Until he huffed a low laugh, and her gaze met his dark eyes. “You really think clothes are the part of you that gets to me?” He watched her carefully. “Walk for me, Vanessa.”
Maybe it was the name drop, maybe it was the effect his rough demands had on her nervous system, or maybe it was because she wanted to break in her new stage…yeah, she’d go with that.
“Fine.” She brushed past him. “But let me at least get the right shoes on.” Going to the bag she’d dropped when she entered the gym, she took out the strappy heels she’d brought for today’s runway training.
Her body buzzed with the awareness of Jordan’s gaze asshe unzipped her boots, her skin suddenly too sensitive, breasts tender against her tight shirt, her breath growing shallow.
She wondered what kind of performance he was expecting from her. A lot of people thought runway walking was simple, that being tall and beautiful was all it took. But that was a misconception.
Walking the runway was an art. Each designer had their own vision, and each show demanded something unique from its models. What worked in one show didn’t vibe in another.
What would be right for The Jordan Show?
A small smile tugged her lips. Maybe she’d show him something he wasn’t expecting.
Securing the last strap around her ankle, she dug her phone from her bag and rose. “I need music.” She sauntered past him toward the steps at the back of the stage, sight set on her Spotify list.
On the night of the show, they’d put up black curtains to create a backstage area. For now it was all open, so she wouldn’t be able to make her ideal entrance, but she could still make an impact. Selecting the song she had in mind, she connected her phone to the speakers and hit play. As the tune’s opening bars filled the massive space, she regretted she hadn’t turned down any of the gym’s fluorescent lights.
The ambiance and outfit weren’t ideal, but she vowed to make this the best runway walk of her life.
When the opening bars peaked, she spun around, shutting out everything around her but Jordan. Gone were the harsh lights, scuffed yellow wood floors, and paint-chipped walls. In their place, she imagined a darkened room, spotlights, and the clicks of photographers’ lenses.
She wanted him to see it too, to picture her in a designergown, hair and makeup perfect, walking toward him as if she was the center of the universe. She knew what she looked like as she moved in her signature runway walk. The sway of her hips, the sharp line of her shoulders. Each step was designed to be a declaration that she was confident, untouchable, beautiful. All his.
The music pulsed through her, filling her senses, guiding her every movement. She let it take over, flowing with it. Fluid, but controlled, as though she were gliding through water, effortlessly pulling herself closer to him with every step. When she posed in the middle of the catwalk and lifted her chin, her gaze never leaving his, she could sense the shift in the air between them. The space that had once crackled with annoyance and mild disdain now sizzled with something sensual, carnal.
Judging by the way his fists clenched at his sides, she knew he did too.
The music changed tempo, and she continued down the runway, stopping once more to twirl, pop a hip, and pose. She wanted to give him the full experience of watching a model eat up every inch of the runway to her advantage.
When she came to a final stop at the end, he moved to meet her. With her standing above him on the stage and his face lined up directly with her thighs, his gaze zeroed in on her center. Heat surged through her as he shamelessly drank her in, as if he was ready to eat her out right then and there.
And, have mercy, it took everything in her not to clench her thighs together to relieve the sudden need for him to do just that.
Maybe they were better off annoyed with each other. It was definitely safer.
After a few more seconds of him staring and one songfading to another, she finally decided to turn and head back to the stairs. But as she moved to turn, his hand closed around one of her ankles. A firm, possessive grip that anchored her in place.
Why was that so hot?
His gaze traveled up her body until it met hers. His eyes were intense and unrelenting, darker than she’d ever seen them. Slowly, his palms slid up her legs, roaming over every curve, until finally she nodded at him, a silent answer to his unspoken question. He gripped her under her ass and lifted her off the stage.
Her hands went to his shoulders to steady herself, a ragged breath escaping her, and then he slid her down his massive body as if she weighed nothing, as if she wasn’t five foot eleven.
When her feet hit the ground, her head tipped back, their gazes colliding, and she tried to decipher what she saw in his.
Swallowing was like trying to drink a cup of sand. “I hope that lived up to expectations,” she managed to say through her parched mouth.
Jordan said nothing, his pupils impossibly wide. He reminded her of a jaguar ready to pounce.
Slowly, he backed her up against the edge of the stage, his body flush against hers, his thick thigh finding its way between her legs. The way he placed it made her feel like she’d saddled a horse, her core perfectly snug against his quad.
And in under a second, her mouth went from parched to salivating.
Taking the chance of a lifetime, she ran her fingers along his ribs, over his abs, and then slid them over each definedmuscle. His breath hissed out in a long shudder as she rolled her hips, creating the most delicious friction.
When her fingers didn’t stop their descent, his hand shot out to wrap around hers. “Careful, princess.” His voice was like a rumble of thunder. “You don’t know what you’re playing with.”
