drive home. As much as I hate admitting it, I’m attracted to him. There was a spark that day in the woods. I miss that spark—that first initial attraction to someone where all you can think about is what their kisses will taste like and what their hands will feel like on your bare skin. It’s been a long time since I’ve felt those butterflies in my stomach. Hell, who knows if I ever have? We’re both consenting adults. If there is a mutual attraction, why not scratch an itch? It’s not like it will be a conflict of interest. Sure, Eve hired him, but it's obviously a sham. I'm sure Brady won't find any further proof to her stalker claims, and before I know it, I’ll never see this man again.
“Finn’s down the hall waiting for you. I’ll tell him you need to get a run in.”
And with that, he is out the door without another word.
Maybe it is be best if I never see him again. Obviously, that spark I felt isn’t mutual, and now he probably thinks I’m just pathetic and desperate. I must be if I thought a guy like that would let his guard down long enough to have some fun.
The club is packed so tight, I can barely move. Club Envy is filled with celebrities, reporters, and a bunch of specially selected patrons who can go back out into the world after tonight and tell everyone what a raging success the new club is. I don't want to be here tonight, especially after pounding away my frustrations from my earlier interaction with Brady on a five-mile run. I'm exhausted, mentally and physically. I keep telling myself that any attraction I feel towards the man is foolish and a waste of my time.
All I had wanted to do when I got home was curl up and NOT think about Brady. Unfortunately, that isn’t in the cards for me. Eve planned this appearance months ago, and if I even mention the idea of skipping it, my decision will be made into a huge ordeal and a messy argument that I'm not in the mood for.
So instead, I suck it up, put on the hottest dress I have in my closet, and decide to make the most of the night by dancing my ass off with a bunch of good looking men that I'm absolutely not imagining are Brady when I close my eyes and our bodies brush against each other on the crowded dance floor. Luckily, the music pumps through the sound system and cancels out the need to make small talk with any of them.
Over the shoulder of my current dance partner, I catch Finn’s eye at the bar as he keeps watch over me from a distance while nursing a ginger ale. I roll my eyes and nod my head towards the guy who doesn’t understand the concept of loud music and how it isn’t conducive to telling someone your whole life story. Finn lifts his chin in response to my unspoken plea to rescue me from Chatty Cathy in a few minutes. Once I’m satisfied that he gets my message, I turn away from Finn and my dance partner, and raise my arms above my head, swaying to the beat of the song. I hope he’ll get the hint. If my back is to him, maybe he’ll refrain from trying to tell me about his ex-wife. Thankfully, he stops talking, but this just gives him the opportunity to push himself up against me and rest his hands on my hips while he moves his body with mine.
I close my eyes and pretend like he’s not there. Oh, who am I kidding? I pretend like it’s someone else with their hard body pressed flush with my back, sliding against me and making me burn with need.
The guy’s hands momentarily leave my hips and his body moves away. Before I can be grateful that he's finally realized I'm not going to participate in his conversation, he’s back, but this time he wraps one arm around my waist from behind and pulls me roughly up against his rock hard chest. In my black, backless halter dress, I can feel his muscles and his warmth through the cotton of his shirt against my bare skin.
Now that’s more like it.
I can’t tell if it’s the same guy or not, but I don’t even care as a new song starts, slower and sexier than the last. I recognize it