Fuck. Him.
I did.
As I grit my teeth, my grip on the water bottle tightens, and since I don’t want an injured hand to go with my groin, I deliberately relax my fingers. And try to focus on the brunette perched on the arm of the chair I’m sitting in instead of those mind-fucking words. Forcing a smile, I aim it at the beautiful woman poured into a gold strapless dress. What is she talking about? A birthmark? A mole? Surgery? The hell? Nothing about me saysdoctor. Why would she think I care—
Well, fuck.
I stare at her naked breast topped by a dark-brown nipple.
And yup. There is most definitely a mole.
A glance upward, and there’s no missing the invitation or promise in her green eyes, wide smile, or bare breast.
And ... nothing.
My cock doesn’t harden. My pulse doesn’t race. My stomach doesn’t tighten. I’ve felt more anticipation and hunger gazing on a turkey club sandwich than on this woman. And it’s not her fault. She’s gorgeous, and apparently confident as hell. I mean, she just dropped her dress ina houseful of people. Far be it from me to shame anyone for pursuing what, or who, they want. But ...
My gaze shifts across the large living room to the far corner. A wide circle of men, more than a few of my teammates, is gathered there. And right smack in the middle stands Miriam, holding court like a debutante at some garden party. Or a vampire queen choosing her snack for the night.
The last one is closest to the truth.
And I want to volunteer as tribute.
Goddamn, how does one woman contain so much earthiness, so much raw sexuality? Her beauty—the graceful bone structure, the oval-shaped cocoa eyes, the elegant slope of nose and wide flare of nostrils, the brazenly sensual mouth—is obvious. But there’s so much more to her than that conglomeration of features that can make a person stop, stare, and contemplate violating personal boundaries to touch.
It’s the thick, dense wealth of shoulder-length tight curls dyed a honeyed blonde with darker roots that proclaims, “I do what I want, and I don’t give a flying fuck what you think.” It’s the petite, almost dainty frame with the insane curves in the form of sexy, less-than-a-handful breasts; rounded hips; a perfect, worship-worthy ass; and thick, toned legs that shouldn’t seem miles long. It’s the loud laughter, the in-your-face confidence. The infrequent glimpses of vulnerability.
She’s a dirty secret growled in the dead of night.
She’s a hallowed supplication whispered on the edge of dawn.
She’s beyond me.
Maybe she feels my eyes on her because Miriam swings that wicked, blinding smile from one of the men surrounding her, and it lands on me. Like the brightest ray of sunshine. Like the heaviest boulder on my chest. And I’m left breathless, incapable of moving. Trapped by that warmth, by the weight of it. But that’s okay. Because I don’t want to move.
And there it is.
What the brunette with the mole couldn’t do with an impromptu striptease, Miriam achieves with a mischievous smile.
Lust rushes through my veins, screaming hot, scalding me, branding me. My lungs punch the overtime clock, pumping air to my starving body, my brain, and it echoes like a harsh wind in my head. It’s not normal; I’ve experienced desire, need before. This isn’t that. I’ve had her, tasted her, been buried so deep inside that tight pussy I still bear the bruises. And yet ... and yet, I’m famished. My cock pounds out a steady beat that translates to “I don’t give a fuck. More.”
And all I can do is return her smile.
Return her smile and pretend that I don’t physically ache for her.
So I do.
I smile.
“Is she your girl?”
I jerk my gaze away from Miriam and back to the brunette. Hell, what’s her name? I’m such an asshole. Belle? Beth? Benita?
“No. Friend,” I say and nod toward her breast that’s still just hanging out, saying ... hi. “You’re a gorgeous woman, sweetheart, but cover up, yeah?” And to try and ease the sting of rejection, because I, more than anyone, understand and hate its sting, I grin. “In my opinion, though, leave the mole alone. It adds character.”
The pout that had already turned down the corners of her red-painted mouth disappears, and she returns my grin. She slides a glance over in Miriam’s direction, proving she hadn’t missed where my attention had detoured.
“Friend, huh?” She trails a finger down my chest, bisecting my abs, and I gently cuff her wrist when she reaches my belt. A smirk quirks the corners of her mouth. “Is she the reason you’re not interested in my ... mole?”
