“I’ll make this up to you,” he promised.
“Don’t worry about it. There’s only one thing I need from you…or, I suppose, a million things. But you can handle it.”
“I don’t want to just handle it.” Adrian ran his hands through his hair, shaking out the water. “Hell, the last time I handled it, we didn’t conceive.”
“That wasn’t your fault.”
“How can you be sure?”
Without getting vulgar? I nibbled my lip.
“Let’s just say, you didn’t leave much room in my womb for any doubt,” I said.
Adrian’s pride would undo both of us. Especially since his ego centered in his pants where all the world could admire the bulge.
“Behave…” I warned him. “It’s not that kind of party.”
“You’d be surprised the sorts of parties we get invited to.”
“And I’m glad you’ve never told me about them.”
“Why?” His grin burned hotter when he didn’t wear a shirt. “Jealous?”
Yes.
For the first time in my life.
A searing hot splinter of jealousy stung in my gut. Wasn’t like Adrian was a saint or anything. He had a reputation. Girlfriends. The occasional lipstick stain on his pillow or pair of panties left under his bed.
It’d never bothered me before.
I forced a smile. “Oh, yes. Adrian Alaric, playboy of the professional hockey league. Attending all those wild parties with a girl on each arm and another waiting in the car. Maybe I should call Magnolia Mallory—give her the scoop of the century?”
“Wait until she hears that I’ve knocked up an innocent woman.”
“I think I’m far from innocent now.”
“You will be…once I’m done with you tonight.”
Oh, all those promises. And he’d deliver if given a chance.
That was the problem with Adrian. He was too much a gentleman to realize how his every touch, whisper, and devilish intention could spellbind a woman to his charms.
Especially one who had already succumbed to his will.
Adrian approached, his hand guiding my chin up so I’d meet his gaze. His dark eyes danced with wicked recklessness. My breath stilled as he leaned close. His lips gently—so frustratingly gently—brushed mine.
A kiss.
Outside the bedroom.
Without provocation. Without reason.
And it was every mind-fracturing perfection I’d always wanted from a tender, promising kiss.
But this was wrong. So wrong.
Yes, we’d already slept together, but this intimacy was more than I’d ever stolen from any other man.
And more than I could accept from my best friend.
And yet, my lips parted and welcomed the flick of his curious tongue. His hands circled my waist, and I stepped into the protective privacy of his embrace—hidden from the world as his powerful muscle shielded me from all things…
Except the doorbell.
A drunk Beau Beckett tossed three condoms filled with beer into the sink and slid through Adrian’s kitchen on his way to the door.
“That’s probably the strippers!” He kept one of the balloons for himself, ripping a hole in the rubber with his teeth and taking a swig. “I’ll handle it, Captain.”
Adrian pulled away from me, grunting as he chased after the kid. “What the hell is he doing now?”
Beau was one of the most attractive men on the team—the sort of good-looking that made a girl tipsy from just his smile. He was young, impetuous, and made it his goal to acquire the panties from any attractive girl who crossed his path.
It didn’t surprise me that the troublemaker would order strippers for Adrian’s party.
…But it was a surprise that he’d order an all-male burlesque show.
Adrian howled as Beau’s mouth dropped open in shock. The rookie peeked behind the four burly men as they hauled a chest into the house containing their silks, props, and enough whipped cream to turn any woman lactose intolerant.
“Who the hell are you?” Beau asked.
The captain of the dance troupe—apparently appointed by virtue of the size of his potbelly—pulled a business card from inside the thong hidden beneath his rip-away pants. He handed it to Beau, though the rookie batted it away before touching the phallically shaped paper.
“You called. I answered.” The dancer had a smoker’s voice…if the smoker had swallowed every cigarette once he was done. “Where do we set up?”
“Buxom Beauties and Their Booties.” Adrian read the card with a frown.
Beau snorted. “Ever hear the phrase false advertising?”
On cue, all four of the men slapped their asses, squealed a practiced Oh! and delivered a synchronized thrust so vulgar I didn’t want my fertile womb anywhere near their hips.
“We are full-figured entertainers,” the dancer explained. “Curvy in the right places, bootylicious in the back, and loaded with enough little blue pills to swordfight, if that’s the sort of entertainment you’re looking for.” He gestured between Adrian and Beau. “Someone’s gotta sign our contract. Anyone at this party allergic to nuts or nut related products?”
Adrian threatened Beau with a pointed finger. “And this was why I hesitated before inviting you into my home.”
“How was I supposed to know they’d be dudes?”
“Give us a shot.” The dancer offered me a shimmy of his shoulders and a peek at the goods under his shirt. Unfortunately, it was hard to see anything past a tangle of chest hair so thick it’d matted over his nipples. “The lady can’t take her eyes off of us.”
Only because it was like watching a car crash…
In which four ugly men sweated and gyrated until their pants lowered just enough for a plumber’s crack.
“Rookie…” Adrian took my hand and led me away. “Get rid of them or else you’ll be joining them on the stage.”
“Yeah…” Beau snorted. “Like my ass is only worth fifty an hour.”
Morbid curiosity might’ve drawn me to the strippers.
But the explosion near the pool captured my attention.
Adrian and I burst onto the patio as a circle of fire blistered his yard before burning itself out in a haze of choking smoke.
“For Christ’s sake, who gave Vasha the lighter fluid?” Adrian ripped the bottle out of Vasha Morozov’s hands and banished him to the porch swing.
However, this seemed a bad idea. The hyperactive-puppy-turned-defenseman instantly created a game and gathered bets on how long one could surf on the swinging bench while the other teammates either yanked the chains or beat the surfer to a pulp with whatever inanimate object was closest.
And yet, it seemed infinitely safer than the shenanigans organized by Leo Telane and Oz Zane. Commandeering the kiddie pool which had served as an oversized cooler was inevitable. However, taking all the hard liquor at the party and in the house and emptying it into the kiddie pool was something I’d never seen before.
As was the garbage bag/garden hose homemade slip n’ slide which allowed the men to careen headfirst into the pool of alcohol and ice.
A few of the guys had managed to land in the pool. The others nursed scraped elbows and knees from missing the slippery garbage bags and skidding across the pavement. Probably for the best. They didn’t need anything else to drink until they could feel their injuries again.