Pepper. Pshhh! Stupid name.

Pepper gives a lazy shrug. “China’s been workin’ him hard for a private dance, half off, and he won’t give. He’s keepin’ a close eye on Ben though.”

I bite my tongue before I explain that he won’t give because he doesn’t like dirty-ass sluts. I don’t know who this China is, but I want to rip her guts out. I’m not too fond of Pepper either. I should stalk over there and pee around his table to stake my claim. Wait ... what? Jeez, Kacey.

“He’s just waiting for his private show with Kacey later,” Storm offers and spins on her heels. I catch Pepper’s eyes narrow as she studies what she must see as cash-competition. I can’t tell what’s going on in that mind of hers. I doubt it can be much. I glare back at her all the same.

“Here.” Storm shoves a filled glass into my hand. “Go and talk to him again. You need a break anyway.”

“Fine.” I hiss. “But when we come back, we need to discuss my stage name. Maybe something like ‘Salt,’ or ‘Lollipop’ or ‘Pomegranate.’”

“I hear ‘Blue Balls’ might fit better,” Storm throws in with a sly wink.

I gasp, my finger jabbing the air pointedly at her and then searching the crowd for Ben, ready to cleave his tongue out.

“Don’t worry, he just wanted to make sure you were okay,” she whispers, all hints of joking gone. “I don’t judge. Your secret’s safe with me, you vixen.” I head toward the exit when Storm shouts, “Hey! How about Vixen as your stage name?”

I ignore her, sucking in a lungs worth of air as I lift the counter panel and walk through. I try not to fuss too much with my dress, but I do it all the same. Hell, just admit it, Kacey. Trent intimidates you. Just looking at him perched on his chair, leaning against the table, butterflies slam around inside my stomach. When it’s obvious that I’m heading straight for Trent, I notice him sit up straighter, like he might be a bit anxious too. That brings me small relief.

I place his club soda down on the table with a small smile. “What are the chances that you’re still here?”

“What are the chances, indeed.” He offers me a wry smile in return.

“A guy moves into a new town and spends every night at the local strip club. Alone.”

Trent doesn’t miss a beat. “… and finds two of his neighbors working behind the bar.”

I pick up his empty glass. “Storm has convinced me it will be a life-altering experience.”

His gaze skims the stage floor suggestively and I catch a flicker of disapproval in them. “I guess that depends on what you’re doing here.”

“No.” I quickly throw out. “Clothes on at all times. It’s mandatory.” I bite my lip. A little too eager to announce that, Kacey.

Trent considers my face for a moment and then he nods. “Good.”

I can’t help but drift to Trent’s lips when he says that, how they remain parted after, how soft they look. “Um …” I shake my head, trying to uncloud my thoughts. “So you’re not holding back on the strong stuff tonight, I see?”

He gives his drink a long, hard look. Another small smile. “Yeah, you better watch out. I get crazy when I drink this shit straight.”

I giggle. I giggle! “What do you drink when you’re not downing soda like a fiend?”

“Milk, water. The occasional Coke.”

I frown. “No beer? JD? Tequila?”

He shakes his head as he takes the straw between his lips, a flash of seriousness smoothing his grin. “Don’t touch the stuff anymore.” His eyes slide up to meet mine and they stay there for a moment. “I like being fully aware of everything that’s happening.”

Fully aware. Really, Trent? You want to know that my thong is drenched right now? I lick my lips without thinking, attracting his attention to my mouth. Heat rises through my body, crawling up my neck, down my back, along my thighs. “I … um …”

Thankfully, he breaks the awkwardness. “So what brings you to Miami?”

“Change of scenery?” I offer his earlier excuse, silently praying that he won’t press me with any personal questions. Right now, I think I’d sing like a canary. Anything to keep him talking to me. Mercifully, Trent doesn’t press.

“Have you changed your mind, sweetheart?” A lusty voice says behind me, interrupting us. I turn to find a fake redhead moving in. She’s just tall enough to prop her voluptuous breasts onto the table in front of Trent. I watch as a red claw runs down the length of Trent’s muscular forearm. This must be China.

A part of me wants to spin around and slam the bottom of my heel into her head. In kickboxing, we’d call that a Spinning Back Kick. Here, it’s called, “how to get my crazy jealous ass fired.” There’s no way I’d get a thumbs up from Cain on that one.

The other part of me is curious about how Trent’s going to handle this “accosting.” After the constant parade that first night, things had been fairly tame. I have to think it’s because, like Pepper, they presume he’s waiting for Ben to start batting for the other team.

To my pleasant surprise, Trent pulls his arm off the table and adjusts himself in his chair so his body is angled toward me. “I’m fine, thanks.”

With a slight pout, she purrs, “You sure? You’ll regret it. I’m quite entertaining.”

His eyes lock on my face and he doesn’t attempt to conceal the smolder in them. “Not as much as I’ll regret leaving my present company. I think she could entertain me for a lifetime.”

My heart skips three beats and my breath hitches. If there was ever any doubt about Trent’s interest, he’s crushed it with that look, with those words. I don’t notice China’s scowl, which I’m sure is stripping the skin from my bones right now. I don’t notice her walk away. I don’t notice anything around me anymore. Trent and I are suddenly the only two people in the bar and that same uncontrollable urge I felt the day he saved me from the snake now gets a hold of me.

I close my fists into tiny balls and keep them glued to my side. I have to control myself here. I have no choice. I can’t lunge at him like a hormonal freak, which is exactly what I am right now. I clear my voice, trying to play it cool.

“Are you sure? Because the most you’re getting out of me are club sodas.”

“I’m okay with that,” I hear him whisper. “For now.” His bottom lip slides in between his teeth, and the temperature in the room instantly rises by twenty degrees. Penny’s has turned into a bloody sauna and my mind has scattered into oblivion as I struggle to stand.

But I do manage to stand and stare at Trent as the grating announcer’s voice comes over the microphone. “Gentleman …” The next dancer is on her way out. I’ve learned how to drown that voice out, and have no trouble doing it now as I lose myself in Trent’s presence.

That is until I hear:

“… A special feature performance of the night … Storm!”

“You’ve got to be fucking shitting me!” I spin around, checking the bar to find Ginger and Penelope behind it. All attention is transfixed to the stage in anticipation as a mystical green glow hangs over the stage, like they’re waiting for a life-altering performance and not another naked girl in a strip club. My naked friend. “Ohmigod. This is going to be so awkward. She didn’t even warn me!” I don’t realize I’m moving back until I bump into Trent’s inner thigh.

“You don’t have to watch, you know,” he whispers into my ear.

The slow throb of a dance beat starts pounding through the club, and a spotlight lifts above the stage to illuminate a scantily clad female body, sitting in silver hoop, suspended. I can’t look away, even if I want to.

It’s Storm in a sequined bikini that leaves nothing to the imagination, floating in the air on this metal hoop. When the music picks up, she flips backward, every muscle in her arm straining as she dangles by one hand. With no visible effort, she folds her legs back over and fluidly slides her body through the hoop to hold another impressive pose. The music picks up tempo and she kicks her legs out, gaining momentum until the hoop swings back and forth like a pendulum. Then suddenly she’s hanging by her arms, spinning fast, her hair flying through the air, her body contorting and diving into various graceful poses. She’s like one of those people in Cirque du Soleil—beautiful, poised, doing things I never believed humanly possible.