Page 23 of Strike Zone

It takes every ounce of self-control I have to walk away. Diana is the most infuriating woman I’ve ever met, but she’s undeniably sensual. She exudes sex with every move she makes, but when she opens her mouth, vitriol spills out like chemical waste.

There’s one big problem with forcing myself to go flirt with the cute blonde at the bar—she’s not the woman I want in my bed tonight. As much as Diana infuriates me, I can’t shake the image of her naked, legs parted, her fists in my hair, and lost to the pleasure my tongue tore from her body last night. Every time I glance in her direction, I can taste her, and it has me rocking a permanent semi tonight.

“So, what do you do for a living? Do you work with Dee Lex? I heard this is her party.” The blonde stares at me with a bright smile and nothing going on behind her eyes. She has no idea who I am. This is a rare treat. Maybe tonight isn’t going to be so bad, after all.

“No, I don’t work with her, just a friend of a friend. I work in… the entertainment business.” It’s not a lie. I entertain Yankees fans regularly.

“Like movies or TV?”

“Television.”

“I don’t suppose you could introduce me to Dee Lex?” I just want to get laid. Is that such a crime?

“I tell you what. Why don’t we have a few drinks, and you can tell me about yourself? A dance or two, and if I haven’t held your attention well enough, I’ll introduce you.”

She glances in Diana’s direction as she slides her hand up my forearm. “I get the feeling you’re more than skilled enough to hold a woman’s attention.” Giving me puppy dog eyes, she leans in a little closer. “Are you sure we can’t say hello before we dance? I’m thinking we’ll be heading back to your place before the end of the first song anyway.” This girl knows what she wants and how to get it.

I steal a glance in Diana’s direction, and some asshole with more hair gel than hair is inviting himself to sit with her. I’m more annoyed that she accepts and pours him a goddamn drink of the Patrón that I fucking bought for her.

“Sure, why not?” I order a couple of shots. “Cheers. Here’s to an uncomplicated night.”

“I’ll toast to that.” She slings her drink back like a pro before linking her hand in mine and pulling me through the crowd. This woman is hot, one hundred percent my type, and—nothing—not a twitch, a thrill, or the excitement that usually comes with a one-night stand.

Before we make it across to the VIP section, she starts swaying to the music, turning to face me. Sliding her arms around my waist, she slowly begins to grind on me, her eyes never leaving mine. “Maybe you’re right. Dancing first.” The sickly sweetness of her perfume overpowers the smell of alcohol that surrounds us as she darts her tongue out to wet her bottom lip.

She’s not shy about getting up close and personal, and then it dawns on me I don’t even know her first name. I lean down, trying to be heard over the pulsing beat and the hum of the crowd.

“What’s your name?”

“Does it matter?” She turns and backs her ass up against my junk in the name of dancing.

“No.” I’m usually all over this kind of hookup. In fact, I’d already be finding us a cab back to the hotel by now. But not tonight and not with this woman.

I can sense Diana’s whereabouts as she slithers through the sea of people, with some fanboy following submissively behind. She’s watching me, I know it, and her eyes do more to me than any amount of grinding from a cute blonde.

My fixed-to-one-spot dance moves suddenly flourish into twists and turns, anything to let me keep an eye on Diana. If she takes that prick back to the hotel, I have fuck-all recourse, but I’ll be pissed. Every time our eyes meet, it’s not the stolen glances of potential lovers. We glare at each other with disdain, and yet there’s undeniable chemistry sizzling in the air between us.

The douchebag she’s dancing with is getting way too friendly, his hands trailing down her back, making a play for her ass, and something in me just snaps.

“Where are you going?” The blonde shouts after me as I stride off in the opposite direction.

“Sorry… whatever your name is.”

“Dick!”

I don’t care if I’m being a dick. I know I should, but at this moment, I have someone else I need to go and be a complete prick to—priorities. I make my way toward Diana, and when she sees me coming, she’s quick to intercept. “No. I don’t need any more chivalry tonight. His hands are just fine. I’ll tell him if they’re not welcome.”

My blood begins to boil as her oblivious dance partner moves closer again, grinding against her back, sliding his hands over her hips. She closes her eyes, and I lose it. If he touches her for another second, I’m going to knock him the fuck out.

“Diana, let’s not make a scene. Why don’t you just come with me, so I don’t need to ensure this guy is drinking through a straw tomorrow.”

“Why would I do that?”

“Because…” I realize that no words will convince her, so I do what I do best. I lean in, whispering in her ear, letting my lips caress her cheek. “It’s not his hands you want running all over your body tonight.”

In one fluid movement, I wrap one arm around her waist and extricate her from the douchebag’s grasp.

“Hey, what the fuck, man?” I’ve got six inches on this guy, but good on him for attempting to stand up to me.

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