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“That’s a problem …”
His tone made me turn.
Our eyes locked.
It was suddenly impossible to fill my lungs.
Why did he have to have the most delicious lips? Why did they have to be so thick and perfect and taunt me in ways that made me remember what he could do with them?
Why did that spot between my legs tingle, like he was blowing on it?
“Because I can’t get you out of my mind,” he hissed. “I’ve thought about you every single moment since you left me on the bus. And now, you’re finally here again, and you know what?”
I didn’t want to know.
I didn’t want to hear any more of his voice—it was too hot, too alluring.
“Don’t tell me—”
“I want you even more than I did when I saw you from the VIP lounge, which is nearly impossible because I would have done just about anything to taste you then.” His gaze took another dive to my toes, gradually lifting up my body, stopping at each of the places that was throbbing for his touch. “Do you know how badly I want to break your rule right now?” He licked across his mouth, a steady swipe that had every thought in my head exploding. “Especially when I know how good your pussy tastes.” He wiped his hand over his cheek, as if my wetness were there and he wanted to smell it. “How I want to hear your fucking screams again. You are”—his teeth rubbed over his lip while he moaned—“addictive, Tiny Dancer.”
My body quivered in response.
Growing wet.
Tightening.
How did words—his words—have this kind of effect on me?
Why was I even letting him get in my head? When I had so many questions about him, starting with where he lived. Was he a local? Was he on vacation? He’d told me the bus was rented for a bachelor party, but that told me nothing. Four days had passed since I’d been with him, and that didn’t help either because he could easily still be on a trip.
But I needed to understand something, so I asked, “You came all the way here just to sleep with me?”
He was the most attractive man I’d ever seen in person. His jeans, shoes, watch, button-down—they reeked of money. Moneybags, like him, attracted women. Surely, just based on his looks alone, he could get any girl in this club, and then you added in deep pockets, and the women would be lining up.
He didn’t need to keep pursuing me.
Then, why was he?
“I came to see you. To be around you. Because if I didn’t find you—and I wasn’t going to let that be an option—I was going to fucking lose it.” He reached forward, his fingers getting dangerously close to my ankle, but when he was a hair away from touching it, he stopped. “You’re consuming my mind. I can’t get you out of my thoughts.” He paused, the intensity in his eyes multiplying. “I want you.”
I wasn’t going to let any of that sink in. I wasn’t going to let a single syllable repeat in my head.
I couldn’t.
So, I scanned the club, my finger tracing the air. “There are probably hundreds of women here—”
“I don’t want them.”
His words didn’t need to be backed up. They were strong. I believed him. And his stare emphasized everything he’d just said.
How could this man make me feel like I was the only woman in this club?
Why was he here?
Why did he want me?
Why was this happening now and not in two months, when I could think a little clearer?
