The next week passed in a haze of heated glances and growing tension. Delilah knew exactly what she was doing. Every night Jax came in, she wore her shortest black skirt and the tightest tank top she owned. The fabric hugged her heavy breasts, and when she leaned over the bar to pour his whiskey, she made sure he got a long look down her cleavage. Her n*****s would harden under his stare, pressing visibly against the thin material.
Jax noticed. He always noticed. He started showing up earlier, taking the same stool at the end of the bar, his dark eyes following her every move. He ordered drinks slowly, his rough voice low when he thanked her. Sometimes his hand would brush hers when she slid the glass over. That small touch sent heat straight between her legs.
By Wednesday, the teasing f
