Читать книгу French Kiss - Lori Wilde - Страница 4

Bare buns.

Slick. Masculine. Muscular. Undulating rhythmically to the hard, driving beat.

Here. There. Everywhere Summer Jacobs glanced she saw them. Buns, buns and more buns cloaked in nothing but skimpy g-strings and heated mineral oil.

Hunk heaven! Yee-haw.

She strolled through the crowd of women chanting “Shake it, baby, shake it” at Bare Buns, an exclusive, ladies-only strip club in downtown Phoenix. Sexually, she’d hit a long dry spell and the sight of these exquisite specimens of manhood were making her feel… well… a tad bit needy.

The selection was impressive. She should certainly be able to find a dancer for her sister’s bachelorette party here. Just as her next-door neighbor Joe Everhart had predicted.

That conversation had been a weird one.

Summer had been unloading party supplies from her Mini Cooper that morning when the sack ripped, sending naughty gag gifts tumbling across the sidewalk. Glow-in-the-dark condoms, chocolate body paints, fur-lined handcuffs.

Joe had come rushing over to help. Summer almost shooed him away from the racy party favors. She knew he embarrassed easily. Whenever he saw her in a string bikini lounging around the community pool, he stammered and couldn’t make eye contact. And whenever she complained about her nonexistent love life, he invariably blushed beet red.

He was a nice guy. Always ready to roll up his sleeves and pitch in. He was cute in a nerdy professor sort of way, even though he wore thick glasses, shapeless clothes and his shaggy hair looked as if it was perpetually in need of a trim. But he had the most genuine smile she’d ever seen and whenever he directed it at Summer, her stomach fluttered mysteriously.

The man was a diamond in the rough just waiting for some perceptive woman to polish. But she wasn’t volunteering. No siree.

For one thing, Joe was a total brainiac with a PhD in archeology and she was a high school dropout. Sure she’d gotten a GED and made a name for herself as a southwest artisan, but she’d never stopped feeling insecure about her lack of formal education.

For another thing, Joe was a forever kind of guy. And hard experience had taught Summer that life was short. Might as well make it sweet. With her newfound live-for-today philosophy, she simply could not commit to any one person.

Still, she couldn’t stop fantasizing about Joe.

And there in lay the problem. What she needed to take her mind off her adorable neighbor was a wild fling with a wild thing. A rebel, a challenge, an adventure. Something that Joe and his fossils most definitely were not.

So when Joe had silently handed her the box of edible panties that had slid behind the tire of her car and their fingers brushed in a moment of pure electrical sparking, Summer resolutely ignored the sensation.

“Just my luck,” she’d moaned without meeting Joe’s gaze. “First the caterer flakes out, then the stripper cancels and now my sack rips.”

“Stripper?”

“For Devon’s bachelorette party on Saturday night.”

“I know where you can get a stripper. A buddy of mine works at a place called Bare Buns. The Masked Monsieur. Tell him I sent you.”

So now here she was, Joe-sent, sexually edgy and thigh-deep in near naked men.