Rebel

A shadow of doubt passed through his eyes. She hardened her shell before opening herself up to his judgment and rejection. She didn’t see any other way at the moment.

“Because they get far less of me than you have now,” she said. “They get one round of mindless sex. Nothing more. We aren’t friends. We don’t talk. We don’t hang out. We don’t do things for each other. We rarely even meet again unless it’s at a club in passing. And I don’t sleep with them again.” She paused, reading the gradual decline of his expression. “Is that really what you want, Wes?”

The pressure of his body eased. And when his thigh pulled from between hers, she was left cold and frustrated, her sex throbbing. He stepped back, leaving Rubi’s stomach churning uncomfortably with mingled disappointment and relief. Her body aching with unfulfilled need.

But he didn’t let her go. He kept one arm wrapped tightly around her waist; the other held her jaw.

“Why?” was all he asked.

“Because that’s all I can give without hurting someone. And I really, really hate hurting people.”

His gaze searched hers, and Rubi was struck again by just how handsome he was. She understood why he was often solicited to act instead of perform stunts. Those mysterious eyes, that wickedly seductive grin, the square jaw were movie-star quality. And he’d learned enough from Jax to take on a bit part—but only when a stunt called for it. Because Wes was a simple country boy at heart. Money didn’t tempt him. He saw fame as a burden. He just wanted to have fun. Which was why they got along so well—when things weren’t serious.

A deep wave of affection washed through Rubi, pulling emotions to the surface. He was such a good man, and she was so damn crazy about him.

Which was why she wouldn’t let either of them ruin that with sex.

Five

The throbbing beat of “Let’s Get Loud” by Jennifer Lopez thumped through the club, into the floor, up the legs of Wes’s stool, and straight through his balls. And he didn’t need anything jostling that area. His entire package already felt like stuffed sausage.

As soon as he had cut Bolton off and thrown him in bed, a drunken mess, Wes had come to Stilettos. And discovered the club wasn’t what he’d expected. The lighting was low and dramatic. The seating areas intimate, but not exclusive, with a high-quality look and feel.

Three different bars dotted the club. At the largest, positioned at the center of a seating area to the left of the massive dance floor, a big biker-looking dude slid his hand down the open back of Rubi’s… Well, he guessed he should call it a dress. In reality, it was more like a sheath of black lace, fitted to every curve of her heavenly body, with a few sparkles covering the most private of her private areas. A few inches of sleek fringe bounced at the hem when she moved, the strands barely covering her ass cheeks.

The simple sight of her made so much heat and need build inside him, Wes couldn’t stop shifting in his chair.

He’d come here with one purpose—to watch Rubi pick up another guy, sure it would turn his mind around, allowing him to let go of this ridiculous fantasy he’d been clinging to for months.

But she’d been flirting with Biker Dude for a good thirty minutes, and nothing had happened. Other than Wes dreaming up ways to break every finger on the biker’s hand, which was currently drifting toward Rubi’s ass—an ass Wes had been holding just hours ago.

She shifted out of his reach before he grabbed one perfect cheek.

Wes exhaled and rubbed his face. What the fuck was she doing? If she wasn’t going to pick up someone for sex, why had she come?

“Looks like your date got hung up.” Andrea stopped beside his table, her full, painted mouth lifting in a seductive smile, dark eyes heavy-lidded.

The blonde had been coming on to him since he’d walked in. He’d given her the I’m-waiting-for-someone spiel, and she’d come around every fifteen minutes to check on his status. And, man, she had a body on her. Not Rubi’s body, but, hell, no one had Rubi’s body.

“Looks like,” he said, averting his gaze toward Rubi again.

At least she’d been off the dance floor for a little while. Watching her move, those sparkles shifting over her sleek body, the fringe flashing her perfect ass cheeks, had been pure torture.

Andrea leaned against his table. Her scent, something heavy and exotic, hung on the air. “I might be able to arrange a threesome with her.”

A spear of shock pierced his chest, and Wes’s gaze arced toward the blonde. “Excuse me?”

“Rubi. That’s who you’ve been watching since you got here.”

He had not just heard right. “A threesome?”

Andrea lifted one shoulder in a negligent shrug. “She doesn’t seem too interested in the guys hitting on her tonight. You’re not her type, but you never know.”

Images of Rubi, Andrea and him in a threesome flashed in his head—both women pleasuring Wes, Wes and Andrea pleasuring Rubi, Rubi and Wes pleasuring Andrea.

Fuck, yeah, a couple of those scenarios titillated Wes, but not near enough to give up exclusivity with Rubi. Threesomes just didn’t interest him when they included having to share Rubi. And the thought of Rubi in a threesome without Wes made him want to choke somebody. But better he know now than later.

He finished off his beer and cleared his throat. “Is that what she’s into?”

