“Thanks, Hal.”
I placed each beer on the tray and lifted it carefully from the surface. All I had to do was drop these drinks off at the table and I could walk away.
I didn’t have to look at Mister-six-foot-five-sex-on-a-stick. I certainly didn’t have to flirt with him. And like hell if I had to let him keep touching me, no matter how much I liked it. I straightened my shoulders.
As soon as those football players walked in tonight, the other waitresses started fighting over who got to serve them. But the bar was divided into sections, and they sat in mine. Mine. As if I had some kind of ownership over Kane Hawkins.
I took a big breath and walked steadily to the table.
“Here you go.” I served each beer.
I jumped when I felt a hand palm my ass. My instinct was to slap it away, but I froze, absorbing the way he touched me. What in the hell was I doing?
“I’ll check on you gentlemen in a few minutes.” I tried to exit the table, but his fingers dug in a little harder. A little deeper and I almost let out a groan. Holy shit.
I wanted to say or do something, but didn’t know how or what just yet. My brain said one thing, and my body said something totally different.
I needed space. Air. A place to breathe. I knew that much. I bolted from the table and found a quiet place in the back hallway on the other side of the storage room. There was a screen door that led to the employee parking lot. I leaned against the wall and tried to steady my breathing.
My first night. The very first night here and I was acting like a drunk college girl being hit on by the school’s quarterback. I had to get my shit together.
I tensed when I heard the sound of boots cross past the employees only boundary. His shadow made it around the corner before I saw him. The only light came from the storage room. His face was dark. His body towered over mine.
“Hey.”
He pressed his hand into the wood over my shoulder, closing the gap between us. I placed my hands against his chest like I was going to push him away, but I didn’t. I couldn’t.
“Hi,” I whispered.
I didn’t know what was happening. I could smell the beer on his breath and faint traces of cologne from his shirt.
“What are you doing back here?” he asked.
I hadn’t been able to look him in the eyes all night. Too much lust and hunger was buried there, but I took a chance. As soon as I did, I knew it was a mistake. He wanted to devour me. Now.
“I needed a break,” I whispered.
“Break from what?” he teased. His body leaned into mine and I sighed. He was a solid mass of muscle and strength.
I knew exactly what I wanted to hear from him. Some kind of reassurance that he wasn’t the man I had read about. That the fact that he had followed me back to the private hallway meant he didn’t think of me like he did the rest of the bimbos that worked here. I wanted something that I knew Kane Hawkins wasn’t capable of giving me. So why didn’t I get the hell out of this shadow?
“What is it exactly that you want from me?” I asked, my voice raspy with nervousness.
His lips brushed over mine without touching my skin. “I wanted to see if I was right.”
My heart pounded. Thank God there was blaring music and a bar full of people celebrating the Sharks’ win or he would hear what he was doing to me.
“Right about what?”
“How wet you are.”
My eyes grew wide as I drew a ragged breath.
Before I could return his blatant presumption with a smartass comment, he ran his fingers over my lips and slowly dragged them down between my breasts. I sighed with lust. So much fucking lust. He stopped just shy of the waistband of my cutoffs and wrapped my other arm around his waist.
“H-how…” I squeaked out as his fingers slipped under the hem of my shorts.
Even in the dark I could see his perfect sexy grin.
“Nice. Cotton panties? That's a first. Usually women have lace or nothing at all.”
I could barely control my breathing. “I’m not your type.” And I wasn’t. I’d never done anything close to this before. Why was I doing it now?
“Oh darllin’. I don’t doubt that, but I don’t need a perfect compatibility match for what I want to do to you.”
“What do you want to do?” I wanted to hear him say it. I wanted to know.
“Fuck you. I want to fuck you. Hard,” he whispered in my ear, and I could feel the sudden wetness between my legs. My breathing was erratic and the only way I could keep my knees from buckling was to squeeze his arms as tightly as I could.
“You always get what you want?” I asked, knowing the answer.
“You don’t get the top by being a loser. I'm a fucking winner. I'm the star quarterback for the DC Sharks and in my professional career, I’ve scored more touchdowns than any other man before me. I'm quick and I'm skilled, on and off the field. Am I cocky? Damn right. Who wouldn't be in my shoes? When I want something, I go after it and I get it.”