His to Take (Wicked Lovers #9)(9)
Author: Shayla Black

Joaquin cased the place. Because the house was older, it didn’t have a walk-in pantry or closet he could slip into. Nor did Bailey’s place have a living room in the normal sense of the words. What it did have, however, was two walls of mirrors, gleaming hardwood floors, and a ballet barre.

The woman liked her dance. He’d never been to a ballet. Neither of his sisters had been into that sort of thing. His sister Mari had been a volleyball player. His mother had enrolled Kata for a time, but his younger sister had preferred to be one of the guys. Football, softball, soccer, even lacrosse . . . If Joaquin played a sport, Kata had joined in.

A jangling noise alerted Joaquin that someone had unlocked the front door. He dove into a floor-to-ceiling armoire Bailey had set up in one corner of the space and arranged himself around some ragged toe shoes, a few leotards, some tulle-like things, and a musty collection of old playbills from past ballets in a box.

Just as he settled with his knees somewhere near his throat, he heard a commotion at the front door. It opened, shut. Keys clattered onto a nearby surface.

“Blane, don’t be that way,” the voice said. “You know I love you.”

Joaquin couldn’t hear what the voice on the other end of the phone said, but Bailey laughed. “Of course no one is more wonderful than you. Didn’t I follow you around like a puppy when we first met? I tell you all the time how incredible you are.”

She paused, and Joaquin heard her footsteps drawing closer. The rustle of plastic told him that she had set a bag on the counter of the kitchen, which was open to her dance room. He leaned around in the cabinet until he caught a glimpse of her through the tiny sliver of space between the armoire doors.

Bingo!

Bailey Benson appeared, phone pressed to her ear, wearing a smile and a pair of killer dimples. She looked so fresh-faced, with rosy cheeks and her light brown hair in a loose bun. Wavy tendrils caressed her neck. He’d never seen a woman with such delicate shoulders and hands. Her fair skin would surely bruise easily. Even when she extracted apples from her grocery sack, the movements were graceful. He could look at a girl like her all day long.

Blood rushed to his cock like a flood, and he gritted his teeth. A man would have to be careful with a woman like that beneath him. He definitely liked sex physical and a little rough. Breaking her would be too easy.

He shoved the thought aside, reminding himself that he wasn’t here to get Bailey into bed, but to save her. Because if this asshole Joaquin chased managed to abduct and torture her, he would be far more than a little rough.

A protective surge punched Joaquin in the gut.

“Aww, come on,” she crooned into the phone, pursing a full pair of lips that he could imagine plump and rosy and wrapped around him as she sucked him deep. “It’ll be great. You’re gorgeous, Blane. We do hot and sweaty really well together. You know it.”

Well, hell. She was talking to her boyfriend about sex. Joaquin didn’t poach, and getting excited about some girl into another guy wasn’t his speed. The fact that he currently spied on her through her armoire doors made him feel like a pervy letch. He shook his head.

She giggled. Her blue eyes sparkled. Fuck, she really was gorgeous. Then again, he shouldn’t be surprised. She was young, blue-eyed, and nubile. And despite her conversation, she had a startling air of innocence.

“All right. I’ll wait until tomorrow night. You’re terrible to string a girl along and leave her panting, you know?”

The douche on the other end had turned down sex with her? Scratch that. That guy wasn’t a douche, but a complete fidiot.

Bailey laughed, then hung up. She finished putting away her groceries, then stashed her purse on the kitchen counter and made her way to the open space of her dance studio. As she bent to retrieve a pair of toe shoes scattered on the floor, Joaquin got his first look at her form south of her shoulders.

Holy fuck, what a pretty thing. She wore some sort of gray spandex dance garment that covered her from shoulders to ankles yet revealed every dip and slight swell of her body. Along with the delicate shoulders, she had pert breasts that curved her leotard gracefully. Her narrow rib cage funneled down to an even smaller waist. The slight flare of her hips was just enough to be feminine. Firm thighs, muscled calves, and tiny feet that looked even smaller in those torture chamber shoes.

The woman weighed about a hundred pounds. She wasn’t tall. God, had he ever even kissed a girl that fragile? No. But her lips looked like the least delicate part of her, pink and puffed. Soft. Sex ready.

Shit, the thought made him even harder.

As soon as Bailey finished lacing up her shoes, she ran back and grabbed her phone, then flipped through her playlists and chose a song. She set the phone down and struck a pose. Classical music filled the room, and she danced like a butterfly, flitting, floating. She looked so light. The woman came damn close to defying gravity. How could anyone stay in the air that long with her legs in the splits? How could anyone turn on the tips of her toes seven or eight times like that without losing her balance, getting dizzy, or throwing up?