Page 60 of Trashy Foreplay

The song doesn’t reach the end before I sense him standing behind me. I know he’s there, because a delicious chill is shivering down my spine. I go perfectly still as his arm snakes around me. A warm palm flattens against my stomach, and the tips of his fingers inch beneath the waistband of my jeans. Everything south of that tempting hand flares to life, setting off a deep ache I know only he can fix.

Pulling me against his body, he leans down and whispers into my ear. “Watching him touch you is killing me.”

“Knowing you’re married is killing me.”

He curses under his breath. A hint of his woodsy cologne, along with the sweet aroma of whiskey fills my nostrils.

“Have you been drinking?”

“Maybe a little.” He whirls me around until we’re face-to-face, and my pulse flutters in my throat as he tightens his arms around me. “Come upstairs with me.”

His proximity riots through me, the heat of his body sizzling all the way to my fucking toes. We fall into a lazy sway, dancing but not quite, and for a crazy second, I consider following him to the VIP area in the loft. As far as I can tell, it’s empty unless a stray couple is hiding in the shadows in the very back. I doubt it though. The club is vibrating with restless energy as everyone crowds the first floor in anticipation of the concert.

“Look at me, Jules.”

His words jolt me to awareness, and I realize I’m staring at his chest. I curl my hands into fists at my sides, too tempted to run my palms down that broad expanse hiding underneath cotton. I bet it’s the softest material on the planet, but I won’t find out because I’m not going there.

Nope.

Not. Gonna. Do. It.

Because I have zero control right now, and we’re standing in the middle of a busy club with God-knows-who watching. And if Idotouch him…I might not stop.

“Jules,” he murmurs. “Bring those gorgeous eyes up here.”

I lift my chin and dive headfirst into the fire of his gaze. His eyes are smoldering, liquid steel. “Cash…please…”

“Please what?”

“Don’t make me want to give in. You’re married.” My voice cracks on that ugly word.

“My marriage is a sham.”

“Your marriage is your business.” I grip his arms, intending to push him away. But somewhere along the way, my brain gets its wires crossed, and I end up curling my fingers around his biceps. God, he’s built—solid man through and through.

“I disagree,” he says, dipping his head until our mouths linger a hairsbreadth from each other. “Everything about me is very much your business.”

“W-why?”

“Because I can’t feel this way about you without it being your business.”

I eye the people around us on the dance floor. Les and the guys are backstage getting ready for their set, and Kaden is nowhere in sight. But if someone spots us like this, and it gets out—or worse, gets back to his wife—I could lose my job.

Again.

I could losehim…which doesn’t make any sense, because he’s not mine to begin with.

“We’re not exactly alone here,” I say.

“Jules, I really don’t give a shit. Please,” he says, raising his fingers to my cheek, “come upstairs.”

“And do what?”

“Talk.”

“We are talking.” My tone indicates resistance, but the softness of my voice spells doom. Defeat. He must have picked up on it too, because the next thing I know, he’s leading me toward the stairs with his large hand wrapped around my smaller one.

And I’m following.

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