Читать книгу French Kiss - Lori Wilde - Страница 7

Summer’s mouth dropped. The Masked Monsieur had the most splendid butt she had ever clamped eyes on.

He was mesmerizingly, stunningly, brain-foggingly stupendous. Bumping and grinding right in front of her, his butt encased in a pair of skin-tight, faux leather pants that molded to his body like plastic.

And those abs! Tight and righteous.

A hundred women were screaming and making swooning noises as if he were Elvis come back to life.

But when the Masked Monsieur spun around to face the crowd, it was Summer’s gaze he caught and held. It was to her and her alone he gave an inscrutable smile and a rakish wink.

In that moment, she knew she’d found her wild fling to take her mind off good ol’ Joe.

“Pinch me,” she murmured under her breath, convinced she was having one heck of a bang-up sex dream.

Strobe flashed, bathing his body in a freeze frame of shifting colored lights. He was large, his shoulders broad, his muscled biceps as thick as her thighs. He gyrated seductively to the Tom Jones song, slowly removing the scarlet tie fastened around his bare neck, all without ever breaking eye contact with her.

“You can leave your mask on,” the audience shouted and waved dollar bills at him.

He tossed the tie to Summer.

A shier, sweeter woman would have let someone else snag the tie. But Summer was no longer sweet and shy. She’d given that up two years ago when she’d vowed to live each and every day to the fullest. She was bold now. Brazen even. And she was feeling revved up and randy. Besides, no one knew her here. If she acted like a slut puppy, no big hairy deal, right?

With one hand she snatched the tie in mid-toss and draped it over her neck. Then she lifted the tip of it to her nose. The silky material smelled of pure masculine essence, raw and powerful. Her knees wobbled and her breath left her body but she never once took her gaze from the Masked Monsieur’s compelling dark eyes.

He unbuckled his belt.

“You can leave your mask on.”

The belt flew through the air straight toward her. A leggy brunette on her right made a grab for it, but Summer was quicker. She cinched the belt around her waist, a coveted prize.

The Masked Monsieur’s smile widened. Then he ripped off the faux leather pants that had been held together by Velcro. They made a sharp tearing sound as the Velcro separated. He dropped them onto the stage.

The women went nuts.

Good God, but the man was extremely well-endowed and Summer couldn’t stop looking at it. Er… at him. She splayed a hand against her throat, felt her pulse galloping wildly out of control.

This magnificent hunk was a friend of Joe Everhart’s? Unbelievable. The two men had absolutely nothing in common.

Then the Masked Monsieur reached out his hand to her, his gaze still pinning her to the spot. His dark eyes cloaked enigmatically behind the mask. He motioned her up onto the stage.

She pointed at her chest, lifted an eyebrow and sent him the silent question. Me?

He nodded, cupped his hand, pulling his fingers toward him in a come hither gesture.

She shook her head. She was brave, but Summer wasn’t sure she was that brave.

No more holding back, remember? Life’s short.Do it.

He kept motioning for her, coaxing. Her face flushed. His rich lips formed a single word.

“Come.”