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Doing her best to quash said butterflies, she strode down the narrow hallway. On reaching the dark wooden door that led to the dimly lit main eating area, she pushed it open. Immediately, the scents of spices, tomatoes, cheese, peppers, and garlic swirled around her.

The place was full, but not rowdy. Its color palette of taupe, yellow, and burgundy complemented the informal Italian feel to the place. The murmuring of voices, sizzling of food, and scraping of cutlery on plates overlaid the soft background music.

She gave a quick wave to her stepfather, Alfie, who was prepping food in the open kitchen along with several other chefs. Waiters went back and forth carrying trays or electronic notepads. Some patrons sat at the ornate tables. Others were tucked into booths or stood at the bar.

Weaving her way through the tables, Naomi plucked a bit of lint from her black dress. It was elegant, but enhanced “the girls”, clung to her curves, and stopped just above her knees.

Arriving at the hostess station, she smiled at the petite red-headed waitress there. “Thanks for covering for me.”

“No problem,” said Donna absently, her attention on the window – or whatever lay beyond it.

Naomi tracked her gaze . . . and saw a veritable sexual cocktail of supreme masculinity striding toward the pizzeria.

Luka moved with the fluid, powerful grace of a tiger, carrying an unmistakable air of nobility; of a person who was to be obeyed, served, and feared. Like he owned the freaking world.

Donna swiftly scarpered. Unsurprising. By virtue of being a legion—a rare breed of demon that hosted three inner entities—he naturally unnerved people. What amped up their fear was that the guy radiated an unchecked danger that seeped out like ooze, touching even those at a fair distance from him.

One of his bodyguards shoved open the door, briefly scanned the venue, and then nodded at Luka. The Prime breezed inside, his default stony expression firmly in place. Naomi’s inner demon went ahead and eye-banged him.

Who wouldn’t?

Naomi was average height, but Luka was so tall that he made her feel petite. He was also lean and broad-shouldered. His piercing eyes—a striking velvety black—were as dark as his short hair and layer of stubble.

In his tailored suit, not a wrinkle in sight or a hair out of place, he looked groomed, elegant, and—despite his distinct reptilian coldness—oh so very fuckable.

There was something almost scandalizing about possessing such staggeringly lethal sex appeal. It was indecent. An outrage. Totally unfair. It crawled over your defenses and seeped into any fracture it could find.

Luka’s gaze fixed on Naomi, and yeah, her pulse lost its shit. He prowled toward her, his focus holding a rapacious edge. The faintest shimmer of power steamed the air around him—a drugging thing for her demon.

The first time they’d come face to face, her primitive hindbrain had woken up and warned, Careful . Nonetheless, her hormones had become ridiculously light-headed. They were doing the same thing right now.

Luka came to a stop in front of her station, his eyes still locked on her face. A very familiar static awareness laced with sexual chemistry buzzed to life and pricked at her skin like blunt needles.

How annoying. She flashed him her courteous hostess smile. “Mr. Belinsky,” she greeted. “Welcome back to Sizzle and Slice Pizzeria.”

“Luka,” he corrected with the bare hint of a Russian accent. “I’m scheduled to meet Jolene here.” There was a distinct sexy roughness to his voice, as though his vocal cords had once been damaged.

“She let me know you’d be coming.” Naomi flicked a look at his guards—two identical rough-looking muscle-bound brothers with buzz cuts and sharp gray gazes. “Will all three of you be eating?”

“No. Just myself.”

She nabbed two menus. “Follow me, I’ll take you to Jolene. She’s waiting for you in the private dining room.”

Luka trailed behind the waitress, still recovering from a brutal punch of need to his gut. Each time he laid eyes on the creature in front of him, sheer want ripped through him. A visceral reaction he had no way of fighting. Partly because she was a siren, but also because she was a fucking vision.

Long, thick lashes framed her hooded gray-green eyes.

Blonde streaks ran through the silky cinnamon-brown hair she’d loosely curled at the ends.

She was slender but curvy. Her breasts were high and round, her legs long and shapely.

She smelled like pure sexual heaven, and her voice—all smoke and sin—was an enticement all on its own.

Sensuality seemed woven into her very being. It could be seen in her eyes, her smile, the sinuous way she moved.

She hadn’t only snagged Luka’s interest, she’d snagged that of his entities. The trio were as conscienceless, remorseless, and malevolent as all inner demons. That said, they were each different in their own way and had named themselves when Luka was an infant.

