Stripped Bare (Stripped #1)(63)

“You’re humoring me?” Annoyance tickled the back of my neck. “You’re humoring me? Are you kidding me? In case you haven’t noticed, I can’t move. You’ve pinned me to the stage.”

His lips curved upward. “So I have.”

A mischievous glint brightened his eyes, and the small smile on his face turned playful. A tremor that was both excited and nervous spun through my veins, and I stilled as he slid his knees back and his erection brushed against me.

“What are you doing?” It came out a whisper.

He flexed his hips, and the brushing of his hard cock against my lower stomach made me gasp.

“Don’t you know?” he asked. “This is my job. I’m being professional.”

“That’s not what I meant!”

“Then what did you mean?” His voice was low, seductive, and it made my heart thump hard. “Because you didn’t say, did you?”

“You wouldn’t listen anyway.”

“No. I wouldn’t, because I know it’s not what you really want.” He released my hands and flattened them on either side of my head. He had more strength now, and his mouth half brushed mine as it found my ear. He kept moving, never wavering in his skillful flexes. “You don’t really want to stop what we have. You’re worried because of what I do—how we met. But know this, angel: I’ve never taken a woman I’ve danced for until you. I couldn’t resist you then. I can’t resist you now. I don’t know what the f*ck you’re doing to me, but I know I can’t get enough of it. I don’t want to get enough of it. Of you, Mia. I can’t get enough of you.”

He stopped moving, lifting his head and looking me in the eye. My hands traveled to his sides, and my nails lightly trailed down to his hips. His words were... His words were doing something to me. I was scared and thrilled and excited, and I wanted to run away. I didn’t want him to talk anymore. I wanted him to get off me and stop, but I also wanted him to just drop his mouth on top of mine and kiss me.

“And I don’t know why,” he said, his voice still husky and low and sexy. “I wish I did. All I know is that you feel the same. I can feel your heart racing and you clenching your legs together. If you could look in your eyes right now, you’d see what I do—desire, confusion, shock. So yeah, I’m f*cking humoring you when you say you’re done with our relationship. You can run, but I’ll catch you, and if you hide, then I’ll find you, and I’ll probably f*ck you right on the spot.”

“Please stop talking,” I whispered, my throat closing up.

He put one finger over my lips then traced them with the tip. “Perfect,” he murmured. “Completely perfect.”

“West...”

“Oh, one more thing.” He trailed one of his hands down my side, following the curve of my body, and grabbed my ass. His fingers dug into my flesh as he pulled my hips up toward him, his grip possessive and singing of ownership.

Why do I love that?

“Next time you come in here and I’m dancing, expect me to clear the stage, throw you in the middle of it, and let a good two hundred people see exactly how I feel about you.”

He dipped his head and brushed his mouth down my neck, and I shivered as the warmth from the touch spread through me. He smiled against my skin. Then he pulled back, held my gaze for two seconds, and got off me.

I pushed myself up to sit and shuffled toward the edge of the stage. My feet had barely touched the floor when, once again, he pulled me against him and snaked his hand down to my ass. The grip was just as tight, just as possessive, just as owning as it’d been before, and that same possessiveness shone back at me through his eyes.

“And I’m not dancing this week. Unless you come in.” He gave my ass a quick squeeze. Then, as soon as he released it, he smacked his palm against my ass cheek.

I squealed and clapped my hand over it as the sharp sting radiated across my skin. I was still rubbing it as he went back to the table to get the pile of fliers. Mine were still strewn across the floor, and he stopped, his hand hovering over his own pile, and sighed heavily.

Then he dropped to his knees and started the slow, arduous process of picking them up.

I joined him, elbowing him as I got down. “Smack my ass like that ever again and I’m going to bite your balls off.”

He grinned, turning his face toward me. “I’m counting on it, angel.”





I put the phone down and slumped forward onto the stage. Lili had been here and left, but right as she’d left, my mother had called.

Did I have a date for the wedding? The seating chart said I did. Who was he? What was his name? What did he do? Did I meet him in Vegas? When am I coming home? Am I in a new relationship with my date?

They were but a handful of the questions she’d asked me in the space of not very long—but, at the same time, way too long. I knew that, one day—Saturday—it’d come back to bite me, but I’d mumbled my way through the entire thing as West had watched with knowing amusement.

At least I’d gotten to see Lili shoot Beck down before they’d both left with Vicky. Lili to meet a friend and Beck to work—Vicky in tow. I figured he just didn’t want to restock The Landing Strip’s bar by himself.

Not to mention I’d put my heels back on before Lili had arrived and, now, my feet were hurting.