Siobhan is the female embodiment of natural beauty. She's petite with soft curves and a body that I'm sure most men have a hard time looking away from. Her hair is a natural blond and her eyes a striking blue. Except, where I'm soft-spoken, she's hard. She reminds me a little of my mom that way, but she actually turns out to be pretty nice, helping me change into another outfit and doing my makeup.

In the twenty minutes I spend warming up with her, I learn that she is twenty-three and has been a dancer for the past two years. She doesn't say anything about who got her into the club or divulge any obvious fear about working for the Irish mafia. Not that I expect her to blab right away.

In the meantime, I put on my best smile and try to act my age for once. When the other dancers file into the dressing room I quickly realize that this might not be as breezy as I anticipated. I can imagine how competitive this industry is, and that most of the clubs are just like being back in high school. Between the dirty looks and catty comments, it's quite obvious I'm considered enemy number one at the moment. This isn't helping my chances of getting any information from the girls, but my main concern is getting close to the Albanians. I need to know firsthand what happens to the women who entertain them and what they know of the recent abduction.

I leave to the spare room, mumbling something about retouching my makeup, but I leave the door ajar so I can peek through the gap.

When a tall brunette with bronzed skin and a statuesque body starts running her mouth about me, I ignore her. She says something about me just showing up out of the blue, not paying house fees. Then she moves on to the big guns. She props her hip against the vanity and starts rapid firing.

"Did you get a look at her?" She snaps her gum. "And that ridiculous English accent. Exotic dancer my ass. She's as newbie as they get."

A couple of the other girls snicker, and Siobhan clears her throat. "Mackenzie..."

"Mackenzie" doesn't stop. In fact, she takes things up a notch. "Is Liam on crack or what? Hiring this human version of period cramps."

Oh, hell no. She did not just call me that. I'm out of the storage room and in her face before I can stop myself.

"What did you just say?"

Before I get a chance to carry through, Siobhan tugs me away and takes me across the room to cool my jets. I've never been a hothead, but I couldn't help myself. I might have ruined everything. I needed this stupid stakeout, and like it or not, I needed these girls to trust me.

"Don't worry about her, honey," Siobhan says.

"Human version of period cramps," I mutter."They're just jealous because word got around that you're Liam's girl." Siobhan raises her delicate brows and leans a little closer, talking in a whisper. "He told all of his crew who'll be raiding the Westbrook Park warehouse that there's a strict hands-off policy in effect for you. These guys won't even look at you now."

I know exactly why Liam did it. Because he doesn't trust me. These guys are territorial of their women by nature, but I don't think that's what's going on here. They are also protective as hell of their brethren.

I glance back at the other dancers, who are all stealing little looks my way. "So that's why they're all pissy with me?"

"Yep." Siobhan nods. "Some of these girls have been pulling out all the stops to get what you just did in like five minutes."

"I didn't even do anything."

"Don't shoot the messenger, honey." She holds up her hands. "I'm just sayin'. You should probably watch out for Mac. She's got it bad for him, and she can be a real bitch."

"Good to know." I glance across the room and find the woman in question. My inner tiger opens her claws when she tosses me another glance and gives me a phony smile. I can already tell she's not going to make this easy for me. Whatever, I need to focus on the real mission. Saving Mom.

"Excuse me." I push my chair back, cutting Siobhan off mid-sentence. The legs scrape against the floor with a satisfyingly harsh screech. "I'm going to do my set."

I don't wait for anyone to speak before I walk out and leave a fuming Mackenzie and flustered Siobhan backstage.

My anger remains a restless burn beneath my skin but it cools with each step farther away from them. It's just a game. And Liam is nothing to me. Nothing at all.

Or is he?

My stomach does a weird flip. Liam might have only given me tonight, but I plan on making use of it.

I'm wearing a leather studded monokini and knee-high black boots as I step onto the stage. The meeting seems to be over. The VIP area has only about fifteen patrons total, and it's a much more intimate setting than I was expecting. Tonight there are also a few Albanians in the audience, just as I had hoped. They are pretty easy to pick out because of their tattoos and isolated sentences I catch them murmur. Not to mention they don't dress like the Irish. I'll be watching all of them with laser focus during my performance.

