Chapter One

"He's so hot."

"He's a pain in the butt."

"He's a hot pain in the butt."

"A pain in the butt he remains."

"It's a hot butt, nonetheless."

Antonia Sinn threw up her arms in a gesture of sheer resignation. "Okay, Lianna, you win." She rolled her eyes dourly in the direction of Lianna Rodgers, her longtime friend and verbal sparring partner. "Sylvan is hot. He's also a great singer and compelling performer. From a fan's point of view, he's perfect. From a manager's point of view..."

"Let me guess!" Lianna interrupted, shooting Antonia what she considered an annoyingly sardonic grin. "He's a pain in ye olde watoosie."

"Watoosie?" Antonia squinted confusedly then shook her head. "I tell you, Lianna, he's impossible. I've been his manager for two years and never can reach him during the daytime. I'm always forced to arrange my schedule around our dinner meetings. When we meet for dinner, I'm constantly warding off his female fans. These curious beings have been known to push me, trip me, and order my meal for me--usually a raw spinach salad with sharp vinegar oil and extra anchovies."

"And speaking of dinner," Antonia was on a roll. "Whenever we dine together, he always orders these icky steaks."

"Icky steaks," Lianna repeated, head cocked curiously.

"Icky," Antonia confirmed with a nod. "Extremely rare and blood red."

In a seeming gesture of sympathy, Lianna patted her friend's shoulder. Then she turned Antonia in the direction of a broad, brightly illuminated stage that stood directly before them.

"Just look at him, Toni," her voice lowered to a whisper. "Can you blame those women? Can you blame me?"

Antonia shrugged as she directed her gaze to the target of Lianna's abject adoration. Bathed in the ethereal light of a vast theatrical platform, the man on stage resembled a radiant angel fresh from a heavenly chorus. His golden hair flowed like spun silk around his broad, muscular shoulders, and his eyes shone like fine emeralds from a bronzed, carved face.

His visage appeared angelic, Antonia noted, but his body seemed custom made for sin. For while his black velvet dinner suit fit the image of a perfect gentleman, his suggestive hip gyrations and sleek, sensual dance moves screamed of his sexual nature.

Furthermore, his musical repertoire amplified the sublime eroticism of his performance. With original songs like Midnight Passion and For Your Pleasure, performed in a smooth, soulful style, Sylvan seemed to gear every song toward the female libido.

Judging from the crowd response, he hit his mark every time. Antonia grinned in spite of herself as she saw several elderly ladies toss their support hose onstage then squeal like hormonal teenagers when he repaid their kindness with a wink and a kiss.

Often he went further, inviting a random woman onstage for a 'serenade', or as Antonia fondly deemed that portion of the show, the 'glorified lap dance'.

She had to admit, though, that his 'shtick' was a success. Every weekend, his exotic cabaret show packed the house at the Crescent Moon Theater in Clearview, Florida.

She could see that, as much as his elusiveness annoyed her, it also seemed to fuel his success. Local columnists wrote entire articles about his shows, sexy performances geared for women only, and about the fact that he never granted daytime interviews; the ones he gave sometimes after his shows proved brief and unrevealing.

These columnists even came up with a PR-friendly nickname for the sexy, mysterious crooner; they called him The Vamp. And he quite enjoyed living up to this sensual moniker, posing for revealing centerfold layouts in Playgirl magazine and culminating his shows with daring striptease routines.

His entire show holds an element of tease, Antonia reasoned, watching as Sylvan ventured into the audience to writhe suggestively across the lap of a middle-aged fan.

At evening's end, he fed their hunger--and ignited their collective imagination. Antonia quite enjoyed this part of the show; she was his manager, but...

"I'm still a woman," she sighed, relaxing in her plush auditorium seat and nudging an awestruck Lianna. "And I still have a pulse."

She watched intently as Sylvan now retrieved a dozen ruby red roses from the side of the stage. He planted a light, tender kiss across each one; a simple action that elicited oohs and ahs from the women assembled.

Their delighted moans intensified as Sylvan tossed each of his floral gems to a woman in the audience. Antonia delighted that one of the recipients was a giggling, blushing Lianna and that another was a uniformed soldier who had introduced herself earlier that evening.

Antonia and Lianna listened attentively as the soldier, a sturdy, unadorned woman named Helena, spoke of her current tour of duty in Iraq.