Chronically broody, Dagon was a skilled liar and manipulator. The ever-narcissistic Abraxas was preoccupied with beauty and sought to charm women. Belial was probably a little insane, really—the only joy the mercurial sadist found in life came from hurting, degrading, and shaming others.

And currently, they were all focused on the woman in front of them.

It was a typical scenario around Little Miss Naomi Chamberlain—he’d learned her name from the background check he’d done on her.

It had revealed nothing of note. She lived a simple, quiet life.

She spent most of her free time alone at home, only venturing out when going to work, shopping, visiting her parents, or meeting up with her psi-mate.

If Luka didn’t know any better, he’d think it all bullshit. The picture the dossier painted was just a little too pretty for a demon—especially one who’d grown up around imps.

“The place is as busy as ever,” he observed aloud.

She glanced at him over her shoulder before pushing open a door. “It’s fast become a staple in this area of Vegas. Not a shocker. As I told you once before, you won’t find better pizza elsewhere.”

She had told him that, Luka recalled as he followed her through the door and along a hallway. ‘ That’s a bold claim ,’ he’d replied back then, to which she’d said, ‘ And a fact . I’ll be surprised if you don’t become a return customer. It’s rare that people don’t come again. ’

He’d returned twice, but it wasn’t merely for the good food. It was for her. He would have made a move on first meeting her, but he’d not long ago walked away from a fling. He liked to leave a short period between such arrangements. So he’d waited. Watched her. Bided his time.

Arriving at another door, she paused. “Here we are.”

Reaching out to the twins on their telepathic channel, Luka said, Wait here. They only nodded in response.

He didn’t anticipate any issues cropping up. Jolene Wallis was unpredictable with a splash of crazy, but they had a tentative alliance—one they’d formed when his anchor and her daughter began spending time with several of Jolene’s imps, including the woman’s granddaughters.

He followed Naomi into the private dining room. It was cozy and stylish, featuring only a table and six chairs.

Decked out in a simple blouse, pencil skirt, and high heels, Jolene rose from the table, a smile on her face that somehow seemed both welcoming and shrewd. “Luka, always a pleasure.”

“Jolene,” he greeted smoothly as Dagon observed her intently, always recognizing a fellow master manipulator.

Jolene waved Luka into the chair opposite her own as she lowered herself back into it.

“Your waitress will be with you in a few moments to take your orders,” Naomi announced, laying the two menus in the center of the table.

Jolene cast her a smile. “Thank you, Naomi.”

“Enjoy your meal,” Naomi said before breezing out of the room.

Luka’s entities all grumbled their annoyance, only placated by the knowledge that he would speak to her again before he left the pizzeria.

His skin still tingled slightly from how the notes of her song had played over him, searching and exploring; looking for some weakness to exploit so it could drag him under its spell. It had failed, but that wasn’t to say he didn’t still intend to have her in his bed.

He skimmed his gaze around the room. “Just how many hidden bugs and cameras are in here?”

“Maybe none. Maybe many.” Jolene waved away his concern and nabbed a menu. “I don’t plan on asking personal questions. I only hope for us to come to an agreement about something.”

Luka felt his eyes narrow. “If you’re intending to request that I grant your lair admittance to Infernal, my answer will be a resounding no.” Imps as a species were barred from his illegal gambling club due to their habit of cheating and stealing.

“Nothing like that,” she assured him. “I seek only your cooperation.”

He grabbed the other menu. “Cooperation on what, exactly?”

At that moment, a young waitress entered the room. Luka and Jolene gave their orders for drinks and food, and the girl left.

He snapped his menu shut and lowered it to the table. “So?” he prompted, ignoring Abraxas’ put-out sigh—it didn’t want to talk to Jolene, it wanted to track down the pretty siren.

“Iain Forrester,” Jolene threw out. “He’s one of your demons, correct?”

It hadn’t really been a question. “You know he is.”

“He’s also being a major pain in the ass. It can’t be allowed to continue.”

Luka fought a frown. “Expand on that.”

“He dated one of my demons. They were together a little over four weeks—nothing serious, just light and fun. Although it’s been three months since they parted ways, he won’t let it go. Won’t let her go. He bombards her with texts, turns up at her house, and sends her gifts.”

Luka couldn’t wrestle back a frown this time, because that didn’t sound like Iain.