During my twelve minutes of stage time, I pull out all of my best tricks and give it my all, knowing the pressure is on. The outfit Siobhan gave me offers miles of skin, but one doesn't dress to blend into the surroundings of Angels.

I need to catch these guys' interest and maybe find out more about the Westbrook Park Warehouse.

A few girls are working the crowd and flirting with the men, but nothing seedy is going on yet, as far as I can tell. These guys all look like typical club patrons, but I know darker things are lurking beneath the façade. I'll have to get closer to them to find out exactly what they are.

Throughout my performance, nobody hassles me about taking off my outfit. I guess Siobhan's prediction was correct.

Thank you very much, Liam Cavanaugh.

On the upside, I've still managed to rake in a bunch of tips by the time I finish the first song. The emcee helps me collect them before I head backstage.

I don't even make it fully behind the curtain to catch a break before I see Liam excusing himself from the others and moving toward me.

His powerful muscled frame slices through the crowd with the single-minded surety of a predator locked onto its prey.

Tingles of alarm cascade down my spine, but I force myself to hold my ground even as every self-preservation instinct screams at me to run.

It's fine. He won't kill you in public, whatever it is he's angry about.

Probably.

Maybe.

He stops when his body heat envelops mine. Inches away, so close I can count the individual stubble shadowing his jaw.

His arms grab me and pin me up against the wall. Even in the dark, I can feel his penetrating eyes on me.

"Alexandra," he growls into my ear.

He sounds kind of pissed, but I'm not entirely sure. Because he's doing that thing again. Getting extremely close...and I don't know how to handle it.

He burrows his face in my hair, inhaling deeply...and shocking the hell out of me.

"Missed me?" Amusement lengthens his drawl.

"As much as a sailor misses scurvy."

Surprise bursts through me at his laugh. Not a chuckle, not a scoff, but an honest-to-God laugh.

The rich sound fills the stage and seeps beneath my skin. So he is capable of normal human emotion after all.

Good to know.

My blood burns a little hotter. My stomach swoops like I'd just plunged down the slope of a rollercoaster.

Our eyes lock again and the warmth disappears from his face like the sun beneath the horizon.

My heartbeats crash against each other.

"How about we perform the second one together?"

"What?"

I am all sorts of confused. He's told me he doesn't want me here. He's told me he doesn't trust me. But right now, his body tells me something else. I have no idea if he's going to maul me or make love to me.

Liam's hands are sliding all over my body, but I doubt he even realizes he's doing it. His grip is rough and possessive, and his breath is hot on my neck. I'm trying to think of a response, but when he rubs his palm against my lower back, all thought flees. The friction of his fingers against the fabric down there is doing crazy things to me.

"Show me what you got, Alexandra," Liam rasps, reaching for the hem of his shirt, and slowly pulling it over his wide shoulders.

The movement draws me in, sucks me into an emerald vortex.

I lick my lips, my mouth dry again as I study his sculpted figure.

All the air whooshes out of my lungs.

Thick black hair. Olive skin. A slightly crooked nose that enhances rather than detracts from his rugged masculine charm.

Liam Cavanaugh is devastation poured into a suit. His presence is so compelling that it swallows every molecule of oxygen in the room, like a black hole consuming a newborn star.

There are generically good-looking men, and there is him.

With a flick of a wrist, Liam drops his black shirt on the backstage floor as the Marilyn Manson song starts to play. I wonder if one of the other girls is out on stage, stealing my song and my show. He stalks towards me, shadows from the poor club lightning bouncing around the hard ridges of his chest, the ripples of his abs, the defined V of his chest hair leading to his suit pants. With every step he takes closer to me, a muscle on his body twitches.

Part of me wants to escape, to be anywhere else but here. The other part wants to stay. Dance with him, and see how long I can play with fire without getting burned.

As the music pulses through the club, we begin swaying backstage. Our bodies move in sync, our gazes locked. The dim lights above us cast a seductive glow, highlighting the curves of his form. I feel the heat of Liam's breath against my skin as we move closer and closer, teasingly brushing against each other.

The frantic rhythm takes over, guiding our every step, our every touch. The tune intensifies, matching the rising passion between us.

