Really, Brett had saved me the heartache of a divorce.

When my mind turned to heartache, I immediately thought of Dmitri Sevastyan. The guy who couldn’t be bothered to make a single phone call today.

Maybe he had another date. At the thought, jealousy churned inside me. Was I more jealous of Dmitri with some imaginary woman than I’d been with Brett and the real-live showgirl in my own bed?

The answer to that question made me uneasy, so I danced closer to the Dane. He grinned, thinking I was in the bank.

Why shouldn’t I sleep with him? Then again, why should I?

He’s not my key. . . .

I ran my hand over my nape. Damn it, again I felt like I was being watched watched. I peered around the club—

Lost my breath.

Dmitri Sevastyan stood beside the dance floor, his eyes riveted to me. He was dressed to perfection in black slacks and a crisp, blue button-down, but he looked agitated.

How had he found me here? What did he want? He raked his gaze over me, seeming dazed by my appearance. Had he expected the angel from last night?

’Cause she’s gone, baby, gone.

As my hips swayed, Dmitri’s breaths shallowed. Maybe I should show him what he could have gotten if he’d deigned to call me.

I turned to face him, making my moves sensual, as if I danced only for him. Dane took the hint and skulked off with a curse.

In my nearly indecent dress, I raised my hands to play with my hair, then I glided my palms down my front as I worked my hips. My boots had been made for moves like this.

Dmitri’s fists were clenched, his eyes glazed with lust. His cock was hard, and he made no attempt to disguise that fact. He looked like he might grab me and rail me against a speaker.

My nipples stiffened. Wondering if my eyes were begging for it, I moistened my lips.

He must’ve reached his limit. He strode onto the dance floor and grasped my forearm. “Come with me.” He had to yell over the music. “We’re leaving.” As he ushered me through the crowd, people stopped and stared at him, but he seemed oblivious to their attention.

“I came here with friends.” I couldn’t see my crew! “I don’t want to leave!”

He faced me, lips drawn back from his teeth. “Were you going to fuck that man?”

“Are you a jealous kind of guy, baby?” The absolute best type of mark for a milk-cow con. Of course, he’d never admit it.

“With you? Yes! I wanted to kill him!”

Oh boy. Had Dmitri meant that . . . literally? “Yet you didn’t contact me today?” Could I revive this con?

His eyes darted. “I need to talk to you.”

We couldn’t continue this conversation over the music, but I wasn’t prepared to leave with him yet. “I know a place. Head toward the back.” Taking my hand, he walked in that direction, stopping at what looked like a solid black wall.

“Here.” I ducked behind a dark drape into the club’s secret area.

He followed, drawing up short. “What is this place?”

“The Carousel. It used to be a speakeasy.” Carnival decorations from bygone fairs lined the walls. Strings of lights cascaded over ceramic horses from one of the first steam-powered carousels. Drums that still smelled of greasepaint were stacked in the corner. Bright banners and an acrobat’s net hung from the ceiling. “Now only locals know about it.”

The management opened it for friends’ parties, so I’d been here several times. I found the place magical. On slow nights, people hooked up back here since there were no cameras.

“And it’s simply . . . here.” He surveyed the area, murmuring, “I need help with things like this.”

“Like what?”

His gaze held mine. “I need curtains drawn back. I need to be shown things I never would see on my own.”

His strange words—plus my cocktails—equaled zero comprehension for me. “How did you find me?”

“This club is popular with Calydon staff.”

I scooted into a booth. “What did you want to talk to me about?”

He slid around the table to sit beside me. “I am struggling to . . .” He closed his mouth. Another try: “I want to . . .” His eyes were fierce with some pent-up emotion, but he also looked frustrated, like he was trying to read my mood and knew he was failing. “Are you angered with me?”

I traced the gathered edge of one of my boots. “After what we did, I thought you’d get in touch with me.” Like a grifter, he’d given me a taste, then he’d become elusive.

“I went downstairs tonight, thinking you would be at the casino, or that Peter would be.”

I had told Dmitri I might be working. “But no call?”

“The day slipped by me. I was very . . . distracted. I did call three hours ago.”

We’d probably just gotten here. My phone was in my purse. “Do you want a drink?”

He eased even closer, as if he couldn’t help himself. “No. I have to keep control.”

“Why?”

“Last night I considered doing things to you . . . things that would’ve unnerved you even more. Had I been drinking, I would have.”

“Like what?” I asked, intrigued.

“I wanted to get my mouth on you and prove that you would love oral sex. I wanted to whip you even harder, to make you feel me for longer. I wanted to sink inside the flesh I stroked and fuck you till you screamed.”

My breaths shallowed.