Fetish was a dark but not dumpy building on the edge of town. They’d taken a taxi and now exited into a crowded parking lot lit with dim streetlights. Red gothic neon announced the bar’s name above the door, beneath which hung a sign with black plastic lettering that said, simply: BLUSH.

Despite the bold new Brenna she’d been trying to become, her stomach swam with nerves. She’d been to plenty of clubs in her day, but never one like this. While she could see that Damon had not steered her wrong—many of the people coming and going could have been at any bar, judging from their appearance—at least half the patrons sported a goth look that made her glad for her leather skirt. Now if only the terror in her eyes didn’t give her away.

As Damon paid their cover charge to a big bald guy at the door with a spider tattooed on his neck, the man squinted at him and said, “Hey, aren’t you…that guy?”

Damon just smiled slightly and replied, “Nope, I’m not him,” and placed a hand at the small of Brenna’s back to usher her inside.

The interior of Fetish was even darker—she could barely see the people who packed the place even as she and Damon squeezed through, and deafening music blocked any chance of easy conversation. And that’s when it hit her—this was her life now, her job. Going to clubs. Listening to loud music. And to her surprise, she suddenly felt rather adrift, not sure where to go or what to do.

That’s when Damon’s palm closed warm over her shoulder. “Listen,” he said in her ear.

And again, she was reminded why they were there. The music. Blush. She looked over her shoulder at him. “Is this them playing now?”

He nodded.

The sound was fast, hard, funky, and—when she forgot the fact that it was blaring—undeniably appealing.

“Initial impression?” Again, he leaned near so she could hear him, and the warmth of his breath buffeted her neck.

“They’re good,” she replied. “They have a quality that’s somehow both modern and…a little ‘new wave’ retro.”

His nod, along with the look in his eyes, made her think he liked her answer.

“Let’s go get a drink,” he said.

As they wove their way through the crowd, she caught a glimpse of the band on a small stage off to the right.

“Don’t look at them yet,” he instructed, yelling over the music. He’d explained to her last night that in the indie world, sound was everything. “We’re not going for Britney Spears and Jessica Simpson, people that become pop stars largely because of how they look,” he’d said. “If they have that kind of appeal, great. But we’re more concerned with what they can do.” He’d gone on to tell her that he sometimes liked to hear someone for a while before seeing them—he didn’t like to let their appearance influence him too soon. She’d thought that sounded smart, and respectful of the music, so she followed him to the bar without glancing toward the stage.

The more she listened—as they ordered two Long Island iced teas—the more she liked. Blush’s sound struck her as hip, confident, fun, and very sexy.

In fact, certain words in the lyrics began to leap out at her. “Creamy.” “Soft.” “Dirty.” “Night.” Words that might mean little on their own, but somehow the commanding female voice turned them sexual, and Brenna became aware of a dewiness between her thighs that hadn’t been there a few minutes before.

Of course, maybe it was also because the dark room was so crowded, which meant she and Damon were shoved together tight at the bar, their arms touching, their hips, too. He smelled good, a mixture of soap and musk and just a little perspiration.

And though she still heard the music, she somehow quit listening very closely, letting the next slower, sensual-sounding song lull her into a warm, quiet sort of titillation. The alcohol content of the drink quickly contributed to a feeling she could only describe as a…relaxed lust. She wasn’t sure if that even made sense, but she grew strangely at ease with her desires, letting them leak to the surface, no longer trying to push them down.

Still crushed close to her mentor as a large biker type squeezed past, she leaned closer to Damon, absorbing the sheer pleasure when one of her breasts pressed against his arm. At the same time, she slid her free hand up onto his shoulder. To help her balance on her heels. But also sort of just to touch him. So warm, solid.

And as the biker passed, making a little more space, she didn’t move away, didn’t draw her hand back down. Damon felt too good. This was too nice.

He turned to look at her, his eyes only a few inches away and as captivating as ever. His gaze said he knew. What she felt. What she wanted.

That was when she backed away.

It was all suddenly a little too immediate, intimate.

And even as beautiful as he was, as heated as his expression, she couldn’t. For so many reasons. She had to work closely with him right now, had to learn a job. And she was stealing his job, more or less lying to him. And see-through blouse and new confidence aside, deep down she was still old Brenna and, sadly, maybe she just didn’t truly believe she was in Damon Andros’ league.

