When secrets conflict with dreams, love explodes.
After a lusty night with a hot pole dancer, billionaire Peyton Lang and local dance teacher, Fuchsia Quinn's worlds are about to collide.
Once settled, she closed her eyes and inhaled a few deep breaths. One helluva crappy night. Could it get any worse? She opened her eyes and blinked. The man in the booth across from her seemed familiar. She frowned as she tried to place him.
A flutter in her belly and a clench in her pussy told her that her had body guessed who it was before she did.
She smiled. His face wore the same surprised look she assumed was on hers. He grinned back and tilted his head toward her booth. She nodded, fighting down a teenage urge to giggle hysterically as he settled across from her. He had to be a bit over six feet tall and maybe a year older than her. Short dark hair topped a scruffy unshaven chin. A quick check of his left hand showed no wedding band or tan line.
"Can I say? Or maybe, should I say, I'm not stalking you. This is a cool coincidence. When I left the club, I asked the cabbie where to get a late night snack, and he brought me here."
Big Tipper nodded.
"That's Amando. He usually drives me here and then home."
He raised an eyebrow. "Boyfriend?"
"No." Flame chuckled. "In every sense of the word. He's a friend, and I'm not seeing anyone at the moment."
Waggling his eyebrows, Big Tipper said, "Well then, let me be thoroughly pushy and offer to buy you your late night feast. That way I can spend several more minutes in your company and tell you how stunning you are and how you so—" He visibly shivered. "How you just… just… I'm stuck."
"Tell me I'm the sexiest thing you've ever seen on stage and you can buy me dinner." It wouldn't make up for the loss of the tip, but every penny she could avoid spending was a bonus.
"I've been to a lot of strip clubs and you were the first… I mean the first, who's riveted my attention. The second I spotted you, I… uh… well you can figure that out." His smile stretched from his full lips and seemed to reach up to the corner of his light blue eyes.
Her finger twitched, wanting to trace the small scar on his chin. "I'd like to thank you for the generous tip." She fought back a sob, and then peered at her hands, looking for some way to hide the tears threatening to spill.
He reached his hand out and placed it on hers. "What's wrong?" His gaze caressed her face.
The warmth from the concern in his voice and the heat of his flesh on hers intensified the flutter in her belly. Her bottom lip trembled as she lifted her face. "Somebody stole it out of my purse at the club. There's no place to lock anything away. And usually tips are… well, they suck."
Anger filled his eyes. In a moment, she recognized a passion for justice in him. His brow creased and his gaze shifted as if he were debating something. "If I'd had a million dollars in my wallet, I'd have stuffed it in your bra."
She glanced down at her chest. "Well, then for a few minutes I'd have had big boobs."
"From what I saw at the club, they're perfect. And enticing."
She sniffed. "It was such a generous gift, and I feel stupidly horrible for losing it."
He edged forward on his seat and cupped her hands in his. "Never let the meanest of others make you demean yourself like that. In the few moments I've had the pleasure of sitting here, I can see you're a kind, compassionate, caring woman. Your eyes are hiding a secret, and I can guess it has a lot to do with the situation you're in."
A single tear trickled down her right cheek. "I don't care if that's a line. That's the sweetest thing anyone has ever said."
Big Tipper scooted around the table, sat next to her, and wrapped her in his arms. "A woman like you should never be sad."