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stage, the gathering of women in heat waiting for the men to dance grew larger. The lights dimmed. My gaze flew to the half-naked server behind the bar, and I began doubting my strength. His muscles glistened in the light. He flipped the bottles and poured the liquor as if he were born to the job. I wished the bar wasn’t so high, so I could follow the downward path of that gorgeous valley between his abs a bit lower. The swell between my legs pulsed, letting more of my essence seep into my panties. I squirmed in the seat, hoping to hide my desire for a quick release. Maybe I should have spent more time in the shower this morning. Hounds was definitely filled with some hot man-candy, and I was feeling like a kid with a sweet tooth visiting Willy Wonka’s chocolate factory.
    Women waved around dollar bills, and brides-to-be drank colorful shots. Bundles of friends got seated for the show and singles – or should I say, women who wanted to appear single – scouted around for a good lay. I knew the look in their predatory eyes too well. I had owned that look less than two years ago when I picked my victim of the night.
    Everyone in the club had an agenda, and most people here oozed sex and booze. A few couples sat at the tables closer to the stage, watching the last female perform. And that was when I felt his presence. Fear, or maybe anticipation, froze my entire body. I knew the minute I looked at him I’d regret it. All my invincible thoughts about not getting involved would go up in flames. But when the perfection of a man dressed in a gray suit pulled up a chair beside me, he robbed me of that choice.
    He sat casually and reached for my drink. After a sip, he asked, “How many years has it been, Jules?”
    Oh, God, he looked even hotter with clothes on than without. Freshly shaven and with a glistening barbell around his brow, I could barely catch enough air to speak. And those hazel eyes I dreamt about captivated me as much as they had six years ago.
    Get a grip, Jules. It’s just Scar. Unfortunately, my internal pep talk didn’t help, and the glass I reached for slipped in my hand. Scar caught the drink before it spilled, inadvertently touching my hand. Sometimes I wondered how people with nerves like mine were allowed to hold a scalpel, but when I put my scrubs on, I was in a totally different world and was a completely different person.
    His mouth curved into a genuine smile, giving me back that extra courage that had evaporated the moment I saw him.
    “A while. When are you going up?” I felt the urge to check out every inch of his skin underneath the suit and pinched my thigh to concentrate on the pain as it zapped down my leg. It was a trick I’d learned at the meetings and much less obvious than a rubber band around a wrist.
    “I was sure I’d get a bigger reaction out of you than that. You’re not surprised to see me?” he asked.
    What I was surprised by was his attire. Why so much clothing at a strip club? Did he want me to beg to remove them?
    “No. It’s why I’m here,” I replied. His brow lifted slightly, drawing my eyes to the scar there. It was as beautiful as all the other scars on his body and gave him the dangerously sexy edge many men lacked.
    “You sought me out?”
    I couldn’t help but feel proud of the curiosity in his voice. Did he really think that running into him here was a coincidence?
    “Not really. I just wanted to ensure my patient didn’t lose the sensation in his penis.” Feeling powerful and the one with the upper hand for at least a few seconds, I leaned into him, the loose cleavage of my little black dress lowering. His jaw tensed and pupils dilated, and I felt an old rush return to my body. I was much more comfortable with the way I looked now than the awkward teenager he remembered me as, or as the inexperienced woman he’d met at the ski chalet. And that gave me the confidence I needed to tell him about our reunion a week ago. “Do you know that after a