She blinked and averted her gaze, then took a long sip of her drink. “This is strong,” she said unthinkingly as liquid warmth moved down through her chest.

“Hard to get a Long Island that’s not,” he reminded her with a soft, teasing grin.

Of course it was—she knew that. Why on earth had she ordered something with four or five different kinds of alcohol in it? Because he had, and because it had been easy to just say, “The same.” But she was beginning to regret the choice if it made her this loopy this fast. Of course, she’d had wine at dinner, too.

“Let’s go see the band now,” he suggested, and as she followed—letting him lead the way through the crazy-thick crowd—she found herself wanting to touch him again, wanting to curl her hands over his shoulders, press herself against his sturdy back.

Then she thought, Dear God, since when do you get turned on by a guy’s back? Too much “iced tea,” that was for sure—nervousness had made her sip too much too rapidly. She set the drink aside as they passed a table littered with empty glasses.

Just then, Blush came into view and Damon pulled her by the hand into the masses standing before the stage. She instantly sized up the band with one glimpse: they weren’t gorgeous, or even conventionally pretty, but they were sexy and they knew it. It was in their confidence, and in their music.

The four young women varied in appearance, but all were in their twenties and wore skimpy tops resulting in ample cleavage. The lead singer possessed long blond hair, board straight, with dramatically harsh bangs that matched her dramatically harsh makeup. She belted out an old Joan Jett song, “Do You Wanna Touch Me (Oh Yeah),” moving provocatively with the standing microphone. She sported a black leather bustier and a ragged denim mini that started low on her hips and stopped high on her thighs.

“What do you think?” Damon asked in Brenna’s ear, now standing behind her.

She kept her eyes on the singer, afraid to look at Damon—in case she accidentally kissed him or something. Her whole body hummed with lust. “A little rough around the edges, but confident, and sexy as hell. In control of the audience and knows how to work them.” Despite the intoxication rushing through her veins, her brain continued to churn. “We could market them like a smarter, hipper, more modern Courtney Love.”

But then she did turn to look at him, because she had no idea if she was on the right track or if she, conversely, sounded like a total newbie, and she wanted his honest reaction.

His eyes shone warm on her. “Very good.”

But then his gaze dropped to her mouth.

And her cunt spasmed.

So she bit her lip and turned to face forward again, watching the band.

“Although,” she said, still speaking her thoughts aloud, “isn’t Blush too soft a name for them?”

She peeked over her shoulder to see Damon give his head a quick shake. “It’s ironic,” he said. “Or maybe it means they make you blush. But either way, it says something about them. Most band names these days are just words somebody thought sounded good together, but they don’t say anything about the music or the band. This says something about their image, and that makes it a built-in marketing tool.”

“Ah,” she said, getting it. “Cool.”

All around them, the mixed mainstream-and-gothic crowd moved to the music, and without thought or decision, Brenna found her hips beginning to sway back and forth, as well. She kept her eye on the blond singer, watching her seduce fans with her heavily outlined eyes and the way she thrust her breasts forward or swung her hair dramatically over one shoulder.

“What does the crowd tell you about this band?” Damon asked near her ear. But his voice came a little lower now, raspier. His breath on her skin made her tingle below.

She shifted her focus from the lead singer to the people around her, trying to think. But it was difficult because the room was still too full, keeping her close to Damon, and now that she was moving with the music, she was also moving slightly against him.

On one side of her stood a young couple who looked like they could live next door to her—average, middle-class—dancing wildly. On the other she found a girl with bright pink hair, shrouded in black from head to toe. And she knew the answer.

Only this time, instead of turning to face Damon, she merely leaned back, resting her head on his shoulder to speak up into his ear. “A cult following that’s gone mainstream. Crossover appeal.”

Again he said, “Very good,” but also again, his voice went lower, his eyes shaded as he peered down at her, and it would have been damn easy to kiss him because their faces, mouths, were so dangerously close.

So Brenna promptly lifted her head back up, watched the band. She didn’t want to talk anymore—talking, even about business, seemed perilous at the moment. She just wanted to be quiet now, listen to the music, soak up the atmosphere. And maybe dance the alcohol out of her system before she did something stupid.

