Free Knox (Sexy Bastard #3) by Eve Jagger Page B

other and my legs sagging beneath me like jelly.
    “We’re getting out of here,” he says, and this time, I cannot turn my brain on enough to remember why we shouldn’t. He drags me into a hallway behind the bar, my heart pounding and my palms beginning to sweat.
    “Looking to make a donation to early childhood education?” I ask with completely feigned nonchalance, as we pass the entrance of the ballroom (thankfully deserted), and take another side hall until we’re deep, deep into the bowels of the make-shift casino, empty at this hour.
    I look into Knox’s cut, ruggedly handsome face and suddenly I’m all out of questions.
    “You know what I’m looking for, slugger,” he says in a kind of low growl, wrapping one of his massive hands around my neck and using the other to pin my hips against the wall.
    A tiny moan escapes my throat as he moves an index finger to tilt my chin up toward him.
    Then his lips sink into mine once more. This one is deeper. Longer. It’s an urgent, molten fire, tsunami wave of a kiss that’s charged with all of the history that came before it.
    I grab onto the lapels of Knox’s tuxedo jacket and hang on so that I don’t get swept away.
    His mouth moves down my neck, tracing kisses along my collarbone, and my breath catches with the surprise of his tongue on my skin.
    I run my hands up his chest, wanting to feel the solid warmth of him through his shirt. Wishing I could rip his jacket off, I wrap my hands around the sinewy curves of his biceps and hold on tight.
    He does look damn good in a tux and a skinny tie, even if his clothes and mine feel like our mortal enemies right now.
    He slides both hands up under my dress as if he’s reading my thoughts, cupping my ass and lifting me off the ground so that I’m pinned and writhing against the wall.
    Everything else fades from my mind. The speeches, the event, Jackson’s no-show. Even how bad an idea this is. It all fades away.
    Doesn’t seem like Knox is too hung up on Jackson right now, either. Neither of us is thinking about consequences.
    “Shelby,” he whispers as he fixes me with his hypnotic green eyes, his hands still tight around my ass, his fingers inching closer and closer to my already soaked panties. “Let’s get the fuck out of here. I need to get you out of this dress.”
    “Yes,” I say breathlessly as I slide down the wall in his embrace. “I just . . . I just need to check in with my boss and make sure it’s okay for me to go now.” Being this close to Knox is tying my tongue into knots.
    “You do that,” he says. But I don’t respond, because a sudden shockwave of almost paralyzing sensation is rippling outward from my core. Knox has slipped a hand up from my ass around to press his palm against my clit, holding my pussy tight through the cloth of my panties as he gives me another deep, long kiss for the road.
    I don’t think I’ve ever been so mad at a pair of underwear in my life.
    Ten minutes later, Knox has picked up his car from the valet and I’ve gotten the okay from a pretty blitzed out Tim.
    I climb into Knox’s Porsche in my little gold dress.
    “Your place or mine?” Knox asks.
    “Mine’s closer,” I respond.
    He revs the engine and rests his hand on my thigh, lifting it off occasionally to shift gears. My muscles twitch under his touch, my skin burning beneath his palm.
    We don’t make small talk. In the silence it’s easier to pretend that what we’re doing isn’t exactly what we agreed to avoid. I can feel him looking at me out of the corner of his eye, but I stare straight ahead at the road, afraid of breaking the spell.
    Knox’s hand moves imperceptibly up my thigh as we drive, each millimeter of movement filling me with a kind of crazed anticipation. His hand slips just underneath the hem of my dress and I breathe in sharply, the feeling of his hand against the softness of my upper thighs sending shoots of tingling energy between my legs. I feel my nipples hardening, my