They all burst into laughter.
“Assholes.” I shove past my fuck-face friends and head out to look for her, ignoring the guys’ chuckling and the girl’s huff of irritation behind me.
Zigzagging through the crowd, I move toward the pool. My eyes scan each person, every face that isn’t hers sending my heart rate higher. Why didn’t I keep my eyes on her? Shit.
She’s not in the hot tub, not at the bar, and nowhere around the DJ stand. There are too many people. Over by the pool steps, I see the familiar glint of sunshine-blonde hair. With purposeful steps, I walk toward her. Her gaze swings to me, and she smiles. Just then, the warmth of a small hand slides into mine and grabs hold. What the fuck?
Layla’s gaze dips to my hand, and I know, even through her dark glasses, that she’s seeing exactly what I’m feeling. The topless brunette at my side, and I’m holding her damn hand. Ah, hell.
I rip free from the little leach. “Layla—”
She’s smiling, but nothing about her smirk is warm and friendly. It’s challenging. She raises one eyebrow above the frame of her sunglasses and tilts her head. My stomach drops. In super slow motion, I watch her hands slide behind her back to the tie of her bikini top.
Oh, fuck no.
Layla
That brunette has been hanging off Blake for the past thirty minutes. With my sunglasses on, it was easy to spy on her without being obvious. She stuck her boobs out and rubbed them against my… guy, er… boyfriend. Whatever. My Blake.
And that’s not even what pissed me off the most. I wasn’t born yesterday. I get why she’d be intrigued. Heck, I’ve barely been able to keep myself from panting like a dog at his impressive physique. His broad shoulders are cut so perfectly it’s like he was sculpted by an expert hand. His brawny chest melts into his rippled abdomen, which I know from experience is as hard as it is soft. The perfect V that tapers beneath his black and white board shorts. All of that is enough to draw a woman’s touch.
But what makes me seethe is that she was touching his tattoo. I’ve seen Blake at training, but he never takes off his tee or sleeveless shirts. Even his promo picture is taken from an angle where his tattoo is hidden behind his bicep. So I didn’t even know he had a tattoo until today, and here this young, gorgeous bimbo gets to touch it? Before me?
When she scurried up beside him and grabbed his hand, he pushed her away like I expected. But I didn’t like it.
Even now, she’s pressing her body against his.
It’s time to make a statement.
I wiggle loose the tie of my bikini top. Blake rips his sunglasses from his eyes, green fire igniting his glare. Little Miss Big Boobs leans against his side. He doesn’t push her away or even seem to notice. His scowl pierces through me. I pull the strings away and out to my sides, marveling at his chest as it rises and falls faster and faster.
He’s pissed. Butterflies explode in my stomach. He tilts his head, a clear warning that I’m crossing the limit of his patience. Tempting a guy like him is dangerous. It’s immature, but so damn exciting that I can’t stop.
Moving my fingers to the white triangles of fabric that stand between my nakedness and 200 strangers’ eyes, I give Blake a daring smile.
“No,” he commands in a voice so deep I feel it between my legs.
When will he learn? I don’t take orders.
I flip up my top. Before the air registers against my skin, the heat of his chest is pressed against me. His arms wrap tightly around my waist, and he presses me back against a nearby wall.
He buries his face in my neck. “Fuck, Mouse. You’re trying to kill me, aren’t you?”
“She touched you,” I growl with a ferocity that shocks even me.
We’re surrounded by people, lost in a crowd that feels strangely private. He sucks at my neck, and his hands roam my bare skin. I moan at his urgent touch, his loss of control mimicking my own. I grasp at his shoulders, urging him on.
“Don’t want anyone touching me but you.” With his large body keeping me blocked from the view of others, he grips my bare breasts. I gasp as he works my nipples. My knees grip his leg and he grinds into me.
“Get me out of here, Blake.” My breathless demand falls short.
“Fuck, I thought you’d never ask.” He reaches around my back, securing my top. I grin as he shimmies the front triangles with the utmost concentration for maximum coverage.
Without a word, he hooks his arm around my waist and walks me out, passing people who try to talk to him without even a glance.
“Wait, Blake. My sweater.”
“Fuck it. I’ll buy you a new one.”
I laugh loudly and try to keep up with his long strides as he leads us away from the pool area, through the casino, and to his car.
He swings open the passenger side door. “Up.”