Still observing the crowd, though, her gaze stuck on two girls kissing, passionately making out near the stage. Both were young, pretty, not particularly gothic, and, if she had to guess, not really lesbians. In fact, she suspected the two good-looking guys standing by watching lustfully were their boyfriends.

Their eyes were closed, their tongues meeting in languorous abandon as their hands ran caressingly over each other’s body. Brenna didn’t want to keep watching, but something about the sight hypnotized her. And despite her shock, she couldn’t help feeling a little excited by the blatant sexuality of the act. Just like those stupid moving billboards—she didn’t want to be aroused by it, but to her astonishment, she was.

So much softness. So much sex.

Just out there.

And somehow, that was the point of it.

Would the two young women be taking such delight in each other if they were alone? Or was it about doing it in front of their boyfriends and in public? Brenna didn’t know for sure, but she felt—to the marrow of her bones—that behaving so outrageously without going behind closed doors was a big ingredient in their desire.

A quick glance over her shoulder revealed that Damon had followed her eyes and noticed the two girls, as well.

Old Brenna was embarrassed. To be caught watching something like that. And by Damon of all people. She instantly wondered if he could see how much it aroused her—her pussy felt positively huge beneath her skirt, as if, at this moment, it was the biggest part of her.

But new Brenna simply asked him, “Does that turn you on?”

God, what was she doing? After all, she’d decided it was safer not to talk anymore. Yet she couldn’t help being curious. Wanting to know what he felt, yearning to understand the way he thought about things. Sexual things.

“Yeah,” he said simply. Blunt about it, just like during their conversation last night.

She bit her lip, her breasts seeming to swell within the cups of her bra. He was aroused, too—right now, right here, next to her.

Did that mean he was hard? She suffered the urge to find out, to reach out and press her hand to the front of his pants. “Tell me why,” she murmured instead.

He watched the girls a moment more, drawing Brenna’s gaze back to them, as well—and then finally turned to look her squarely in the eye. “Two of everything. Two sets of soft female lips. Two pairs of round breasts. All those curves…moving together.”

Ah. Maybe that made sense. And maybe that explained why she was excited, too. Her gaze stayed locked on his, but she couldn’t summon an answer, so he went on.

“I like women who are free enough to follow their urges, lose their inhibitions.”

Now she found her voice, to say, “I’m not sure they have inhibitions,” and they both laughed, but it faded quickly because the mood taking over the club was pervasive.

To Brenna’s left, the couple she’d noticed dancing before were now also kissing. Their bodies moved rhythmically to the music, their mouths grinding together as sensually as their pelvises. And a goth guy now nibbled on the neck of the pink-haired girl on Brenna’s right. The girl smiled, letting her tongue slide slowly across her upper lip. It was as if sex was filling the room, floating in the very air, almost as if it were somehow being pumped into the building the same way casinos were rumored to pump extra oxygen into the gaming areas. Brenna’s skin prickled, soft but powerful sensations echoing through her body, making her want to get lost in it all.

Yet her attention was drawn back to the stage when Blush broke into a new song with a steamy, sexy beat. Unfamiliar with it, she assumed it was an original. And like the last song—like many of their songs, it seemed—it was about sex.

Through a pumping chorus, the band repeated the words “best hands” again and again, leaving Brenna to conclude that must be the title. The blonde sang about the hands easing their way across her skin, about fingers dipping into private places, and eventually about the hands reaching, reaching, for ecstasy. The whole crowd soon focused on the young woman, who began to move against the mike stand as she had before.

Brenna realized that not only was she watching the singer ease the microphone between her legs, thrusting gently with the beat of the song, but she was watching it with Damon. They were witnessing it together, experiencing it together. In fact, they were experiencing it with every person in the room. More blatant sex on display.

Yet as time passed, she grew less repulsed than she’d been last night—and more fascinated.

The whole club seemed to pulsate with the beat now, and Brenna continued moving her hips back and forth, surrendering herself to the intoxicating strains.

She should have been alarmed when she felt Damon’s hands mold to her hips, but she wasn’t.

It was too incredible to be touched by him, even just in that small way, pleasure spreading rapidly through her.

And then, then—oh yes!—he was pressing into her from behind, enough for her to realize he was going hard against her ass. It felt like a dream, a fantasy, but it was shockingly real.

