The Naughty List Bundle - Kylie Adams [239]
He didn’t want others looking at her. But he could have looked at her all night long.
His possessive urges toward a complete stranger were absurd, so he buried them away behind a dose of contempt while ignoring the punching beat of his heart.
The audience cheered, screamed, banged their thick beer mugs on the counter and on the tabletops. Yet the woman’s expression never changed. She didn’t smile, though her overly lush, wide mouth trembled slightly with her exertions. She had a mouth made for kissing, for devouring. Her lips looked soft and Jordan knew with a man’s intuition exactly how sweet they’d feel against his own mouth, his skin. Every now and then she turned in such a way that the lighting reflected in her pale gray eyes, which stared straight ahead, never once focusing on any one man.
In fact, her complete and utter disregard for her all-male audience was somehow arousing. She looked to be the epitome of sexual temptation, but didn’t care. She might have been dancing alone, in the privacy of her bedroom, for all the attention she gave to the shouting, leering spectators.
Feigning nonchalance, Jordan crossed his arms over his chest and decided to wait until her show ended before finding the proprietor. Not because she interested him. Of course not. But because right now it would be useless to start his search, being that everyone was caught up in the show.
Despite his attempt at indifference, Jordan’s gaze never left her, and every so often it seemed his heartbeat mirrored her rhythm. Beneath his skin, a strange warmth expanded, pulsed. Something about her, something elusive yet intrinsically female, called to him. He ignored the call. He was not a man drawn in by flagrant sexuality. No, when a woman caught his attention, it was because of her gentleness, her intelligence, her morals. Unlike his brothers—who were the finest men he knew—he’d never been a slave to his libido. They’d often teased him about his staid personality, his lack of fire, because he’d made a point of keeping his composure in all things. At least most of the time.
His eyes narrowed.
Short, golden brown curls framed her face and were beginning to darken with sweat, clinging to her temples and her throat. It was an earthy look, dredging up basic primal appetites. Jordan wondered what those damp curls would feel like in his fingers, what her heated skin would taste like to his tongue. How her warmed body would feel under his, moving as smoothly to his sexual demands as it moved to the music.
As the rhythmic beat began to fade, she dropped smoothly to her knees, then her stomach. Palms flat on the floor, arms extended, she arched her body in a parody of a woman in the throes of pleasure. The move was blatantly sexual, deliberately seducing, causing the crowd to almost riot and making Jordan catch his breath.
Her face was exquisite at that moment, eyes closed, mouth slightly parted, nostrils flaring. Jordan locked his jaw against the mental images filling his brain—images of him holding her hips while she rode him in just that way, taking him deep inside her body.
He wanted to banish the thoughts, but they wouldn’t budge. Anger at himself and at the woman conflicted with his growing tension.
He knew every damn man in the place was imagining the same thing and it enraged him.
In that instant her eyes slowly opened and her glittering gray gaze locked on his. Jordan sucked in a breath, feeling as though she’d just touched him in all the right places. They were connected as surely as any lovers, despite the space between them, the surroundings and the lack of prior knowledge. Her eyes turned hot and a bit frightened as they filled with awareness.
Then she caught herself and with a lift of her chin, she swung her legs around and came effortlessly to her feet.
Scowling at the unexpected effect of her, Jordan tried, without success, to pull his gaze away.