Melissa was laying it on thick with Bram, and Ford was making out with some barfly between them. Could she actually go after one of the Wylde brothers?
And why not? Do it, girl. Show Frank and yourself that you are something special and desirable.
Determination settled inside her, and she stood. Was she really going to have a one-night stand after she said she never would again? She stared at Charlie, and he cocked one dark brow. God, he was so freaking gorgeous that her inner question was already answered as she made her way toward him. He looked unaffected by her approach, but then again, maybe he knew this would be the outcome.
He certainly had the arrogance and assurance to think that way. The music was loud and angry-sounding, and it seemed she got more than one nasty glare from the female population the closer she got to Charlie. He hadn’t moved from his spot and just continued to drink his beer and watch her. When she was just a few feet from him, she inhaled deeply. The act caused her to get a concentrated scent of his cologne and natural scent.
It was a mixture of something rugged and wild, spicy and woodsy. To be honest, it had to be the most arousing aroma she had ever come in contact with, or maybe that was just her hormones talking. Melissa’s seductive giggling told Ary that her friend was on the fast track to getting exactly what she wanted, but she doubted she had to try very hard. Melissa was gorgeous and svelte, and by the look Bram had given her, there was no doubt the bear wanted to roll around in the sheets with a wolf.
February should say something, she knew this, but being so close to a man like Charlie Wylde had her tongue in knots. Her heart was a frantic, pounding mess, and her whole body felt like it was on fire. Could he see her nipples through her too-thin top? They felt hard enough to cut glass with. Could he smell her arousal? She was certainly wet enough that the moisture pooled in her panties, and the tingling in her clit made her think of his big, hard—
No, she wouldn’t go there, not when she felt as though she’d combust as it was.
With slow, methodical movements, he set the bottle down and took a step forward. He towered over a foot above her, and she craned her neck back. She thought she was aroused before, but holy damn did his presence make every cell in her body light up. As if he didn’t turn her on enough, watching him close his eyes and inhale deeply sent her over the edge.
A gush of moisture rushed out of her pussy, and she clenched her thighs together. When he opened his eyes, the blueness of them speared right into her and had her knees nearly buckling. His pupils dilated, and there was no doubt in her mind that he could smell her pussy and knew what his presence did to her.
As he leaned toward her, Ary forced herself to keep her place and not moan from his nearness. She didn’t care about the sneers the other women were giving her, and didn’t care that people were probably watching the spectacle. All she cared about was the heat from his body pulsating around her and his scent of masculinity and power consuming her.
His lips brushed along her ear, and a shiver raced up her spine. “Your name.” His voice was low, deep, and so damn sexy. It wasn’t a question but a command that made her realize this male was all alpha.
He inhaled deeply again, and a rough growl left him. That sound went straight to her clit, and that blasted bundle of nerves swelled even further. Her pussy clenched, most likely needing something substantial that only this bear could give her.
She could blame her reaction to him on the fact that she was drunk, but in reality, it was only his presence that made her a quivering mass of nerves.
“Ary Felina.” She breathed out her answer just as he leaned back and held her gaze. He hadn’t risen to his full height, and his face was so close to hers that they breathed the same air. He smelled like the rich, dark beer he just drank, and she swore she got a little more intoxicated off of it.
“Ary.” Her name rolled off his tongue like pure, unadulterated sex. The dirty images that she conjured of the two of them had heat rising to her cheeks. His smirk informed her he didn’t need to be a mind reader to know what she was thinking. That was the problem with shifters and the fact that they could smell emotions.
“It’s short for February.” Her eyes lowered to his mouth, and all she could think about were those lips on her skin, her breasts, and even between her legs. It looked like he hadn’t shaved for several days, and a dark dusting of facial hair covered his cheeks. It made him look even more masculine, if that were possible.