...It didn’t take long before some of the male patrons noticed her. She adjudged each of them from head to toe when they sidled up to her at the bar, offering hackneyed pick-up lines in between ordering drinks. Although a few had pleasant faces, physiques that had the potential to make her insides tingle, none of them motivated her to return their flirtations. Their ages bothered her—most of them looked as if they had entered the nightclub only with the aid of expertly forged driver’s licenses.

Cassandra preferred a man like Robert, a man with rugged good looks, with a bit of age on his face instead of a fresh layer of Clearasil masking youthful blemishes. She sighed. The choices seemed slim, and she practiced patience she did not feel.

It was at that moment, she spotted him. A lofty, lean figure strutted toward the bar from the vicinity of the rest rooms and backstage area. Above snakeskin boots, his leather pants hugged muscular calves and thighs. His partially unbuttoned white pullover shirt seemed painted on his sinewy torso. Like her attire, his shirt did nothing to hide his hard nipples. He wore his unruly dark hair on the long side, while equally dark stubble shadowed his chiseled cheeks, upper lip, and firm chin. As he took a seat at the bar opposite her, an air of mystery—even something dangerous—seemed to cloak him....