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      RYAN MALONE SAW HER the minute she walked into The Palace Of Sin. She was all legs in an emerald-green gown that was split from the floor to a spot high on her hips that screamed of her lack of undergarment. Her hair was Pretty-Woman-red, falling in a wild mass of curls across her shoulders. He had a sudden mental picture of those red curls cascading across a white satin pillow. He didn’t have to ask, he was already certain the color was natural. She was hot, ready to brand any man who dared to touch her.

      A totally irrational jolt hit Ryan in the pit of his stomach—like nothing he’d ever felt before. He knew now what “knees going weak” meant. This kind of reaction was supposed to happen to the women in the audience, not to him. Wearing no jewelry, nothing to take a man’s eye away from the woman, she was spectacular. Still, an almost imperceptible slump of her shoulders said she might not be entirely comfortable.

      Although he’d quit performing five years ago, this night would be the public ending of Lord Sin’s career as the most successful male stripper in history. And Ryan Malone, always in control, was suddenly awash in feelings he couldn’t identify. Nostalgia? Intense desire brought on by emotion? He didn’t know how to explain or control the turbulence of his physical reaction to the woman.

      Normally, as Lord Sin, he would have passed on a woman like her and chosen a patron who was what he politely termed “lonely.” But nothing about tonight was normal, certainly not his physical reaction to the siren in green.

      The redhead walked past one of the booths selling roses, paused and gave a puzzled look at the buyers. He frowned. Any other woman would have given the baskets of roses a smile or a glance of longing. But not this one. She took a deep breath and kept going, as if she were looking for someone.

      But no one came forward to join her. Maybe she was alone. He liked that idea, then wondered why. A beautiful woman alone was a Ryan Malone thought and tonight he was Lord Sin. He also wondered how she’d react to Sin’s performance. Would she focus her concentration on him? Or would she be as indifferent to his dancing as she was to the roses?

      He considered that and felt his lips curl into a reckless smile. Indifferent? Not if he had anything to do with it. Tonight he’d change his routine. Tonight Lord Sin would give his best performance; he’d play to her—alone. By the time the curtain came down, she’d leave The Palace Of Sin aching with desire. He certainly was.

      As always, the front row of tables along the stage was vacant. His assistant, Lottie, earphone discreetly hidden in her left ear, waited below for him to decide who’d occupy them. Tonight, because the entire program had been designed as a fund-raiser, catering to the wealthy, she’d allowed for the possibility of escorts for the women, but so far, the redhead seemed to be alone.

      As if she knew she was being stared at, the object of Lord Sin’s attention looked around once more, then glided toward the entrance with long fluid movements that verified his earlier speculations about what she wasn’t wearing beneath her dress. As she walked, he caught the flash of bare flesh, a warm peach color that said she liked the sun as much as he. He wondered if she looked like that all over.

      A dancer or perhaps an athlete, her grace was obvious in her walk. But who was she? Ryan Malone thought he knew every single society woman in Atlanta. The cost of the tickets tonight should mean that the attendees were all well-heeled. Only wealthy women had been invited to the Valentine Gala at the Palace this evening. She spoke briefly with a big burly man carrying a television camera who handed her a microphone. When she stepped up and began talking to a couple