Like Pavlov’s dog.

Only there’s no juicy bone at the end of the road. Just a gorgeous dancer and mounting frustration.

I’ve become a masochist. The affliction seems to have developed overnight. The night that Charlie started working here, to be precise. And each night after that, as I came out to watch her strip.

For me.

It’s very clearly, very obviously, for me.

The tension between the two of us is palpable and growing at an alarming rate into a heady, and highly risky, intimate connection. I’m addicted. There’s no way in hell that I can sit still in my office while Charlie’s up here on my stage anymore. Worse . . . I’ve started coming out to the bar later in the night. I have enough common sense to stay away from her, killing the time by having conversations with Nate, some of the other dancers, and the few regular customers whom I don’t want to choke.

But the electric charge between us keeps intensifying.

I find Nate standing in his stationary spot—with the best view of the floor—and slap him over the shoulder. He knows better than to comment about my timed appearance. “How’s it going? Crammed again, I see.”

With a grunt, he reports, “Tossed two guys out, but it’s been pretty tame so far.”

“Good.” My eyes drift over the floor, mentally calculating how much an average girl will take home tonight with this big a crowd. A solid amount, thankfully. A glance at the stage shows me that Cherry is nearing the tail end of her show.

She’s up next.

Nate’s attention shifts to his earpiece for a moment. With a scowl, I hear him announce, “Kinsley and China are at it again. Ben’s heading into the dressing room now to break it up.”

“Shit,” I mutter. “What am I going to do? One of them is gonna have to go if this keeps up.” It will have to be Kinsley. The girl is putting herself through college with this job, but I’m not as worried about her making the kind of stupid, desperate decisions that China might make. She’d end up back somewhere like Sin City if I fired her.

“Maybe you should go and talk to them,” Nate suggests.

“Maybe you should,” I throw back. The last time I went into a dressing room to break up a catfight, it ended in tears and two sobbing, naked women rubbing themselves up against my sides and pleading with me to forgive them.

“Hell, no. I take care of security. Find a manager to deal with that shit.”

“Sure thing! Just introduce me to someone who won’t rob me or treat my employees like whores.” Twice in the past, I hired managers because I knew that I needed help running a club this size. I caught the first one skimming from the late-night deposits, while trying to pin it on the bartenders. I caught the second one in a private room, demanding lap dances in exchange for better time slots onstage. The idiot didn’t even have the sense to turn the cameras off. When I played it for him, his only response was a shrug and, “I thought you were kidding about that.”

I shake my head. “I need a female manager to handle this shit.” Ginger already takes care of most of the female staff shift scheduling. She offered to take that on years ago, after one of the dancers handed me a sheet of paper with her menstrual cycle dates to plan around. I’m good at lining up apartments and chasing off deadbeat boyfriends. I’m not the guy who keeps track of hormonal schedules.

“And an onsite shrink,” Nate pipes in, earning my grunt of agreement.

Terry’s voice booms over the sound system as Ben sidles up next to me. “All sorted out. For now.”

“How?”

Ben runs his hands up and down his chest. “I told them they don’t have to fight over me. I’ll gladly take both of them out after work, tonight.”

“So you threatened them . . .”

Ben chuckles softly. After a moment’s pause, he casually asks, “What are you doing out here, boss? Oh, wait.” Glancing at his nonexistent watch with a mock frown, he announces, “Is it eleven already?”

“You can wipe that shit-eating grin off your face anytime now, Morris.”

It only gets wider.

“When do those bar results come back?” I keep my voice flat as I turn back to watch the stage.

“Why?”

“So I can fire your ass for real.”

“September.” He smirks, not in the least bit worried. “So . . . she’s still single, from the sounds of it,” Ben remarks as the first chords of a hard song come on. Every one of Charlie’s picks is different from the usual pop dance tunes. The songs are fast-paced and energetic, but with an edge, much like her on that stage. It’s as if she transforms into another person.

By the twinkle in Ben’s eyes, I know he’s egging me on. “No idea.” That’s a lie. I do have an idea. I’m pretty sure she’s single. Tanner hasn’t seen anyone coming in or out of her place, from what he’s told me.

And of course, I’ve asked him to keep an eye out.

“She’s something else,” Ben murmurs, standing straight as the curvy figure stalks out in a new outfit—a short, pleated skirt and torn-up tee—and dives right into a fancy, spinning move as her eyes graze over mine. “Shit, did you see that look she just gave me?”

“That wasn’t for—” I bite back the rest of my response. Fuck, I took the bait and Ben knows it, but he doesn’t call me on it. He only continues being an ass.

“Quiet and calm. Focused. Not annoying and whiny. Just so . . . mysterious. I could see myself with her.” I feel my teeth grinding together as Ben leans in toward me. “You’ve got a little while longer to grow a pair, but when I leave here . . . I make no promises. Except one.” His brow arches. “She won’t turn me down.”

“Get to work, Morris.” I’m ready to knock a few of his pretty-boy white teeth out of that arrogant mouth. But mostly, I want him to go away so I can focus all my attention on my girl.

Shit, not my girl.

Ben leaves with a triumphant grin on his face. I don’t know if he’s just goading me or if he’s not kidding about going after her. With Ben, you never really know. But what if the cocky bastard’s right and she doesn’t turn him down?

Ah, f**k.

I turn back to watch Charlie’s hips roll in a provocative twist, the tiny bikini bottoms beneath her skirt reveal enough ass to stir the all-too-familiar throb between my legs. She doesn’t even have to be naked for that to happen. She’s drop-dead beautiful, fully clothed. I’m kind of glad that she does herself up the way she does onstage, with the curls and the heavy makeup and the contacts. It means the crowd doesn’t get to see her as she is. The real her. What I got to see.

And maybe that’s what she’s hiding.

“She’s as good as Penny was.” Those words feels like a punch to my gut. Nate never brings Penny up. In fact, he hardly ever refers to this place by its name. It’s always just the bar, or the club.

“She is.” Maybe even better. The crowd loved Penny. She was beautiful and sweet and, despite working the VIP rooms, she still somehow maintained that air of innocence. I think she was just looking for someone to love her. Using her body as enticement was the only way she thought they might.

“Is that what all this is about?” Nate prods. “She reminds you of Penny?”

I run my tongue over my teeth, deciding what I want to say. Nate’s not a guy I brush off. Not after everything we’ve been through together. Not when he brings up Penny. “No. I mean, she looks like her and dances like her, but . . .” Charlie doesn’t seem so innocent. And where Penny was bubbly and sweet and transparent, Charlie is reserved and impossible to decipher. I don’t think she’s devoid of emotion; I think she just internalizes it more than most. But why?