Wicked Lovers, Book 3
Publisher: Berkley HEAT
Genre: Erotic Romance
Release Date: March 2, 2010
Excerpt
Alyssa was a stripper, for fuck’s sake. Not the sort of woman who went without sex for two years. He’d been an idiot to believe that when she’d whispered the trembling lie as he’d tumbled her into bed three months ago. She was in the business of leading men around by their dicks. And she was good at it. He couldn’t be angry with her for being herself; she’d never pretended to be anything different. But he could—and should—be furious with himself for caring.
Despite the lot being completely empty, he’d parked three spots from her. As he pressed his key fob to unlock the driver’s door, he watched her do the same with her black sports car. Luc fisted his hands. She’d go home now, lose that little black skirt, white tank, red bra, and fuck-me shoes. Even though she played no part in the future he craved, he itched to follow her home . . . help her out of every garment, sink down into that perfect, tight body.
He swallowed. Keep your dick in your pants. Cook, shut up, and get the hell out of Lafayette. Seven days. Think you can find some self-control?
A feminine shriek zipped across the lot, shattering his thoughts. Alyssa.
Luc’s heart stuttered, and he nearly leapt over his car as he rushed across the asphalt. She backed away—right into his chest. He steadied her, palms cupping her bare shoulders.
“What is it?” he demanded.
Alyssa drew in a shuddering breath. “Bastards!”
Despite the lot being completely empty, he’d parked three spots from her. As he pressed his key fob to unlock the driver’s door, he watched her do the same with her black sports car. Luc fisted his hands. She’d go home now, lose that little black skirt, white tank, red bra, and fuck-me shoes. Even though she played no part in the future he craved, he itched to follow her home . . . help her out of every garment, sink down into that perfect, tight body.
He swallowed. Keep your dick in your pants. Cook, shut up, and get the hell out of Lafayette. Seven days. Think you can find some self-control?
A feminine shriek zipped across the lot, shattering his thoughts. Alyssa.
Luc’s heart stuttered, and he nearly leapt over his car as he rushed across the asphalt. She backed away—right into his chest. He steadied her, palms cupping her bare shoulders.
“What is it?” he demanded.
Alyssa drew in a shuddering breath. “Bastards!”
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Before he could ask her who or what she meant, she reached into the interior and yanked on something. A moment later, she produced a long, serrated knife with a piece of paper attached. Under the streetlamps, it gleamed the word WHORE in bright red lipstick.
Shock crested, then quickly morphed into molten fury. It was ironic; he’d been thinking something similar only moments ago. But he would never have said it aloud, much less stabbed it to the front seat of her convertible.
“Who would do this to you?” His voice vibrated with rage.
She tossed the knife into her front seat and cast him a wary stare over her shoulder. “Who knows?”
Luc turned her to face him and clenched his jaw. “Who. Did. This. To. You?”
His tone took her aback. “Look, it’s not new. Shit happens all the time.”
All the time? That only infuriated him more. Luc drew her closer as a thunderous frown stole across his face. She wasn’t afraid, and he was scared as hell for her. “What have the police said in the past?”
“Police?” She shook her head. “This is just . . . a prank or a pissed-off customer who thought I didn’t pay enough attention to him, most likely.”
And whoever did this could also be dead serious. That blade was no laughing matter. “What if someone really sick wants to hurt you? How long has it been going on?”
“Like I said, it happens. It’s been a while but—”
“Get in my car.” He was done allowing her to stand like a convenient target in a shadowy parking lot. He didn’t provide personal security detail like his cousin Deke, but he’d spent enough time with the man and his business partner, Jack Cole, to know that remaining out in the open could be deadly.
“What?” She looked incredulous. “I’m not leaving my car here.”
“I’m driving you home. You’re calling the police and reporting the crime so they can investigate.”
Alyssa hesitated, then softened. “Luc. Your concern is really sweet, but—”
“Get in the fucking car.”
She blanched, and he cursed under his breath. He needed to get control of his temper. But the soaring sexual frustration, coupled with his alarm, had him on edge. Who thought they had the right to malign and scare her? Fists curled, Luc craved a chance to pound the asshole.
Alyssa sighed, and Luc readied his next argument, but she strolled toward his SUV. “Fine.”
He opened the door for her and watched her slide inside, the strands of her platinum hair settling over her shoulders. She looked somewhere between placid and reserved, despite the fact she’d just been threatened. Was she out of her mind?
Shaking his head, he dashed around to the driver’s seat. When he slid inside, she was already on the phone.
“Sorry it’s late, Remy. I thought maybe I should call y’all. Someone messed with my car . . .”
Quickly and unemotionally, she relayed their location and the event. Luc heard murmurs of the Sheriff’s conversation, his tone more good-ol’-boy than concerned, and he frowned. Didn’t anyone take this seriously?
He grabbed the phone from her and spit out an introduction. “Dust for prints. She touched the weapon, but you may find other sets on the handle. Whoever did this broke into her car.”
“Doubt it was much more than a prank. Boys down here get a little rowdy from time to time—”
“And stab the word ‘whore’ into her seat? That’s funny how?”
Remy cleared his throat. “It’s not. But I don’t think no one meant no harm.”
Luc gritted his teeth together. “Do you usually solve all your cases before you visit the crime scene?”
Finally, Remy got serious. “I’ll investigate.”
“Thoroughly.”