In the midst of a rare, brief reprieve from her duties, Helena enjoyed an evening's escape at the Crescent Moon Theater. Now the uniformed officer giggled like a schoolgirl, nestling her cheek within the radiant petals of her delicate floral gift.

Antonia nudged a grinning Lianna, and the two performed a subtle 'low-five' beneath their seats. The sound of Sylvan's deep, melodic voice captured her attention and returned it to the stage on which he stood.

"Ladies, I'm sad to say that our evening together is drawing to an end." With this, he raised an agile, masculine finger for defined emphasis. "Yet, I have a strict policy regarding all my dates."

He arched his feathered eyebrows and pursed his perfect lips, a seductive expression that drew additional cheers from the crowd.

"I never leave my woman unsatisfied," he proclaimed, tone lowering to a sultry, raspy growl. "I always ensure that she receives a red rose at evening's end..."

Pausing, he moved his hands to his sleek ebony jacket and unbuttoned it slowly and methodically. "And then I top off our evening by pleasuring her thoroughly. I realize her every fantasy and fulfill her every desire." He slowly peeled his jacket from his muscular shoulders.

Although this move revealed only an ivory silk shirt and a remarkably trim waist, it nonetheless elicited a number of hoots and catcalls from the audience; sounds that intensified as he unbuttoned his shirt and slid it off, one shoulder at a time.

"Work it, baby," Antonia muttered.

As if reading her thoughts, Sylvan winked slyly in her direction. Then he moved his hands with expert slowness to his sleek black slacks, where he slowly but purposefully undid the clasp.

The crowd hushed, and a few women blushed visibly as the bold, openly leering performer unzipped his pants. He swiveled his hips suggestively as he did so and locked glances with several ardent females in the front row.

With torturous slowness, Sylvan peeled those tight-fitting slacks from a pair of bronzed, toned legs, revealing as he did a red silk Speedo that contained and defined his impressive manhood.

He chuckled modestly as the stage lights dimmed further than extinguished outright. After a brief pause, a single spotlight shone center stage. The light's soft, luminous rays served to bathe its sole subject in a nearly ethereal glow.

Sylvan likened to an angel in this light.

"Except angels aren't known for wearing stripper undies." Antonia rolled her eyes.

As if on cue, Sylvan began to writhe slowly and seductively in time to the recorded music broadcast through the stereo sound system.

Even Antonia admired the way his lean, muscular form glowed in the golden light and the way the defined planes of his perfect body commanded the attention of every audience member.

Including herself, she had to admit as a trickle of telltale sweat danced thrillingly down her spine. Even now, her gaze seemed glued to Sylvan's angelic face, his massive chest, his sculpted abs, his trim waist; yet, his eyes captured hers the most.

"Yeah, right," she snorted.

Ah, but they did. Wide, intent and startlingly azure, his eyes held the true key to his mysterious, ever-elusive identity. And they looked dead sexy as they seared her now with a blatantly seductive gaze.

He held her gaze and smiled wickedly as he grabbed a nearby prop, a vial of lavender-hued massage oil.

He poured a small sample of the substance into the palms of his manly hands then rubbed them together. As the music around him surged and amplified, he used broad, slow strokes to canvas his chest with the thick, fragrant oil.

One audience member moaned outright at the effect; others exhaled sharply.

"Good grief," Antonia gritted her teeth. "Are we going to have another fainting spell? Sylvan is going to have to get a little less sexy. Otherwise we'll be forced to invest in hazard insurance."

The object of her concern--and, she begrudgingly admitted, her admiration--flexed his entire body to glorious effect. Indeed, every plane and muscle gleamed with the sheen of his softening, fortifying oil.

"How's that, ladies?" He posed and pouted for full effect. "Have I well-satisfied you tonight?"

He nodded approvingly as his question elicited the cries and cheers of the women assembled.

"Then I shall bid you goodnight." He blew a kiss across the audience and winked flirtatiously. "And sweetest dreams."

Antonia grinned in spite of herself as the women cheered, whistled and called his name.

The proud manager also nodded approvingly as she acknowledged the winning performance of her star. Even so, she knew that--for Sylvan, at least--the night had just begun.

She snorted as she saw him step off the stage into a sea of adoring fans, women of all ages, races and physical types united by their unabashed ardor for one man ... a man who now talked and laughed freely with them while he signed autographs.

