Page 11 of The Playboy

She looked at me from over her shoulder. “The type who never gives in.”

We’ll see about that.

“I like that about you.” She shook her ass, turning in a circle several times before I asked, “Are you on vacation?”

Her head tilted back, her profile showing me a grin. “You just can’t help yourself, can you?”

She still wasn’t telling me to leave. If anything, by staying on the stage, dancing even more seductively, it felt like she was goading me.

That could only mean one thing.

I traced the rim of the glass with my thumb. “You intrigue me.”

“Why?” She took a seat on the stage, her legs dangling toward me, her body moving like she was still on her feet. “What is it about me, dancing on this platform, that caused you to come over and want to interview me?”

My thumb paused. “You call this an interview?”

“Interrogation.” She shrugged. “Maybe that’s a better word.”

I ignored her comment. “What caused me to come over is that whether I’m in the VIP lounge or standing beneath you, I can’t seem to keep my eyes off you. You’re the most beautiful woman in this club.”

“And let me guess … you assumed because I’m in this dress”—she ran her hands down her stomach, stopping at the hem that ended far above her knees—“and dancing alone, I’m looking for a man?” Her brows rose, causing those icy-blue eyes to pierce mine.

Was she schooling me?

Testing me?

I couldn’t tell—and I could always fucking tell.

“That’s where you’re confused,” I said. “Because I assumed nothing. Why I came over here—and why I’m still here—is because I can’t get this thought out of my head.”

She didn’t nip this time; she dragged her teeth over her lip instead. “Which is?”

“I need to know what those lips taste like.”

Her stare dipped again, but only to my chest. “The only thing in this bar that’s going to know the flavor of my mouth is the edge of the water glass that I’m going to sip on my way out.”

I could go round after round with this sexy stranger.

“That’s what you think …”

She tucked a chunk of hair behind her ear, showing lobes with small hoops. “That’s what I know.”

“And what if you’re wrong?” I shifted my weight, taking another sip. “Has that ever happened?”

“About a decision that wouldn’t amount to anything positive—”

A decision that would have her coming so hard that she wouldn’t be able to stop herself from screaming.

But I didn’t say that.

When I cut her off, I said instead, “How do you know spending a night with me wouldn’t be positive?”

Her cheeks flushed.

“Don’t assume my capabilities or my power …” Something hit me as my voice drifted off, something I hadn’t realized until now. I stepped forward and held out my hand, stopping inches from her legs to maintain theno touchingrequest. “What’s your name?”

She looked at my fingers, but didn’t reach for them. “It doesn’t matter.”

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