And he definitely wasn’t going to fall in love.

Marcus let his gaze move back down the woman’s barely-there leather dress. It didn’t look like respect was going to be much of an issue.

The dangerous curves began to shift beneath the thin layer of leather and he realized she was moving. Straight toward him, never once breaking stride, even in impossibly high heels.

Marcus lifted his eyes from her made-for-sex body and couldn’t miss the challenge in her gaze, a look that asked if he was man enough to handle her.

He’d come here tonight to find a woman, to proposition her, to claim her for one no-holds-barred night. Looked like he was the one who was about to be propositioned, instead.

He’d always liked his women tall and slim, not barely coming up to his chest like this one. A voice in his head told him she was way too young for him, young enough that if this were any other night, he’d walk away from her now. Hell, if things had gone as he’d planned for the past two years, he wouldn’t even be here.

But he was.

He wasn’t planning on walking away from whatever this woman offered. Not until first light.

And definitely not until he’d had his fill of those curves.

* * *

My God, he was beautiful.

Talk about big and strong—if this guy’s broad shoulders and gorgeous face weren’t enough, he stood out from the rest of the scummy crowd in his pressed shirt and slacks, clearly not giving a damn that he was different from them all.

He was the one.

The hassle of getting inside with all of the people clamoring to take pictures and have her sign autographs for them had almost been enough to make her hop back into the taxi and go hide out in her hotel again. What had she been thinking, coming out to a club to find a man? Especially when she knew darn well that pictures of her and the guy would surface on the Internet within hours.

But she hadn’t known where else to look, hadn’t been able to think of anywhere else to go. And she just didn’t care about the price of fame tonight, about the inevitable ramifications of what she was doing. Not when a long, lonely night was all that waited for her in her hotel suite if she turned tail and ran.

Beyond thankful that she hadn’t chickened out at the last second, Nicola was practically licking her lips as she approached him.

It was pure instinct to try and make herself look more attractive to him. She’d pushed out her br**sts, swayed her hips that extra little bit. Yes, she often silently bemoaned having to use her sexuality to get things out of people, but when it worked this well, what was a girl to do?

And she really wanted tonight to work out. Especially now that she’d finally seen the man she absolutely had to have.

She waited for him to say her name, for that flicker of recognition to rise in his eyes. But when neither happened after several long seconds, it finally occurred to her that he might not know who she was.

Or, she thought with the cynicism that had taken root deep within her, maybe he was just faking it because he thought it would pique her interest in him if he seemed aloof.

“Hi, I’m Nicola.”

Her real name popped out before she realized it. She hadn’t gone by anything but Nico for so long with anyone but her parents that the name felt strange on her tongue.

Kind of good, too, though.

She waited for him to correct her, to be surprised that she hadn’t introduced herself as Nico. Instead, he simply repeated her name.

“Nicola."

His low, rough voice had her shivering, thrill bumps actually rising on her arms despite the swampy heat of the club from all the moving bodies.

She studied him for long enough to confirm that there wasn’t a shred of awareness in his dark brown eyes. Nothing at all that resembled the way the guy at the hotel had looked at her, like he was dying to say he’d done a big star.

Had she actually run into the one person on earth who had no idea who she was?

It felt too lucky to be true.

Of course, her luck would only hold out so long in a public place. From the moment she’d walked in, everyone’s eyes had been on her—and now the two of them. Normally, she wouldn’t care. She was used to staring.

But she suddenly wanted more than just a night of hot sex with a gorgeous guy.

She wanted to experience it as Nicola. Not Nico. Which meant she needed to get them out of there as soon as possible, before anyone came up and asked for an autograph or a picture with her.

“I’m not in the mood to dance tonight,” she began, before realizing, “I don’t know your name."

She liked the way he reached out and brushed a lock of hair out of her eyes, liked it even more when he said, “My name is Marcus. And I’m not in the mood to dance, either.”

She supposed there were lots of things they could both say to each other. Things like, Should we get out of here? or Why don’t we go back to my hotel? But, amazingly, Nicola realized those words, those questions and answers, weren’t necessary.

Everything they’d needed to say to each other had already been said.

In one look.

In one touch.

Her skin burned where he’d touched her, his fingertips rougher than she’d thought they would be, given his clothes. She’d felt calluses and strength in that one brush across her skin. The thought of being touched like that—with those hands—on even more sensitive parts of her body had heat blooming inside of her in places that never usually got that hot.

Following the instinct that had brought her this far, Nicola turned without another word and began to move back to the door through which she’d just entered. A moment later, Marcus’s large, warm hand was on the small of her back as he followed her. She often traveled to events with her bodyguard, a man who was even bigger than Marcus. But she’d never felt so safe, so protected.

And never this tingly, head to toe.

The sizzling warmth from the spot on her lower back where he was holding his hand against her quickly spread down her hips and across to her stomach and br**sts.

The music was still playing, louder than before, perhaps, but all she could hear was the beating of her own heart. All she knew was that she wanted this night with Marcus more than she’d wanted anything in a very long time.

In the back of her mind she knew that what she was doing was stupid, not just because of the pictures that would surface of her with a “mystery man,” but because she shouldn’t be leaving a club with a man she knew nothing whatsoever about. For all she knew, he was a sadistic murderer out trolling for his next decapitation victim. But the way he was touching her, so carefully and yet with such assurance—along with the way he’d gently stroked her face—made her want to trust her initial instincts about him.