One-thirty p. The butterfly door on the driver side swung open, he stepped out and the world shifted into slow motion. The Italian leather shoes, tailored black slacks and tan trench coat fit him to perfection. A pair of dark Aviators hid his eyes. Sheer arrogance poured off of him in waves as he strutted across the street.
Fuck the pictures! This man was gorgeous. Even his swagger was a thing of beauty. Before returning to my sniper scope, I blinked twice. His superciliousness alone justified him as being more than worthy of a visit from my bullet. Three men were huddled over a table in the far corner of the bar area, where they conversed, laughed and enjoyed their drinks.
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Neither one of them appeared to be in our age bracket. In fact, they looked like cougar bait. That made me feel old. The one Allison had her eyes on, a smooth cocoa brother with a wavy fade, snapped his attention our way.
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I fidgeted uncomfortably under their steady gazes. Allison, on the other hand, flashed a megawatt smile, assumed a provocative stance and stuck her voluptuous chest out for their scrutiny. A yummy man swirl. No doubt about it, I was about to be yanked into an awkward, uncomfortable situation. I started getting the jitters. Desperate to get out of the building before Allison made her move, I inched closer to the exit.
Running late, remember? Her white gloved hand caught me by the wrist. You cussed me out for making us late and now you wanna set us back further? The closer we got to the threesome, the hotter they became. Allison was going to drag me into the mix one way or another.
Multicolored lights flashed over the performers, adding to the dark and mysterious ambiance they created. But Ripp… He glistened under the fluorescent beams, like a divine being.
Flicking his fingers across the guitar strings, he rocked his hips to the beat, threw his head back, and let out one of his gritty primal cries. An unwanted smile dared to cross my face. I sat rooted to the barstool at the back of the club, refusing to let his bad boy allure draw me under his spell, like everyone else. A few days ago, Google extended an invitation for me to join Google Play. Thanks for being my motivation to write. The pounding beat of the hard rock music vibrated through the vehicle, adding to the firestorm raging within her core.
Josephine clutched her thighs together and shifted in the leather seat, hoping to God the feeling would go away, but the longer she sat there next to him, the worse it became. He smelled so damn good. His cologne, combined with his natural scent, enticed her senses, and made her mouth water for a taste of him. Feverish, she wrung her hands together in her lap, fighting the need to slip her fingers between her thighs and heal the ache dangling on the edge of her clit. I used to hate the exterior design of them, all boxy like. He had a wicked way of sucking her into the deep blue fantasy in his eyes.
It was too dangerous of a place to be, a place where she could easily lose herself in a heat of passion. Damn him! She went for the handle in an attempt to make a run for it.
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Before she could escape, he latched onto her wrist, forcing her to turn and look at him. Inky curls hung loosely over his forehead, enhancing his sex appeal. God, why?
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I like you a lot Josephine, and I truly hope you feel the same way about me. Dammit, she had almost made it out of the vehicle. She darted out of the vehicle, leaving his alluring scent behind. The fever he engendered rolled down her body in waves, causing her to break out in a cold sweat.
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Without hailing the doorman, she ran up the entrance steps and through the open glass doors. She hurried past the lounge area to the elevators. The sliding doors opened, welcoming her in, but she hesitated to enter.
She needed to clear her head, to think of something, anything other than him. Scampering from the bank of elevators, she retraced her steps then made a sharp right turn to the bar. Neon lights haloed the handsome bartender like he was the God of Liquor and Spirits. Josephine Burnett, room eight fourteen. Charge it please. Clutching the chilled glass, she rushed to an empty booth in the far right corner, away from the packed bar. She took a much-needed swallow of her chosen beverage.
The burning liquid added fuel to the fire already blazing within her. This was crazy. She loved Terry and would never cheat on him. He was her first and only man. No one had ever touched her body but him, and no one else would!
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Doubtful, but she had to try something. She looked to her side for her trusty handbag to seek out her phone. Where… Oh no. Personal trainer and part-time bouncer Ramsey Logan has been the reliable go-to guy all his life and doesn't have the time or inclination to entertain people who aren't equally so. But there's something about the reckless and sexy Trevor that has Ramsey looking passed the impulsive facade to the wounded soul beneath.
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