Opening her eyes, she cocked her head, watching him. “You give wonderful compliments, Nash.”

Pausing, he smiled. “Thank you. I meant it. I love unique things—you’re one of a kind.”

His words felt cuttingly familiar. “Like a ’54 ’Vette? Where do I fit in your collection?”

She’d been there before, and there was no way she’d go back again.

Putting down his pizza, he took her wrist, pulling her against his body. “Is that what you think? That’s pretty unfair, Dahlia. I meant it as a compliment. You’re not something I collect, nor have I given you reason to think so.”

Looking into his eyes, she believed the hurt in his voice and realized he was right. He had been good to her. Nothing like Warner. “You’re right. I’m sorry. It’s just an old wound, I suppose.”

Nodding, he kissed the tip of her nose and let her go. “Apology accepted. But someday I’d like to hear that story. The one my comments brought back for you.”

Waving it away, she shook her head. “Some things are best left in the past. But for tonight, I have some movies I rented. Do you have the time?”

“Absolutely, and I’d love to spend it with you.”

Grinning, she walked into the living room and put her plate down. Moving to the TV she saw the money still on the table near the door. Picking it up, she turned to him. “You forgot this.”

He rolled his eyes. “No, I didn’t. You made dinner last time. I got the pizza. It’s only fair.”

Narrowing her eyes at him a moment, she shrugged, putting the twenty into a little container on the shelf near the door. “Thank you.”

Settling on the couch, they watched the first hour of a sci-fi movie before the kissing got too hot and heavy and they’d fallen to the carpet in a mess of writhing, tangled limbs.

CHAPTER FIVE

Nash was sure he’d never had a better time than the night he spent with Dahlia at her tiny apartment drinking beer, eating pizza and having the best sex of his life.

Damn, the woman was a firecracker. Sexy as all get-out, smart, passionate, talented in the kitchen and onstage. But wounded. There was a hesitation in her when it came to his intentions. It stung, he had to admit to himself. He wanted her to trust him. At the same time, that vulnerability did something to him, made her all the more appealing, and he wanted to prove himself to her. Let her know she could trust his motives.

Tenderness came over him when he remembered the shy hesitation in her voice as she’d asked him to sleep over. They’d made love the third time and lay in an exhausted heap on her living room floor, and she’d whispered it so sweetly.

Did he want to wake up next to her sleep-warm body and slowly slide his cock into her pussy? Was that a rhetorical question?

And he had woken up with her ass snuggled up into the cradle of his hips, her head pillowed on his shoulder. Slowly, he traced circles around her nipple while the other hand slid between her thighs.

She awoke on a gasp as climax unleashed within her and he’d kicked off the best Saturday morning he’d ever had.

That’d been two weeks before and they’d now officially been dating a month. He’d seen her every chance he got, working around both their busy schedules to spend as much time as possible together.

Naturally, the first thing he did when he returned to town from a trip was head to see her. Which was why he sat there at The Dollhouse, watching Dahlia’s last set of the evening.

She currently had hold of the strands of pearls lining the wall behind the stage, her ass thrust out, swaying from side to side. Fishnet stockings adorned her legs, giving a flash of skin between upper thigh and the sweet cheeks of her ass peeking from the ruffled boy-short bottoms she wore.

Leaning out, she twisted her body and turned, inserting herself between the wall and the pearls, covering her breasts.

A smile curved his lips at the coy, kittenish look she wore while she slowly slid to the stage into the splits. Quickly, she snatched up the tie she’d worn with the dress shirt and tuxedo pants already discarded and slid it over her breasts, arching into the silk material.

Goddamn, the woman was hot. Looking around, Nash saw the same mesmerized look on every male and many a female face he could see.

Turning back to her, he caught the look. The look that made his cock hard as granite. Lowered lashes and the bottom lip caught between her teeth. Only he’d seen it directed at him with genuine heat behind it. If she ever really figured out how much erotic power she had, she’d take over the world in a week.

Step, click, step, click, she headed up the stairs to the dressing rooms in very tall heels for a woman who’d just danced her ass off with athleticism and grace.

A look back over her shoulder as she put the tie on over her head, her bare back to the audience. A blown kiss and she was gone.

With a satisfied sigh he leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. Hell, he needed to smoke a cigarette, she was so good.

“How is she in bed?”

Cold water thrown over his very hot Dahlia fantasy, Nash opened his eyes to see Lara Warner, a woman he’d had a brief relationship with at the beginning of the year, standing over him. The elegance of her impeccable designer ensemble stood in direct contrast to the sneer she wore on her face.

“That’s none of your business, Lara. It’s also vulgar of you to ask.”

“Vulgar? Like fucking a stripper? For God’s sake, Nash, have some class. We all bring clients here for some entertainment, but these women aren’t for relationships. It’s all over town that you’re having a fling with this stripper. Don’t think she’s something special, Nash. And don’t forget what your place is. Or hers. She’s nothing special. Don’t let some cheap slut cloud your mind.”

He sighed. “I don’t owe you an explanation. My place, or, for that matter, anyone else’s, is none of your business.” Standing, he moved past her. “Have a nice night, Lara.”

He didn’t want Dahlia to hear any of Lara’s jealous bullshit. He knew it would hurt her. She was sensitive enough about that kind of thing. Not for the first time, Nash wondered what the story was. He knew Lara’s—ex-husband, a former business associate of Nash’s, was a philandering asshole. Clearly, Lara’s view of relationships had been skewed by that.

Frustrated, he walked back into the hallway where William’s office was.

The entrance to the dressing rooms was also at the end of the hall. He knew which one he preferred, but there were other women back there in various stages of undress, so he waited for her, sipping his drink, trying to let go of that nasty scene with Lara.

Ten minutes later she walked out, smiling as she caught sight of him. He’d been in L.A. for a few days and knowing she was happy to see him affected him.

Without a word, he opened the door to the back hallway of the club leading to the extra liquor and the other supplies. Catching the look in his eye, she opened her mouth to object but he shook his head and grabbed her around the waist, pulling her inside. Darkness fell upon them, cool and quiet as he shut the door.

His lips met hers as he swung her body to the wall behind them, his arm around her waist taking the impact. A soft sound of arousal left her lips and he swallowed it greedily.

His tongue hunted hers, possessing her mouth as his hands found the hem of her skirt, reversing and pulling it up, baring her thighs and the tiny G-string panties she wore. Pulling the material to the side, his fingers found her already slick.