Undeniably Asher (The Colloway Brothers Book 2)(77)

“Addy…”

“Holy hell, this calls for a celebratory shot.” Addy grabs the bottle of Patron that she insisted the waitress leave at our table and pours three glasses. My head is already buzzing from the one shot I’ve had and the three glasses of wine I consumed during our painting class in Addy’s studio earlier, which is how we started the night. I’m now the proud owner of a beautiful hand-painted canvas featuring water lilies in a pond. It’s actually pretty damn good if I say so myself.

“To hotness. May we each get a slice,” she announces before we throw our drinks back.

“And where exactly will you be looking for this slice of hotness?” a dark baritone voice drawls behind me, causing me to sputter.

I immediately recognize the owner.

I didn’t spend a lot of time talking to Luke, but his sexy drawl is definitely not something you forget. Ever. I may be in love with Asher, but I still appreciate male beauty, and Luke is its walking poster child. Just…wow.

When I turn around, I’m not surprised to see Gray, Asher, Conn, and a few other gorgeous men I don’t recognize walking toward us. What I am surprised at, however, is the heat that’s now volleying back and forth between Luke and Addy. He hasn’t taken his molten eyes from her for a single second. When I turn back to look at Addy, she’s gazing at him with the same fire in hers.

Huh.

“Addy,” he greets.

“Luke,” she replies a little breathlessly. Guess they know each other. I wonder how well?

He briefly looks at the nearly empty bottle on the table before his eyes snap back to hers. “How much have you had to drink?”

“Not really any of your business, hun.”

He steps around to the front of the booth, grabbing the bottle quicker than Addy can react. Laughing, he holds it out of reach while Addy yells and tries to pop up over the table to retrieve it.

“I think you’ve had enough.”

Oooohhhh. The sparks flying between these two are so hot I’m worried the booth we’re sitting in may catch fire. Asher and his brothers arrive at the table just in time to catch the good part of the show. I’m sitting on one end of the booth and Livia on the other, with Kamryn and Addy in the middle, so Asher and Gray have positioned themselves by us, respectively. Conn and the others stand back, talking to the waitress, presumably putting in an order.

“I paid for that, asshole. Put it back.”

“Not on your life, sweetheart.” Luke hands the bottle off to a man I don’t recognize, but is someone they walked in with. He then reaches in his front pocket and peels five twenties from a wad of cash, throwing them on the table. “Compensation.”

I glance over to see Livia and Gray watching the exchange with rapt fascination. Livia’s eyes are wide with surprise, but Gray’s are glittering with mirth, his lip curled into a smirk.

“Who the hell do you think you are? You do realize there’s more booze here, right? I mean, we are in a fucking bar. And who appointed you my keeper tonight anyway? Why are you guys even h—”

Addy continues to rant, unable to get out, while Luke watches on, pretending to be unaffected, except I’m not sure how Addy can miss the fire blazing higher and hotter in Luke’s eyes with each scathing word.

Like a good tennis match, I volley back and forth between the two. I think the tamer may have just arrived, complete with his bullwhip and chair. Except instead of a fancy tailcoat and top hat, this one brandishes worn black boots, a leather bomber, and faded jeans that mold to his body like they were made just for him.

Hmmm. Interesting.

“Dance with me,” Asher rumbles in my ear. I hear the beginnings of the sultry Rhianna singing “Skin” playing in the background. I want to stay and see how this little play is going to turn out, but as I look up into the blue eyes of the man who has brought me back to life again, I don’t hesitate to take the hand he’s offering, letting him lead me to the dance floor.

They say you can tell a man’s skill in the bedroom by how he dances. I don’t know who “they” are, and I don’t necessarily believe that’s true, because I’ve danced with some guys who the phrase “white man dancing” was coined after and they were good in bed.

Okay, good may be stretching it. Decent. They were decent.

But Asher? Holy balls. I can absolutely say that phrase is true…and not the “white man dancing” one. He dances like he fucks.

With intent.

With finesse.

With rhythm.

With all-consuming seduction.

As he grinds the length of his body into mine from behind, one hand firmly on my hips, the other running the length of my torso, he has me completely submerged in the sensual spell he’s expertly woven.