Page 85 of Dirty Like Dylan

“So.” He just shrugged a little, his hands never leaving his pockets. “Ash likes to look at me.” He said this like it was perfectly natural and no big deal at all.

“Yeah. So he told me. And he told me you like being looked at.”

“I do.”

A silence stretched between us as that statement clung in the air.

And I wondered, what the hell was I really getting into here?

You like Dylan, Ashley had said. It turns me on.

And Dylan knew it turned Ashley on?

But he wanted me.

With both of them.

“Would you want him to look?” he asked me. “If we had sex?”

I shook my head, but said, “I don’t know.”

The thought of it, though? It was already turning me on. I could feel the responses in my body. Excitement. Desire. Curiosity. The blood rushing between my legs, making me throb all over again.

The whole idea was getting me hot.

I had no idea, though, how the reality of it might feel.

But something told me, as Dylan took a step closer and reached for me, that I was about to find out. If I wanted to.

“This isn’t a job offer,” he said as his hands landed, lightly, on my waist. “There’s no contract to sign, Amber. I’m not the boss of you. You’re free to leave anytime you want. You could leave me here right now and never see me again, and there’s not much I could do about it. I didn’t mean for it to come across like that.”

“Right,” I said. “You’re not the boss of me and neither is he. But he’s just called first dibs.”

He grinned a little. “You make it sound so childish.”

“Because it is.”

“It’s also reality.” His smile faded as he drew even closer to me. “You think I’d do my best friend like that? Move in on a girl he wanted, behind his back?”

“I don’t know,” I admitted. “I don’t know you very well.”

“I’ll admit,” he said, “I was trying to flirt with you. Test the waters a bit. But I guess I’m kind of off my game tonight.”

“Maybe you’re just out of practice. Word is you don’t usually have to work so hard.”

He raised an eyebrow a little, but didn’t touch that. “Truth is,” he said, “you make me a little nervous.”

“Nervous?”

“Yeah,” he said, his fingers tightening on my waist a bit and that crooked smile pulling at his full lips. “Nervous.” His gaze drifted down over my face. “You make me nervous, Amber Malone.”

Oh, Jesus. Was I buying this? That I made him nervous?

A man who’d played concerts for tens of thousands of people? Who’d been on countless magazine covers, some in little more than his underwear? Who’d been famous for pretty much his entire adult life?

I turned away, and his hands fell away. I just needed a moment to absorb all of this. Without him touching me. Without his gorgeous face and his sparkling eyes so close to mine.

And as I did, his fame slapped me right in the face—right along with his flaming hair and his washboard abs.

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