Relentless (Renegades 4)

This had been a lousy idea on Chad's part. She should have gone to a strip club. There she could at least watch the way women danced to please the customers. But she could

n't very well just stroll into one of those. Maybe she'd rent a few videos. But, what kind of videos would give her what she needed? What she really needed was practice. And just how in the hell would she manage that?

With another shift of her crossed legs, she let out a breath and glanced to her right, searching for the waitress. She was done here. She'd just pound her snakebite, wander back to her suite and pass out.

“Your drink.” The smooth, deep male voice came from her left, and Giselle startled, cutting her gaze that direction. Only to find herself eye to eye with the devil. Her belly quaked, then floated.

“Oh shit.” She laughed the words, covering her heart with her hand. “You scared me.”

“Sorry.”

He didn't smile, but the thin lines at the corners of his eyes crinkled with humor, and close up he reminded her less of Troy. His eyes were the same rich color of gooey-just-baked-brownies, but his hair was darker, his lips fuller, his jaw squarer. And his body was much thicker and stronger, carrying at least forty more pounds of muscle. Still, there was something…

“I commandeered your drink from the bartender,” he said. “Mind if I sit?”

His voice was deeper than Troy's too. Smoother than Troy's.

And why in the hell was she still thinking about Troy?

“I, um…” she stammered, forcing herself to speak loud enough to be heard over the music, “I'm only here to watch.”

“That works for me. You watch them; I'll watch you.”

And he was way, way, way more confident than Troy.

His moves were swift and smooth as he dragged the other chair closer to hers and slid into it, still managing that casual, I'm-so-hot slouch in a chair far too small for his size. The position made his unbuttoned shirt fall open, showing a muscled chest, ripped abs, and ink on one of his pecs that disappeared beneath the fabric. Giselle's mouth watered without her consent. But she was also annoyed.

“What if I don't want you watching me?”

His mouth tipped up, a little more on the right. “Then you shouldn't have come to a swingers club, angel.”

Angel.

The generic pet name plucked that chord beneath her ribs again. Troy had called her angel.

The devil's gaze scoured her face, slid down her neck, and wandered over her chest showing in the deep vee of her dress, making her whole body tingle. She'd decided on a middle-of-the-road, simple, black lace cocktail dress in the hope of melting into the crowd, something she hadn't been able to do since her second album went platinum. But the way the devil was looking at her told her she'd failed again, only this time, it seemed she was interesting for a whole different reason.

“And…” He let the word hang in the air as his gaze slid back up her body and settled on hers. “It would have helped if you hadn't been born so fucking beautiful.”

Surprise zinged across her skin. What in the hell did a woman say to that?

She picked up her drink and let the velvet Guinness slide down her throat as she pretended to watch the stage, but moving her head and refocusing her eyes made her realize just how quickly the alcohol had hit her.

“Look,” she said, glancing his way again, only to find those dark eyes fixed on her face. “I appreciate you bringing the drink, but I'm not here to hook up. Sorry.”

“Meeting someone?”

“No. And I don't want to meet anyone either.”

“That's easy to do here since we don't use names. You can meet someone without really meeting them.” He grinned, oh so full of himself. “Like you're not meeting me now.”

She frowned. “You're hurting my brain.”

He laughed, the sound low and easy and light, then hit her with a very pointed “If you're not interested, why have you been watching me?”

“No, no, no.” She wasn't going to let him turn this conversation around. “You're watching me.”

“You wouldn't know I was watching unless you were watching back.”