Free Riding Dirty by Abriella Blake

opportunity for her to practice the art of 4-inch-high-heeled locomotion in clinicals at ASU. Now, she wished she had been less practical about footwear in the past.
    Rowan opened the bedroom door and found herself face to face with her new pimp and protector, Bronson Ramsey. She breathed him in, seeking his reaction to her new style. It would give her a sense of how hard she would have to work on other men tonight.
    Jaded as he was, Bronson couldn’t help but drink Rowan in with an openly admiring and hungry stare that started at her shapely calf, exposed by a long slit in her gown, and roamed the whole delicate length of her. The girls had selected a dress perfect for Rowan’s role of the enticing ingénue, both classic and sexy. It was a contoured, floor-length design threaded with gold sequins that feverishly embraced her tight little body like scales, wrapping intimately around her breasts and hips before swooping in a glimmering waterfall to the ground. She looked precisely like a siren Venus rising from a golden sea.
    Bronson saw the dress had no back to speak of, and when Rowan turned for him, he could see her lean muscles gracefully stretching under her alabaster skin. When she came back to stillness her skirts shifted about her like a radiant aura, the high slit exposing one leg at a time, tantalizingly, as it angled dangerously far up to expose a perfectly kissable portion of her inner thigh.
    Bronson’s mouth watered at the glimpse of pale skin so close to her hips before he let his eyes travel up over her flat stomach and to the bountiful swelling of cleavage exposed by the gaping keyhole cutout of her bodice. The gown, as if embarrassed by its boldness, recovered itself by lifting into a high halter collar. Rowan’s ample breasts, shapely shoulders, and delicately sculpted arms were on full display.
    She stared back at him with that sphinx-like challenge that had so aroused him from the beginning, seeming to declare that she was beyond his reach and equal to his passion at the same time. His pulse raced as he recalled the clause of their agreement that entitled him to enjoy that body…at some point. Wine-red lips and smoky eyes added to her sensual charm but did not diminish her dewy innocence.
    Part of Bronson wanted to order Rowan back to the bedroom to change into her jeans and t-shirt, to cancel the whole thing. Something soft in him wished he could write her a check, buy her a bus ticket back to Alabama, and get her the hell out of Vegas while she was still intact. This Disneyland for degenerates was no place for the quiet, centered girl he saw beneath the glitz, and he felt a stab of regret knowing he would be instrumental in muddying the pristine waters of those clear blue eyes.
    The larger part of Bronson, however—the fighter and alpha male who was used to having his way—wanted to rip off that incredible dress himself and satisfy his spiking libido by ravaging her. He’d start with tearing his hands through her primly upswept hair before forcing her by his kisses to return his desire, and then…Bronson blinked away the image of his body twisting around Rowan’s, then grinned as he had the pleasing realization that every man in the casino was likely to have the same fantasy the moment they saw her. There was no way he was going home empty-handed tonight.
    With a jolt, Bronson realized that too much time had passed without anyone speaking and so he cleared his throat with finality. “Let’s go.”
    Rowan glared at him. “That’s it?”
    Bronson had already started toward the front door and half turned back, raising an eyebrow. “Pardon?”
    “We’re about to begin an important partnership, and from now on we’ll have to rely on each other closely. We’re high-rollers now Ramsey, playing a game that requires tact, timing, and sophistication.” Rowan took a gliding step toward him, her hips swaying hypnotically like the pendulum of a clock, but her eyes were as clear and guileless as a