Low in her ear, he rasped, “Dance with me, Brenna. Move with me.”

It would have been smart to step away, or to tell him to remember they were professionals here, doing a job. That this was a mistake.

Yet she simply couldn’t. More than just the song was intoxicating her. More than the alcohol she’d consumed. She was drunk on Damon Andros, and she had been for the last twenty-four hours. And she’d tried to play this smart, be bigger than her lust—but now it was consuming her.

So she moved with him, drank in the heat of his body as he leaned closer, felt the power of his hot erection against her rear.

Had anything in her life ever felt better?

She didn’t think so.

She didn’t think any physical sensation had ever pulled her in so quick, so deep, leaving her helpless to fight it.

Together they swayed as the blonde on the stage purred the provocative lyrics that added fuel to their fire. Brenna never looked at him after that, simply kept her eyes straight ahead, feeling it all, trying to survive it, trying to believe it, and wondering what would happen now.

But she knew what would happen, of course. The song would end. The song would end and they’d stop moving together and they’d pretend things were normal again, that he hadn’t touched her, that she hadn’t experienced the deep, raw pleasure of his stiffened cock against her ass.

And it was just as she drew that conclusion…that something else entirely took place.

The warm masculine hand curving over her right hip eased upward, over the gauzy fabric covering her stomach and higher, higher, coming to rest beneath her breast, his thumb arcing up onto the rounded flesh while his fingers played about the bottom of her bra. The intense delight combined with intense need to make her sway more sensually, her breath turning labored, her cunt throbbing madly.

Which is when his other hand snaked downward onto her thigh—and up under her skirt. That quick, that smooth. His fingertips eased between her legs, caressing the silk there.

Her breath hitched and she involuntarily moved in a whole new way, beginning to undulate, as if she were having sex. She met his touch in front and pressed her ass to his hard-on in back. His right arm now circled her waist to keep her steady—he must have realized he was making her weak, her whole body nearly convulsing from the hot strokes his fingers delivered.

Did anyone around them see what was going on, the way he was touching her? Surely not—the crowd remained tight, the spaces between bodies mostly dark, private even though in public.

She’d long since ceased paying attention to the song but glanced up at the stage in time to catch the last line: The best hands are mine. It was an end-of-song twist—the lyricist had no lover, but was touching herself.

Damon kissed Brenna’s neck now, sending fresh spirals of pleasure all through her. Oh God. Oh God.

And when the song ended, the crowd cheered—and Damon leaned near her ear to rasp the words, “Come with me.”

She turned to find that meeting his gaze now was different—even more paralyzing. Because his hands were on her. Because he wanted her as much as she wanted him. And Kelly’s words came back to her. Instant lover. Just add lust and stir. She’d never dreamed it could really happen.

Damon’s hand closed firm around her smaller one as he pulled her through the crowd. She didn’t see the people they passed, didn’t hear the next song begin—she could focus on nothing but him and the need that burned through her.

They broke away from the masses near the back of the club, and he led her briskly down a low-lit hallway. He twisted the knob on an unmarked door, but it was locked. “Damn,” he muttered under his breath, then tried another across the hall. This one opened and he pulled her inside. Shut the door behind them. Flipped on a light switch to illuminate a dim bulb overhead.

They stood in a supply closet amid buckets and brooms and shelves filled with cleaning products. Her heartbeat pulsed everywhere as their gazes met, both hot and ready.

Damon lifted his hands to her face and kissed her, pushing his tongue warm and moist between her lips. Her mouth, her whole body, responded—she was on autopilot now, following urges, vaguely recalling how Damon had told her that turned him on. Pressing her palms to his chest, she curled her fingernails into his shirt as one heated kiss turned into another.

Then his mouth dropped to her neck and his hands to her skirt. Blush’s music made the whole closet vibrate, but the main thing Brenna could hear was her own labored breathing as Damon pushed up under the leather to find her panties. One rip and her thong dropped, a whoosh of air cooling her pussy.

He breathed heavy now, too, and they both worked hurriedly at his belt and pants. Part of her couldn’t believe she was letting this happen, yet it was beyond her to stop.

And when his zipper parted and Damon pushed his underwear down, too, Brenna went weak at the sight of his cock. Oh God, it was big! So thick and long and rock solid—for her.

