“No. Please, no.”

That was all the cue he needed. Grinning, he settled his mouth around her clit once more and sucked in. With teeth and tongue, he worked her, scraping her with pleasure until her whole body tightened, then pulsed. She keened out a release that stripped her throat raw.

Satisfaction spiked through Luc. God, he loved a job well-done.

But he wasn’t through with her yet.

He urged her down his body, spreading her legs wider with his knees, holding his waiting cock up with his other hand.

“Wait!” She sounded as though she was trying to catch her breath. “Condom? We . . . forgot last time.”

He’d been too busy and overwhelmed to think of it.

Luc hesitated, then finally said, “I’m clean.”

“I am, too, but not on birth—”

Surging up, he covered her mouth with his. No need to let her finish that sentence. Didn’t matter, and he didn’t want to think about it, much less confess his sterility. He probably should wear a condom with her . . . but taking Alyssa bareback was a sublime experience he couldn’t forgo.

For a second, she struggled against the kiss, but he persisted, devouring her in a slow fire that soon had her meeting him, melting against him, her mouth every bit as hungry.

Burning up inside, he pushed her down the last few inches, onto his erection.

The slide in was a bit easier this time than last. Still a struggle. Still every bit as hot and devastating as he’d come to expect. The friction made him cross-eyed, ripped a moan from his throat. He gritted his teeth to hold himself together, especially when she gasped and grabbed his hair. Staving off all the sensation became doubly difficult when she writhed on top of him, ensuring that the head of his cock bumped her cervix. He couldn’t be in deeper.

It was amazing. No, fucking amazing.

“That good, sugar?”

Alyssa whimpered her answer. He smiled. Then lifted her in a slow withdrawal.

As he thrust into his first stroke, pleasure burned his gut, gripped his cock. Totally overwhelming. He’d wanted this to be yearning and unforgettable. Now she’d overloaded him on desire and he just had to hope he didn’t become a battering ram. She must come again. Despite his skyrocketing need, that wasn’t negotiable.

Tightening his hands on her hips, he began to fuck her in deep, hard strokes, his entire body tightening, sizzling, with the feel of her all around him. One thrust after another, coming faster . . . faster. He couldn’t get enough, feel enough. Being with her . . . The sex was so much more than just sex. Intense, incredible. Holding back the pleasure got more difficult with every lunge inside her lush body, especially as she tightened around him, gasping and mewling.

“Yes!” she cried in his ear as she brought her body flush against his. “Luc . . . Oh, God!”

Hearing her scream his name was killing his self-control. He wanted to lavish pleasure on her for hours, days. But the heat was combustive, burning him up with liquid fire. The pressure, the need, gnawed at his composure. Still, he vowed to take Alyssa with him.

Her breast bobbed in front of his mouth, and he took its tender tip in and sucked. She arched her back, pressing her nipple against his tongue.

Against her flesh, he whispered, “Come for me.”

“Yes,” she sobbed and clamped down on his cock.

He couldn’t hold it in anymore. The base of his spine tingled. His balls tightened. Thankfully, Alyssa was with him, gripping him tight with her pussy, then milking him with hard pulses and desperate kisses across his face, her arms tight around his neck. Luc clung to her while he surged inside her as deep as possible and nudged her cervix.

For a greedy, unguarded moment, he imagined Alyssa wearing his ring, beside him in bed every night, in their house, with his child swelling her belly. The thought burst the damn of his self-control and orgasm crashed over him. The vision still dancing in his head, he exploded deep in her body.

After the last shudder, his brain kicked in. What a fucking ridiculous fantasy—for so many reasons.

As soon as Alyssa caught her breath, she slumped against him. Though he shouldn’t, Luc reveled in the feel of their heartbeats chugging against each other, the lax, trusting drape of her body over his. He brushed a hand up and down her damp back, soothing.

“You okay, sugar?”

Her head snapped up, and she rolled off him to sit at the edge of the bed. “Fine.”

She sounded more exhausted and confused, and he couldn’t quite forget that the last words out of her mouth before he’d seduced her were to end whatever was happening between them.

Fat chance, especially now. Luc wasn’t done with her. She wasn’t out of his system. That sneaky vision of his fantasy future proved it. If anything, she was burrowed deeper, telling him that he’d have to work harder to get over her in three days. Already, his mind turned with ideas. He just prayed they worked.

INSIDE Bonheur, the kitchen staff bustled with the end of the dinner service. All evening, Alyssa had walked every square inch of the dining room and patio to ensure everything was perfect, her guests satisfied. She glanced at her watch. Less than ten minutes before the doors closed on her first real—and very successful—night of business.

Less than ten minutes left for Luc to keep poking his head out of the kitchen, tracking her down, and murmuring concerned questions about her well-being. His caring was going to be the death of her heart, and if he kept pushing . . . Alyssa didn’t know what she would do.

She needed a few minutes to herself. Then she could face him again, armor in place. She hoped.

Closing the door to her office, she flipped on the light and exhaled. Luc just overwhelmed her. Everything about him was so . . . intense, demanding. He had a gentle side; she’d seen it. But something was riding him. He was pushing hard, but for what she didn’t understand.

Sighing, she made her way to her new desk. If Bonheur did well, she’d move all her bookkeeping over here, her laptop, her files. She’d elevate one of the dependable dancers like Sadie to manager so she could spend more time here, with her happiness. She’d worked hard for success, to change her life. The thought of never having to take her clothes off in public again was deeply satisfying. And if she succeeded, she could say she’d done it on her own.

