A Little Too Hot

Chapter Ten

I’M GRASPING AT any distraction, so when Izzy calls and invites me to the movies the next afternoon, I suggest a double header. We’re in the middle of our second—the new Star Trek—when Izzy nudges my knee with hers.

“Is he hotter than that?” she asks with a jut of her chin at the screen, where Chris Pine and his yummy blue eyes gaze out at us.

“Yes.”

Her eyes widen, glowing white in the silver light. “Oh, girlfriend! You got to go for it.”

I slouch deeper into my seat and stare up at the screen. “What if he says no?”

“Have you seen yourself? He’s not going to say no.”

“He’s on the rebound.”

“So?”

I look at her. “So . . . I don’t want to be his rebound girl.”

“Why not? It’s not like you’re looking to marry the guy. It’s just a hook-up.”

I turn that over in my head and realize she’s right. “So, you think I should just ask him on a date or something?”

“Don’t overthink this, Sam. If he comes into the club tonight, just tell him you want him to take you home after shift. It’s that easy.”

“You sound like you’ve done this before.”

She smiles and turns back to the screen, and I know I’m right.

WHEN WE GET to Benny’s, Izzy helps me with my boots in the dressing room because my hands are shaking so hard I can’t get the laces right.

“Chill,” she says, resting a hand over mine. “It’s going to happen.”

I let her slip my hands off my boots and lean back in the sofa. “He’s going to say no.”

“Then he’s an asshat,” she says, tugging on my laces. “But if you want him, you’ll never know if he wants you back unless you ask.”

“I feel so stupid,” I lament, throwing my hands over my burning face.

She finishes my laces and pats my leg. “You’re consenting adults. Ben and Nora have no say over who you see on your own time. There’s no reason for you not to go for it, and I’ll bet half my tips he doesn’t say no.”

I peek out from between my fingers. “You think?”

She grins at me. “I know.”

“Then why didn’t you bet all your tips?” She laughs and I cover my face again. “Oh God,” I groan, “I can’t believe I’m doing this.”

She pries a hand loose and pulls me up by it. “Showtime, girlfriend.”

Nora’s in the hall when we step out of the dressing room. “Move your tails. You’re late!”

She shoos us up the hall to our stages, and when I step out onto mine, the first thing I do, as always, is scan the crowd for him. It only takes a second to spot him, up near the bar, leaning against the rail that separates the mezzanine from the pit. He looks so relaxed, so sure of himself, that he stands out from the rest of the clientele. He tips his beer at me in a salute and smiles when he sees me gawking.

I suck the drool off my lower lip and watch him watching me on the stage. With every passing song, I gain more confidence when he hardly seems to notice the women circling him. Even on the occasion one swoops in, he brushes her off and his eyes never stray from me. I feel them move over me like a gentle caress as I dance just for him.

“Girlie!” Nora calls between songs, and I realize I’m totally lost in my fantasy. It seems like I’ve only been out here a few minutes. It can’t possibly be the end of my three hour shift.

I turn and find her at the door, peering out from behind the curtain, crooking her finger at me that I should come. I grab the last few tips being waved in the air at the front of my stage, and Jen brushes past me to take my place as Nora hooks my elbow and pulls me out the door.

“Did I do something wrong?” I ask, afraid maybe she found out about my plan.

She doesn’t let loose her grasp on my elbow as she marches me up the hall to the office, and my stomach is in knots until she grins at me. “You did something very right. You’ve got five privates. Had to pull you off early so there’ll be time before closing to make all your fans happy.” But then she lets me go and holds up her notebook, tapping the last name on the list with the end of her pen: Harrison Yates. “He’s paid for an hour again. If there’s something going on between you two, you better be keeping it outside this club, girlie,” she warns.

I roll my eyes and try to come off all casual, but my heart is racing. “I’m following the rules, Nora. I promise.”

One at a time she leads the first four in and I dance. I stay on my game by remembering that every passing minute brings me closer to my target. Two hours later, when Harrison walks in, all I can think about is what I want to do to him—what I’m going to do to him.

Nora gives me a meaningful look and closes the door.

Harrison’s gaze takes possession of me as it sweeps over my body. “I’m not sure I like sharing you with so many other men,” he says, stepping closer.

Say it, I coach myself. Don’t chicken out. “I know a way you could have me all to yourself.”

He tips his head in a question and something feral flares in his eyes.

“Where are you staying?” I ask, working to keep the shake out of my voice.

“I have a hotel.”

“Bring me home with you.” My heart is hammering against my ribs and I can barely breath, but I manage to get it out.

But when his face pulls into a grimace, I want to shrivel up and die. “Sam . . . one of the crew is staying in my room tonight.”

I back toward the door, embarrassed. “If you don’t want to—” But that’s as far as I get before he’s cut me off, a hand twisted into my hair and his mouth devouring mine.

