Page 4 of Against The Rules

Savannah watches me though, her brow furrowed and lips pursed like she doesn’t quite know what to make of me.

I know the feeling.

And I know I want her. She stands out in this group of drop-dead gorgeous women like a fresh daisy, reaching for the sun.

I bet she tastes like sunshine.

“Savannah. Savannah like Georgia,” I yell, motioning to some more secluded booths at the back of the room, the lighting low and romantic. “Want to talk?”

“Yes, she does,” one of the redheads says, physically pushing her towards the booths. “Remember what we talked about, miss ma’am!” she tells her, then spanks her butt.

It distracts me completely from whatever it is they talked about. I swallow hard, trying not to creep on how hot Savannah’s ass looks. There’s a fine line between appreciating a beautiful woman and perving out, and I know which side I’d like to land on.

Perv is not a good look.

So I avert my eyes from the tight package of her totally fuckable body and smile at her as she gives me a curious and visibly nervous glance before heading back to one of the plush booths.

I don’t like that she’s nervous. I glance down at myself, trying to see what it is she sees. I mean, compared to me, she’s tiny. Most women and men are. That must be all it is.

A need to reassure her rises in me, fierce and unexpected. It takes my breath away. Maybe it’s because she seems so delicate, like she needs to be protected.

It’s a new feeling for me.

She sits carefully on the emerald velvet seat. I don’t want to cage her in or overwhelm her, so I sit opposite her, grinning as the noise of the casino club recedes.

“Hi,” she says, and her voice is slightly breathless, her blue eyes wide.

I could drown in them. I take a sip of my drink instead.

She toys with the gold-flecked straw in hers, watching me beneath her eyelashes.

“Hi, Savannah like Georgia, a Georgia peach,” I say, grinning at her before hiding a wince. What the hell was that? Who talks like that? “I have to ask, what was it that redhead was trying to remind you about?”

Pink colors her cheeks, and it’s so damn cute that I smile even harder.

“You have nice dimples,” she says.

I raise an eyebrow, laughing. “Thank you. But don’t think I don’t know you’re deflecting the question.”

She gives me a sly smile, raising an eyebrow. “Don’t think I don’t know that you know I’m deflecting the question.”

“You’re funny, Peaches,” I say, something in my chest tightening in delight.

“Ha. My name is Savannah.” She sips the drink, and I lock onto how her red lips wrap around the straw.

When she glances up at me, her cheeks drawing in as she sucks, I have to swallow a groan. All I can think about now is how she might look with something else in her mouth. Something that’s very, very interested in that possibility.

She deserves better than me.

I take another long drink, swallowing that thought down.

“What kind of conference are you here for? Work?”

“Kind of.” Her nose scrunches, drawing attention to a smattering of freckles across the bridge of it and her cheeks. “We’ve been teaching a clinic all week.”

“Clinic?” I ask, the word tripping through my brain.

“Dance clinic.”

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