Chapter 1: Sparks in the Spotlight
The stage lights burned hot against Vivienne Hart’s skin as she strutted across the polished floor of the underground cabaret, her crimson stilettos clicking with authority. She was the star of the show, a femme fatale with a voice like velvet and a body that could stop traffic. Her black lace corset hugged her curves, leaving little to the imagination, and the crowd was eating it up—men and women alike, their eyes hungry, their whispers electric. But Vivienne’s gaze wasn’t on them. It was on him. Roman Steele, the club’s enigmatic owner, lounged in the VIP booth, his dark eyes locked on her like a predator sizing up prey. He was all sharp angles and tailored suits, a man who exuded power and danger in equal measure.
As her sultry jazz number came to a close, Vivienne tossed her raven hair over her shoulder and shot Roman a smirk that could melt steel. She knew he wanted her—hell, everyone did—but she wasn’t about to make it easy. She sauntered offstage, the roar of applause following her, and made a beeline for the bar, her hips swaying with purpose. Roman was already there, a glass of bourbon in hand, his smirk matching hers.
“Well, damn, Vivienne,” he drawled, his voice a low rumble that sent a shiver down her spine. “You keep singing like that, and I might have to shut this place down just to keep the riots at bay.”
She leaned against the bar, her cleavage daring him to look, and plucked the cherry from his drink, popping it into her mouth with a slow, deliberate suck. “Riots? Please, Roman. I’m the one who starts fires. You’re just the poor bastard who has to put them out.”
His laugh was dark, dangerous, and it made her pulse race. “Oh, I’m no firefighter, darling. I’m the one who pours the gasoline.”
“Is that so?” she purred, stepping closer, her breath hot against his ear. “Then why don’t you show me how you play with fire?”
Roman’s hand slid to her waist, his grip firm, possessive, but Vivienne wasn’t one to be owned. She pressed a hand to his chest, feeling the hard muscle beneath his shirt, and pushed just enough to remind him who was in control. “Careful, Steele. I bite.”
“Good,” he growled, his eyes flashing with raw desire. “I like a woman with teeth.”
The air between them crackled, charged with a heat that threatened to combust. Vivienne could feel her body responding, a slow burn igniting deep in her core, but she wasn’t about to let him win—not yet. She tilted her head, her lips brushing his jawline, teasing, taunting. “You think you can handle me, Roman? I’m not some damsel waiting to be swept off her feet. I’ll have you on your knees before you can blink.”
His grip tightened, pulling her flush against him, and she felt the evidence of his arousal pressing into her hip. “Keep talking like that, Viv, and I’ll have you up against this bar, screaming my name before the next act starts.”
Her laugh was sharp, cutting, but her eyes betrayed the fire raging inside her. “Promises, promises. Let’s see if you’ve got the cock to back up that mouth of yours.”
Roman’s gaze darkened, and in one swift move, he spun her around, pinning her against the bar, his body a wall of heat and intent. The crowd around them faded into a blur as his lips hovered over hers, so close she could taste the bourbon on his breath. Her heart pounded, her skin flushed, and she knew this was it—the moment they’d both been circling for weeks. She wasn’t just wet; she was dripping with anticipation, her body aching for what was coming next. And as his hand slid down her thigh, inching toward the edge of her corset, she knew this night was about to explode in a way neither of them could control.
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