“What is this, a freakin’ rock concert?” she asked no one in particular. “If they start moshing, I’m out.”
Looking over the crowd and through the mass of women waving cash, she caught a glimpse of Levi. He wore a pair of military fatigues, a white undershirt, combat boots and a hat. Strapped to his arm was a knife large enough to fillet a moose. She was gaping at him and she didn’t even care. This was not the geeky guy who’d fumbled through her arrival earlier. This was not the same man who’d taken his sweatshirt off in an attempt to distract her. There were flavors of him there, but no. This was not the same man.
The man onstage was a sexual machine. He moved with a type of confident awareness that he was it, and every woman in the place wanted him. There was a sexual...presence to him that made her rub her thighs together. A man like that would be talented in bed. He couldn’t do that thing with his hips onstage if he hadn’t done it with someone in bed.
“Probably a thousand times.” Her words were lost among the sounds of the crowd. But they were a reminder that this was a bad idea. She never should have come to the club when she knew he’d be—
Her eyes bugged when he pulled the giant knife. Her gaze locked onto his torso as he sliced the knife up his shirt halfway and then slowly, slowly worked it into his arm sheath. All the while, he kept moving his lower body—hips thrusting, glutes flexing, thighs straining the tight material of his pants. Every movement gave the smallest glimpse of his abs and a seriously cut six-pack of muscle. Tanned skin revealed a sheen of sweat under the stage lights. He gripped the edges of the now cut shirt in each hand and did a little peep show.
Money rained around him.
Moving to the edge of the stage, he spread his feet and ripped his shirt off. A near brawl broke out when he threw it into the crowd.
“Who is this guy?” she muttered.
A hand touched her elbow and she almost came out of her skin.
Whirling, she found Donovan standing next to her with a third beer in one hand and a glow stick held above his head in the other. “You look like you could use this,” he shouted over the noise.
She silently grabbed the cold beer and downed half of it, ignoring the almost nauseating way it sloshed in her empty stomach. There would be time for regret later. Right now? She had to get herself under control.
In no part of her planning had she considered she might actually want Levi. She was supposed to be controlling the situation and, thus, the case. What she was experiencing at the moment was far closer to taking a sharp corner at high speed—any control she wielded was marginal at best.
The crowd grew louder.
“I’m out,” she shouted at Donovan, digging in her pocket for the bills to cover the drink.
He grinned. “You might have to stick around a few more minutes.”
“Why?”
He jerked his chin at something over his shoulder. “You’ll have to take it up with him.”
She froze, her beer bottle halfway to her lips. “No.”
“Oh, yeah, gorgeous. He’s coming for you.”
* * *
LEVI LEAPED OFF the stage and danced his way through the crowd to Harper. She had her back to him and wasn’t moving. Tall and lean, her waist nipped in before flaring slightly over lush feminine hips. Her shoulders were a touch wide. The way her neck curved made him want to kiss her just there, at the shallow indent at the top of her spine.
Donovan leaned toward her and said something indiscernible.
She shook her head.
The waiter took her beer, looking both amused and uncertain as he moved away and lowered the glow stick. A swift lift of his chin urged her face the stage.
She didn’t.
“Don’t chicken out on me now, sweetheart,” Levi shouted above the crazy noise level.
She turned, driven by the challenge.
Levi’s breath hung in his chest. The words he’d been about to toss out fell flat at his feet. The woman he’d met today appeared absolutely nothing like the woman gazing up at him now through smoky eyes, with no glasses, full lips and sharp cheekbones—she was a complete and total knockout. Breasts that had been full earlier had been magically lifted so they were somehow more. Her shirt was tied at her waist to reveal taut abs. Tight-fitting jeans enhanced her long legs. And she wore the same heels that had knocked him out earlier. She was a pale-skinned beauty he’d totally underestimated.
One corner of her mouth curled up, and her brows slowly rose. “I’m not your sweetheart.”
Gripping every ounce of pride he could muster, he reached out and traced one finger along her jawline. “You could be.”
Her laughter was like the best cigar followed by a sip of expensive whiskey—rich, sultry, cultivated. Seductive. But her voice? It was the way a voice should sound after a good hour of foreplay. “I bet you say that to all the girls.”
“That line’s wasted on the girls. I save it for the women, and trust me, Ms. Banks, from where I stand? You’re all woman.” He closed the distance between them, wrapped his hand around her neck and leaned in. “You want backstage? You’ll have to come with me.”
“I don’t have to have your help to get backstage.”
“But I can make your life easier, and a whole lot more fun.” He kneaded his fingertips into the tense muscles that ran along her spine. Not nearly as calm as she’s putting on. “C’mon.”
He watched her closely, aware the moment the muscles in her neck went from tight to nearly rigid. Levi dropped his hand and stepped just out of reach. Holding out his hand, he curled his fingers in a come-here motion. She started to lift her hand in his direction then paused. She considered him for a moment before finally closing the distance. Their fingers touched, a simple brush of skin across skin. Awareness jolted through him, an electrical shock to his entire system. His breath came faster. His fingers twined around hers in a jerky movement. His focus narrowed.
Her eyes never left his.
Levi began to back toward the stage, pulling her along slowly. The noise level seemed to have decreased, reduced to little more than a buzz as he took precise steps, redirecting his path to the stage stairs. Nothing, and no one, existed in that moment but the woman he guided toward the stage. Everything else became secondary. His plan for a little cultivated teasing wasn’t going to be enough anymore. This wasn’t the woman he’d encountered earlier, the one he’d been so sure he could direct at will. No, the woman whose hand he now held had shown up in the equivalent of feminine armor tonight. She’d come prepared for a fight, and that was the last thing he’d expected. He needed to rethink his approach, figure out how to maintain control. That would take time—time he didn’t have. His only choice was to move forward, to exercise extreme caution, to execute the subtle seduction and make her want him. The rest he’d improvise. It had to start somewhere, and given their location? His only choice was to dance for her.
Yanking her close, he thrilled when she planted her free hand on his chest, her fingers reflexively curling into the pad of muscle there as she lifted her face to his.
He flexed his pec.
Her fingers spasmed and she huffed, her hot breath skating over his lips.
Drawing her closer, he spun her in a tight circle so she was the one to back up the steps, keeping her off balance and touching him. All that mattered was that she didn’t stop.
The first step parked her breasts at eye level for him. Grinning, he kept her moving. She could either go where he directed her or tip over. Her choice.
“You’re a real bastard,” she muttered.
“Ya