Live Without Regret (A Touch of Fate)By: K.L. Grayson
For the second time in a matter of minutes, a woman has rendered me speechless. But this time I don’t let the girl get away. “Why are you helping me?” I ask.
Casey stops mid-step and looks over her shoulder. “Because I love my sister more than anyone else in this world, and I saw a spark in her eyes tonight that I haven’t seen in over two years. I want to see that spark every day, Connor.” I have absolutely no idea what to say to that, so I nod. “Now”—Casey gestures toward the dance floor—“you better go get your girl before some other asshole snags her.” With a quick wink, she walks away.
Tipping my head back, I drain what’s left of my beer then scoot out from behind the table. I may be an asshole, but I’m a smart asshole, and she doesn’t have to tell me twice.
I stand up and walk toward the edge of the dance floor. It isn’t big, but you’d never know by the number of bodies currently inhabiting the small space. It doesn’t take long to locate Brittany, and not because my eyes are drawn to her like a magnet—which they are—but because she’s the one with men circling her, waiting to stake their claim.
She’s completely oblivious to the attention she’s getting, and for some reason I find that insanely attractive. Brittany has a kick-ass body that most women would pay ridiculous amounts of money for, and she isn’t even using it to get what she could clearly have—what she stated she wants.
Her head is tilted back, eyes closed, and when the beat of the song shifts, she tosses a hand up in the air. Slowly, she lowers her hand, threading her fingers into her straight blonde hair as her hips roll from side to side.
I’ve watched women dance before. Hell, I’ve even had a few lap dances, but nothing compares to watching this woman dance. It’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen and my cock swells against the confines of my zipper. Without bothering to hide it, I adjust myself and take a step toward Brittany. The guy next to me must be thinking the exact same thing because he too takes a step in her direction.
Ain’t fuckin’ happening.
I hold my arm out and it bumps him in the chest. “She’s taken, bro,” I say. His reply is nothing but muffled noise because I don’t stick around to listen. In three long strides, I’m standing behind Brittany.
Heat from her body is rolling off in waves. She smells like a mixture of sweat and tropical flowers with a hint of summer, and it’s hands down the most intoxicating fragrance I’ve ever encountered. Unable to keep my distance, I step toward her until the front of my body molds against her back. She doesn’t look to see who it is, but she doesn’t move away either. I’m not sure if that makes me happy or insanely jealous.
Does she know it’s me? Does she feel the same strange sensation in her chest when we’re within arm’s reach of each other? Or would she dance with just anyone pressed against her backside?
Our bodies move together for several beats, her hips rocking from side to side. Gripping her waist with my right hand, I pull her body flush with mine. Her ass pushes against my groin and she gasps.
Lowering my mouth to her ear, I whisper, “That’s what you do to me.” Her body shivers at the sound of my voice, and when her head drops to my chest, I push my hips forward.
Looking down, I see Brittany’s eyes flutter open and then her eyes lock on mine. Her chest rises and falls with each sharp intake of breath, and that’s when I know she’s just as affected as I am. The music keeps playing, but our bodies are no longer moving. Everything around us fades away. All of the other bodies—gone. It’s just this insanely sexy woman and me. I wait patiently for her to make her move and then, as though the DJ himself knew exactly what we needed, the music shifts and everything changes.
“Ride” by Chase Rice pumps through the speakers. Brittany spins in my arms until her ample chest is pressed snugly against mine. She regards me quietly for several seconds and then her eyes drop to my mouth.
I slowly run my tongue along my bottom lip, and I’ll be damned if she didn’t just whimper.
“You’re teasing me, Mr. Jackson.” Her words come out all breathy as she drags her gaze to mine.
“Trust me”—I slide my arm around her waist and she comes willingly when I pull her in close—“there are a lot of things going on right now, but teasing isn’t one of them.”
Brittany closes her eyes. She takes a shuddery breath and blows it out, drawing my attention to her pouty lips. Without thinking twice, I dip my head until my lips brush hers.
Connor Jackson’s lips are on mine. It’s not much of a kiss—yet—and it’s already the best kiss I’ve ever had. If that isn’t a scary fucking thought, then I don’t know what is.
My hands slide up his shirt and I splay my fingers across his broad chest. But instead of pushing him away—which I had every intention of doing—I curl my fingers into the soft flannel and hold on for dear life.
The kiss is soft, sweet, and unlike anything I expected from this tatted-up man. A rush of emotions pulse through my veins, and the need to be closer to Connor, to feel his body against mine, is all-consuming. Winding my hands around his neck, I tangle my fingers in his hair. A low groan rumbles from somewhere deep in his chest.