Page 2 of Spinning Out Of Control

That truth being that I'm a sick, sick man with a teenage-like crush on a woman nearly twenty years my junior. I’ve never been that person. I’m not the old man in the corner leering at the youngest women in the room. I’m not the guy who casts aside a partner just to trade up to a younger model. I’ve always been attracted to maturity, intelligence, and a person’s ability to hold a conversation with me. That’s not to say someone younger than me couldn’t also fit those parameters, but youth isn’t something I’ve ever sought out.

Setting aside the fact that I’m old enough to be her father, I haven’t been able to allow myself to enter her orbit. How can I be trusted to introduce myself to her when I can't promise that the first words out of my mouth wouldn't be 'You are the most beautiful woman I've ever seen in my life. I have daydreams about running my fingers through your hair. You look like you taste like candy and if you wanted to sit on my face, I'd gladly let you smother me to death.'

I sit back and observe Kira McKenna from a distance. I watch her cross the dance floor to the stage, lighting up the space with her dazzling figure and sparkling energy. She tips the bottle of Cristal to her lips, and I suck in a breath. A myriad of filthy thoughts threaten to take over my brain as she sets the bottle off to the side, leaving a ring of bright pink lipstick on the glass. Taking the microphone in hand, she spins in a circle. The skirt of her dress catches the breeze, floating up and giving everyone in the crowd a peek at her tight, sculpted quads. She slips her feet out of her high heels and kicks them off the edge of the stage as the band plays the opening notes of one of my favorite eighties pop songs.

Kira parts her lips to belt the opening lyric and I hum in appreciation. Even though her singing voice leaves something to be desired, there is no denying my attraction. She puts Aphrodite to shame.

I chuckle into my highball glass as wedding guests whoop and cheer at Kira's cheeky lyrical updates to theclassic Bangles tune. I laugh out loud when she switches up my favorite line.

“I was kissing Travis Kelce by a crystal blue Italian stream.”

She continues the song with a gusto usually reserved for Broadway hopefuls at their first auditions, and I’m unable to tear my eyes away from her. Kira has an exuberant aura surrounding her as she sings, dances, and air guitars her way through the bridge. She shimmies and a strap slides down one of her gorgeous, smooth shoulders that somehow look powerful and delicate at the same time. Shoulders that I’ve spent an ungodly amount of time dreaming about running my hands over. The slip of the strap causes her dress to shift just slightly, and the sexy neckline dips closer and closer to indecent. Kira, of course, makes the near-wardrobe malfunction look tasteful and flirty. She turns slightly, pulling the strap back into place while winking and blowing a kiss to her audience. The woman's confidence is palpable and sexy as hell. She holds the last note like Celine Dion doing an encore in Vegas and then flips her wild hair over as she gives the crowd an over-the-top courtesy. I drain the remaining scotch from my glass and turn back to the bar, knowing full well that the three-minute performance will play on a loop in my head as I try to sleep tonight.

Xander slides water in front of me, fulfilling my request to switch up my scotch for water between each drink. I wonder if it's too soon to think about the cakeand how I will most definitely be taking some home to eat in bed later.

Then I feel a ball of energy vibrating at my side.

"Are you going to wait for me to serve you this time?" Xander asks. I furrow my brow before I realize the question wasn't posed to me.

"That depends, Xandy. Are you gonna pay more attention to me? You're making a girl feel desperate over here."

"You are trouble, woman." Xander chuckles as he pours champagne into a crystal flute. I look to see the object of all my inappropriate affections leaning against the bar at my side, chin in hand and a shit-eating grin on her face. Kira winks as she takes the drink, then turns and leans back against the bar before taking a sip. I slide a finger over the rim of my glass as my nerves fire on all cylinders.

I have three options here. I can stand here quietly continuing my self-appointed role of leaning against the bar to keep it standing and hoping like hell Kira doesn’t try to make small talk. I can just walk away. It wouldn’t be rude. It’s not like I’d be leaving a conversation. We’d just be two strangers passing in the night, and I can find another perch somewhere under this tent to covertly watch her out of the corner of my eye. Or, I could put on my big boy pants and say hello to the woman sipping champagne next to me, completely unaware of my wandering eye and the mental gymnastics I’ve been performing in my head since the first time I spotted her.

I take a deep breath and give myself a mental pep talk. I can do this. I can turn around and say hello.I am a grown man. I manage billion-dollar deals before breakfast. I know damn well how to hold a conversation with someone, even when that someone is a person I am wildly attracted to. I am Warren Robert mother fucking Yates and I do not get flustered around pretty women.

I turn and mimic her position, leaning against the bar with one elbow and a glass in my other hand. There's only a handful of inches separating us, but Kira doesn't glance at me. Alright, looks like I’m going to have to use my words.

I whistle low under my breath and then speak.

"So, Travis Kelce, huh?” I ask, and the moment Kira turns those stormy gray eyes on me, I feel my body melting like an ice cream cone. Fuck, if just the privilege of her attention has this effect on me, I can’t imagine the putty her touch would turn me into. She smirks and turns her body so that she’s facing me ever so slightly.

“What can I say? I have a thing for beefy, athletic types,” she answers with a cocky shrug of her shoulder.

“Is that so?” I ask, bringing my fresh scotch to my lips.

“No, not at all. I was a cheerleader growing up, plus my dad and my brother both play pro football. I’ve spent enough time around athletes to know that, as a group, they make me gag. Travis is the only exception. Oh, and his brother, too.”

Her tone is playful and inviting, and it gives me a boost of confidence that I wasn’t expecting. It seems now that the bandage has been torn off, maybe the cogs in my brain have finally stopped turning and I can simply chat with Kira.

“Interesting. From what I’ve heard, Mr. Kelce’s typeisathletic blondes,” I reach out and touch her hair, surprising myself with the move. A moment ago, I was considering bolting across the room to avoid making eye contact with this woman, and now I’ve got one of her soft, honey blonde curls wrapped around my index finger. It feels like silk, and I have to hold in an honest to god whimper. “But typically, ones who can carry a tune.”

She swats my hand away, but I can see the smile she’s trying to suppress behind her annoyed grimace.

“That’s infuriating, you know.”

“What’s infuriating?” I ask, and she gestures up and down my body.

“That. All of that paired with that damn adorable accent that makes your oh-so-rude-insult sound like a whispered sweet nothing.”

“Would you like me to whisper my insults in your ear next time?” I tease. Long gone are the nerves that prevented me from approaching her in the past. Instead, they’re replaced by the indescribable high of Kira McKenna calling me adorable.

Well, she called my accent adorable. But a win is a win.

“Something tells me if there was ever anext time–” she purrs, emphasizing the words with a waggle of her eyebrows, “You wouldn’t be able to contain yourself to a whisper.”

A growl rumbles low in my chest, and I’m tempted. My god, I am so fucking tempted to skip the small talk and beg her to come home with me tonight. It’s been so long since I’ve had a torrid, one-night affair that even the mere insinuation of something naughty has my cock taking notice. If I were a better man, I’d never admit to having fantasized about bedding the woman in front of me. But I’m not a better man. I’ve had plenty of fantasies, and she’s right. In my imagination, she’s left me ravished time and time again. In real life? I wouldn’t stand a chance.

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