Take Me Page 2

  Wait. Back at her? Oh, crap, she was still staring, wasn’t she?

  He cocked a brow at her but she refused to look away. She’d been caught. Might as well make herself look cocky and bold instead of skittering away like a frightened lamb. When she didn’t back down, he grinned and pointed at the seat opposite him—the other half of the booth that was quite empty now. He wanted her to sit with him.

  Should she?

  Before she even realized she’d made a decision, Morgan was crossing the room with her half empty whiskey sour in her hand. His gaze skimmed over her body and she didn’t miss the light of appreciation in his eyes. He might have sent her away earlier but he liked what he saw. Good. Maybe she’d get him all riled up and horny and then leave. It would serve the jerk right.

  You know what? That’s exactly what she would do.

  She sauntered over, a hand on her hip and a seductive smile on her lips. She knew how to play men like him. She’d been dealing with his type all of her life. They thought they owned the world and all the women in it, all because they were hot. She’d caught a little bit of his green-yellow-red light speech—and she guessed he lived by that rule. Run when the relationship got serious.

  Little did he know, she lived by it, too. She just called it self-preservation instead of a fancy freaking name.

  She stopped in front of the booth and shot him a look from underneath her lashes. Men loved that garbage, and from the look in his eyes, he was no different. He was eating all of this up like a kid in a candy store. “Are you ready to give me my seat back? Or did you just call me over here to insult me some more?”

  “I called you over here because you’ve been watching me,” he said, lifting his mug to his lips. “And I’ve been watching you watching me.”

  Darn, she’d been caught. Best to play it off like it meant nothing. Because it didn’t mean anything. At all. “If I was watching you, it was only because you’re in my seat.”

  He patted his muscular thighs. “If you want it so bad, come get it.”

  She eyed his lap. Did she dare? The temptation was definitely there. What would he do if she sat on him? Called his bluff?

  She lowered herself onto his thighs, wriggling her butt to get comfortable. Positioning herself sideways on his lap, she saw that his bright sea green eyes went all wide and he set his mug down with too much force. She fought back a grin. Yeah, he definitely hadn’t expected her to take his suggestion.

  His hands flopped to his sides like a fish out of water, as if he was uncertain of what to do with them. “Uh, okay. That works.” He gave a hoarse laugh and ran a hand through his sandy blond hair. “So, what’s your name? I feel like I should know it, since you’re on my lap and all.”

  “Morgan.” She sipped her whiskey sour. Her hand didn’t shake at all, even though the glass felt as if it weighed a thousand pounds. Hopefully, only she knew how fast her heart was beating over the fact that she was sitting on a strange man’s lap. She purposely didn’t ask him what his name was. “Where are all your buddies?”

  “They went home.”

  “And you didn’t go with them?”

  “Nah.” A corner of his mouth tilted up. “The bachelor party is over and I’m a big boy. I live alone.”

  “Aww. Are you getting married, sweetheart?” She cocked her head and fluttered her lashes. “How cute.”

  Of course, she already knew it was a different guy. Probably the hottie who’d been at the bar when she’d sat down because blondie had given his stoplight speech when the bachelor wasn’t there. But instead of revealing her theory, she decided to act like God hadn’t given her the good sense to know left from right.

  Men liked that, too.

  “Not me. My best friend’s the one getting married.”

  She played with her hair, wrapping a fiery curl around her finger. He watched her hands, his eyes hot and intense on her. So freaking easy. “And you didn’t want to hire him a stripper? Some best friend you are.”

  “Yeah, well, he’s marrying my baby sister so he doesn’t get to see that side of me for his bachelor party.” He shifted his weight on the booth, unsettling her precarious perch on his legs. She quickly regained her balance on his lap. “No stripper or hookers or any other shit like that. Not when it involves my baby sister.”

  Oh, so he had a soft spot for his little sister, huh?

  That was actually kind of…cute. And she really didn’t want to associate cute with this guy. But now she knew why he’d sent her away. It hadn’t been an insult to her. He was being a protective older brother.

  Her righteous anger deflated, leaving her sitting in a strange man’s lap for no reason. She grasped at straws to get the anger back. “Are you calling me a hooker now?”

  His cheeks turned red. “No, of course not.” He took a drink of his beer. “About that, I’m sorry about earlier. I just saw your bra thing under your top,” he gestured to the strap of her beaded bra, “and assumed you were here because one of the guys hired you.”

  “It’s fine.” She slid off his lap and stood. Her anger was gone and that left her sitting on a strange man’s lap for no reason. “Well, it’s nice meeting you and all but I’m going to call it a night.”

  He canted his head. “Let me buy you one more drink? To make up for my mistake?”

  “That’s not necessary.”

  “I think it is.” He rose and stepped into her personal space. Man, he was hot and tall. Like, really tall. She was five-seven and he towered over her. She wanted to back off, to give herself room to breathe, but that would make her look weak. Not the image she wanted to give him. “I have to insist.”

  She stared him down—even if she had to look up at him to stare him down—and he did the same to her. Seriously, this man had alpha male written all over him. And she liked it. She had come here for a date…

  “Fine. One drink, Mr.…?”

