Josie Guerrero is focused on one thing: getting accepted into the prestigious art studies program within the Art School at the University of Southern Washington. With thirteen weeks to create her sophomore portfolio, she knows she can't afford any d...
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She's killing me.
With every swish of her hips and sway of her shoulders, she's driving me fucking crazy. Every time she lifts her arms above her head the hem of her dress hitches higher up her legs, and the usually unseen expanse of satin skin on her upper thighs is on full display. If anyone were to look close enough, they'd find a trail of bite-sized bruises on her inner thighs.
If she lifts her arms any higher she's going to show off more than I can handle, and when she glances at me over her shoulder, her eyes dark and playful, I have to take another long sip of whiskey to settle the energy buzzing through my veins. Her skin, lit up by the blush strobe lights flashing above the dance floor, glimmers like rose gold under the summer sun, and damn if I'm not tempted to take her outside, find a secluded spot behind this expensive-ass club, and pull that whisp of satin from her body just to watch the moonlight shimmer across her body like stardust while I fuck her to the steady rhythm she's been teasing me with as she dances to the beat of the song.
I release an agitated sigh at the realization that I don't have to take her out back to get a good look at her body, the scrap of fabric wrapped around her is barely covering her tits and ass. A rush of annoyance floods through me when I eye the crowd of guys lingering on the outside of the dance floor, their gazes bouncing between Josie and Olivia — who, while covered only slightly more than Josie, is dancing a hell of a lot more provocatively.
I'm almost glad for the distraction from Josie, though, glancing back at Tristan, I can sense that he's seconds away from throwing his little sister over his shoulder and marching her out of this club.
"Monday at nine-thirty."
Tristan, James, and I look up from the dance floor to watch Luke drop down on the other couch, his legs spread wide with a satisfied smile on his face. He leans forward and grabs a freshly uncapped beer before tilting the lip to James and taking a long, relieved pull of the alcohol.
"What?" James sits back, his eyes darting back down to Jenny for a second before meeting Luke's eyes.
"Your appointment with Dr. Reynolds, the top perinatologist in New York, is Monday at nine-thirty. My dad's assistant, Chauncey, will email you the details later tonight."
"Dr. Reynolds." James's face is pale, his widening as he watches Luke nod in confirmation. "You got us in with Dr. Reynolds."
"I tried to get her to come into the office sooner than Monday, but apparently she's on vacation with her family and said I was pushing my luck by calling her personal cell phone instead of contacting her office." He rolls his eyes, taking another long pull of his beer. "To which I reminded her that the last three medical trials she ran — and won an award for — were funded solely by my father's company." His lips pulled up into a ghost of a smile. "The same company I'm set to take over in the next few years. The company that may or may not be interested in their continued partnership with her."
