Dirty Kisses Read Free Page A

Madden is a dangerous kind of sexy, and both my lady parts and me are well aware I’d better stay away.
    A group of perfumed coeds strut by, each one in a tight little dress that screams FU to any arrant big brother who might be floating around. I glance back in time to catch Jet’s eyes outlining the bevy of creamy thighs, and my stomach bottoms out like a stone.
    “Anyway.” I scoot to the lip of my seat. “She just might gravitate to a pole for all you know, so give her some breathing room before you suffocate the poor girl.”
    The lights from above hit him just right, and his eyes shine like the sea on a clear blue morning. “I’ve seen you hit the stage enough to know you don’t use the pole.” His gaze rides over my features as he bites down onto his bottom lip.
    Jet Madden is inspecting me as if I were a juicy Friday night special.
    “You can stop with the I’m-going-to-make-you-come-hither look on your face. I’m not in the meat market, thank you very much.”
    “What?” His head inches back as if I’ve offered up an emotional slap. “Save the come hither speak for your class on Shakespeare— sweetheart .” He frowns a moment, and a set of deeply welled dimples dig into either side of his cheeks. My stomach boils with fire at the sight of them. Holy hell, I’ve always been a sucker for a bad boy with dimples. My eyes fall over those inked up arms, that expansive chest. A tiny part of me demands that I lift his T-shirt and inspect the damage, but I refuse to fall into the mattress trap those bedroom eyes of his are trying to lure me into. Jet Madden can deny it all he wants, but that boy is begging to taste unchartered territory, and, considering he’s bedded every female in a three-school radius, my friends withstanding, I would be the unchartered territory in question.
    “So, are you coming to the club tonight?” I steal a fry off his plate, and he doesn’t blink. Apparently, potato theft is the only way I’m going to catch a meal this evening.
    I’ve seen Jet in Stilettos more than just about any of the regulars. He’s usually seated at the bar, brooding and angry—always leaving with a prospect for the night, which makes me that much more inspired to stitch my legs together whenever he’s around. For as much as our friends have hinted that we should be together, we seem to repel one another more than we attract. Besides, I’m happy just being me, and Jet seems happy screwing every girl that’s not me.
    He gives a gentle bob of the head as if agreeing to my silent soliloquy. “Now that I’m off little sister duty, I am coming to the club tonight.”
    “Sister duty.” I shudder at how primal it sounds. “She’s going to hate you,” I tease. “And then, she’s going to date an entire biker gang just to watch the steam come from your ears. Twelve biker gangs!”
    “Whoa.” He winces, and something about that self-deprecating facial maneuver makes my insides go swirly as if I were on some demonic inspired carnival ride. “Please, don’t curse me.”
    “Why is that a curse? Don’t you date the female equivalent of a bad boy? What’s fair is fair. If you get to bed every coed with a slutty pulse, I don’t see why frat boys are off limits to sweet little Lucky.”
    “She is sweet.” He leans in, those fiery eyes bearing into mine with both a sadness and a softness embedded in them. “And she’s my only little sister. I want her safe, protected, and, for the love of God, not anywhere near a biker gang.” His gaze rides over my hair, my features, and I can feel the weight of his stare as if it were leaded. “I’m sure your brothers feel the same.” He gives a slight nod, dragging those ocean baby blues over mine. “About the, you know, dancing.”
    I jump in my seat a moment. “Are you judging me ?”
    “No, I’m not judging you.” His eyes narrow in on mine once again, and I can feel the heat radiating from his stare, the powerful magnetism that must reel the girls