She shrugged and turned on her heel. “Just behave yourself.”

* * *

“What the hell was that all about?” Roseanne demanded, looking over her shoulder at the table where William and Nash sat.

Dahlia had been heading to her friends’ table, knowing Roseanne was in the back changing and would be out to join them soon. Then she’d run into a very hard, hot and fragrant wall of man.

And oh, my, what a man! She’d looked up into a pair of sexy, half-lidded green eyes and melted a little bit. His face was handsome with an edge of pretty. High cheekbones and a strong chin covered in one of those beards that would look disheveled on most men but it just made her think about spending the weekend in bed. All his features had a bit of sloppy about them—mussed-up, tumbled-out-of-bed sexy—but it worked. He looked elegant, but the hint of rakish good looks only made him more attractive. The kind of man that set off her bad-boy alarm and made her simultaneously want to wrap herself around him and run for the hills.

His cologne was just right. Not the kind that strangled you and held you down as you gasped for air, but the sexy hint of masculine with a bit of spice. Nicely dressed. The feel of the fabric under the palm she’d laid on his chest when she’d bumped into him said money. Even with her stilettos on he stood a good three inches taller than she was. All in all, a very winning package.

She’d been close to just leaning in and taking a whiff of him when he’d thrown cold water all over her naughty, naked fantasies. Teach her to get all gooey over a man before he opened up his damn mouth and proved himself to be the ass he truly was. It wasn’t a novel experience, getting hit on by the moneyed jerks who hung out at the club. But Nash Emery had hit buttons she usually ruthlessly ignored when others made their play.

Dahlia avoided the question until she could take a swig or two of her drink. That little interlude had left her off balance. Ass or not, there’d been no small amount of sparks between them. It’d been a while since a man had lit her fuse that way.

“Is that who I think it is? The lady-killer brother?” Roseanne went in for another pass, and Dahlia knew she’d never stop until she had an answer.

“Yes, that’s Nash Emery.”

“Ah! He’s usually here on Friday nights. But I haven’t seen him up close until now. I saw your head whip around and your hands were on your hips so you must have been giving him what-for. What did he do wrong?”

Dahlia had Friday nights off because it was her heaviest class day, so she’d been spared the arrogant hotness of the younger Emery brother.

“He’s certainly not hard to look at, even if he is an arrogant asshole.” Taking another drink for good measure, Dahlia related the story and they all looked surreptitiously toward Nash’s table.

“Well, a man like that makes a girl want to be slutty,” Roseanne said matter-of-factly.

And while Dahlia could agree that Nash Emery and his honey-blond hair, two-day beard and piercing green eyes made her nipples hard and her pussy ache, she also knew that no man was worth being slutty over. She wasn’t allergic to a good time in bed, but it wasn’t going to be with a man who took one look at her and thought big boobs equaled Good-Time Sally.

When she was up on the stage with the lights so bright she couldn’t see the audience, it was okay to be sexy and sensual. Dahlia Baker from Liberty, Washington, was a distant memory when she embraced the thing that had made her an outcast simply because she had a wicked body and a beautiful face.

She hadn’t gotten the hell out of Liberty to come to Las Vegas and lose her head over a man. Especially a man like Nash Emery. He might be the most attractive man she’d ever laid eyes on, but her legs weren’t going to fall open at the flash of perfect teeth and a Rolex, either.

Oops, open legs and that mouth…Heat flashed through her at the thought of looking down her body as his head bent over her pussy, licking and nibbling. She’d sift her fingers through his hair as she held him in place. Dahlia fanned herself with her napkin and pressed the icy glass to her forehead, trying to cool off.

Nash had sent over a round of drinks, which she wanted to refuse, but her friends grabbed the glasses off the tray and told her to shut up about it.

Throughout the rest of the evening, she snuck looks in his direction and found him looking back with unabashed interest. There was something exciting and discomfiting about it all at once. A man like Nash had powerful charisma and presence; as guarded as she was, it still appealed to her.

Of course, when she left after one o’clock, she didn’t fail to notice Nash wasn’t hurting over her rejection. Three women stuck to him, and each one of them looked as if she’d feel at home on a high-fashion runway. He’d get his champagne bath with someone tonight.

Even so, he sent her a courtly bow and raised his drink at her as she passed.

CHAPTER TWO

She thought she’d be able to put Nash out of her mind but he showed up a week later.

“Hey, Dahlia. Nice job tonight. You’re really good at those high kicks.” He sat down at the table with her and her friends, and all conversation stopped as the women stared at him.

“Uh, thanks.”

He looked around the table. “Hello, ladies. I’m Nash.”

Grudgingly, Dahlia introduced him to her friends and wasn’t surprised when he bantered and flirted with them. However, he kept the bulk of his attention on her.

Being the center of his interest was flattering and totally overwhelming. Yes, she’d seen his type a few hundred times, but there was something more about Nash Emery. He was charming, witty and really smart, yet there was something indefinable about him, too. More alluring than she wanted to admit to herself. He was dangerous to her peace of mind.

Still, the parade of beautiful women constantly inserting themselves into his face served as a powerful reminder of his reputation. It helped her turn him down when he asked her out again. Even so, when he gave her a sexy pout, it took a lot of willpower not to lean in and grab that bottom lip between her teeth.

The next week, he didn’t come to the club, but he sent flowers—dahlias in vibrant colors.

“Why can’t the man send roses like every other schmuck?” she mumbled, annoyed at herself for being touched he’d sent something unusual and special but not extravagant. If he’d thrown money at her on some typical thing like roses, he’d be easier to blow off.

* * *

Two weeks later, he’d caught up with her as she exited the side door after her set.

“Dahlia!”

She spun and smiled as she saw him approach. “Hi there. I wasn’t expecting to see you tonight.”

They walked to her car. “I can’t seem to stay away when I know you’ll be here.”

She wished it sounded like a line, but the more she was with him, the less clichéd he sounded.

After tossing her things in the backseat she turned and they began to chitchat. Until politics came into the discussion. Dahlia’s politics were decidedly more liberal than Nash’s and once they got started, the heat built as they debated hammer and tongs for an hour.

“Damn it, you’re sexy when you argue,” he said, a grin breaking over his features.

She groaned. “You’d be a lot easier to resist if you were a Neanderthal or an asshole. Not that your political and economic ideas aren’t totally wrong, mind you.”

He leaned in so close she smelled his skin and saw the pulse beat at the base of his throat. “Why resist?”