  His eyes lit up with satisfaction. “Mike Worth.”

  “Well, Mr. Worth.” She slid into her side of the booth now that he’d emptied it. “I’ll have a whiskey sour. You go grab it and I’ll sit here and keep our seats safe. I hear there’s a jerk going around and stealing seats tonight.”

  He shot her an amused look and headed off for the bar. He looked as good going as he did coming. The jeans he wore hugged his tight butt and she had a feeling he spent a lot of time in the gym. That made two of them.

  As he ordered drinks, she pulled out her red lip gloss and reapplied, checking to make sure she didn’t have raccoon eyes or something else equally embarrassing. She’d awakened at five thirty for the audition, then spent all afternoon rehearsing for the Monday night show in which she was an alternate. It involved a lot of high kicks—Rockette style—and she ached from hip to toe.

  He slid into the booth opposite her and handed her the drink. He’d gotten the same. “Here you go, Morgan.”

  “Thanks, Mike.”

  She stirred her drink with the tiny red straw all bars used, and watched him. He scanned the room, then turned the power of those baby blues on her. Although, upon closer inspection, they were more sea-green than blue. She liked the ocean color even more than blue.

  Damn him and his stupid attractiveness.

  Under his scrutinizing stare, she shifted her weight in the booth and blew out a soft breath. Her hair fluttered from the exhalation. “You’re staring,” she said.

  “I am?” He seemed to shake himself out of a stupor. “Sorry. Didn’t mean it. But, you know, I can’t quite place your accent. Where are you from?”

  She raised a brow. “Texas.”

  “Ah. Texas.” He glanced under the table. “That explains the boots—which I like very much, by the way.”

  She inclined her head in thanks. “Let me guess—you’re born and bred in Vegas?”

  He grinned. “Yep.”r />
  “And you’re probably a bookie or a professional gambler or something like that, aren’t you?” She pointed her drink at him. “Wait. Are you a stripper?”

  He laughed. Actually laughed. Her pulse leapt at the sound.

  “Sure. We’ll go with that.”

  So he wasn’t any of those things. Some part of her wanted to press for more information. To find out what he really did, but what was the point? It’s not like she actually cared, right? “Okay, then.”

  “So you know what I can’t figure out?” He leaned across the booth and met her gaze. She inhaled deeply and held it. The man could seduce with his eyes. “Why are you here, on a Friday night, all by yourself?”

  She hesitated. Should she tell him the truth and let him know she’d been stood up, or make it sound a little less embarrassing? Shrugging, she said, “My plans fell through last minute.”

  “Ah. That makes more sense than you being all by yourself.”

  She toyed with her straw and bit down on the corner of her lip. He stared at her mouth and her stomach clenched. The way he looked at her right now made her think about bringing him home and…

  No. Not happening.

  She forced herself to sit up straight. To stop swaying toward him, even though she hadn’t even realized she was swaying toward him until she moved back. “Because it’s so hard to believe I might not have plans?”

  “A woman who looks as good as you do always has plans.”

  Oh God. That shouldn’t have made her want to jump his bones. She needed to back off. Or return to the old plan of getting him all hot and bothered before she left.

  “Well…” She licked her lips, her heart racing at the way his gaze heated up. “Maybe you’re my plans now.”

  He growled and she shivered at the guttural sound. “That’s fine by me.”

  Propping her elbows on the table, she reached for his hand. The touch of his skin on hers sent a small electric-like shock through her blood. She almost dropped his hand, but he turned his wrist and caught her fingers before she could retreat. Guess she had to keep up her act…though it was starting to feel less and less like an act by the second.

  “Maybe I’d like to go home with you tonight and show you just how much I like the growl you just made by making you do it a hell of a lot more,” she said, tracing circles on his knuckles.

  He caught her other hand and pressed a kiss to her wrist, pinning her down with his eyes. Yeah, this man liked control almost as much as she did. “That could be arranged.”

  “Hm.” She licked her lips again, not dropping his stare. “And maybe I want to go home with you right now.”

  He pulled her across the table so she was practically lying across it, then leaned in until his mouth was at her ear. “Maybe I’d like that, sweetheart.”

  The solid surge of desire caught her off guard. This was supposed to be a game—a way to teach a lesson to the man who’d automatically jumped to nasty conclusions about her. The very same man who spoke about women like they were stoplights instead of human beings. She wasn’t supposed to want him. It was time to finish it and go home. Alone. “You know what I think?”

  He ran his fingers through her hair, his touch feather light. “No, but I think you’ll tell me.”

  “I think…” She lifted her face to his, their lips no more than a breath apart. The desire to close the distance, to see if he was a good kisser or not, consumed her, but she stayed on target. “That you smell good.”

  And he did.

  His fingers flexed on her and he moved in for the kiss. She pulled free and slid a finger in between their mouths, denying him the kiss he sought. He moved back and looked down at her in surprise, which then faded away into frustration. “What are you doing?”

  She placed a hand on his shirt, curling her fist into the fabric and pulling him just a little bit closer. For a second, just a tiny second, she debated keeping him there. Debated forgetting about revenge, and instead getting a fabulous orgasm out of this man.

