“You don’t get out much do you?” I smirk. “Dress hot. It’s a dance club.”

He huffs a laugh out his nose. “No, I don’t ‘get out much,’ but I’m sure I can find something that works.”

A little zing of electricity shoots up my spine. This is going to be so satisfying. He falls in love with someone else, but he regrets me? Fine. He’s going to see what he had and gave up. He’s going to squirm with his hard-on, knowing he can never have me again.

My turn to hurt him for a change.

Chapter Five

WHEN I GET home, Brett has already left for rehearsal. Since my normal outlet is gone, I decide to work up a sweat by cleaning. I need something mindless to keep me occupied until show time. I scrub three months’ worth of soap scum off the shower, give the kitchen floor its annual mopping, wash the overflowing mound of dishes in the kitchen sink, and wipe down every surface in the place.

Brett comes in just as I’m finishing the kitchen. “What’s for dinner?”

I duck into the fridge, which I probably should have cleaned in my frenzy. “There’s leftover Chinese takeout and . . . whatever this is,” I say pulling a styrofoam take-out box off the shelf and opening it. My face pinches against the rancid smell. “Ugh! No . . . you definitely don’t want that.” I say, pitching the moldy Mexican leftovers in the trash. “We have eggs. I could do a cheese omelet.”

I love to cook, but our refrigerator is pretty sparse because I’m at the bar most nights and Brett’s happy with takeout. Plus, the cooking is great, and the eating is great, but the cleaning up afterward blows.

Brett comes up behind me and cups my ass in his palms. “You keep pointing this thing in my face you’ll be eating me for dinner.”

“As appealing at that sounds, I’m drinking tonight, so I’ll need a little more than that to keep me vertical.”

He glides a hand between my legs. “Who you going out with?”

I brush his hand away and reach for the Chinese containers. “Jess. It’s her birthday.” I spin, kicking the fridge door closed. “You want to come?”

I only ask ’cause I know he’ll say no.

“Not really, babe. I’ve got poker at Rob’s tonight. Probably won’t be home till late.”

Which really means he won’t be home at all tonight. He usually stumbles in from his poker nights around sunrise, stinking of cigars and whisky.

I just shrug. That’s the great thing about our relationship. I don’t have to pretend I’m upset. No fake, “Jeez, hon, that’s too bad. We’ll miss you.” He knows I don’t really give a shit.

I take the Chinese containers to the microwave and heat up the contents, then dump the mu shu and chow mein onto plates.

“I heard about another audition you should go to,” he says as I bring the plates to the couch. “It’s not a musical, but it’s got a pretty big cast, so it’s worth a shot.”

I hand him his plate and drop onto the couch next to him. “If it’s not a musical, they probably won’t even want to see me.”

“If you want it, I’ll get you the audition,” he says through a mouthful of noodles. “There’s no dancing, so all you have to do is look hot and deliver your lines.”

I just look at him. Why is he helping me so much all of a sudden? After a second, he looks up and sees me staring.

“I’ll get you the audition,” he says, a little irritated, like I’m a bitch for questioning him.

I twirl my fork in my noodles and a few spill off the edge of the plate onto my lap. “Damn.” I look for somewhere to set my plate and end up putting it on the seat next to me. “Why don’t we have a coffee table?”

He shrugs and picks noodles off my lap. “Just never got one, I guess. Plus they take up space.”

“I want one.”

He quirks a half smile. “Go for it.”

When we’re done eating, I head to the shower and I’m a little relieved when Brett doesn’t follow me. I’m feeling uncharacteristically unhorny. Too busy plotting, I guess.

I’m going to be the hottest thing Alessandro’s ever laid eyes on. He regrets me? I’m going to make him regret the day he gave me up.

I slip on a sheer black thong then rifle through my closet, knowing exactly the outfit: a tight-fitting silver halter that is nearly transparent, and a tiny ruffled black skirt that barely covers my ass. I’ve got the perfect shoes too. Five-inch platforms that make my legs look totally lickable.

I want Alessandro to want to lick me.

Once I’m dressed, I smudge on some blush, draw on eyeliner, and brush on mascara. There’s no freaking way Alessandro’s going to be able to resist.

WHEN JESS AND I get to the club, we skip the line and the bouncer lets us in without a cover. I tug off my jacket, leaving it on the back of a chair near the door, and look for Alessandro. Jess and I are half an hour late, and there’s no way Mr. Uptight would be anything but punctual. I finally see him leaning against the bar talking to a pair of brunettes, one of whom is bursting out of her low-cut tank.

And, damn, he’s hot.

His hair is combed back and he’s got the sexiest case of five-o’clock shadow I’ve ever seen. He’s in a black button-down with the sleeves rolled up and one tail loose over faded jeans that fit him in a way that makes me want to rip them off.

I pull Jess onto the dance floor and bounce to the pulsing dance beat. We writhe around each other and by the end of the song, I’m slick with sweat. When I look over at Alessandro, I see the brunettes are gone and he’s watching me from the bar with rapt interest.

Bait taken. Time to lure him in.

The song changes over to one of my favorites. I close my eyes and let my body pulse with the rhythm as Dev sings about wandering hands and a sex drive that’s push to start. All the muscles in my belly contract when I feel long, strong hands on my shoulders. Showtime.

I’m going to make him want me so hard, he won’t know what hit him when I shut him down.

I open my eyes and there Alessandro is, his smoldering gaze raking over my body. I raise my arms slowly overhead as I move to the music, giving him an up-close-and-personal look at the girls, daring him to touch me. With this top and no bra, they’re a pretty spectacular sight, if I do say so myself.

Jess grins and shimmies off to dance with a mixed group near us—probably the people she invited. I recognize a few of them from auditions.

Alessandro leans in and I catch his scent—some tangy, spicy cologne that seems to hardwire my nose to my groin. “That was quite the show,” he says, his voice thick and rough.

You ain’t seen nothin’ yet.

I put on my fuck-me smile and swing my hips to the music. He shocks the hell out of me when he lays his hands on my waist and starts to move with me. I spin in his arms so he’s behind me and grasp his wrists, feeling the strength in his forearms. God, he’s got great arms. I glide his hands over my ass, down the backs of my thighs, to the bottom edge of my tiny skirt. His hands are sure and firm against my skin and he doesn’t resist me.

Heat pulses through me as I close my eyes and roll my hips in a circle. I glide his hands slowly up my backside, bringing my short skirt with them and leaving his fingers on bare skin, then press myself into him. He doesn’t miss a beat, moving his hips with mine to the rhythm. I grind a circle against him and damn if he doesn’t play along. For a guy who was inches from becoming a priest, he’s pretty damn bold. I loop my arms behind me, around his neck, and press my whole back into his whole front, and I swear I feel a low groan in his chest as his head tips back. His hands slide up my sides and stop on my rib cage below my breasts.

And damn if I don’t want them to keep going. I think my plan might be backfiring, because everywhere he touches me, I’m on fire.

I turn to face him and the look in his eye, hungry and raw, makes my heart beat faster. I run my hands over his strong forearms as his hands glide around me, pulling me tight to his body, one knee sliding between mine. His face is in my hair, his hot breath sending goose bumps skittering over my skin despite the fact that that I feel like we’re standing five inches from the sun. We dance just like that, plastered against each other, his hand on my back, his fingers brushing the bare skin at the waist of my skirt, and I lose track of everything except the pounding of the music and the heat of his body.


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