as she stowed her cosmetics in her kit.
“Let me help you. For old times’ sake.”
She closed her eyes, despising herself for the way he could still make her feel. Tears threatened for the second time that day and the emptiness inside her yawned wide.
God, she had to get him out of her change room and out of her life.
It had taken her years to find a place and a persona that made it all bearable, doable, survivable. She would not let him strip her of her armor.
She let her eyelids drop over her eyes as she turned to face him, at the same time hooking one thumb into the waistband of her hot pants.
“I don’t need any help from you, Liam,” she said. “The only thing I need from any man is the one thing I don’t have myself. If you get my drift.”
She watched as her meaning dawned on him and his expression grew even grimmer.
If that didn’t get rid of her self-appointed Sir Galahad, she didn’t know what would. After all, it had worked a treat twelve years ago.
“Don’t play games,” he said. “There must be something you need.”
“Definitely,” she said. “Especially after performing. It always makes me hot.”
She fanned a hand in front of her face. At the same time, she used the thumb in her waistband to pop the stud on her hot pants. The small sound brought Liam’s gaze to her waist.
“Not interested?” she asked, finding the tab of her zipper with her fingertips.
She had a sudden flash of how it had been all those years ago, the way he’d slid his hand under the waistband of her jeans at first rather than undo her fly, how she’d had to beg him to touch her properly.
The memory urged her on as she slid her zipper down.
“Don’t.” His voice sounded too loud in the small space.
A muscle jumped in his jaw.
Good. She wanted him to sweat. She wanted him gone. And she was enjoying being the one with the power for a change. Once, she’d begged him to love her and he’d pushed her out the door, then abandoned her without a word. Tonight, she was the one in charge.
She snagged her thumbs into the belt loops of her hot pants and pushed down. She had to wriggle her hips a little to get the leather over them.
“Tight,” she said, wrinkling her nose. She pushed the hot pants down her legs and stepped out of them, standing in front of him wearing only her black lace thong and bra and her red garters and stockings.
“So what’s it going to be, Liam? Are you going to give me what I need, or are you going to make me take care of things myself?”
She touched the tip of her middle finger to her tongue then slid her finger down her chest until she found her left nipple through the lace of her bra. She brushed it lightly, then caught it between thumb and forefinger and squeezed. Heat shot down her belly to her thighs and her nipple hardened into a tight, needy peak.
She could hear him breathing.
“I just want to make things right for you,” he said.
“And I told you how you could do that.”
She’d meant to drive him away, but the way he was watching her so intently was having its own effect on her. Suddenly it wasn’t a game anymore.
She’d always imagined what it would be like to be with him. She’d held him in her hands, stroked him, found the single bead of desire that had glistened on the head of his penis. She’d had his fingers between her legs, inside her. She’d been so desperate for him that she’d begged him to take her virginity. But he’d pushed her away and left her wanting.
Not this time. Not if she had any say in the matter. She took a step backward until she felt the cool ridge of the counter against the backs of her thighs. She propped her butt against it and lifted her leg up onto the seat of the chair beside it.
She held his eye all the while, watching him watching her.
He wanted her. The tension in his body would have betrayed him even if there hadn’t been a bigger, longer giveaway bulging the front of his well-worn jeans.
“What’s wrong, Liam? I’m not Tom’s innocent little sister anymore. No parents are going to come barging in. It’s just you and me. No excuses, nothing.”
She kept her left hand on her breast and slid her right down her belly until she felt the lace of her thong beneath her fingers. She slid her fingers beneath the elastic and between her thighs.
Between taunting him so publicly onstage and this far more private, provocative session, she was aching for fulfillment.
She closed her eyes and sucked in a breath as she circled her finger.
“Feels so good, Liam. Want to try?”
LIAM SWORE. He was so hard it hurt and he was about out of reasons for keeping his hands off her. She was touching herself, her hips circling as she pleasured herself right in front of him. He couldn’t remember ever being so confronted, turned-on and conflicted all at the same time.
But this was Zoe. Zoe of the big trusting eyes and the silken, untouched skin and the breathless, utterly guileless sexuality. He couldn’t screw her in the back room of some shitty club.
“Better hurry up, Liam, or the show will be over.” She pushed down the cup of her bra and exposed one full, creamy breast.
All night he’d watched her, wondering, remembering. He wasn’t made of stone, and he wasn’t a saint.
He crossed the space between them in two strides. Her eyes widened as he grabbed her shoulders.
Then he was kissing her, forcing her head back as he thrust his tongue into her mouth. Her hands found his shoulders as his whole body crashed into hers, his chest meeting her breasts, his hips pressing into her widespread thighs.
He was so hungry for her he didn’t know where to start. He shoved her bra straps off her shoulders and pushed the cups down to bare both her breasts. She sucked in a shuddering breath as he slid his hands over her. He kissed her neck, tasting the salt of sweat and the tang of her perfume. He stuck his tongue in her ear and pinched her nipples firmly, making her squirm against him.
She was panting, her eyes closed, her hands clutching his backside as she dragged him closer. He rubbed himself against her as he slid a hand down her belly. His fingers found her through the thin lace of her thong, gliding into damp heat. He pushed the lace to one side and felt the smooth slide of his fingers on slick, hairless skin.
Zoe waxed.
Of course she did.
She felt swollen and juicy against his fingers, so slippery and hot he couldn’t wait another second. She was ahead of him, her hands dragging at the stud on his jeans, pulling his fly down. He groaned low in the back of his throat as she stroked a knowing hand up and down his shaft.
