BRIAR—-HIS BRIAR—-WAS WORKING it on the dance floor like it was something she did every Saturday night at Roscoe’s. Shit. Not his. Not his Briar.
She wasn’t one of the bar trolls who skulked in here night after night, seeking validation through booze and strange men pawing at her. She was the type who preferred a book or television to a wild night out. Knox liked that about her. He liked that every time he touched her, every time he kissed her, she looked faintly surprised. And he fucking loved the sounds she made as she pulled him closer, urging him to do things to her he was positive no man had ever done before.
He wanted to be the only man to touch her. It was total caveman of him, but that’s what he was. A fucking caveman that reveled in rocking her staid little world and making her fly apart. She made him want to pound his chest. Christ. Thinking about her that way was making him rock hard. Thankfully he was standing behind the bar where no one would notice.
His gaze tracked her. For being not much of a party girl, she was doing a good job faking it. He glared across the distance, straining and twisting his body as he worked the bar, determined to keep her in his sights. She held her hands up in the air and swayed those hips he remembered holding in his hands, anchoring her as he slid home inside.
He lifted on the balls of his feet slightly, following her stripper moves between bodies and over the tops of -people’s heads. Where the hell did she learn to dance like that?
Her hair was wild and free, shining as bright as a copper penny in the dim light as she danced. He suspected she was already halfway drunk. She hadn’t imbibed much since she got here, but from the glassiness in her eyes, he would stake money that she’d had a few drinks before showing up here. Maybe she had needed the liquid courage to face him again.
Over the past week he’d felt an odd mixture of relief and disappointment that she wasn’t pregnant, and that was just all kinds of messed up. He didn’t wish her pregnant. That wasn’t right. Although as wrong as it was, he understood the disappointment. If she was pregnant, he would be a part of her life. He’d still be seeing her. What was to keep them from sleeping together more? All the time even? He could keep showing up at her apartment. Kissing her, having her, waking up tangled in her hair.
Unhealthy thinking all around and great motivation to give her a wide berth. Which he had been doing successfully. Until tonight. Until she showed up here.
He couldn’t take his eyes off her. She never wore her hair down like that. The only time was when he pulled it loose so he could fist his hands in it as he fucked her. It felt like she was showing off his secret to the world. His. There was that word again.
He poured Blue a fifth of whiskey, still keeping a careful eye on her as a pair of losers closed in on Briar and her friend like fresh meat thrown to the wolves.
Annoyance burned hot though him. Annoyance? Hell, he was pissed. Just like that first time he saw her at the prison and he thought she didn’t belong. It was the same sensation but only worse. Now he knew her. He felt proprietary. Caveman and all that shit. She didn’t belong at the prison and she sure as hell didn’t belong here. She was as clueless now as she had been then. His chest tightened with a rumbling growl.
“Hey, you’re spilling good whiskey,” Blue complained, and Knox quickly pulled back the bottle.
“Sorry,” he mumbled.
Blue followed his gaze to Briar and Shelley on the dance floor. “Which one?”
Knox frowned. “Which one what?”
“Which one you fucking?”
“Neither,” he snapped, not even bothering to feel offended by the biker’s crudeness. The guy had served time with him. He’d heard worse out of him.
His aunt pushed up to the bar with more drink orders. “She’s the one with all that curly hair.” Apparently she had overhead Blue.
He glared at her. As much as he loved the woman, she was a busybody that needed to mind her own business.
“Ah. You’ve got no stake in her, then?” Blue winked knowingly at his aunt.
“That’s right.” Knox nodded and wiped down the bar where he’d spilled the whiskey.
“Then you don’t mind that guy all over her?”
His gaze swung back to the dance floor to watch a long--haired guy in a Metallica T--shirt bump and grind behind Briar.
Hell. No.
“Aunt Alice?” he said, not looking away from the dance floor.
“Yes?”
“Tell Jack I’m taking a break.”
“Sure thing, Knox.”