stare at her back.
The jazz band sounded great, and everyone appeared lively and festive. She was glad Shana had ditched the idea of a small wedding and had gone all out. She deserved it. Like Jules had told her sister, she wouldnât be the first pregnant bride or the last. Besides, few people knew about her sisterâs condition, and frankly, it wasnât any of their business.
âNice band, isnât it?â
Jules froze. She cut her gaze away from the musicians to the man whoâd come to stand beside her. The rough, manly texture of his voice grazed her insides, suddenly making her feel so hot that she was tempted to fan herself. His eyes were penetrating, and it felt as if he were looking at her naked. Sheâd never felt self-conscious about anything she wore; she liked dressing up and showing off her body. Knowing she looked desirable to a man was no big deal to her. But not with this man. She didnât need or want his attention.
âThe day is almost over,â he added after getting no response from her. His voice had shifted to a smooth yet husky tone, sending shivers up her arm. âWe pulled it off, being on our best behavior and all, so I thought Iâd come over and say hello.â
She was tempted to tell him what he could do with his hello. Instead, she took a sip of her wine to help fight off the sensuous dominance radiating off him. It took every ounce of fortitude she had to hold his gaze, pretending nonchalance when she was so aware of him. Her bodyâs reaction to him made her livid with him as well as with herself. âI canât believe your audacity,â she said in a low, cutting tone.
His smile was slow and seductive. âYeah, I do have balls, donât I?â
Now why did he go there?
Her gaze lowered to the area below his well-proportioned waist. He had an incredible masculine build that not only made her speculate about his balls but also about every single inch of him. She snatched her focus back to his face and watched his eyes darken at the same time his mouth spread into one of those
gotcha
smiles. Heâd realized what sheâd been thinking when her gaze had dropped.
âLook, Dalton,â she said in a stern voice, while trying not to make a scene. âIn case you havenât figured it out yet, I donât like you.â
He chuckled, and instead of irking her, the sound sent a small quiver humming up her spine. âThen that makes us even, Jules, because I donât like you, either.â
* * *
Although he might not like her, he did want her, Dalton admitted, staring at her with an intensity he hoped she found unnerving. He could envision all the things he would do to her if he ever got the chance. She was the cause of many sleepless nights and the loss of his peace of mind. Even worse, she was stopping him from desiring other women. Whenever he saw Jules, her level of femininity struck a blow to his libido, mainly because what he saw in her was something he would never get.
Bullshit.
He refused to acknowledge she was different from any other woman he saw, wanted and got. He knew women, could read them like a book. Although he would be the first to admit there were a few of Julesâs chapters heâd rather skip. The bottom line was that she wanted him, probably just as much as he wanted her. She could pretend otherwise. She could fight it. She could even deny it. But a womanâs scent didnât lie. She wore Amarige like no other woman, and the way it mingled with her bodyâs chemistry was so damned mind-blowingly hot, like some aphrodisiac that was drugging him senseless, making him act like a boor when he should be a gentleman. It was revving up his sexual awareness of her, and he was convinced the feeling was mutual.
âSince our total dislike for each other has been established, why are you here, in my face?â she asked, cutting into his thoughts like a sharp knife.
She hadnât seen