Page 43 of The Contractor's Rose
“I—yeah. I’m fine.” Her voice wavered. Then she tilted her head. “What are you doing here?”
“I could ask you the same thing.”
She hooked her thumb over her shoulder, gesturing toward Elodie—who was practically sprawled across the bar, shamelessly flirting with the bartender like she was the only customer here.
“Girls’ night,” she said.
My jaw ticked as I glanced back at her. “That dress doesn’t exactly screamgirls’anything.”
She arched a brow, trying not to smile. “You don’t like it?”
“Oh, I like it,” I growled. “Too much.”
I moved closer, dropping my voice to a murmur meant only for her. The music was loud—bass pulsing through the floor, voices competing for attention—but the space between us was charged.
“I’ve been sitting over there with your father trying to talk about a damn building,” I said, “but since you walked in, all I can think about is you in that dress.”
Her cheeks flushed a deep pink. I could practically feel the heat radiating off her skin. She opened her mouth to respond, but she didn’t get the chance. I reached for her.
My hand slid along her hip—slow, steady—the onepressed against the bar. The one no one else could see. Especially not Harry.
“I’m trying to be good,” I said, leaning in, lips brushing the shell of her ear. “But Rose … this dress is thin.”
She drew in a sharp breath. Her shoulders rose, her body reacting to the weight of my words.
“I know, because I can see your nipples hardening more and more with each word I whisper into your ear.”
A tremor rolled through her. Her breath hitched.
“And because it’s that thin,” I teased, letting my palm drift over her satin-covered skin, “I also know I should feel an underwear line right here.” I traced along her hip bone, my touch just light enough to tease. “But there’s nothing.”
She let out a quiet, broken gasp. One that had no business being that erotic.
“How many drinks have you had?” I asked, voice thick with intent.
Her reply was soft as she pointed to her glass on the bar. “Just this one.”
“Good.” I grinned. “Because I want to take you home with me tonight.”
She nodded, eyes wide and dark with heat, her teeth sinking into her bottom lip like she was trying to bite back a moan.
“I’ll text you when he leaves, sweetheart.”
I started to step away, but not before letting my hand coast forward—gliding from her hip across her lower belly in one long, deliberate stroke. Just enough to remind her of exactly what I’d be doing the second I got her alone.
She leaned into the contact without meaning to. Her body chased mine instinctively.
I walked away before I did something reckless. Something obvious.
Crossing the room again, weaving back through the bodies, I took a deep breath—but it didn’t help. I could still feel her skin against my palm, still smell the soft scent of her perfume. I adjusted myself just before I reached the booth and dropped into the seat like nothing had happened.
Like I hadn’t just touched the daughter of the man across from me on her hip while whispering a promise of filth in her ear.
Harry looked up from his phone. “Where’s the cold beer?”
Shit.
“The line was long,” I said easily. “Bartender was too busy flirting.”
