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Before he could recover, she shoved his legs wide, wedged herself between them, spun, and gave him her back. Using his thighs for support, she did a twisting shimmy that had his cock hammering his zipper, then thrust out her hips. As though she’d cast a spell over him, his mind blanked, and the audience disappeared. The second his palms gripped her curvy ass, she straightened and smacked his hand.

To his great disappointment, she abandoned his thighs in favor of walking behind him. There, she did something that had the crowd cheering. Before he could wrench his head back to watch the show, her little black dress sailed onto the stage in front of him.Gulp. He swallowed hard, his mouth gone dry.

Before he could guess her next move, she placed her palms on his shoulders and ran her hands down his chest. His eyes rolled into his skull, and he tipped his head back. The deep breath he drew filled his lungs with the scent of Dante’s herbs and Vivian’s sultry perfume. In that moment, the crowd, Dante, the guards, the danger, the mission. All of it fell away. Vivian nuzzled her face to his cheek, and he angled his face to hers. Before their lips could meet, she was gone again.

Vivian was the predator, and he, her spellbound prey. Damn, if he didn’t like it.

To his utter delight, she rounded the chair, spun, and planted her stiletto on his thigh. He groaned and caught her foot. Her next command she issued without uttering a word, sliding one crimson-tipped finger beneath her garter and snapping it.

Message received. His duty was clear.

“By the gods,” he rasped, head clouded by a lust-filled haze. “Do you have any idea what seeing you like this does to me? Night after night, I watched you on that stage, imagined it was just the two of us there while you danced.” He slid the stiletto from her foot, massaged her slim ankle, and stroked his palm up her thigh. His teeth ached to take a bite out of that tempting bit of flesh.

She ran her finger beneath his jaw and tipped his chin up, whispering her confession against his lips. “You’re not the only one living out their fantasy.”

He unfastened her garter, slid the stocking down her calf, and tossed it aside. Ever the performer, she spun a pirouette, set her hands on his knees, gyrated, and planted the second stiletto right between his legs.

He grunted, catching her foot before she could unman him.

His vision blurred, then doubled. He shook his head. Fuck. He’d forgotten about Dante. Behind him, he registered a dark chuckle.

Once he’d freed Vivian from her second stocking, she tucked her thumbs beneath her garter belt and took her time, shimmying it down her hips. Then she straddled him and snaked her arms over her head as she tipped back. He grasped her waist to keep her from falling. Over she went, planting her hands on the floor. He pushed her over, having seen this stunt in the past.

Little did she know, the first time he watched her give a customer a lap dance, he’d caught the guy in the alley behind the club. Needless to say, the male never came back for a second performance.

Ever graceful, Vivian landed on her bare feet and tossed her head back, sending her dark mane flying. Then she prowled the length of the stage, prancing for her cheering audience before returning to him.

As she should.

She perched her sweet ass on his knee, slid the bra straps down her arms, clutched her breasts, and cast him a sultry look over her shoulder.

“Be a dear,” she cooed, the scent of her arousal teasing his senses. The knowledge she was enjoying her performance as much as him threatened to bring him to his knees.

“Fuuuuuck,” he growled, then—gods save him—unhooked her bra.

Off she went again, dressed in nothing but a thong with those lacy cups clutched to her tits. Pride swelled in his chest. Why shouldn’t they look at her? She was beautiful, his Vivian. Sure, the audience—and Dante—were getting an eyeful. But that was all they would ever have from her. Liam was the only one who saw the parts she hid from the rest of the world. The one she trusted to keep her safe. The one she would come back to once the performance was over.

Minegrowled a voice from deep within his psyche.

He shook his head. No, that wasn’t right. Fucking Dante and his weed.

Before Liam could focus his thoughts, Vivian returned to him, mischief glinting in her eyes.

Like the pro she was, she played with the crowd. Played with Liam as well.

Finally, she faced him, hands clasped to the scrap of lace still covering her breasts and arched a brow. He registered the challenge. How far was he going to let this striptease go?

It was a challenge he met. “It’s your show, Beauty.” When he didn’t object, she gave him a saucy grin. Surely, she wouldn’t. Not once in her previous shows had she bared so much.

Just when he’d convinced himself she was done, Vivian—damn her—dropped that scrap of lace, revealing her mouthwatering breasts to him. While he stared, slacked-jawed, she planted her hands on his shoulders. Rolled her body between his thighs, licking fire through his veins. The crowd roared, their cheers reaching a fevered pitch. He sensed them all watching her, eyes burning into her back, waiting for her to turn around.

Instincts rose, dark and possessive. Hell with this. The audience hadn’t earned this right. Before they could get an eyeful of Vivian’s charms, he snapped his arms around her and pulled those lush breasts into his chest.

Voices booed. Some cheered.

As he lurched to his feet, his vision blurred, and he staggered. Shit, he’d forgotten all about Dante. If the bastard wasn’t already blind, he’d gouge his eyeballs out.

Liam stormed off the stage with Vivian cradled in his arms and glared at the smirking male. The fire demon tucked his fingers beneath his horn, saluting him.