A SEAL's Fantasy. Tawny Weber

might be the choreographer,” Flo agreed, referring to the man in charge of the showgirls at the Silver Dust Casino, “but everyone knows that Rudy has plenty of power. Enough to trip you up if you aren’t careful.”

      Balancing on one foot while she pulled on a knee-high stiletto boot, Lara sucked in a deep breath. She didn’t need Flo’s warning to know she was tiptoeing along the edge of blowing her job.

      She’d run across plenty of Rudys in her days. She’d been dancing professionally since she was seventeen. Broadway in New York or casinos in Reno, it didn’t matter. There were always power-hungry egomaniacs with hard-ons out to screw you over.

      She knew it didn’t matter if you were the best, if you were the brightest or if you had the most talent. She knew promises didn’t mean a thing and that trusting anyone was an invitation to be screwed over backward.

      This was the third casino she’d danced at since being dumped here in Reno three years ago. But dammit, it was going to be her last.

      “I’ll be fine,” she said, zipping her other boot, then grabbing her purse and backpack out of the locker before slamming it shut.

      She gave Flo a smile, rare for being real, and shrugged.

      “I know what I’m doing, and I’ll be fine,” she repeated. “I don’t play by any guy’s rules. Doesn’t matter how much power he thinks he has. He can’t mess with me.”

      Two minutes later, Lara had to sigh and wonder why life always sent her words back to bite her. Did she flip life the bird and tempt fate? No. Did she ignore hard-learned lessons and traipse down the same stupid path time and time again? No, no, a million times no.

      But life clearly didn’t trust her.

      Lara walked down the long service hall toward the employee exit. The door was usually manned by a guard or two, big burly guys posted to keep the lowlifes away and make sure nobody played grab ass with the girls when they left.

      Tonight the door had been left unguarded. And she was the only dancer leaving between shows.

      Rudy might not be able to punish her officially for not taking his generous offer. But like petty men everywhere, he found a way to slap at her.

      Message received.

      And, she determined, her chin high, ignored.

      She tugged her denim jacket on over the purse she’d draped from one shoulder to the opposite hip, automatically tucked her keys between her knuckles. She shoved the heavy door open.

      She didn’t make it three steps before catching the attention of the creep cadre, as she had disdainfully dubbed the men who littered the back alley of the casino. Dealers, dopers and desperate losers gathered in clumps. A dozen sets of eyes cut to her, then over her shoulder to the empty doorway. The nasty smiles made her stomach knot. But only because dealing with the creeps might make her late. At least, that’s what she told herself. She wasn’t a fan of lying, but sometimes a little fib kept a girl from turning tail and running.

      For every step she made, the creeps slinked one closer. Her fingers tightened around her keys while she shifted her backpack off her shoulder so it dropped to the crook of her elbow, better for swinging.

      “Yo.”

      Lara ignored the call just as she ignored the disgusting suggestions and lewd propositions. Her feet wanted to run, but she knew better. Jackals loved it when their prey showed fear.

      “Lara Banks?”

      She kept moving, her steps a little faster now. Twenty feet to the end of the alley and the road. Crowds, tourists, cops. She was almost there. Footsteps sounded like thunder as they came closer; the catcalls and rude comments were so loud now they echoed in her head.

      Her breath hitching a little, she anchored her fist around the strap of her backpack and prepared to sprint to the end of the alley.

      Before she made it three feet, a hand grabbed her shoulder.

      Without thinking, Lara spun, swinging her pack with all her strength.

      The only reaction the guy showed was a slight huff as it slammed into his belly.

      She wouldn’t get any help from the creep cadre. They were more likely to pull out their cameras and film the attack.

      Fist high and ready to scrap her keys across his face, Lara froze.

      It was him.

      The guy from the front row.

      Her stomach did a slow, twirling sort of dive, leaving fear behind and coiling into a deep, intense lust.

      He was even more gorgeous up close.

      And he was a creep who accosted women in an alley, she reminded herself.

      Figured.

      * * *

      WELL, WELL. APPARENTLY little sister Lara had gotten all the looks in the Banks family, Dominic decided. And all the style. She had the same mahogany hair and green eyes as her brother, but the resemblance stopped there.

      Her hair was short, a wicked angle that highlighted sharp cheekbones and exotically long-lidded eyes. And her mouth...oh, baby. Her lips were full and rosy, erotic enough to put a porn star to shame. Of course, that impression might be the result of watching her strutting her incredibly sexy body onstage for an hour.

      He dropped his gaze to take in that body up close. It was definitely one worth getting personal with. She was tall, in her heels just a few inches shorter than he was, with most of her height in those long, sleek legs. The kind of legs made to wrap around a man and take him for a wild ride. Her jacket obscured but didn’t hide the lush curves of her breasts. His fingers itched to move that denim aside and get a better look.

      He resisted.

      Not because she was glaring at him. Nor because of any stupid rules about her being off-limits because she was Banks’s sister.

      Nope.

      He yanked his lust back, holding it in check.

      She was his mission.

      “Hi,” he said, his smile pure charm. He didn’t figure it’d take more than that. It rarely did. “You’re Lara, right?”

      “Excuse me,” she said, moving her hand from side to side as if flicking him out of her path. “I’m in a hurry.”

      He’d been able to resist her looks, stunning though they were.

      But that voice. Hello, darlin’, that voice was pure sexual invitation. Low and husky, it was meant for dark rooms and silk sheets.

      “You’ve got a second, though, right?”

      She gave him a look, a combination of irritation and inquiry, as if she couldn’t figure out why he wasn’t listening.

      He could have told her he was listening just fine. But her order and his wishes were in direct conflict, and Dominic made a habit out of getting his way. Especially when it came to beautiful women.

      With that in mind, he amped up the charm a little and tilted his head.

      “Look, I just want to talk to you.”

      “Right,” Lara mocked with a roll of her eyes. “Talk. Sorry, big boy. I’m busy. Why don’t you grab one of the girls on the corner? They’re never too busy to chat.”

      He snorted. Damned if her smart-ass mouth wasn’t just as sexy as her legs.

      “We can keep it public. There’s a diner across the street. We’ll talk there.”

      “I’m not into talking, even in public,” she said as she tried again to pull her arm from his grip. He didn’t let go.

      “Sweetheart, you just bared your all to a theater full of drooling guys. You obviously have no problem with public displays.” A fact for which he was very grateful.