He was ripped, but not bulky, filling his button-up shirt and jeans to perfection. Just a perfectly hard, muscular lean man with a confident step and an intense stare that swept the room and landed on her.
“Oh, damn, he is hot,” Charity said.
“And he’s looking at us,” Harley breathed, sounding panicked.
He was.
And then he strode right over to them, his eyes locked on Shawn. On her. Yikes. She swallowed and tried not to fidget. She didn’t really want to do this. She wasn’t prepared to talk to a guy here. It was all just a dumb idea to even set foot in this place, and she certainly didn’t want to encourage any attention from a guy who would clearly be interested in areas outside her expertise and comfort level.
She would have to politely dissuade him.
Before he even spoke, his hand slid out and took hers, his thumb stroking across her palm, causing a shiver of arousal to take her totally by surprise.
“You should dance with me,” he said, already pulling her toward him.
“Okay.”
So much for turning him down flat. Why the hell had she just agreed to dance? Because he was hot. And there was something commanding about him that appealed to her. Which was annoying.
“I’m Rhett,” he told her.
Of course he was. Shawn squeezed her mouth shut so he wouldn’t see her desperately trying not to laugh. She imagined using a fake name was what you did in a place like this, but seriously? Rhett?
“Well, then I guess that makes me Scarlett,” she told him.
• • •
RHETT Ford saw the dark blonde the minute he came around the corner. She was smiling at her friends, and she looked relaxed, casual, dressed simply in jeans and a purple sweater that had fallen off one shoulder. Her friends were dressed similarly, and given that he’d never seen her at The Wet Spot before, he suspected she was someone just like him—curious and turned on by kink, but not sure where to start.
Aside from the fact that he was immediately attracted to her, she also didn’t appear to be the type that he’d always gone for, and which had always resulted in total disaster. He had a firm habit of choosing the shy, unassuming girls, like the blond twin currently standing next to the woman who had caught his eye, and invariably he scared the shit out of every single one of them. They all ran, terrified. Like his latest mess of a relationship with Lexi.
So this was a conscious choice, to be approaching a woman who looked confident and amused by her surroundings. He didn’t even mind that she thought he was giving her a fake name. Though God knew, if he had a choice of names, he never would have picked Rhett. It had been the bane of his existence almost since birth. If he went for an assumed identity, he probably would pick Bill or Dave. No one could poke fun at a Dave.
Leading the woman by the hand to the back bar where there was a dance floor, Rhett glanced back at her. She was checking out his ass. Now that was promising. He had never actually hooked up with anyone he had met here, since for the most part, he had just been observing and working out his own personal sexual interests, but he was definitely intrigued by this so-called Scarlett. When they got to the small dark room, where only half a dozen people were moving to the baby-making music, he pulled her into his arms and studied her face.
She met his gaze steadily, her hands snaking up to wrap around his neck. He was tall, but so was she, and while he had to bend down to make eye contact, it wasn’t significant. Her eyes were an amber color, and they were shining with amusement and, if he wasn’t mistaken, attraction. As they swayed, his hands lightly on her trim waist, he gave her a slow smile.
“So what brings you here?” he asked her.
Her response wasn’t flirtatious, nor was it cryptic. It was just matter-of-fact. “Information.”
“Are you a reporter? A blogger?”
“No. We’re four women who like to be right. This is my friends’ attempt to prove me wrong.”
Interesting. Bored housewives? He couldn’t check her ring finger to see if she was married, but then again, if she was looking for a good time, she would take her ring off anyway. If she was, he would be disappointed. Married women weren’t his thing. He was loyal and committed to a single woman at a time, and he had no desire to serve as an itch scratcher for a restless spouse.
“How so?”
“I didn’t think people came to places like this. Apparently they do.” She gave him a wry smile. “So why are you here?”
He had no problem being honest. Another lesson hard learned. He needed to be up-front about his desires. “I’m looking for the right woman for me. One who likes to be led in bed.”
She gave a little laugh. “Oh, really?”
“Really.”
“Uh-huh.”
Rhett wasn’t sure if he should be offended or not. He did know he was turned on. There was something very compelling about the way she never broke eye contact. What could be hotter than a woman submitting to his desires but doing so out of titillation, boldly? Nothing, as far as he was concerned. But he was getting ahead of himself. Which was evidenced by her dropping her arms to halt his creeping progress lower and lower on her back. He was at the curve of her ass when she reprimanded him, gripping his hand to stop it.
“Hey now, sport, watch the sticky fingers.”
Rhett grinned. “Don’t you mean wandering hands? I’m not trying to steal your wallet.”
“Whatever,” she said dismissively. “You know what I mean.”
“I do.” He kept his hands far above the erogenous zone, wanting to respect her limits. “So give me your number.” The song was almost over, and who knew what would be played next. She might use a booty-grinding song as an opportunity to leave the floor and return to her girlfriends. He didn’t want to waste time.
Her eyebrows shot up. “That’s a little presumptuous, don’t you think?”
“You never get what you want if you don’t ask.”
“How old are you?” she asked suddenly, putting more space between them as they swayed to the bass pumping R&B.
So that was it. She was older than him. “Old enough to know what I want.”
“You’re younger than me.” It wasn’t a question. She seemed certain of it.
“Frankly, Scarlett, I don’t give a damn.” Might as well make his stupid name work for him.
She gave a short laugh, smiling at him. “Nice. Corny, but effective. What’s your real name, by the way? I only give my number to Clark Kent, not Superman.”