Time slows down and I lose myself in the moment, the world around me fading away. It's just me, and him, dancing in perfect harmony, our connection electric.

Liam expertly touches every inch of my body until it comes alive, like a black-and-white film thrown into glorious technicolor. When the song finally stops, I find that I can barely speak.

"Liam, I..."

"Jaysus Christ." He takes a step back and shakes his head, an unidentifiable emotion passing over his face. "This isn't going to work." The dark, velvety pitch of his voice sends a thrill through my veins.

"What do you mean? I did a good job out there. Did you see all my tips?"

"I know ye did a good job." He paces the floor and glares at me. "Too good a job, sweetheart."

Nobody has ever looked at me the way he's looking at me at this moment. Like I'm his possession. Like if anyone else were to touch me, he'd punish them for good measure. It shouldn't make me feel anything, but it does. Desire is burning between my legs.

And the worst part is, this is the last thing I need. I need to be working on the Albanians, at least for a little while. Maybe perform one or two lap dances to get my intel.

"You've already agreed to let me dance tonight," I say half-heartedly. "And I'm not going to sacrifice a good source of information just because you don't want me to get closer to Albanians."

He stalks into my space again. So close I have to crane my neck just to look up at him and my back is pressed flat against the backstage wall.

"Yer right," he says in a tight voice. "But I changed my mind. Plus, I got all the info ye need. We've located her. Westbrook Park area warehouse."

It's the same information I have. I don't speak, but I don't need to. His eyes roam over my face, taking in every last detail like he's proving something to himself. My pupils are probably dilated, sure. A biological reaction. Nothing more. And my chest is rising a little faster than normal. We just got done dancing, of course. The pulse that's jumping in my throat? He especially likes that, I can see it in his eyes. But that's nothing. I'm tired, hot, and I just need to get the hell out of here. Away from his overbearing presence and this stifling atmosphere.

"I don't want you to dance here anymore," he says. "It's not safe being out in the open like that. I'll find something else for you to do."

"Like hell you will," "I don't want to do things you tell me. I want to find my mother, and I'll do anything it takes."

Darkness seeps into his eyes like a deadly fog, obliterating any traces of gray. He isn't used to women talking back to him, or anybody for that matter. I don't care. He needs to learn that I'm not going to bow to his whims, regardless of how threatening he can be.

The fog dissipates as fast as it came, and I can't shake the eerie sense Liam can see straight through me like I'm made of nothing more than a thousand pieces of broken, transparent glass.

"We'll sort this out later." Liam pulls away abruptly and shoves his hands in his pockets. "I have business to tend to. Get dressed and head out to the front bar. Nico will take ye home."

"I don't need a lift home." I accentuate the last word. That mansion is not my home, but I don't say it out loud.

"That one is not up for discussion. You shouldn't be here. Everyone took notice of you after this dance."

I snort. "I shouldn't be here? Is that for my benefit or yours? Worried about a little competition?"

Liam stalks toward me, his thumb coaxing open my bottom lip as his haunting, intense gaze feasts upon my shaken features.

"One. I am worried for your safety. And two. You would do well not to defy my wishes."

My breath hitches. Who is he, thinking he can order me around? We are just temporary partners. Liam Cavanaugh is not the boss of me. "Maybe I want to."

His hand caresses the base of my throat, applying minimal pressure that sends heat to my core. "No, sweetheart. Ye don't. And: tomorrow we discuss the Westbrook Park warehouse." Turning, he heads for the door. "Good night, Alexandra."

Relief loosens the knot in my chest. My breath comes out easier now that he is not in my close proximity, and I have something else to focus on other than my body's unwilling reaction to his.

Despite his wishes, my night is far from good. An hour later, I toss and turn in a king-size bed in my new sleeping quarters, listening to an alarm clock's built-in white noise feature, but none of it works.

Every time I close my eyes, images from our dance on stage play on a broken loop.

Liam's hand around my wrist.

The graze of his fingers along my spine.

The low rumble of his voice in my ear.

Tingles erupt over every inch of my body.

My throat dries and I try to banish the X-rated mental images to the darkest recesses of my mind before they take root.

I groan and turn on my side, hoping the change in position will expel this infuriating man from my thoughts.