Page 9 of Unmistakably Us

“Oh, God.” January breathed. Hearing Platinum talk reminded her why she didn’t want to sleep with him in the first place. She couldn’t go through with it now. He was a grade-A man whore. He had slept with half the dancers and practically all the waitresses.

It had cut her deeper than it should have every time she watched him leave with another woman. Including Platinum. The slut.

“Oh, shit. I’m sorry, I forgot y’all did the dirty dance. I’ll back off.” The words tasted like acid, but it was for the best.

“Ha. I wish.”

What? Did I hear that correctly?

“But I saw you leave with him one night. Looked like you were all over each other.” January was confused.

“Yes and no. He seemed to be ready to go until we got in the car and headed for his room. We got there, and he thanked me for the ride home—I guess his car crapped out on him—and that was it. Asshole. But I would give him another chance in a heartbeat. Have you seen that dick print?”

An electric guitar punctuated her words, and the spotlight flooded the area with light. Before she started her strut, Platinum added, “If you take a ride on that rocket, girlfriend, I want details, including exact measurements. My money is on double digits.”

With that, Platinum was gone and so was the harsh white light. Instead, the area was flooded with jittering red and blue lights. January leaned over and chanced a peek into the bar. Logan sat there almost exactly as she left him, except now, he stared at his beer which was placed right in front of the cock Platinum believed to be an easy ten.

Jerking her head back, she bit her lip to keep from squealing. Her celebration was short-lived because Platinum wasn’t the only girl he’d left with, and it was naïve of her to think he didn’t sleep with any of them. Since she had first-hand knowledge of some of the dancer’s personal policies on condoms, she would have to sneak out to avoid Logan all together.

The best way to get out was while Platinum was still on stage. She was the last dancer tonight. The room would be darker, and all focus would be on her and her amazing rack. January darted up, shedding her costume—what was left of it—on her way to the dressing room.

Skipping underwear to save time, she pulled on her capri leggings commando. Same with her, VOCABULARY OF A WELL-EDUCATED SAILOR tee. Screw a bra, time mattered more than jiggle. The song was winding down. She needed to go…NOW!

Shouldering her backpack, she exited the dressing room into the back hallway. She spotted the back door and freedom. She just got past the bathrooms when light flooded the hallway. Oh shit, lights on, dancing’s done, I need to scoot. As a rule, everyone’s attention turned that way as soon as the lights came on and there wasn’t a dancer to focus on helping them forget they needed to take a piss for the last twenty minutes.

Hand on the handle and escape within reach, a touch of panic assaulted her. January darted through the door faster than shit and manually pushed it closed instead of waiting for it to do so on its own. Breathing a sigh of relief, she closed her eyes and relaxed back—half against the door, half against building. Not the most comfortable of places, but she was free of the interior, and that’s all the mattered.

“Running away, Little Rabbit?”

“Shit!” January damn near jumped out of her skin. Her hands flew to her chest in some pre-programmed response as if to hold it back before it hammered free.

The voice that could melt her panties, if she were wearing them, was instantly recognizable. Still, her eyes sought out the origin of it. Logan was leaned against the brick like the Marlboro Man. One leg bent with foot flat against the wall. Arms crossed in front of his impressive chest. The only thing missing from the picture was the cowboy hat.

January was too startled to move, an affliction that didn’t seem to extend to Logan. She stared as he pushed off the wall and fully turned her way. She took inventory of every motion, appreciating the play of every muscle through the pull and stretch of his clothes.

The man was certainly well put together. She had already begun to regret not getting to experience him, at least once.

His chest got bigger and bigger, no, closer and closer. Suddenly, she found her back pressed back into the brick surface and her front pressed into him.

His hand made a hollow slap as it landed on the metal door by one ear. January turned toward it, noticing how work-worn and tan it appeared around the tattoos. Before she could turn back, his hot mouth was burning the cords of her neck with biting kisses.

A moan was ripped from her lips as he continued his assault on her neck and guided her leg up his thigh with his other tattooed hand. Her hips ground forward without instruction from her conscious mind. She could definitely imagine double digits.

In a flash, his lips were gone, and his hips still. Opening her eyes and turning his direction, she met his liquid amber and melted chocolate stare. “Why?” was all he asked.

January entertained the idea of playing dumb and pretending it was just part of her dance, but they were both better than that. Honesty—Lord knows she respected it and had a suspicion he did too.

“Have you slept with half the women here?” If that didn’t cool his jets, and hers, nothing would. Men hated jealousy, especially from a woman they hadn’t even closed the deal with. His look was challenging.

The hand beside her head slowly slid down to her shoulder. Logan raised a questioning eyebrow. Whatever the query he intended, it was rhetorical as his hand continued to migrate south at an infuriatingly slow pace. His gaze remained steady and piercing.

When he reached her breast, the pressure of his touch increased, but he didn’t linger. Didn’t slow. The friction was delightful. January knew the moment her hasty wardrobe choice became apparent to Logan. The fire in his eyes flared before he blinked in slow motion.

The groan that accompanied that knowledge was ecstasy to her ears, but he remained focused on his destination. His blinking stopped again, and the intensity of his stare ramped up a few notches.

Down her belly, just past the hem of her shirt, almost exactly where she ached for his touch. For the first time along his journey, his hand paused. The challenge in his eyes turned to cocky confidence. As he spoke, his hand changed direction, heading for her waistband. One finger went under the band and teased the skin there.

“Does it matter what my answer is when I can make you feel like this?” January was about to shove his cocky ass away as soon as he uttered the word matter, but the rest of his hand joined the finger, and headed south, robbing her of words.

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