Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 96850 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 484(@200wpm)___ 387(@250wpm)___ 323(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96850 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 484(@200wpm)___ 387(@250wpm)___ 323(@300wpm)
They’d have to wait for more, though.
They were rapt, dangling from a string. Watching her. Afraid to blink as she swayed from the stage into the dining room and perched herself on one of the front tables, leaning back in an arch and shaking out her long tresses to the low, slow boom of bass. She lifted the fingers of her right hand and dragged them down the curve of her throat, lips tilted in a wicked smile, the front snap of her bra between her index finger and thumb.
Eve flicked the snap open but used both hands now to keep the silk cups together, preventing them from opening. Uncrossing her legs, crossing them again with the opposite thigh on top, moving her shoulders to the music, knowing they were all holding their breath, silently begging to see her breasts. And that projection of hunger gave her a melting sensation between her legs, prickled her skin from toes to scalp, made her thrum.
Everywhere she thrummed.
She wasn’t the only one.
* * *
Madden had to be dreaming.
What the hell had he walked in on?
Eve was sitting on a table in the empty lounge, her sweater and shoes discarded on the floor, her opened bra being held together by delicate fingers while she moved with the music, a flirtatious smile on her mouth. Eyes closed.
Speak up. He needed to announce himself.
If he had the ability to speak, he would have. Immediately.
But he could only stand at the mouth of the hallway, arrested by the mind-blowing sight of Eve performing a striptease for no one. Although it seemed to be . . . for her. Her chest rose and fell on heavy breaths, proof she was enjoying herself. She uncrossed her beautiful legs, as if to give the slightest peek between them, and Madden’s throat went fucking dry, his pulse noisy and erratic in his ears, his chest.
Hungry eyes devoured the parts of Eve he hadn’t seen in way too long. Since last summer when they’d gone swimming in the Pages’ backyard. He’d seen her in a bathing suit then. A high-waisted vintage deal that reminded Madden a lot of the skirt she wore tonight. The delicate curve of her spine, the breadth of her hips, the wild waves of her hair when she wore it down. The tight swell of her ass. All those ingredients that composed Eve . . . he knew them better than he knew himself.
When she slipped off one side of her bra, but quickly covered her breast with the palm of her hand, Madden made a sound in his throat, guilt over his stiff cock taking hold. In total, he’d probably been standing there in the shadows for less than two minutes, but that was too long. He needed to make her aware of him before she removed the bra completely.
“Eve.” She gave no sign that she’d heard him. “Eve.”
The other side of her bra slipped off, leaving her in that tight skirt with her hands cupped over her tits, and it physically hurt to walk at that point, but he started to pick his way through the chairs and tables, no choice but to get closer and be heard.
“Eve,” he barked.
Was it a tragedy or a revelation the way her hands left her breasts, baring them, her palms closing around the edge of the table for stability as she screamed.
“Madden?”
“I called your name,” he said, hoarse, turning around like a gentleman ought to, but not before seeing her high, lush tits, in full. Those rosy, pebbled nipples. The flush running up her neck and down the center of her torso. Eyes heavy lidded, bottom lip swollen from self-inflicted bites.
Aroused.
Eve was aroused. From taking her clothes off in front of an empty room.
The mystery she’d always represented deepened. He was simultaneously turned on by the knowledge of what made her breathe so hard . . . and galled to be only finding out now.
“I-I told you not to come here,” she rasped, followed by the sound of her bare feet hitting the ground, the snap of her bra reengaging. A flash of blond to his right told Madden she was retrieving her sweater from the stage. “Dammit, Madden.”
He didn’t respond.
All his concentration funneled into a grip on his willpower, also known as the one thing stopping him from throwing her back up on the table to see if she’d uncross her legs for him, as smoothly as she had for the nonexistent audience.
Patience sapped, he glanced back at her over his shoulder. The sweater was back on over her bra, but she hadn’t engaged any of the buttons, leaving a swath of her upper stomach on display along with her cleavage. He wasn’t going to say it out loud, but good god, she might as well still be topless for the effect she was having on him.