I stare down into those liquid eyes. I don’t want her to stop. I want to feel her hands on my skin. So I taunt her, hoping to feed the feline that I’d be willing to bet is buried somewhere down deep.
“Oh, come on. Is that all you got?” I whisper.
Her eyes bore into mine and I hold my breath, waiting to see which side will win. In fascination, I watch as the balance of power shifts and the change is reflected in her eyes. They get a little brighter, a little feistier. I’ve never actually seen someone muster courage. Determination. Something in this girl refuses to give in, to back down. She’s rising to the challenge. And it’s hot as hell.
She keeps her eyes on mine as she starts to pull up my shirt. She leans in closer and I get a whiff of her perfume. It’s sweet and a little musky. Sexy. Just like her.
She has to plaster her body to mine and stretch up on her tiptoes to get my shirt over my head. I can feel her br**sts pushing against my chest. I could make the task easier for her. But I don’t. I like the feel of her rubbing against me. There’s no way I’m ruining that.
Once she has my shirt off, she backs up and looks me over. She’s shy about it. That much is obvious. It’s like she wants to look, but she’s a little embarrassed to, which actually makes it more of a turn on for some reason. I’m sure every other eye in the room is watching me, watching us, but hers are the only ones I can feel. They’re like tongues of fire, licking my skin. They’re searing and tangible. Or at least they feel that way to me.
I take a deep breath and her eyes drop to my stomach. Then they flicker down a little further. She stares longer than she should, but not nearly as long as I want her to.
I start to get hard.
Her eyes widen and her lips fall open just enough for her tongue to sneak out and wet them. I have to grit my teeth to keep from pulling her to me and kissing that lush little mouth of hers.
Then light pours into the room. It’s just enough to break the spell.
I hear a man’s voice. A very pissed-off man’s voice.
“Dude, what the hell?” It’s Jason. I know why he’s angry.
It’s not easy to tear my eyes away from hers. There’s a shy, reluctant excitement in them that makes me want to see how far I can push her. But I don’t. Push her, that is. Instead, I look away, turning my head to glance first at Jason and then at the room of salivating females. The jig is up.
Damn. That was shaping up to be quite a diversion.
I smile into the group of faces riveted on me. “Ladies, this is Jason. He’ll be entertaining you tonight.”
All eyes turn to Jason as he closes the door and moves around me. I look at the girl that’s holding my shirt. She’s perplexed. And for good reason.
“What do you mean, he’ll be entertaining us?” she asks, turning her confused eyes on me.
I don’t answer her right away. I know she’ll figure it out soon enough.
She looks over at Jason, trying to piece together what just happened.
“Now, which one of you beautiful women is the bride-to-be?” Jason asks.
I see it the instant understanding dawns. Her eyes widen again and, even in the low light, I see her cheeks turn red.
She looks back to me and frowns.
“If he’s the stripper, then who are you?”
“I’m Cash Davenport. I own the club.”
CHAPTER THREE - Olivia
I can’t help but stare, openmouthed, at the owner. I fight the urge to look for a table to crawl under. I’ve never been more mortified in all my life.
I hear the girls clucking over Jason, but it barely penetrates my mind, my focus. Every other piece of gray matter is concentrated squarely on the guy standing in front of me.
And then I get angry.
“Why did you let me do that? Why didn’t you say something or introduce yourself?”
He smiles. Smiles, dammit! It registers for a second that it’s a stunning smile, but then my humiliation returns and overshadows it completely.
“Why would I do that, when letting you undress me was so much more fun?”
“Um, because it’s completely unprofessional for one thing.”
“How is that? You ladies ordered a stripper. Does it matter who I send?”
“That’s not the point. You were being purposely deceptive.”
He chuckles. Chuckles, dammit! The nerve. “I don’t remember agreeing to send you an honest stripper. Just a willing one.”
I clamp my lips shut. He’s infuriating.
Nonchalantly, as though he’s not standing in front of me with no shirt on, he crosses his arms over his chest. The action draws my attention to his perfectly rounded pecs and the tattoo that covers one whole side. I can’t make out exactly what it is, but part of it even reaches out and spreads over his left shoulder, like long, jagged fingers.
He clears his throat and my eyes fly to his face. He’s smiling even wider now and I feel my scowl roll into place. I can’t think straight with him standing here like this. He’s far too disconcerting with his shirt off.
“Don’t you think you should at least get dressed?”
“Don’t you think you should at least give me my shirt then?”
I look down and sure enough, clutched tightly in my fisted hand, is his black t-shirt. Angrily, I toss it at him. And he catches it.
Dammit!
The strange thing is, even as I seethe, I’m not sure why I’m so mad. I just know that I am.
“You sure are full of fire! Maybe I should’ve taken your shirt off instead,” he says as he pulls his tee over his head.
“What difference would that have made?”
Other than it would have been about ten times more embarrassing.
He stops and grins at me, a cocky sexy grin that I don’t want to be affected by, but can’t seem to help myself. “If I had, you sure as hell wouldn’t be mad right now.”
My mouth goes bone dry as a mental image of that scene flickers in and out of my mind—him easing my shirt over my head, his hands on my skin, his body pressed to mine, his lips so close I can almost taste them. That’s all it takes to make me forget my anger.
I’m staring at him with my mouth open—again—as he tucks his shirt back in. When he’s finished, he takes a step closer to me. I stand perfectly still. His grin dies into a seductive curve of his lips that makes my knees feel funny. I’m completely spellbound and embarrassingly turned on when he bends to whisper in my ear.