The Sex Diet. Rhonda Nelson
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bathroom when she’d gone to change, her slim shoulders were growing slightly pink.
Which seemed appropriate—then her whole body would match that pink barely there bikini and she’d be giving the illusion of being nude.
Which she more or less was to him and any other man who looked at her.
Hank mentally whistled. God, what a body. Who would have ever thought that a little weight would have made such a difference? And she’d gained every bit of it in all the right places—her breasts, her hips and her ass. She’d filled out and had a perfect petite hourglass figure. He wanted to wrap that red curly strand of hair presently swishing across her cheek around his finger, tug her closer, breathe in that fruity lust-provoking scent and kiss those sexy smiling lips.
Hank was no stranger to lust, knew what the sharp tug felt like. But this was no regular tug—it was an all-consuming yank mixed with a disturbingly tender emotion he didn’t readily recognize and he’d never once associated with sex. It was a warning, he knew, a sensation he’d only experienced with Sam, and all the more reason he’d make sure to keep his libido in check.
But what in the hell was he going to do? he wondered, blindsided with another wave of helpless, frustrated panic. He couldn’t just sit by and watch those bastards flirt with her. He could practically see her sizing them up, figuring out which one would best serve her purposes—which one would wear an extra-large condom, Hank thought darkly—basking in their attention.
She looked completely at ease, too, not the least bit shy or overwhelmed by all the attention. She dipped a shrimp in cocktail sauce, blithely popped it into her mouth, tossed her head back and laughed at something one of the men said. Something niggled at him, a thought played hide-and-seek in his brain, but he didn’t have time to chase it. He had other pressing thoughts to consider—like how to keep her in his bed and out of someone else’s.
Hank scowled. By the looks of it, she was thoroughly enjoying herself and if he didn’t come up with some sort of plan soon, she’d undoubtedly double-time it to the room, snag her handy stash of condoms and join one of these jerks in his room tonight. She’d be having sex. In his house. And it wouldn’t be with him.
His brain cramped at the thought.
He couldn’t allow that to happen.
He could not.
She’d used their friendship to finagle her way into his room, Hank thought, more than marginally annoyed now that he knew why she’d been so desperate to stay. Since she’d used that ploy first, Hank decided he wouldn’t have any compunction about using that same friendship to keep her there.
He grinned. For starters, a let’s-catch-up-on-old-times dinner would be in order.
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