She wrapped her hand full around it, making him moan. She wasn’t usually so aggressive, but she also wasn’t usually in a closet making out with Damon Andros.

Gazing down at his erection empowered her, and the very way it felt in her fist—silk over steel—had her pulling it toward her, closer, closer, needing it inside her more than she could understand.

“Wait,” Damon whispered, and a hint of panic paralyzed her—please don’t let him be stopping!—until he yanked his wallet from his back pocket and pulled out a square foil packet.

“Oh,” she sighed in relief. Then, “Hurry.”

She held his enormous cock upright between them as he rolled the condom snugly down over it.

The next thing she knew, his hands were closing on her bare ass, she was wrapping one leg around his waist, and he was thrusting himself deep into her hungry cunt.

“Unh!” she cried at the impact, and their eyes met as he began to move in her.

She’d never done anything so animalistic in her life, but that’s what she felt like right now—an animal, out of control, reckless with heat. She’d also never been with anyone so large before, and the fullness was almost overwhelming, especially standing up.

“So wet,” he growled—and she wrapped her arms around his neck and held on tight as he pumped into her welcoming flesh.

“All day,” she admitted between breaths. “And last night. Oh God!” she cried as he filled her again, again. “Fuck me,” she whispered in his ear.

She never said things like that during sex—but again, she’d never been with Damon Andros. He clearly drove her to new heights—or maybe depths.

“Fuck me,” she said again. “Fuck me.”

“I’m fucking you, babe,” he assured her. “I’m fucking you hard.”

They moved together, firm strokes that echoed through every inch of her body, and she met them, pressing down, her moves rubbing her clit against him in front.

“So big,” she breathed. “So big in me.”

“Ah, baby—yeah,” he said, his voice filled with a dirty arrogance she felt to her soul. And then he thrust even deeper, and she knew he wanted her to feel every hard inch, wanted her to know exactly how big he was.

Intense pleasure reverberated through the small of her back and down her thighs, and weakness threatened to make her collapse. Damon kissed her roughly, and their ragged breathing nearly drowned out the echo of music through the door.

“Let me see your tits,” he demanded, the words darting jaggedly through her. He couldn’t reach them himself since he had to hold on to her with both hands to keep their bodies interlocked—and she never could have dreamed she’d find such a command hot, but she did. She hurried to yank at the buttons of her blouse, then reached up to shove both bra straps off her shoulders. The cups dropped and her breasts tumbled free, and she instantly loved having revealed herself to him.

He let out a groan as his eyes dropped to her chest, and she found herself arching involuntarily forward. “Suck them,” she said.

Another rough growl left him as he bent to take one turgid nipple into his mouth, pulling on it hard.

“Oh God,” she murmured. “Oh God, yes.”

She was getting closer, closer—she was going to come.

“Fuck me,” she pleaded again. “Fuck me.”

He continued driving his cock deep and suckling her breast as she moved against him in the hot, tight circles that brought her the most pleasure.

“Oh…” she moaned, lost to the sensations, eyes shut now. She forgot they were in a closet half undressed, forgot she barely knew him, forgot this was the most illicit sex she’d ever even come close to having—and exploded in orgasm. She cried out as it rushed through her, pulsing outward from her cunt all the way to her fingers and toes. “Yes, yes, yes,” she sobbed until finally the waves began to calm and total weakness pervaded her body.

Opening her eyes, she caught a glimpse of the bare lightbulb above her, another of her pointed nipples below, glistening from his ministrations—and felt like someone else. Until she met his gaze, her arms resting around his neck, and then she felt like no one but herself, living out the naughtiest of fantasies—naughtier, in fact, than any she’d ever even had. “Oh God,” she breathed.

“Good?” he asked, those sexy brown eyes still filled with saturating heat.

“Mmm,” she sighed with one slow, well-pleasured nod. “Now…fuck me some more. Fuck me ’til you come.” Brenna hadn’t been herself since arriving in Sin City, and she saw no reason to change that now.

With their gazes still locked, he tightened his grasp on her bottom, his fingers digging in slightly. Then, teeth clenched, he drove into her—once, twice, again, again—slow, hard thrusts that reached her very core. Her body jolted with each, her breasts jiggling. At moments, her head dropped back, her eyes shutting, but when she opened them again, Damon’s gaze always met hers, and such stark intimacy enhanced every sensation. And it was only when he said, “God, God—now,” that his eyes fell shut in ecstasy.

