled again. “Maybe I will pound him into the ground after all.”

“Don’t.” She grabbed his elbow. “It’s over. We can’t draw attention to ourselves. And the show’s going to start soon. Hey, what happened to our drinks?”

“They’re still on the bar. I looked over and saw him sitting with you, so I came back.”

“Thank you.” She twisted in her seat and got the attention of one of the waitresses. Once they had their drinks, she turned back to the stage.

“That used to be me.” She gestured with her glass toward the pole dancer working her ass off. “But my boobs were smaller then.”

“She’s good.” He sent Natasha a sidelong glance. “If I got a pole installed at home . . .”

“Maybe.” Heat flooded through her at the suggestion. She’d love to dance for him. The performative aspect of pole dancing, even stripping, made her feel powerful and in control. But the impulse to hold back with him was still too ingrained. “For you, maybe.”

He groaned and shifted in his seat.

She bit back a giggle. “Pants suddenly a little tight?”

“Yes, damn it.”

The lights went down, the music lowered, and the pole dancers slunk offstage. The show was starting. Despite everything that had happened so far, she was excited.

Dimitri leaned in to whisper in her ear. “Sit in my lap.”

She wanted to do it, wanted to feel his strong thighs underneath her, his cock pressing up against her ass. But anyone could be watching, and they’d already come close to making a scene.

“Tasha . . .” He breathed her name in her ear, sending delicious chills down her back. She shook her head.

The show began. The first two acts were fun and flirty, using the classic feathers and fans. Then Renee came out, and she blew them all away, doing a burlesque and pole routine that mimicked rhythmic gymnastics, but with whips, leather, and chains.

Natasha kept her eyes on the stage, but watched Dimitri in the periphery. His gaze drifted from the stage, to her, and back again. Knowing he was there with her, watching the performance, maybe thinking about her doing these things, made her senses sizzle with awareness and her body throb with need. She sucked on her lower lip, wishing it was his mouth, his teeth, scraping against the sensitive flesh.

Renee’s act finished. Natasha cheered louder than anyone, and Dimitri threw some fifties onto the stage. Renee winked at them as she tucked them into the string of her thong, then sauntered offstage, her fabulous ass and hips swaying.

The next act involved two women, who interspersed the burlesque stripping with making out, and Natasha couldn’t take it anymore. She needed to touch him, needed to be touched.

“Fine, I’ll sit on your lap,” she said, like she was doing Dimitri some great favor, like she wasn’t about to jump out of her own skin with longing for him. “But promise we can still go for dinner afterward. I don’t want you getting too worked up and depriving me of food.”

His grin flashed in the dark, wicked and full of anticipation. “Promise. Now get that sweet ass over here.”