  “I’m thinking,” she flicked her tongue over his lips, “that next time you call a woman a stripper, you should be absolutely sure she is one first. Have a good night with your hand, sweetheart.”

  She shoved him back in the booth, stood up, and left. She couldn’t resist stealing another look back at him. And what she saw shot little thrills of anticipation shooting up her spine, then back down to twist her stomach into knots.

  He was looking at her like she’d just declared war on him…and he intended to win.

  Chapter Three

  “Oh, hell no,” he muttered to himself. “She did not just do that.”

  He’d known she wanted him. Could see it in her eyes. But instead of kissing him, she decided to get revenge on him. If he weren’t so damned turned on right now, he’d be impressed. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been shot down. But right now he had an issue to resolve—and his target was leaving the building as if her sweet little ass was on fire.

  Mike practically leapt out of the booth and chased after Morgan. The little minx was good. Real good. If he hadn’t seen the way she reacted to him, he would accept the play she’d just laid down and go home defeated. But he’d seen the desire in her eyes when they almost kissed. And when she grabbed his shirt, for a second she pulled him closer instead of pushing him away.

  She wanted him as much as he wanted her—but she was running from the desire.

  He, however, wasn’t going to run from it. Hell, no. He craved more. Though he teased with his buddies and made himself sound like a manwhore, it had been almost six months since he’d gone home with a girl. Six months since he’d met someone who made him want to take her home. And now Morgan came along, stormed into his world, and decided to leave him hanging like that?

  No fucking way.

  He wasn’t kidding about not wanting relationships—and he definitely wasn’t kidding about his stoplight theory, either. He was a single man and proud of it. But he wasn’t letting her get away with that move. Not tonight.

  Tonight he saw green lights all the way.

  When he caught up with her outside the bar, he grabbed her arm and spun her against the brick wall outside the door. People moved all around them, shoving their way down the crowded Strip, but he felt like she was the only one here with him. It was only the two of them and he wasn’t letting go until she at least admitted she wanted him.

  He pressed his body against hers, pinning her to the spot by placing an arm on either side of her body. She breathed heavily, her cheeks flushed a fetching pink, and glared up at him, challenging him without a word. Instead of trying to wriggle loose from his grip, she grabbed his shoulders so she held him in place, too.

  His cock hardened to painful extremes and he pushed against her. “My turn to tell you what I think,” he said, breathing into her ear.

  “Fine. Go ahead.”

  “I think you’ve gotten your little revenge and you liked it. You got me good. I’ll admit it. I also deserved it.” He rotated his hips against her soft belly and she swallowed a whimper. “But I also think you’re a smart girl and you know if we go home together, you’ll be a hell of a lot happier at the end of the night than you would be alone in your bed.”

  “Oh yeah?” She tilted her head back and he saw the challenge in her eyes. Man, she was a little spitfire. He liked it. “What makes you think I’d be alone? I hate to break it to you but you’re not the only man in Vegas.”

  White-hot jealousy coursed through his blood. Ridiculous jealousy. But it was there, nonetheless. He wanted this woman to be his tonight. Not some other man’s. “No, but I’m the only one who will make you feel like this.”

  He slid his thumbs under her chin to hold her in place and their mouths collided. The second their lips met, all hell broke loose. She shoved at his shoulders, and he stumbled
backward. For a second, he feared he’d misread this woman. Feared he’d basically accosted a woman in the street—a woman who had no desire for him after all. He held his hands up, his heart dropping to his stomach.

  “Look, I’m s—”

  She flung herself at him. He winced, expecting her to sock him in the eye like he deserved. But instead, she wrapped her arms and long, lean legs around him, barely giving him time to catch her and hold her up. And then she kissed him. Everything felt right in the world again—including the woman in his arms. She belonged there and he wasn’t letting her go any time soon.

  Her tongue slid into his mouth, entwining with his, and she buried her hands in his hair, yanking him closer. The heels of her cowboy boots dug into his ass and her nails scraped his scalp. She seemed like the type of woman who would draw blood first and ask questions later.

  And, damn, that was fucking hot.

  He deepened the kiss, fighting to take back control, but she battled him. They grappled with each other until she ended up with her back against the building, her body draped around his, and her tongue in his mouth.

  And him?

  He practically came right then and there, just from a fucking kiss. She was that good. He tore his mouth from hers and she attempted to recapture it. When he lifted his face so she couldn’t reach him, she bit down on his neck.

  “Jesus Christ, woman.” He drew in a rasping breath and shuddered. “Your place or mine? Mine’s a ten minute taxi ride away.”

  “Mine’s five.” She hopped off of him as if she hadn’t just been practically attacking him and lifted her arm. A taxi stopped immediately. “Let’s go.”

  He never got the attention of a cabbie that fast.

  Of course, he didn’t look quite so amazing in a pair of short shorts and cowboy boots, either. Thank God for that. She opened the door and climbed inside. He followed her, half expecting her to slam the cab door in his face and laugh.

  When she didn’t, triumph filled him. He grinned and shut the door. She told the cabbie her address—who in turn gaped at her appreciatively long enough for Mike to seriously consider bloodying his nose—and they were off.