Bare Knuckle: Vegas Top Guns, Book 5 Read Online Free PDF

was going to be even better if they shared the same kink.
    So she kept her eyes locked to his as she slid her hand between their torsos. Down his ridged abdomen. Past the button of his loose-fitting jeans. To a bulge that was perfectly at home on that big, brawny body. His cock was huge and ironlike. It angled up toward his navel. Thick. Long. Worth more risks than she was prepared to mentally admit. Her body was throwing a tantrum.
    She stroked once, twice, and adored the way his eyelids slid toward sleepy, needy passion. But he never looked away. “Yes,” he whispered.
    “There.” She pulled back before she gave up on the idea of leading him around by that magnificent tool. She was having too much fun. “Officially a cocktease.”
    His blue eyes, so shadowed, consumed her with his gaze.
    “You look like a Barbie. A total fuck-doll fantasy.” Stiff tension packed his shoulders as he released her. His knuckles turned white when he gripped the steering wheel. “But I don’t think you are.” Another rapid-fire smile was a treasure to keep.
    A treasure? Seriously, Trish. She’d nearly let him bang her in his car. The only treasures she wanted from Eric Donaghue were hot-as-hell memories.
    His body. All hers for the night.
    They reached his bar of choice in five minutes. He came around to open the car door, as if he were one of the slick Southern gentlemen she’d grown up with. He was anything but. Too rough. A city guy and a Northerner to boot. She’d stake the money she’d earned that night.
    His hand at her back was innocent as they pushed into the bar. She led the way, soaking up the zinging thrill of turned heads and perked-up interest, as if she’d zapped the male patrons with cattle prods. She took those reactions as a given. On good days she soaked up their interest. On bad days, it was just plain annoying. But Eric’s focused attention and the hunger he’d unlocked made her feel like a superstar. He stood as solid as a bank vault at her back.
    Only when he positioned himself at her side did Trish realize the ridiculously obvious. Eric caught a few looks of his own, though most of those stuck on his scars. Widened eyes. Grimaced. Averted glances.
    Idiots, all of them. Whatever had happened to him must’ve been intense and painful, but she’d seen him fight, she’d been flattened by his kiss and she’d been surprised by his direct, honest…chivalry? Whatever it was, she wanted more. Past what everyone else seemed to read as his only feature, she found the danger of evasive, troubled eyes.
    She shivered as her smile jumped out of her control. Giddiness. Not happiness. The two were not the same by any means.
    Such a typical dive bar. Ancient televisions tuned to various ESPN stations. Old license plates and framed pictures of famous people who’d stopped by. Even a barkeep drying heavy beer glasses with a white towel. It was something out of a movie set. That fit, considering the superstar arrogance she’d amassed with each of Eric’s rough kisses.
    She may have walked in front of him, but Eric led with the mere pressure of his hand at her low back. He guided her to a private booth then swaggered back to the bar. Trish took time to check her appearance in a Cover Girl compact. She saved her money on the everyday stuff. Stage makeup was expensive. After the hot, mauling kiss she’d shared with Eric, she was glad she hadn’t chosen a darker shade of lipstick. A quick dash of powder and a swipe of gloss was all she managed before he returned.
    Two tumblers of whiskey, straight up. And a plate of cheese fries.
    “Oh, none of those for me, thanks.” It was like reciting a line from a play or musical—words that weren’t her own. They smelled amazing .
    He slid into the booth opposite. “You need to eat.”
    “I did, before the fight.”
    “What, lettuce?”
    “A protein bar.”
    He leaned forward on his elbows. She tried not to look at his scar, but it defined his face. He’d been killer