“Do you like it?” he asked, his voice husky with unmasked desire.

Her sea green eyes shone brightly over the rim of the glass. “Very much.”  She took another sip, then another.

In an effort to ease the tension from his body, Flynn sat back in his chair and watched her enjoy the champagne. The white fabric of her halter top hugged her tits only when she turned a certain way. It was enough to make a man dream about what was beneath the thin fabric. Thank the gods she was wearing a bra, otherwise he’d be fighting off every guy in the place. There were several large parties of men inside, probably a corporate dinner, and the way they looked at her as he led her through the restaurant to this table hadn’t gone unnoticed by him.  For someone so petite, she walked with the long grace of a feline. He supposed doing what she did for a living gave you the self-confidence to walk through a gauntlet of hungry males like you were strolling down the frozen food aisle at the grocery store.

She was just shy of an hourglass build. Her hips swung with the slightest bit of attitude.  Her smooth olive skin tone shimmered with health. Big blue-green cat-shaped eyes framed by long black lashes, high sweeping brows, a straight little nose, and that lush mouth of hers, created a beautiful, exotic effect. Nothing about her reminded him of the skanks his father ran with. Pink could hold her own in any social circle. She was a smart, sexy, complex little package of dynamite. His trousers tightened uncomfortably.

Long slender fingers, her nails natural now with just a coat of clear polish, daintily held the stem of the champagne flute. She brought the glass to her lips and sipped, and his dick jerked as he remembered how those beautiful lips looked locked around his straining cock.

Languidly, she licked a drop of wine from her bottom lip. He about came in his pants.

“I think we should go back to the hotel,” he said in a husky whisper.

Her lashes fluttered as she took another slow sip. “But I’m enjoying this.”

“I’ll buy you a case of Cristal. Please, baby, you’re killing me.”

Grinning, she set the glass down and under the table she placed her hand on his thigh very near the straining head of his dick. “You’re going to have to exhibit a little self-control.”

He grasped her hand and squeezed it, then moved it back to her lap. Her pink lips pouted in disappointment. “I have no self-control when it comes to you.” He tossed back the champagne. He needed to focus on something other than how quickly he could get her back to the room. “Tell me more about you. What did you do before Surf’s Up?”

“I was in school.” As she answered, a group of the men who had been dining inside barged into the patio dining area. Flynn stiffened as they approached.

“There’s a table over there,” the loudest of the dozen said, pointing to the empty one nearest theirs.

No way was he going to subject Pink to their drunken revelry. Flynn leaned into her and said, “We need to go.”

“But—”

“Now.” He stood and offered her his hand. Setting down the glass, she gathered her purse, and smoothing her skirt as she stood, she slipped her hand into his.

As he guided her around the group of oncoming men, one bumped into his shoulder and another into Pink. Flynn shoved the drunk aside. “Watch where you’re going,” he snarled. He was in no mood for a bunch of drunken ass-hats getting near Pink.

The guy stepped back, and gave Flynn a salute, but his eyes raked Pink from head to toe.  His eyes narrowed as he looked hard at her, then at her chest, then back to her face. Recognition dawned. Flynn cursed and moved in front of Pink.

“Hey, guys!” the asshole yelled. “Look who’s here! The Surf’s Up’s top tits!”

Pink made a sound reminiscent of a trapped animal. He pulled her in closer. Color leached from her stricken face. Her eyes widened in shock. Fury boiled deep within him.

“Flynn—I—” she started. Hooting and howling ensued, drowning out her words, and suddenly they were surrounded by a rowdy group of dollar-bill-waving schmucks.

“Best set of tits in California!” one of the guys yelled, pushing his way from the back.  Wrapping Pink protectively in his right arm, Flynn began to elbow their way from the group.

“How much, Wild Style?” the guy from the back called as he came pushing through the crowd, waving a wad of cash in his right hand like he was already the victor. Flynn knew the type. Entitled executive who lived by the “If-I-can’t-bully-it-my-way-I’ll-buy-it” code. “A thousand bucks, Tits, if you give me what you’re giving—”

Something deep, dark, and feral snapped inside of Flynn. All he wanted was to kill the guy. To shut him up, to rip his fucking eyeballs out of his head. That a man like this had seen Pink’s body the way Flynn had, infuriated him. Motherfucker was going to die tonight.

The guy never finished his sentence. Flynn punched him so hard in the face he felt the crunch of the guy’s cartilage vibrate through his knuckles. The velocity of the hit knocked the asshole off his feet and into his stunned buddies. With Pink still wrapped tight in his right arm, violence raged in his blood as he turned back to the suddenly quiet group. “Anyone else have something to say?”

Collectively the group shook their heads.

“Good.”

Flynn tightened his arm around Pink and steered her out of the restaurant.

The men parted, but the catcalling resumed the minute they took their first step, followed by a hailstorm of dollar bills. Livid, wanting to tear each asshole into pieces, but wanting to get Pink out of harm’s way more, Flynn kept walking. Her little body trembled, but she didn’t shrink away. She had her fight face on now. She stood tall, chin up, and moved quickly with Flynn through the rubbernecking crowd. As they came to the hostess stand, he took out his wallet, threw a bunch of bills down and told the girl where they’d been sitting, and kept going, steering Pink to the car. By the time they reached it, she was shivering violently.

Unlocking the door, he put her in her seat, slammed the door shut, and walked angrily around to the driver side door, but when he reached for it, he stopped.

He banged his hands down on the hood. “Damn it!” This was exactly what he didn’t want to happen. It wouldn’t matter where they went in the Bay Area, there was bound to be some smarmy bastard who’d seen her tits. He didn’t have a problem defending her honor, he’d take on an Army if he had to, but damn it, this was bullshit!

Was that how it was going to be? He’d take her somewhere and her tits would get recognized?  He jerked away from the car when a sudden realization hit him. She’d told him that last night was her first night actually stripping. Asshole and his cronies weren’t at the private party last night. Which meant—he was as much of a schmuck as his old man. She’d lied to him. If she was lying about that…

He yanked open the car door and slid in. Starting the car, he gave it gas and peeled out of the parking lot.

White-knuckled, he grasped the steering wheel. He knew he was driving too fast, but he also knew he was highly trained.

“Please slow down, you’re scaring me.”

Jaw set, he let off the gas.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

He turned furious eyes on her. “For what?”

“For our dinner being ruined.”

“How about being sorry for lying to me?”

“I haven’t lied to you about anything!”

He shook his head. “Another lie.”

Leaning toward him, she said, “Be specific, Flynn, what is it that you think I’ve lied to you about?”

“About how cocktailing didn’t involve showing your tits off for a dollar.” He grasped the steering wheel tighter. “Motherfucker!” Flynn yelled. “If you hadn’t flashed your tits for a few lousy bucks at any guy who’ll stick a dollar in your panties, that never would have happened.”