Wicked Grind (Stark World 1)

As he watched, she tossed her duffel into the backseat. And then, after one more glance between the car and the coffee shop, she started walking his direction.

"Yes." Wyatt did a fist pump, which was more than the elderly man could handle. He scurried away as Wyatt headed back to his table.

He was seated by the time Kelsey entered, pausing just inside the door as she looked around. He waved casually, as if he'd just been sitting there doing nothing more interesting than checking his emails.

She came over, flashed a tentative smile, and sat down. "Hey," she said, then tucked a strand of hair that had come loose from her ponytail behind her ear. Her face glowed from exertion, and beads of sweat dotted her hairline. She wore no make-up at all.

Wyatt thought she'd never been prettier.

"Thanks for coming," he said, forcing himself to keep a business tone when everything inside him wanted to reach across the table, grab her hands, and beg her to do the show.

"I--well, I guess I thought I owed you that much." She had a small purse with her, and when she pulled out a lip balm and rubbed it on her lips, Wyatt caught himself staring.

Get a grip. The order was swift and firm and accompanied by a mental kick to his own ass.

"I appreciate that," he said. "And I wanted to ask you a question."

"Okay." She made the word into two long syllables, as if she was apprehensive about what he was going to say next.

"If it wasn't for your job--teaching kids, I mean--would you do my show?"

He leaned forward, expecting her to say yes. Why wouldn't she? He'd seen the way she danced at X-tasy. Not to mention her ease in front of the camera once she got over the initial trepidation.

And he knew for certain she needed the money.

She'd say yes, and he'd launch into his idea. She'd agree, and they'd move forward from there.

It was a perfect plan.

Except for the fact that she foiled it by saying no.

"I'm sorry," he repeated. "No?"

"Or, well, I don't know. But I don't think so." Her brows had drawn together, and her straight posture had dissolved to a slouch. She looked like a little girl called in to confess to the principal.

"But . . ." He rubbed his temples. "Well, I know you need the money. So why not?"

Her throat moved as she swallowed, then her shoulders lifted as she drew a deep breath. Finally, she tilted her chin up so that she was looking straight at him. "Because of you."

"Me," he repeated.

She flashed a little half smile. "You make me do foolish things."

There wasn't a damn thing suggestive about her words, and yet that's how his body responded, as if they were in a bar drinking martinis instead of coffee, and she'd reached over and boldly stroked his cock.

He closed his hand around the cardboard cup and focused on the heat--and on not crushing the thing and sending the rest of the coffee flying. Mostly, he focused on not reacting at all, at least not in a way that she'd notice.

"Foolish things," he said, nodding thoughtfully. "Like what? Like posing for me? I have to disagree. That wouldn't be foolish at all."

She tilted her head to one side, looking at him like he was crazy. "How can you say that? I already did it, remember? I already know it was--"

She cut herself off suddenly, her lips pursing tight together.

"Oh, no," he said, and actually heard laughter in his voice. "You were about to agree with me."

"No, I wasn't."

"Then what were you going to say? Posing for me was . . ." He trailed off, making a circular motion with his hand as if drawing the words out of her.