Whatever Reilly Wants.... Maureen Child

in a skirt short enough to be just barely legal.

      She was bending over the pool table, lining up a shot.

      Connor’s mouth went dry.

      Her long, blond hair hung in a honey-colored curtain down to the middle of her back. As she tipped her head to one side, that fall of hair shifted, off her shoulders and his gaze was caught by the way the overhead light picked out streaks of sun-kissed hair, brighter than the rest. She wore a pale-blue tank top that looked as if it had been glued onto her body, and the tiny denim skirt, just covering her behind, hitched even higher as she leaned farther over the pool table. Her shapely legs looked smooth and tanned and about three miles long. She wore black, sky-high heels on her small feet, and her ankles looked as fragile as her thighs looked sexy.

      Sexy?

      The woman oozed sex.

      His fingers squeezed the glass of beer until he wouldn’t have been surprised to feel it shatter like spun sugar in his grasp. Scraping one hand across his face, he inhaled sharply and watched, spellbound, as she lifted her right foot and rubbed it slowly against her left calf.

      Need spiked.

      His body went instantly hard.

      His breath shuddered and his heartbeat staggered.

      He watched one of the guys closest to her, lean in and whisper something, and Connor wanted to grab the guy and pitch him through a window.

      Okay, breathe.

      He sucked in air and told himself that he was only reacting like this because of his recent dry spell.

      But it was more.

      There was something about her.

      Something that called to him from all the way across the room. Something that made a man want to toss her over his shoulder and carry her off to a cave where he could have her, over and over again. Where he could listen to her moan and taste her sighs.

      He took another gulp of beer, hoping the icy drink would put out some of the fire. But he knew better. Damn it, he never should have come in here.

      The blonde straightened up slowly, then hitched one hip higher than the other as she laughed. That tight, short skirt of hers hugged her behind. She shook her long blond hair back from her face, and Connor was captivated, watching the thick, wavy fall of blond shift and dance around her.

      He swallowed hard.

      Then she tipped her head back and playfully patted the other guy’s chest.

      Connor dropped his beer.

      The glass shattered at his feet, splashing ice cold beer on everyone close by.

      He didn’t notice.

      He couldn’t take his eyes off the blond with the body made for sex.

      “Emma?”