Dare Me
Chapter Two

Rafe pushed his way into the club and took stock of the surroundings. Only a few months in Vegas proved the city boasted the best strip clubs in the country. The unique mix of class, club scene, and nakedness pulled in record crowds. The three main bars were strategically placed around the room. One snaked around the perimeter of the stage, and the others huddled in dark corners, which lent to the aura of sensuality and privacy. The catwalk glittered with vivid neon colors and sparkles, and flashed in time to whatever music currently played. Skimpily dressed waiters and waitresses balanced trays of cocktails, as they shifted around onlookers watching the trio of half-clothed women doing a mock up of the Flashdance skit. When water splashed the front rows, cheers rang through the air. Two dance floors on the second level looked over the stage, and catered to the club crowd.

Damn, he loved Vegas. He headed toward the bar in the far back, where they'd agreed to meet. He'd been impressed with her rendezvous choice, agreeing the suite was too personal for an introduction. A sensual feast of visual and physical stimuli, Strip It urged sexual explorations to the fullest. He hoped the scene proved a good precursor to his evening.

He only had a general description of his date, choosing to forego the photo, as he wanted to be surprised. He relied on two factors only. She sat at the corner left barstool and had blonde hair. He expected a sexual vixen dressed in leather with a kick ass personality.

Instead, his gaze cut straight to an angel.

Crap.

She was all-wrong.

The woman sat at the bar with a shot at her elbow, her jeans and simple white T-shirt fading into the crowd of peacocks mingling around her. His heart sank. A Dominatrix? Impossible. He'd eat her up in one bite and she'd be screaming for the door. Fighting his temper, he clenched his jaw. Attractive, yes. Her shimmering white-blonde hair gleamed like a halo in a ponytail. Big, china blue eyes dominated her softly curved face. A generous bow curved her lower lip and she had a killer body, evident in the perfect hourglass waist, small, high breasts with perky nipples, and a luscious ass sitting atop the red leather barstool. He studied her white Keds and almost groaned in defeat. Not even a spiked heel in sight. He was screwed.

And not in a good way.

FANTA-C had flopped. Now what was he going to do? With a deep, resigned breath, he closed the distance between them.

"Summer?" His tongue stumbled over her name, the image of a sweet, sunny girl next door-type adding to his disgust.

She stared up at him with frank appraisal. She didn't answer for a while. Surprise coursed through him as those baby blues started at the top of his head, lowered to his chest, and scanned his arms. Then dropped.

He hardened when her hot gaze caressed him between the legs, and he shifted uneasily. Who the hell is this woman?

Completing her inspection, she nodded her approval. "Rafe, I assume?” Her voice was cool. "You'll do fine."

His mouth snapped closed. "Uh, glad to hear it." A short silence settled between them and she made no move to speak. Just lifted the shot glass and tipped it, then slid her tongue over her plump lower lip to grab the last drop of liquid. He imagined the sting of the tequila hot down her throat, chased by the tart lime she sucked on. His cock strained to full attention. God, how firm would her lips grasp it? Sexual attraction jumped between them like a live wire. He just needed to confirm she was strong enough to handle him. He motioned toward the two empty shot glasses. "Potent stuff. Wouldn't want you drunk on our first date."

The wicked grin she shot him transformed her face from angel to Eve. "Don't worry, I have a high tolerance." His gaze roamed over her petite frame and he lifted a brow. She laughed. "Let's share a drink and decide if we want to take this to the suite. Beer?" "Jack Daniels."

"Nice." She lifted her arm for the bartender. He let her order the drinks, deciding to hold back further judgment until he got a better reading. So far, the woman fascinated the hell out of him. They clinked glasses. "To a memorable night," she toasted. The shot disappeared down her throat without a flinch and she leaned forward. "What do you think?"

His lips quirked in amusement. "About what?"

"About me. About us. About tonight."

He studied her from over his shot glass. "You're not what I expected when I signed on for this."

Instead of being offended, she nodded glumly. "You expected leather and heels, huh? I'm more like the wholesome girl next door. Is it the Keds?"

He sputtered with laughter. "Yeah, the sneakers didn't help. Look, this is new to me. I come from a background where I yell jump, and a bunch of men ask 'how high.' It won't be easy for me to just snap to attention, and I don't want to intimidate you."

She raised her chin. Pure challenge sparked in her eyes. "I understand, and this is all new to me, too. That's why I didn't want to meet you at a club dressed to the nines. I can't help that I look like this. This is who I am day to day. I like a man to buy me dinner and open the door. I love knowing he's stronger than me, can kick some major ass, and won't back down from a good, old-fashioned bar room fight. But in the bedroom, I want to be in charge. At least, I think I do." He sucked in a breath at her honesty. Hmm, a bit of a spitfire in a nice, neat package. Isn't that what he craved? A woman who wouldn't be afraid to tell him what she wanted, and what she wanted him to do? He was sick to death of being a leader every waking moment. Domination came easily to him, always had. In school, his classmates gravitated toward him for captain; he'd always been picked by his teachers to lead group discussions. When he joined the military, his natural confidence and quest for perfection pushed him to the head of the class. He'd risen quickly up the ranks, until he found himself in the scorching desert, leading a brigade of men in war. Every order equaled life or death, with no room for error. His decision not to re-up changed the game. He went back to Atlantic City with an open mind, and enjoyed getting back to his main love-dealing cards. But when a long line of women with endless needs began draining his energy instead of fueling it, he knew something was wrong. His mind tired of doing all the work, and his body began to suffer. When a gorgeous woman who wanted to be subservient begged for his command and his cock never hardened, he'd gone into hibernation mode.

Maybe he needed Summer Preston.

Maybe.

He raked his gaze over her figure. Tipped back his glass and swallowed the burning liquid. "Let's go."

She shot to her feet and pressed a room key in his hands. "Room 310. Venetian.

Give me a fifteen-minute head start."

He nodded and watched her disappear into the crowd.