Devoted to Wicked
Page 12

 
This book contains lines that may make you laugh, events that may make you cry, and scenes that will probably have you squirming in your seat. Don’t worry about cliffhangers or cheating. HEA guaranteed! (Does not contain elements of BDSM or romantic suspense.)
 
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“This will be our last song for the set. If you have requests, write them down and leave them in the jar.” She points to the clear vessel at her feet. “We’ll be back to play in thirty. If you have a dirty proposition, I’ll entertain them at the bar in five.” She says the words like she’s kidding.
I, however, am totally serious.
Keeley starts her next song, a more recent pop tune, in a breathy, a capella murmur. “Can’t keep my hands to myself.”
She taps her thigh in a rhythm only she can hear until the band joins during the crescendo to the chorus. Keeley bounces her way through the lyrics with a flirty smile. It’s both alluring and fun, a tease of a song.
Though I rarely smile, I find myself grinning along.
As she finishes, I glance around. There’s more than one hungry dog with a bone in this damn bar.
I didn’t get ahead in business or life by being polite or waiting my turn. She hasn’t even wrapped her vocal cords around the last note but I’m on my feet and charging across the room.
I’m the first one to reach the corner of the bar closest to the stage. I prop my elbow on the slightly sticky wood to claim my territory, then glare back at the three other men who think they should end Keeley’s supposed sex drought. They are not watering her garden, and my snarl makes that clear.
One sees my face, stops in his tracks, and immediately backs off. Smart man.
Number Two looks like a smarmy car salesman. He rakes Keeley up and down with his gaze like she’s a slab of beef, but she’s flirting my way as she tucks her mic on its stand. I smile back.
She’s not really my type, but man, I’d love to hit that.
Out of the corner of my eye, I watch the approaching dirtbag finger his porn ‘stouche. To stake my claim, I reach out to help Keeley off the stage. She looks pleasantly surprised by my gesture as she wraps her fingers around mine.
I can be a gentleman…when it suits me.
Fuck, she’s warm and velvety, and her touch makes my cock jolt. Her second would-be one-night stand curses then slinks back to his seat.
That leaves me to fend off Number Three. He looks like a WWE reject—hulking and hit in the face too many times. If she prefers brawn over brains, I’ll have to find another D-cup distraction for Griff.
That would truly suck. My gut tells me Keeley is perfect for the job.
Would it be really awful if I slept with her before I introduced her to my brother?
 
 
MORE THAN NEED YOU
More Than Words, Book 2
By Shayla Black
Now Available!
Click here to purchase!
 
 
I’m Griffin Reed—cutthroat entrepreneur and competitive bastard. Trust is a four-letter word and everyone is disposable…except Britta Stone. Three years ago, she was my everything before I stupidly threw her away. I thought I’d paid for my sin in misery—until I learned we have a son. Finding out she’s engaged to a bore who’s rushing her to the altar pisses me off even more. I intend to win her back so we can raise our boy together. I’ll have to get ruthless, of course. Luckily, that’s one of my more singular talents.
 
Sixty days. That’s what I’m asking the gritty, independent single mother to give me—twenty-four/seven. Under my roof. And if I have my way, in my bed. Britta says she wants nothing to do with me. But her body language and passionate kisses make her a liar. Now all I have to do is coax her into surrendering to the old magic between us. Once I have her right where I want her, I’ll do whatever it takes to prove I more than need her.
 
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Working to take my fury down ten notches, I try to stay practical, scan the yard. I don’t see any children. Is Jamie already asleep? Maybe so. It’s ten thirty. Do little kids go to bed early? I don’t know. I didn’t consider that sooner. Damn it.
Now what do I do? I’m hardly in the mood to stand here and toast the bride.
Britta isn’t hard to find since she’s the only blonde among a sea of native Hawaiians in bright, tropical prints and sandals, clinking glasses and smiling.
From a distance, she’s wearing a pencil skirt in a sedate gray that clings to a curve in her hips she didn’t used to have. Her ass looks lusher, rounder. Her hair, though wrapped up in some classic twist, looks longer or thicker—something.
The lust that hits me is stronger.
She’s talking to a pretty brunette who’s about her age. The striking woman hugs her, joy evident in her huge smile. Britta replies. I can tell because she still talks with her hands. She’s graceful, as always. Not surprising. She entered college on a dance scholarship.
I remember watching her move on stage for the first time. The beauty of her dance stunned me, the way she was aware of her every muscle, the complete control she had over even her smallest movement. Pale tights and a flowing scrap of chiffon flirting with her thighs gave me a hard-on from hell. I was her boss at the time. She’d just begun to work for Maxon and me. I appreciated her smarts in the office and her talent on stage, sure. But more than anything, I wanted those slender thighs wrapped around me while I fucked her. I told myself to back down. She was so young. Everything about her screamed hands off. I didn’t listen. I corrupted every bit of her purity. Then I walked away, leaving her with a pregnancy she hadn’t planned for, and myself with a mountain of furious regret.
I wonder how much she’s changed. Is she bitter now? Withdrawn? Maxon told me that I broke something in her. Fuck. Is she angry? Does she hate me?
How many beds has she slept in since mine?
I swallow the question down. I have no right to ask.
Besides, do I really want to know?
I keep staring at her, watching her slender shoulders as she laughs gently. I hear the sound rising above the din of conversation. It’s good to hear her happy even though I’m so fucking sad.
No one else has noticed me. I need to approach her, think of something rational and non-confrontational to say. Or turn around and come back tomorrow, when she doesn’t have a whole bunch of company who will gawk at me the minute I demand to see my son. When she isn’t celebrating her pending union to another man.