Brenna watched the climax take him, transform him, watched the pleasure and pain steal over his expression, and almost thought she could come again from the severe joy of having delivered him there.

But it was when he opened his eyes and she knew the sex was over that she began to feel just as she had upon coming into the club tonight—a little adrift, unsure. “Good?” she asked, as he’d asked her.

“Perfect.”

And then…nothing. She had no idea what to say, how things would be now.

Gently, he pulled out of her, leaving her to stand on her own. God, her legs were wobbly. And her body suddenly empty. Struggling to stay on her feet, she instinctively reached to put her bra back in place.

“Shit,” he said, then, “Sorry.”

She balked slightly. “Sorry?”

“It’s a bad idea to fuck someone you work with.”

“Oh. Yeah. I had the same thought.” She buttoned her blouse, watching as he removed his condom to drop it in an empty wastebasket resting conveniently on the floor behind him.

This was starting to feel a little surreal. She’d just done it with Damon Andros.

But no, wait—it had already felt surreal. This was more than that. Unreal. Dizzying.

“Although,” she added, thinking aloud, “it’s not as if this is the first time you’ve had sex with someone you worked with.” Singers, she meant.

A small, cynical smile took him. “All completely consensual, without contract promises, by the way.”

“I believe you,” she said softly. And she did. She couldn’t imagine Damon would have to make promises to get any woman into bed.

“And…a habit I was trying to break.”

She bit her lip. “Then what went wrong?”

He zipped his pants, met her gaze. “You’re too damn hot.”

It probably indicated some flaw in her character that, even as she stood totally absorbed by this man and what she’d just done with him, she could also mentally step back and take wild pleasure in the fact that the Damon Andros truly thought she was too hot. But as a girl who’d always felt very middle-of-the-road and pretty-on-her-good-days, it thrilled Brenna to the tips of her toes to feel, for once in her life, as if she was truly that attractive and exciting.

“Maybe we should call it a night,” he suggested.

“What about the band?”

“What’s your take? If you were here without me, would you be prepared to offer a contract?”

She didn’t hesitate to nod. “Yes.”

“Good. Because that’s exactly what I’m gonna do. On the way out, we’ll introduce ourselves and set up a meeting.” He grabbed the doorknob, but stopped to look back. “Ready?”

She gave herself a quick once-over and realized her panties lay looped around the ankle of one boot. “Except for those.”

A fresh sultriness invaded his gaze as he stooped to remove them, dropping them in the waste basket, and before rising, he peered up her skirt to murmur, “Mmm—nice, babe.”

It was enough to get her hot all over again, that fast.

So when he reached back for the doorknob a few seconds later, she closed her hand around his wrist, wondering aloud, “Damon, about what just happened…”

“Yeah?”

“Since we both agree it was a mistake, does that mean…”

“That we won’t do it again?” He gave his head a sexy tilt and flashed those bedroom eyes. “Look, babe—we could say we won’t, and torture ourselves the next few days. But you know what they say.”

“What’s that?”

“What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas.” He concluded with a seductive wink.

“Oh,” she said, her voice a little too soft.

Kelly had said the exact same thing when they’d discussed the then-impossible-seeming notion of Brenna having sex with Damon. And so he was saying he wanted to fool around with her while they were here, but forget it had happened once they returned to L.A. And maybe something about that would have offended old Brenna, but in new Brenna’s world, it seemed like a perfectly acceptable idea as still more of Kelly’s words came back to her. No fuss, no muss, no long or messy attachment.

Of course, the truth was that it would probably be impossible for her to work with him on a long-term basis after this. Because every time she looked at him, she’d remember fucking him. And she’d want to do it again.

But she probably didn’t have to worry about that. Because he was probably going to be losing his job.

A thought that made her stomach churn for a whole different reason—her deception.

Yet she simply couldn’t think about that now. There was no good answer or solution, so what was the point? She had no intention of letting Jenkins’ underhanded ways ruin the best sex of her life with the hottest guy she’d ever encountered.

And given her precarious situation, enjoying this now and cutting it off at week’s end sounded…well, like the perfect plan.