I stared at the screen, jaw tight, as Kayla did another slow spin in the red dress. The way it hugged her ass—tight, obscene, riding up just enough to show the bottom curve of her cheeks—made something hot and possessive twist low in my gut.
"Wait," I said, voice rougher than I meant it to be. "Are you really going to wear one of those? Nah. Pick another one."
Kayla stopped mid-turn, one eyebrow lifting slowly. A knowing little smile curled her lips.
"Ohhh," she drawled, dragging the word out. "Jealous, baby?"
I didn't answer right away. Just swallowed, eyes locked on the phone screen propped against the dash.
She laughed—soft, teasing, delighted—and stepped closer to the camera so her face filled half the frame, cleavage spilling forward in the halter neckline.
"You don't want me going out looking like this?" she asked, voice dropping to that husky whisper she knew drove me crazy. "Don't want other guys seeing how good my ass looks in this dress?"
