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The wind caught Jennifer Lopez’s skirt and forced it up over her hips, for a moment showing off her delicious ass, the thick cheeks utterly swallowing up her thong underwear. Grant could only tell it was there because of the waistband and a narrow strip of fabric that made it only inches between her buttocks before disappearing into their rotund plunge.

He knew good ass and this was one magnificent helping of flesh. It stunned him—so damn smooth, round, and fully proportioned that he wouldn’t have been surprised if it was on some teenage beauty queen. It being on a woman old enough to be his mother was like a miracle. He stared, committed her ass to memory like he’d come along some sample of expensive ivory worked into a masterpiece by a sculptor who’d chipped away everything that wasn’t perfect.

Jennifer whirled, embarrassment showing on her face even as she spotted the leering look Grant wore. Her new director was still in his twenties and attractive, with his height and trimness and dark hair, his warmly sensual brown eyes, but she still felt obliged to put him in his place. “Enjoy the show?” she demanded.

He showed no sign of being flustered by her verbal jab. “Absolutely. You know you have one of the best asses on the planet.”

Now it was Jennifer’s turn to be flustered, and unlike Grant, she couldn’t shrug it off so easily. She was an old-fashioned girl; machismo appealed to her a lot more than ‘emotional vulnerability’ and obsequious displays of fawning. She wondered if Grant was just putting up a front or if he really was as masculine as he came across.

She challenged him further: “I do, do I? You’re some ass afficionado, then?”

“No, I’m more of a breast man,” Grant replied smoothly. “Except when it comes to you. An ass like that makes anything else pale in comparison. Not that there’s any shortcomings in the rest of you. But that ass is just something else…”

“You like it then?” Jennifer cooed, a huskiness in her voice. She was aware, on some level, that she wasn’t challenging Grant anymore, but soliciting more of his aggressive, almost offensive interest in her. Which, though it had been a while for her, tended to be seen as flirting…

Grant actually reached out and grasped her skirt, teasingly lifting it up, but only a few inches, enough to see her knees. Jennifer swallowed as she realized she had let him—perhaps even hoped he would go further.

“I like it,” he agreed. “In fact, I almost like it too much.”

“Too much?” Jennifer asked. She felt a little faint. Blood rushing through her body. This bastard was actually pursuing her, courting her, hunting her down to make the kill. It’d been a long time since anyone’d had the balls to outright try and seduce her, but it was a good feeling, a heady feeling.