Andrea’s lips twisted in consideration. “Rubi’s pretty much an anything-goes girl.”

Oh, the nasty fantasies popping to mind. Positions. Toys. A little light bondage… “Have you…” He couldn’t believe he was going to ask this. “You know, been with her?”

“No, not me.”

He frowned. “Then how do you know all this?”

“Observation. Chatter. Shit gets around.”

Wes rubbed a hand over his mouth and leaned into his elbows resting on the table. “So if I’m not her type, who is?”

“Mmm, I don’t know. She’s always hooking up with guys who are trashier, harder, colder. She’s never interested in winners like you.”

“You just met me. Why would you think I’m any different?”

A slow grin lit Andrea’s face and turned her into a real person. And she was beautiful. But not at all what Wes wanted. “Handsome, it’s written all over you from the top of that great haircut to the hem of those upscale dress slacks. I’d love to see your dirtier side if you’ve got one.”

Wes slid his gaze back to Rubi. She’d finally extracted herself from the biker, her gaze now roaming the crowd.

“She’s free,” Andrea said, following his gaze. “Maybe her tastes have changed. Wanna give it a shot?”

A fist of discomfort had lodged beneath his sternum, and he couldn’t answer.

“Look,” Andrea said, “if the only way I’m going to get you tonight is to share, so be it.”

Ooooh. Kaaaay.

“Thanks,” he said, shifting on the stool to ease the unbearable ache in his cock, “but I’m gonna pass. I’ve got an early morning.”

The blonde shrugged and wandered away in search of another fuck buddy. “Let’s Get Loud” faded into “Pump It” by the Black Eyed Peas as Rubi set a leisurely pace toward the corner bar. She paused to chat with Rachel, who was on the dance floor with some wiry kid. Rachel had surprised the shit out of Wes when she’d showed interest in coming here, but Lexi was right, the main area of the club was just a regular club—drinking, dancing, socializing—though the socializing here was far friendlier and bolder than the socializing he’d seen at any other club.

But now that Rubi had gone through the night without going home with anyone, Wes was thrown right back into the dilemma he’d come with—wanting a woman who, despite wanting him as well, wouldn’t cross that friendship boundary.

Now what?

Wes stood. Time to make his move on plan B—a plan he hadn’t expected to get a shot at tonight.

She slid into an empty space at the bar and crossed her arms, smiling at the bartender—the same dude from the Crossroads earlier in the day. They chatted as he made and served drinks. A man beside Rubi said something that made her cast a glance his way and shake her head.

Wes drew close and hovered, waiting for Roméo to serve the man beside Rubi, hoping he’d grab and go. Within thirty seconds, the space opened. Wes planted his hand on the bar, then stepped in when the other man cleared the area, standing at an angle to Rubi, partially behind her, partially beside her.

Her scent immediately filled his head. He bent and drew a deep breath of the perfume—something a little different from what she usually wore. A floral base with something rich and seductive and wholly feminine layered on top. A scent that clearly screamed—smoking hot seduction right here.

“If that is anyone but Wes Lawson breathing my air,” she said without turning to look at him, “there’s going to be trouble.”

He took a half step closer, letting the front of his body brush the back of hers, and dipped his head to kiss her temple. “Normally, I like a fair amount of trouble, but I just came from my share, so…”

“This is the last place I ever thought you’d show up.” She turned her head but kept her gaze lowered toward the bar, a quirk to her lips. “You’re a little far from your comfort zone, Mr. Lawson. Have you ventured into the back yet?”

“You don’t really know what my comfort zone is, Ms. Russo.” And he was beginning to realize he didn’t either. Rubi had slowly opened a new world of exciting possibilities for him. “Want to show me the way to the back?”

Her lips tilted into a full smile, and the way she kept her gaze down, her long lashes hiding the beautiful green sparkle, was incredibly alluring. “Might want to rethink that. There are bad things back there. Scary things,” she said with a teasing dark tone. “Whips, chains, restraints…naked women.”

He leaned close. “I happen to be quite talented with all said equipment. My experience may lie in their appropriate uses, but I’m a pretty creative guy.”

“That you are.” She finally lifted her stunning eyes to his face. “But, if you’re interested in learning their illicit uses, you’ll have to find another woman to haul your fine ass into the back. That’s not my scene.”

“No?” he ran his fingertips along her waist. “Not even a little bondage so a man could explore your body unhindered?”

“Oh,” she laughed the word, “you bad boy.”

He’d like to be really, really bad, in a really, really good way—something no woman he’d ever been with had been interested in or comfortable with. He leaned his forehead against her temple. “I hear a ‘yes’ in your voice.”

“You’re hearing what you want to hear,” she said, shooting him a serious sidelong look. “You’ll need to find another woman to be bad with tonight.”

Movement caught his eye, and he lifted his head. The bartender extended his hand. “Roméo. We met—”