Delicious by Shayla Black Page B

But she also needed to let him really know her. Not easy for her, letting down her walls. Trust in general was an expensive luxury—and a foolish one. But unless she wanted to lose Luc to this better-than-her bitch, Alyssa must figure out how to let him deep inside more than just her body.

    THE silence in the SUV was choking. Alyssa kept biting her lower lip. Her sunglasses protected against the morning glare—and prevented Luc from reading her expression.
    Whatever she was thinking shouldn’t matter. But it did. Though she’d betrayed almost no emotion when he’d mentioned his relationship with Emily, he suspected that the words hurt. And he felt like shit. He wanted to say something . . . but why? He was leaving in six days and would probably never see Alyssa Devereaux again. It was better this way.
    Except . . . she’d worn another short skirt—white with some curlicue pattern on it—and black garters. Her sheer black hose with a sexy seam down the back nearly made him swallow his tongue. The red shoes were pure fuck-me, as was the matching tank top that hugged her generous breasts and trim waist.
    Right now he couldn’t even remember what Emily looked like. And he was pretty sure that in the face of someone stabbing “whore” into her driver’s seat, she would scream hysterically and cry.
    Luc swore under his breath.
    “With your job, you must have traveled all over the world,” Alyssa offered.
    As he cruised to a red light and stopped, he looked her way. She’d pondered a long time before asking him that question. Where was this going? “Yes.”
    “What’s your favorite place?”
    “You’re seriously asking me about travel?” Not our chat in the hallway?
    She bristled, eased back in her seat, looked away. “Just making conversation.”
    But why? She wasn’t a talk-for-talk’s-sake sort of woman.
    “And you really want my thoughts on travel? Nothing else?”
    “Never mind.” Alyssa turned her head to look out the passenger window.
    He winced. Maybe she’d extended an olive branch to show that she had no hard feelings. If so, he’d just squashed her offering without thought. He couldn’t afford to be sexual with her—but he didn’t have to be unkind.
    “Barbados. I like warm weather. Their beaches are gorgeous. Swimming with the turtles is mind-blowing.”
    No reply.
    “I went to culinary school in Paris. It’s a great city. Winters are a bit too cold for me. But there’s nothing like the street corner cafés and the culture.”
    She sent him a tight smile. “I’ll take your word for it.”
    When she turned away again, he frowned. What did that mean? Travel conversation was suddenly boring . . . or that she hadn’t been to Paris. The truth hit, and he sent her a lingering stare before traffic forced his attention again. How often did strippers travel overseas, especially ones who owned their own clubs? And now she had her savings tied up in Bonheur.
    So why had she started this conversation? He didn’t think it had anything to do with travel, really. Was she trying to get to know him?
    After the way he had fucked her blind, left her, apologized with impersonal flowers, and distanced himself from her again just minutes ago, she could have been a raving bitch. Most women would have. Alyssa had simply asked a question.
    Now he found himself intensely curious about the sexpot on his right.
    “Tell me something about you,” he demanded softly.
    She shrugged, straight platinum hair sliding across her small shoulders. “You know the pertinent facts. I’m twenty-nine and opening a restaurant.”
    “You’re a bit deeper than that. Did you grow up in Louisiana?”
    Her gaze whipped to her lap suddenly. She bit her lip, looking pensive. “No. You grow up in Texas?”
    He shook his head. “Clearwater Beach, Florida. You didn’t say where you were from.”
    “I didn’t,” she agreed.
    Luc wanted to pry more, but they’d arrived at the club. And he knew a closed subject when he heard