Sinful Rapture (The Rapture #2)(4)

His prey wouldn’t be interested in the male strip show, no matter how tempting the dancers.

She wasn’t into beefcake.

Nope. Not at the bar. A frown tugged at his brows as his attention shifted toward the small dance floor where a dozen women and a few half-dressed men gyrated to Beyoncé.

His heart missed a strategic beat.

In the middle of the crowd he could see the top of Holly’s dark head.

Bingo.

Preparing to battle his way to her side, Liam was abruptly distracted by a stunning, dark-haired woman who stepped directly into his path.

“Now how did I know you were going to show up here tonight?” Sasha mocked, the purple lightshow playing over her high, Slavic cheekbones and faintly bronzed skin.

Liam folded his arms over his chest. Unlike the other men in the room he was wearing casual jeans instead of leather, with his chest was fully covered by a white cotton shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

“You sent the text telling me where to find her,” he said, well aware the mysterious message must have come from this woman.

No one had been more surprised than he’d been when he’d received it, but he hadn’t wasted a second. Jumping in his Mercedes sports car, he’d made it to this club on the edge of Vegas in record time.

“Don’t make me regret it,” the woman muttered.

Liam didn’t bother to reassure her.

This day had been a lesson in frustration, taking its toll on his nerves. He wasn’t in the mood to play nice.

“You have a room?” he instead demanded.

Giving a snap of her fingers, Sasha glanced toward the hostess who hurried forward with a small key card.

“Here.” She pressed it into Liam’s hand after a short hesitation. As if she was having second thoughts. “She’s fragile.”

Liam frowned. “I have no intention of hurting her.”

“What do you intend?”

He narrowed his green eyes that were lightly flecked with gold. “You’ve done your part, now butt out. This is between me and Holly.”

“Dios.” Sasha scowled, studying his grim determination. “I hope I haven’t thrown her from the frying pan into the fire.”

“Oh, she’s going to get burned,” he purred, his blood heating at the thought of at long last getting his hands on the stubborn woman. “And she’s going to like it.”

Done with the small talk, Liam simply walked away.

He’d wasted a year.

He wasn’t wasting one more second.

With the ease of a man who carried with him a natural, ruthless authority, Liam moved through the crowd that parted before him. The music pounded and the lights created a dazzling display, but he barely noticed. His attention was locked on the woman who was dancing far too close to a bare-chested idiot with bulging muscles and a death wish.

Coming up from behind, he leaned down to speak directly into her ear.

“Hello, princess.”

He felt her stiffen before she was whirling around to regard him in shocked horror.

“Liam.”

His lips twisted with rueful amusement. If his ego wasn’t rock-solid, this woman would have ground his pride to dust over the past twelve months.

The thought had barely passed through his mind when he was distracted by the sight of her slender body barely covered by a tiny sheath of silver lamé.

That had to be Sasha’s doing, he wryly concluded.

His sweet Holly was more of a buttoned-up, straitlaced kind of woman.

“Are you having fun?” he drawled, making no effort to disguise his interest in the amount of flesh she was flashing.

Predictably, her chin jutted to a militant angle. So stubborn.

“I was. What are you doing here?”

Liam flicked a glance toward the male behemoth who moved to stand at Holly’s side.

“Go away.”

The male scowled. “What the hell?”

Liam allowed the stranger to glimpse the savage predator just below his polished surface.

“Now.”

Instinctively the man backed away, swiftly swallowed up by the females who surrounded him like a school of piranhas.

Christ.

“Hey, we were dancing,” Holly protested, her hands on her hips.

Liam’s gaze lingered on the plunging neckline of the barely-there dress.

He’d always suspected she was hiding something wonderful beneath her starchy suits.

Now he knew…

Perfection.

“How much have you had to drink?” he abruptly demanded.

“What business is it of yours?” she countered, her eyes flashing with golden fire. Shit, she was beautiful. “I’m not on the clock.”

He stepped closer, his hand cupping her face. He had to touch her.

To feel the satin heat of her skin beneath his fingers.

“Tell me.”

Her lips flattened, as if debating whether to refuse to answer. Then, when his expression assured her he wasn’t going to back down, she gave an impatient shrug.

“I’ve had one margarita. Satisfied?” she ground out.

A smile curved his lips. He’d had to make sure she was capable of thinking clearly.

No way was he going to be accused of taking advantage.

“Not yet.” His thumb traced the lush promise of her mouth. Damn. How many nights had he tortured himself with thoughts of those lush lips wrapped around his cock, sucking him dry? He went hard as a rock. “But I intend to be.”