For a moment, Alyssa wondered what her mother would have thought of her accomplishments. Then realized that she would have lived in denial about Sexy Sirens and the stripping . . . and everything that had come before it. Good ol’ Trisha had always had that Beverly Hills housewife knack for burying her head in the sand, especially if confronted with anything tawdry before her ten a.m. mimosa.

And it didn’t matter. Her mom was gone, and her future was on track . . . mostly. Luc aside, Bonheur had done a great business this evening. It was a promising start.

Hope twisted inside her as she pulled her chair away from her desk, glanced down—and screamed.

Chapter Nine

WHORE. The word jumped out at her in big red letters on a stark white page stabbed into the seat of her leather office chair. Shit!

More words leapt off the page, swimming into her vision. Trembling, she leaned in, careful not to touch anything, and read:You’re fornicating with your chef. With this blade, I will ensure that you never tempt a man again.

She shook. The sicko behind this meant business. No more pushing that frightening fact aside. This person was also eerily well informed about her relationship with Luc. A scorned woman didn’t usually use these scare tactics. So, if the culprit wasn’t a jealous female . . . who would do this to her? And why?

A moment later, Luc rushed in, took one look at her face, and grabbed her shoulders. “What is it?”

She pointed down to the chair. His stare followed. A moment later, his expletives filled the room, and she shuddered. Violence suffocated the air in the small, windowless space. Someone had sneaked into her office this evening to threaten her. For the third time in as many days. Luc looked ready to kill.

“We’ve got to get to the bottom of this. Whoever is responsible is getting more sadistic and brazen.”

Agreed. “I’ll call Remy.”

Luc scowled. “Is he doing anything to stop this creep? Making any headway in the investigation?”

“They don’t even have the results from their investigation of my car yet, so . . .”

With another expletive, he looked back at the empty doorway. “What about Tyler?”

“He doesn’t have any theories, either.”

“No. I mean, have you thought that, maybe, he might be behind this?”

What? She’d hired Tyler to bounce people out of the club and protect her while she was there. He’d always gone above and beyond the call of duty, hovering overprotectively, putting off a possessive boyfriend vibe. It had worked, too. Since Tyler had come on board a few months ago, the incidences of walking into her office or bedroom at the club and being surprised by a naked man or a would-be rapist had decreased to almost nil.

“Tyler wouldn’t do this.”

“Who else would be this jealous of our relationship?”

In Luc’s mind, were they having a relationship or just fucking?

Let’s see . . . He’s a famous chef, and, tender care last night aside, you’re basically a whore to him. What do you think?

“Any number of people could have done this,” she pointed out. “Like Primpton. You’ve seen what a head case he is. Or Peter. I heard he asked about me at the club last night and was pissed when he learned I hadn’t come. Apparently he demanded that someone get me down there ASAP.”

“Did you see either of them here tonight?”

She shook her head. “But I didn’t see everyone who came. Or it could be someone I’ve never dealt with, who’s just blended in to the club and made up some sick fantasy in his head that I belong to him. It hasn’t happened to me, but I’ve talked to others in the business who say it happens.”

“I think we should rule out the more obvious suspects first.” Luc swallowed, a fierce, determined expression tightening his face. “I swear if I get my hands on the asshole doing this to you, the police will be lucky if there’s enough left of him to identify by dental re cords.”

Alyssa stared. Luc was that outraged on her behalf? Granted, he wouldn’t like to see any woman threatened, but . . .

“This is crappy, but he hasn’t actually done anything but threaten so far. Hopefully, he never does.”

Luc’s mouth pursed, and he sent her a grim stare. “I wouldn’t bet on that. He’s coming for you. Soon. Call Remy. He needs to make this a priority.”

Tyler skidded to a halt in the doorway. “Sorry. I was in the can.” His gaze bounced back and forth between the two of them. “What the fuck is going on?”

Was it even possible Tyler had it in for her because she’d refused to sleep with him? Was he weirdly obsessed?

Alyssa dismissed the thought almost instantly. He’d done nothing but help her, see to her safety. He’d had a million opportunities to be alone with her and he’d done nothing to hurt or endanger her.

But who else knows for certain that you’re having sex with Luc?

“See for yourself,” she finally said to her bouncer, then stepped away from the chair. She’d watch his expression, see if he looked surprised . . . or menacing.

He rounded the desk, looking slightly uncomfortable and out of place in a white dress shirt partially unbuttoned and a loose burgundy tie. He’d ditched his suit coat long ago in deference to the heat.

Tyler peered into the chair, stiffening when he saw the note. He scooted closer to read it, then swore profusely. “I’m going to kill this son of a bitch if I get my hands on him.”

“You and Luc both. Great. You’ll both go to prison for vigilante murder and leave me alone to face the next scum bucket.”

Her chef and her bouncer looked at each other, clearly hard-pressed to believe they’d agreed on anything.

“Get Remy on the phone,” Tyler demanded. “I want to talk to that lazy Cajun.”

“Does he always fail to do his job?” Luc asked.

Alyssa answered before Tyler could. “He’s not used to this much trouble from me. He’s big into stopping drugs, gangs, and vandals. People he can pound. He’s not so great with investigating.”

“I’m going to fix it,” Luc declared, reaching for the cell phone in his pocket as he headed for the office door.

“Who are you calling?” she asked after him.

He didn’t answer.

Muttering under her breath about difficult men, she followed.

“Where are you going?” Tyler demanded of her.

Apparently interested in the answer, Luc turned and stared, blocking the doorway.

The testosterone overload in the little room could seriously go to her head. She could bottle it and women everywhere would pay oodles to feel this ridiculously feminine.

Shaking off the thought, she peered around Luc, down the shadowed hallway, frustrated at the lack of view. “I need to say good-bye to the last of my guests, see them to the door, thank them for coming.”