Alyssa grabbed the phone. “Thanks, honey. I appreciate it.”
When the ended the call, Luc could barely unclench his jaw as he sped away from the parking lot. “Honey? The man didn’t even want to investigate, and you call him ‘honey’?”
She shrugged. “It’s a Louisiana thing. You’ll catch more flies with honey than vinegar.”
“Yeah?” he challenged. “Or is it a ‘he’s-my-customer’ thing. Did he watch you strip tonight?”
She swallowed. “I asked all the local enforcement to come, including the sheriff. Keeps down the possibility of rowdies getting out of control and trashing the club.”
Luc gripped the wheel tighter as he peeled out of the parking lot. “So that’s a yes.”
Fighting the urge to hit something in an unusual show of temper, he took a deep breath. The night he’d spent with her, it had been easy to pretend she had no other lover. They’d been alone, her house quiet. No phone ringing, no customers nearby, no psychos leaving menacing “gifts” in her car. Just the two of them, and hours upon hours of pleasure. God, he’d been so damn gullible.
She nodded. “Why does it matter if Remy and the boys were there?”
The short answer was that it shouldn’t.
Before he could ask her who or what she meant, she reached into the interior and yanked on something. A moment later, she produced a long, serrated knife with a piece of paper attached. Under the streetlamps, it gleamed the word WHORE in bright red lipstick.
Shock crested, then quickly morphed into molten fury. It was ironic; he’d been thinking something similar only moments ago. But he would never have said it aloud, much less stabbed it to the front seat of her convertible.
“Who would do this to you?” His voice vibrated with rage.
She tossed the knife into her front seat and cast him a wary stare over her shoulder. “Who knows?”
Luc turned her to face him and clenched his jaw. “Who. Did. This. To. You?”
His tone took her aback. “Look, it’s not new. Shit happens all the time.”
All the time? That only infuriated him more. Luc drew her closer as a thunderous frown stole across his face. She wasn’t afraid, and he was scared as hell for her. “What have the police said in the past?”
“Police?” She shook her head. “This is just . . . a prank or a pissed-off customer who thought I didn’t pay enough attention to him, most likely.”
And whoever did this could also be dead serious. That blade was no laughing matter. “What if someone really sick wants to hurt you? How long has it been going on?”
“Like I said, it happens. It’s been a while but—”
“Get in my car.” He was done allowing her to stand like a convenient target in a shadowy parking lot. He didn’t provide personal security detail like his cousin Deke, but he’d spent enough time with the man and his business partner, Jack Cole, to know that remaining out in the open could be deadly.
“What?” She looked incredulous. “I’m not leaving my car here.”
“I’m driving you home. You’re calling the police and reporting the crime so they can investigate.”
Alyssa hesitated, then softened. “Luc. Your concern is really sweet, but—”
“Get in the fucking car.”
She blanched, and he cursed under his breath. He needed to get control of his temper. But the soaring sexual frustration, coupled with his alarm, had him on edge. Who thought they had the right to malign and scare her? Fists curled, Luc craved a chance to pound the asshole.
Alyssa sighed, and Luc readied his next argument, but she strolled toward his SUV. “Fine.”
He opened the door for her and watched her slide inside, the strands of her platinum hair settling over her shoulders. She looked somewhere between placid and reserved, despite the fact she’d just been threatened. Was she out of her mind?
Shaking his head, he dashed around to the driver’s seat. When he slid inside, she was already on the phone.
“Sorry it’s late, Remy. I thought maybe I should call y’all. Someone messed with my car . . .”
Quickly and unemotionally, she relayed their location and the event. Luc heard murmurs of the Sheriff’s conversation, his tone more good-ol’-boy than concerned, and he frowned. Didn’t anyone take this seriously?
He grabbed the phone from her and spit out an introduction. “Dust for prints. She touched the weapon, but you may find other sets on the handle. Whoever did this broke into her car.”
“Doubt it was much more than a prank. Boys down here get a little rowdy from time to time—”
“And stab the word ‘whore’ into her seat? That’s funny how?”
Remy cleared his throat. “It’s not. But I don’t think no one meant no harm.”
Luc gritted his teeth together. “Do you usually solve all your cases before you visit the crime scene?”
Finally, Remy got serious. “I’ll investigate.”
“Thoroughly.”
Alyssa grabbed the phone. “Thanks, honey. I appreciate it.”
When the ended the call, Luc could barely unclench his jaw as he sped away from the parking lot. “Honey? The man didn’t even want to investigate, and you call him ‘honey’?”
She shrugged. “It’s a Louisiana thing. You’ll catch more flies with honey than vinegar.”
“Yeah?” he challenged. “Or is it a ‘he’s-my-customer’ thing. Did he watch you strip tonight?”
She swallowed. “I asked all the local enforcement to come, including the sheriff. Keeps down the possibility of rowdies getting out of control and trashing the club.”
Luc gripped the wheel tighter as he peeled out of the parking lot. “So that’s a yes.”
Fighting the urge to hit something in an unusual show of temper, he took a deep breath. The night he’d spent with her, it had been easy to pretend she had no other lover. They’d been alone, her house quiet. No phone ringing, no customers nearby, no psychos leaving menacing “gifts” in her car. Just the two of them, and hours upon hours of pleasure. God, he’d been so damn gullible.
She nodded. “Why does it matter if Remy and the boys were there?”
The short answer was that it shouldn’t.
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