Teirney Medeiros's Page

He leaned down, whispered, “Are you following me? Is this part of your job?”
Ivory pressed back against him, her back meeting the soft cotton of his black t-shirt. His jeans abraded the back of her thighs. “I’m here with a friend.”
He smirked. “Right.”
A spark of anger ignited in her stomach. “How dare you assume I would follow you? What makes you think I would want to?”
Jax pressed her harder against his body, his fingers digging into her hips bones, bunching the material in his fists. “Think your dress is short enough?”
Ivory bit back a retort, the sexual tension caused by his raw power and the inducing music tumbled through her mind, creating a frisson of excitement. She liked fighting with him, to push him, break that veneer of deadly calm he wore like a shield.
“No, it’s not,” she said in reference to her black ensemble.
“I didn’t think you owned anything that gave away the fact you have assets, Ivory,” he growled in her hear. He hands wandered up her rib cage, just below her breasts; she felt shame infuse her high at how much she wanted his hands on her body. She was addicted to him. A stranger. A killer.