And it’s the truth.
“Set your alarm and let’s go.” I’m already walking down the stairs, my leather flip-flops slapping against the wooden steps.
“Such a charmer. I can see how you maintain your harem with charisma like that,” she mutters sarcastically. And while I don’t comment, I understand where she’s coming from. What she doesn’t know is that the “harem” she’s referring to hasn’t exactly been active for the last six months, because of a certain someone who’s managed to cast some damn voodoo spell over me. If anything, my hand’s been super active.
Though, I’m definitely keeping that information under wraps.
“Get in the truck, gorgeous.” I pull open the passenger side door for her, flashing a forced grin. “Is that better?”
She huffs, clearly dismissing my words, thinking the gorgeous comment was just for show.
It wasn’t.
Just as I’m tempted to say something else, making myself even clearer, the thought is wiped from my mind. In fact, every coherent thought is wiped from my mind because of the way she moves, the way the fabric of her dress shifts as she steps up into my truck. Watching her, my cock hardens. I feel like a horny teenager, gawking at the sight of a woman’s hips and ass.
But it isn’t just anyone’s body I’m lusting over like a prepubescent school boy. It’s Noelle Davis. My employee. My office manager. The one person who’s managed to help my business run smoother than anyone else. But my mind isn’t registering that. It keeps going back and forth between She’s so fucking hot and If I were to slide my hand beneath her dress, which is making it appear as though she’s not wearing panties… Which means only one thing.
It’s going to be a hell of a long night.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Noelle
“Noelle, darlin’. You’re quite the looker tonight,” Kane drawls, his Texan accent sounding thicker.
“Thanks, Kane.” I wink at him. “Not looking too shabby yourself, buddy.”
Kane is tall and built—as in built. He’s definitely one of those guys you see who has military written all over him, with his thick, muscular frame which appears intimidating as hell. He’s got these aquamarine eyes pulling you in, making you feel as though he can actually see your thoughts. Yeah, no doubt about it, Kane Windham is one hell of a charmer and a damn good-looking guy to boot.
But he doesn’t hold a candle to a certain someone. A someone who took the seat farthest away from me, as if I were contagious with Ebola or something. Yep, he’s a sweetheart like that.
Laney finishes singing up on stage before the karaoke DJ, Dean, announces he’s taking a break, putting a few songs in queue for everyone to dance to. The first song is one of my favorites, Chase Rice’s “Ride.” It’s in moments like this I wish I had someone to dance with. Someone to—
“Would you like to dance?”
Turning in surprise, I see a guy standing to my left. I estimate him to be in his late twenties, short blond hair with light brown eyes, tall and lanky. He definitely gets credit for coming over here and asking, because I’m sitting at a table with a handful of intimidating looking men. That takes balls of steel. And for that alone, I have to say yes. But just as my lips part to speak, I’m interrupted.
“Sorry, man, but she promised this dance to me.”
Hello, floor? Yeah, that’s me who’s slumped down onto you in a mushy heap. Because Foster Kavanaugh is the one who just said this. He’s now at my side, giving this guy a nasty look that clearly screams to back off.
The guy nods in understanding, and I feel like raising my hand in protest because, um, hello? I don’t even understand what’s going on right now.
“No worries. Another time,” the guy says before turning away to walk back to his seat.
“Not likely,” Foster growls under his breath. Holding out a hand to me, it’s as though I’m moving robotically, placing my hand in his large one, dazed by his actions. The instant our hands meet, I swear I feel a connection, electricity, that something. Tugging me up from my chair, leading me to the dance floor, he slides an arm around my waist, holding me close, our hands clasped as we sway.