His kiss isn’t gentle. It’s hungry and insistent. It’s rough and hot and angry. It’s so desperate that I ache with his need. His tongue slashes through my lips and I open wide, letting him have me, letting him taste all of me.

But then he lets me go and staggers back as if I’ve burned him. “I’m sorry. I just . . .” He shoves a hand through is hair and lowers his gaze. “You make me crazy. I can’t even think when I’m around you.”

“I don’t want you to think.”

His eyes lift to mine as I stalk toward him. They burn with need as I lay my hands on his chest, then smooth them up to his shoulders.

“What about the rules?” he asks, breathily.

“Screw the rules.” I push him backward until the sofa takes his legs out from under him, then climb astride his lap.

His hands glide over my curves, setting every nerve ending on fire. “I could almost forget the rest of the world exists when I’m in here with you.”

I know he means his fiancée, and it sends my heart racing. I want him to forget her. And I know how. I rock myself into the bulge in his jeans and start on the buttons of his shirt. When they’re undone, I let it fall open, then sit back and admire the view.

He’s incredible; sculpted and lean. And inked. A black tribal design runs up the left side of his torso from the waistband of his jeans over his left pec, and disappears behind his shirt.

I lean in and kiss him hard. He hesitates at first, but then his tongue swirls possessively through my mouth. His fingertips glide over the thin nylon of my vest, along the sides of my rib cage, raising goose bumps and tightening my nipples. His progress slows when they brush the curve at the underside of my breasts, but I shift on his lap, simultaneously bringing my breasts into his palms and grinding myself into his erection, straining hard against the fabric of his jeans.

“God, Sam,” he breathes, “you are so fucking incredible.”

The sound of his desire boils my blood and makes me bolder. I sit back and slowly unfasten the three buttons down the front of my vest. His lips are parted and his eyes cloud a little as he watches, seemingly frozen in place. I lift his hands to my breasts and rock myself against him again.

He closes his eyes and his head drops back on the sofa. “Sam.” His voice is course with pure animal need, but I can’t miss the tinge of despair in it too.

“Forget her,” I whisper in his ear. “She’s gone. I’m here.”

His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows hard. I run my lips and my tongue up his throat to the angle of his jaw and he groans. The next second he’s kissing me as if I were his beginning and his end. The feel of his hands—one on my breast, rolling my nipple under his thumb, and the other cupping my ass, grinding me harder against his erection—causes every muscle south of my waist to contract. He starts rocking his hips under me, finding a rhythm, and I move on top of him, unable to stop the moan as his pressure on my sweet spot sends shock waves through me.

He grabs my hips, quickening our pace, and I’m breathing hard, every nerve ending buzzing. But then he breaks our kiss and sucks in a sharp breath, growling as he wages some internal battle.

He tips his head onto the back of the sofa as I trace the pattern of his ink with my finger, and his chest heaves as he struggles for air. “What are we doing here, Sam?” he pants.

Looking into those blue eyes, I want to climb right into his soul and live there. “Whatever you want.” I grasp his face and pull him to me, kissing him deeper as my hand skims over the taut skin of his cut abs to the prize. “Everything.”

He rolls his head back and groans deep in his chest, and the sound causes a ripple through my groin. “You would have sex with me? Here?” he asks, his smooth drawl rough with need.

“I would have sex with you anywhere.”

This is so against Ben’s rules, but there’s no stopping now. My body is wired and it’s not going to be satisfied until it gets what it wants. My heart slams into my ribs as I reach for his zipper and drag it down.

He grasps my wrist as I start to slide my hand under the waistband of his black boxer briefs. His eyes burn bright in the dim light. “I need to be very clear here, Sam. You’re asking me to have sex with you. Right now.”

I press myself against him. “Yes,” I whisper in his ear.

He grasps my arms, easing me gently away from him, and something sad flickers through his blue eyes as he holds me fixed in his gaze.

I hold my breath, half afraid he’ll change his mind and half afraid he won’t. I can’t believe I’m doing this, but I’m going to explode if I don’t have him.

He lifts a hand, cupping my chin, and brushes his thumb softly over my swollen lips. I part them, and as I take his thumb tip between my teeth and touch my tongue to it, his breath catches and his eyes slip closed in a slow blink. He lowers his hand and looks at me again, his eyes searching my face for something, before slowly shifting me onto the sofa. He gains his feet, reaching into his back pocket and pulling out his wallet.

Protection.

I’m so far gone I never even thought of it. A thrill skitters through me, pebbling my skin into goose bumps, and I can hardly breathe. This is it. We’re really doing this.

But he zips his jeans with his other hand as the wallet unfolds, and a glint of brass flashes in the dim room just as something else flashes in his eyes.

Regret? Pain?

He drags a hand down his face and closes his eyes, and for several beats of my racing heart he just stands there, breathing hard and saying nothing.

I sit here staring, not sure what’s happening, until he finally opens both his eyes and his mouth.

“Samantha West, you are under arrest for solicitation.”