"Let's go talk to him," Lianna urged, nudging her friend sharply.

"Only if you agree to show some mercy to my ribcage," Antonia gritted her teeth and stepped toward the stage.

Both friends rolled their eyes in what Antonia deemed 'perfect synch' when another audience member beat them to the punch, namely, a petite twenty-something girl with long blonde hair and flawless features.

"Sylvan." She narrowed her ebony eyes in a blatantly seductive gaze. "Why don't we ditch these losers and take a walk backstage?"

She paused, her gaze hardening as she regarded the uniformed soldier who stood off to the side, wearing a radiant smile, but no jewelry or cosmetics.

"Lose these losers, Sylvan," she encouraged. "Let me show you a good time."

Antonia balled her fists and quickened her steps, intending to make a beeline for the stage. "I won't see that fine woman insulted," she nodded toward the silent, stoic Helena.

She stopped abruptly as she saw the kind, bashful beam restored in full to the woman's face, this probably owing to the fact that Sylvan had wrapped a leisurely, muscled arm around her sturdy shoulders and pulled her closely to him.

Antonia smiled as Sylvan faced the snobbish socialite who tried desperately to claim his attentions.

"I'll be pleased to give you an autograph, young lady." With this, he gave Helena a reassuring squeeze. "But I fear I already have a date for the evening."

Both Helena and the self-styled groupie gaped in apparent shock. Then the latter turned on her heel and sniffed loudly.

"I'll be going," she issued this smug, sharply spoken declaration over her slender shoulder.

"Can we have that in writing?" Antonia muttered as she performed a second low-five with the smirking Lianna.

She also winked slyly at Helena, who in turn gifted Sylvan with a warm, impulsive hug.

"Thank you, Sylvan," Helena gestured broadly, "for everything. As I told your manager, I'm currently on leave from a tour of duty in Iraq."

The soldier paused, and her voice softened noticeably. "For a few hours this evening, you took me away from everything."

Sylvan only shrugged and pulled the visibly blushing woman closer to his side.

"Who said the night has ended?" he whispered, penetrating Helena with a narrow-eyed, blatantly sultry gaze.

"Oh, geesh, here we go." Antonia knew that look all too well.

"Yes, indeed-y." And so did Lianna.

Both watched as Sylvan excused himself from the crowd, offering a chivalrous arm to Helena, whose eyes widened in what appeared to be complete and utter shock.

"I suspect she'll don that particular expression several more times before evening's end." Antonia's own eyes rolled directly heavenward.

Chuckling, Lianna gave her friend a reassuring hug before turning for the exit door.

"Helena deserves some 'quality time' with Sylvan," she allowed with a grin. "In the meantime, I think I'll call it an evening."

Antonia gave Lianna a friendly squeeze then turned her gently toward the door. "The next time you come to a Sylvan show, I guarantee that you'll get properly teased and unmercifully flirted with." She crossed her heart symbolically for good measure. "I promise."

Following Lianna's departure, Antonia turned her attentions to Sylvan's lingering fans. She patiently answered their many and varied questions about their favorite performer.

"Is he married?"

"No."

"Is he gay?"

"Did it seem that way this evening, ma'am? Unless, of course, he and that chicksta are currently shooting dice or watching a soap opera recap in his dressing room."

"Will we ever see Sylvan t-shirts? Bumper stickers? Pencil caddies? Inflatable sex dolls in his uncanny likeness?"

"Yes, maybe, maybe, and ... huh?"

Finally, Antonia bade the fans a friendly goodnight and excused herself backstage. She meant to collect some paperwork and head for home. This plan abruptly changed, however, when she passed Sylvan's dressing room. After all, the sounds that emanated from within were enough to give any woman pause.

"Oh, Sylvan."

Helena's voice sounded soft and relaxed and held a contented lilt that expressed her sustained satisfaction with his 'performance'.

Yet, the show, apparently, had just begun.

Helena's breath, Toni noticed, grew noticeably labored as she released a sharp, heated moan that reflected her increased arousal. Then, with a girlish squeal, that arousal flared to a state of full-blown passion.

Lordy, what is he doing to her? Antonia shivered in spite of herself. What is he doing to me?

A wave of heat coursed unbidden through Antonia's limbs, accelerating her heartbeat and sending exquisite tingles across her delicate skin.