Kissing Jenna (The Big Sky Series Book 2)

by Kristen Proby

Keeley hits and holds a growly high note that demands my attention. Her voice sneaks behind my fly and wraps around my cock. Her puffy lips are mobile and soft. Her dress exaggerates the womanly curve of her hips, which she swings as she roars out the last note.

  I might have thought I wouldn’t look at her twice, but that’s bullshit. I could definitely listen to her for hours. And I think I could do her all night long.

  As her final note trails off, the applause is even louder, like the audience has realized she’s pretty damn amazing.

  She blushes as she laughs off our reaction. Her smile quickly proves to be the most beautiful thing about her. White, blinding, real. She’s enjoying the crowd and yet seems almost surprised by their enthusiasm.

  With a swing of her long pink hair, her curls catch the light, then fall gracefully over her shoulders. She shrugs at her guitar player, an old man who looks impressed.

  “This will be our last song for the set. If you have requests, write them down and leave them in the jar.” She points to the clear vessel at her feet. “We’ll be back to play in thirty. If you have a dirty proposition, I’ll entertain them at the bar in five.” She says the words like she’s kidding.

  I, however, am serious. In fact, I’m really pondering this whole situation.

  Keeley starts her next song, a more recent pop tune. In a breathy, a cappella murmur she admits that she can’t keep her hands to herself no matter how hard she’s trying to.

  Personally, I’d rather she didn’t try at all.

  She taps her thigh in a rhythm only she can hear until the band joins during the crescendo to the chorus. Keeley bounces her way through the lyrics with a flirty smile. It’s both alluring and fun, a tease of a song.

  Though I rarely smile, I find myself grinning along.

  As she finishes, I glance around. There’s more than one hungry dog with a bone in this damn bar.

  I didn’t get ahead in business or life by being polite or waiting my turn. She hasn’t even wrapped her vocal cords around the last note, but I’m on my feet and charging across the room.

  I’m the first one to reach the corner of the bar closest to the stage. I prop my elbow on the slightly sticky wood to claim my territory, then glare back at the three other men who think they should end Keeley’s supposed sex drought. They are not watering her garden, and my snarl makes that clear.

  One sees my face, stops in his tracks, and immediately backs off. Smart man.

  Number Two looks like a smarmy car salesman. He rakes Keeley up and down with his gaze like she’s a slab of beef, but she’s flirting my way as she tucks her mic on its stand. Our eyes meet. I smile back.

  She may not be my usual type, but the attraction is real. Man, I’d love to hit that.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I watch the approaching dirtbag finger his porn ’stache. To stake my claim, I reach out to help Keeley off the stage. She looks pleasantly surprised by my gesture as she wraps her fingers around mine.

  I can be a gentleman…when it suits me.

  Fuck, she’s warm and velvety, and her touch makes my cock jolt. Her second would-be one-night stand curses, then slinks back to his seat.

  That leaves me to fend off Number Three. He looks like a WWE reject—hulking and hit in the face too many times. If she prefers brawn over brains, I’ll have to find another D-cup distraction for Griff.

  That would truly suck. My gut tells me that Keeley, with a little sprucing up, will be perfect for the job.

  “Get lost,” I mutter to the steroid junkie.

  “You gonna make me?” he challenges, all but baring his teeth.

  “No,” Keeley murmurs, her voice husky and assured. “I’m going to tell you I’ve found someone else I’d like to get to know and ask you nicely to leave us in peace.”

  “Baby, if you want to end your drought”—he cups his junk—“I’ve got nine inches of what you need.”

  She raises an auburn brow at him. “First, no means no, and if you haven’t learned that, I don’t want anything to do with you. Second, it sounds like you’ve measured your penis. That kind of guy usually exaggerates, so reality is probably more like five inches. Maybe five and a quarter if I’m being generous. Either way—”

  “That’s not fucking true. My cock is massive.” He sidles closer. “Come with me and I’ll show you.”

  She brushes his hands away and grips the hell out of his balls. His eyes bug out, but she keeps talking with an almost pleasant smile. “I have no interest in seeing it when you’re too rude to know that you shouldn’t interrupt someone, much less how to bow out gracefully. Also, I’m a grown-ass woman. Don’t call me baby.”

  “Okay,” Hulk squeaks.

  I manage not to laugh aloud—barely. He’s a foot taller and outweighs her by a hundred pounds, but she’s got his full attention.

  “Now turn your ass around and find your seat.”

  She pries her fingers off his nuts but leaves them hovering right there in case he decides to get another case of the stalker-creepies. But Hulk Moron finally rubs two brain cells together and backs away, cupping his junk. He’s either too cautious or too sore to turn his back on her. When he reaches his table, his buddies are all ribbing him as they rise and laugh their way out the door.

  “I’m not sure whether I should be afraid or impressed,” I flirt her way. “If you treat all new guys to that patented ball-busting maneuver, your drought isn’t really the surprise I imagined when you first mentioned it.”

  Keeley shakes her head, grinning wide. “I know his type. I grew up in a rough neighborhood with macho guys like him. They only understand a few things. Potentially being a eunuch is one of them.” She thrusts out her hand. “Keeley.”

  “Maxon.” I shake her hand, more as an excuse to touch her again. There’s still an electric arc between us. A jolt. My blood turns hot. This girl has something. “Can I buy you a drink?”

  “Sure. Crown and Coke.” She rubs her hands together nervously.

  Nice that I get to her. I shouldn’t be the only one trying to keep my cool intact.

  As I watch her, I spot a tattoo of a musical note on the inside of her wrist. Small and pretty. Feminine but interesting. Does she have more ink? It’s not something I usually like on a woman—mostly because I’m not into anything permanent—but this seems to fit Keeley.

  “Is that okay?” she asks.

  Damn it, my thoughts have been drifting. “Absolutely. I was mentally exploring the ways I might suggest we end your ‘drought.’ Want to hear my ideas?”

  “Not before booze and my next set. After that, if you’re still here and interesting…then I just might.”