Page 9 of Riding Dirty for Christmas

A man who, judging by his confident ease, knows exactly the effect he's having on me.

“How far up those stairs, exactly?”

“One flight.” His eyes darken. “Although the storage room's closer.”

“Are you suggesting we...” I gesture between us, feigning shock. “In your storage room? How unprofessional.”

“Just stating facts.” He shrugs, but I catch the way his shoulders tense when I move closer. “Although my apartment has better lighting. And a bed.”

“Hmm.” I pretend to consider it, tapping one finger against my lips. The responsible thing would be to go home, try to track down my mother, and forget about those blue-gray eyes. But responsibility is overrated. “Stairs are so far though.”

Before he can respond, I grab his shirt front - and oh, that worn flannel feels even better than it looks - pulling him toward the hallway.

His surprised laugh sends warmth spreading through my chest.

“Eden...” His voice is rough, caught between warning and want. The way he says my name sends heat curling through me.

“What?” I walk backwards, leading him down the hall, thrilled by how his eyes darken with each step. “Show me where you keep the good stuff, bartender. Unless you're scared?”

His laugh is low and dangerous. “Scared isn't the word I'd use, Princess.”

The nickname should annoy me. Instead, it sends a shiver down my spine, especially paired with that knowing smirk.

“Besides,” I curl my fingers into his flannel shirt, loving how his breath catches. “You started it with that storage room suggestion.”

“Pretty sure you're the one dragging me down this hallway.” His thumbs trace circles on my hips, making it hard to think straight.

“Dragging?” I arch an eyebrow. “Funny, I don't feel any resistance.”

His eyes flash with heat and humor. “I'm trying to be a gentleman.”

“How about being less gentle-” The rest of my sass dies in my throat as he crowds me against the wall, one hand braced beside my head.

“Careful what you wish for, Princess.”

His eyes lock with mine, and for a moment we're both perfectly still, the air electric between us. Then he reaches past me to unlock a door marked “Storage,” and cool air rushes out to meet us.

This is definitely not how I planned my night going when I walked into The HideOut. But as he guides me into the dimly lit room, my heart pounding against my ribs, I don't regret a single decision that led me here.

The heavy door swings shut behind us with a solid thunk. Dark wood shelves tower around us, bottles gleaming in the dim light like liquid jewels.

His woodsy scent surrounds me as he moves closer, until I'm backed against the shelves. A bottle clinks softly behind me.

“Careful,” I tease, though my breath catches as his hand settles on my hip. “Some of these bottles probably cost more than my shoes.”

A muscle jumps in his jaw. His gaze drops to my lips before snapping back up to meet mine. His shoulders are tense, muscles coiled like he's restraining himself.

Something fierce and feminine inside me purrs at the sight.

“Princess,” he murmurs against my ear, “I really don't care about the bottles right now.”

The cool metal shelves dig into my back as Jack presses closer, his solid frame caging me in the confined space. His presence overwhelms my senses, all raw strength and barely contained power.

“You sure about this?” The growl in his voice sends shivers down my spine.

I curl my fingers into his flannel shirt, pulling him closer. “Yes.”

His free hand comes up to cup my face, and the gentleness of the gesture surprises me. I rise up on my toes, letting my breath ghost across his lips.

---