Free Knox (Sexy Bastard #3) by Eve Jagger

let her go like dropping a hot plate, but it was a moment too late, a moment too slow. Ryder doesn’t notice, thank god, drunk as he is, but Cash’s gaze follows our hands, and then wanders up to my face, a puzzled expression on his. I force a huge smile to cover. “Lucky for you I’m here, then, isn’t it?”
    “You,” she deadpans, with a less-than-enthusiastic expression. Okay, so I didn’t expect her to be overjoyed about having to make this last-minute change, but she could at least seem a little bit grateful for me volunteering to save her shapely behind.
    “Yeah. You go on, say that Jackson couldn’t make it because he’s busy being a successful architect, which is after all what we keep him around for, but that that’s no problem, because you’ve got the newest addition to Atlanta’s star roster of athletes here instead.”
    “Don’t push it,” she grumbles, but her shoulders relax, and she drops her phone back into her handbag, which is a relief. She must see some merit in the idea. “Okay,” she relents, with another nervous glance at the clock. “We can probably work with that.”
    “Have fun,” Ryder calls to me with a wink, Cash still oddly quiet and serious, watching us over his shoulder as Ryder drags him back toward the bar for refills.
    Oh, I will , I resist saying, my eyes drawn irresistibly back to the bombshell beside me, and the almost thankful expression on her gorgeous as hell face.
    Then I think about what exactly I’ve just gotten myself into. Public speaking. On a stage in front of hundreds of Atlanta’s elite. In less than ten minutes. At the very important charity event that my friend has put together, which could likely make or break her budding career.
    Did I mention it’s in less than ten minutes?
    “Come on,” Shelby barks, all business now. I have to admit, her boss face is sexy as hell. She grabs my wrist and drags me behind the main stage at the front of the room. There’s a small room off to one side filled with sound equipment, chairs, old mics, and a series of backdrops and props that the casino must provide for the people who rent this area, depending on what they’re using it for. I can’t say I want to know, when I pull out a neon pink rocking horse and plop a seat on her.
    Shelby props her pert ass against a computer desk next to me and pulls out a series of handwritten notes on a tiny legal pad. “Okay. This shouldn’t be too bad, I promise. We should be able to cut your part down to just a minute or two. Start out by saying that Jackson couldn’t be here because he’s hard at work managing a new purchase that everyone in Atlanta will love him for, yadda yadda, that’s why we like the guy. Then add that you’re so glad you were here to fill in, because you’ve been wanting to say how welcoming you find this town –”
    “You can say that again,” I interrupt with an appreciative glance at her waist.
    She rolls her eyes, but doesn’t stop talking. “And say something about how you’re looking forward to the season, some other reasons you love Atlanta—”
    “Do the hot women count?” I grin up at her.
    She glares back. Then, to my surprise, shrugs. “Yeah, that’s probably a good line. We all know how much the groupies love you. The—what do they call them, diamond dames?—they’ll eat it up.”
    “It’s diamond dolls, and I don’t care what they think,” I blurt out, before I can think better.
    She swallows hard. “Knox . . . ”
    “Hey, I’m only saying. You can’t blame a guy for being honest. You know I haven’t been able to tear my eyes off you all night.”
    “That’s the problem,” she mutters, her voice lower now. God, the husk in her tone kills me. I want to grab her right here, push her backwards over that desk.
    No one’s around. We still have, what, five minutes left?
    I stand, and she leans toward me, her lips parted slightly, hands lifting to rest against my chest. I’m a hair’s breadth away from