Figures.
Jet
“Shit,” I hiss under my breath without meaning to.
I’ve seen plenty of naked women in plenty of compromising positions—mostly having to do with the line of business I’m in—but at this moment they have everything to do with the wildflower I’m staring at.
I give a long, hard blink before doing another visual sweep. Lying naked, save for strategically placed wadded up rolls of fish, is beautiful, well-endowed, blessed by God Daisy Pembrooke. Her gaze is set straight ahead, staring at the ceiling as if her life depended on it. Her muscles are tense. I know those thighs more than I know my own, and right about now, she’s ready to turn to stone.
Jody waves a hand in front of my face. “Everything okay?”
I take a moment just soaking in Daisy’s unblemished skin, the untouched canvas I’m beginning to salivate over. The fact her gorgeous body is on display for everyone to see stirs me to anger. No, I am most certainly not okay.
“You know—” I turn to the short redhead who’s been chatting my ear off for the last twenty minutes about a documentary I’m pretty sure I have no interest in. But something brought me here tonight, and that was the future growth of the store. If I’m ever going to expand, a little exposure couldn’t hurt. “I think I need a minute. I’m on the verge of making a decision.”
“You need a minute alone!” Her entire face lights up like a Christmas tree. She’s made no secret about how badly she wants Think Ink as a part of her production. You’d think it were a lottery win the way she salivates over it. “I can take a lot of things, and a hint is one of them. I’ll be at the bar. You want a cold one? It’s on me!” She trots off, hopeful that she cinched the deal.
A few malingerers gather rolls off Daisy’s thighs before wandering off, leaving us alone for a moment—a small miracle in and of itself.
I step in close to that beautiful face and lean over fully, blocking her line of vision.
Her eyes widen with fright before squeezing shut.
“What the hell is going on?” I whisper.
“I can’t talk,” she grits it through her teeth.
An entire herd of dudes dressed in monkey suits head over, each with a beer in hand, laughing their asses off before they ever get here, and I glare at them before they hit ground zero.
“Get up,” I growl, unsure if I’ve said the words out loud, but I damn well meant it.
Daisy shakes her head ever so slightly as the dudes gather around, hungry for a bite, but it’s not the sushi they’re looking at. Nope. The entire male mob is momentarily hypnotized by Daisy’s upper torso. It’s true. Daisy has a set of tits that can make a grown man cry. Hell, I’m about to cry, or flip a table. Not this one. I’d like to hurt someone right about now, and it’s sure not Daisy.
“You think they’re real?” One of the suits bumps elbows with the douche next to him.
“My bet’s on plastic.” His buddy shakes his head. “All the beautiful ones are.”
I know for a fact Daisy’s rack is anything but manufactured in some silicone warehouse. I’ve seen those girls bumping and jumping like jackhammers when she’s sitting on my lap, riding me like she’s doling out a punishment. It was far from that. In fact, my balls missed the hell out of her last night. What was that about? I thought she’d be a little grateful for the fact I freed her from her wax prison. I’ll admit, a part of me wanted to run when I saw that clotted up mess. But another, far more aroused part of me, wanted to free her so she could make her way onto my face once again. It’s her favorite seat in the house. I don’t blame her. It’s the one that suits her best. I freeze solid for a moment. The idea of me suiting her best somehow crosses that invisible line I’ve drawn in the sexual sand.
What the hell am I doing here hovering over her like some white knight? Daisy is a strong woman, emotionally and physically. I can attest to both. She doesn’t need me to babysit. If she wants perfect strangers fondling her while they feast off questionably raw fish, then, that’s her business.
I turn to walk away, but my feet have screwed themselves into the floorboards.
“Hey”—one suit says to the next with a shit-eating gleam in his eye—“I dare you to flick her nipple.”
“Are you kidding?” The trained monkey balks at the idea.
Good move, dude.I offer him a curt nod.I’d hate to knife your balls off. It’d pain me as much as it would you.
“I can’t flick her tit. It’s covered in a freaking doily.” He knocks his buddy in the shoulder, and the idiot sloshes his drink onto Daisy’s stomach.
Lava courses through my veins in a visceral manner that I haven’t felt since that night so long ago.
“Hey, man, watch it.” I nod over to the suit with the beer.
“Sure thing.” He pulls the glass back while studying his buddy intently.
Suit number two does a quick glance around—little does he know the only person who matters is standing right in front of him. Daisy doesn’t need security. She’s got me.
