toward the bar. For just a moment something twisted in my belly as I remembered the blond with her legs wrapped around Gary’s hips—
Someone grabbed my ass.
I swung around to face a cocky-looking college-aged kid. The smile I gave him had his expression turning from cocky to “oh, crap,” in a second. I moved close and murmured. ‘Touch me again and your balls will be in your throat.”
One second flat and he was gone.
I enjoyed being a petite package that most people underestimated. I’d taken down men as big as Donovan, as well as big flabby SOBs with guts the size of Rhode Island. Papa had put me in jujitsu classes after Rick Larson knocked out my front tooth when I was eight. Let’s just say that, after a few lessons, Rick never came near me again. At least not until we dated our senior year in high school. He grew up to be hot.
I never stopped my training, so under my belt was around twenty-three years of jujitsu, as well as experience with all the forms of weaponry I’d excelled with in Special Forces. Not only did I work out with weights, but my routine included boxing, sparring, and jogging when I wasn’t deep undercover. I could do a hell of a job of protecting myself and kicking ass.
But tonight I would be playing the part of a submissive and I kept my expression sultry as I turned away from him.
My lips wanted to twist into a scowl at the thought of being submissive to anyone.
And that “anyone” was going to be Nick Donovan if everything went as planned.
The strange tingling in by belly caught me off guard. A flash of Donovan and me naked, with him sliding inside me almost made me falter in my three-inch heels. A shiver strobed through me, as intense as the lights flashing over the dance floor. I responded by straightening my spine as I moved toward the bar.
I walked like a woman who knew what she wanted and how to get it. I made a discreet sweep of the room with my gaze. With my countless years of training and instinct, I knew approximately how many people were in the bar; the number of bouncers—and had a good idea how many of them were armed; the best route to the front and back exits; common items that would make good weapons in a down-and-dirty fight; and which men were likely to come on to me before I located my prey. Lots of other little things I also filed away in my memory.
I eased onto the soft calfskin-leather bar seat and crossed my leg with the cuff clearly visible. My legs felt silky and soft from the wax job I’d had earlier today. The short skirt hiked up just enough that air cooled the skin where the movement revealed the bottom curve of one bare cheek. “Lemon drop.” I leaned forward and smiled at the bartender, exposing more cleavage. “Sugar on the rim.” “You’ve got it, babe.” In a few moments, the bartender set the martini on a cocktail napkin. ‘Tab?”
The sugar around the rim was tart and sweet as I raised it to my mouth, took a sip, then smiled at him. “Please.” My manicured fingernails grazed the rich wood of the mahogany-and-granite bar as I pushed away just enough to turn slightly and survey the room beneath my lashes. I wondered how long it would take Lucca Tarantino to find me and escort me back to the Inner Circle. And I wondered how many men would approach me before Tarantino did.
Music pounded loud enough to vibrate the stool where I perched. The lemon scent of the martini as I sipped blocked out some of the smells that had hit me when I walked into the place.
After each tiny sip I slowly licked the sugar off my lower lip. It wasn’t long before the first sucker approached me and I quickly dispatched him and the two who came after him. I knew who I was waiting for.
I sat there for another fifteen minutes before a tickle along my spine told me someone was approaching from behind. Finally.
This one flashed a too-white movie-star grin, and no doubt that was Versace he was wearing. He carried the light scent of a French spa cologne. Hey, I
Someone grabbed my ass.
I swung around to face a cocky-looking college-aged kid. The smile I gave him had his expression turning from cocky to “oh, crap,” in a second. I moved close and murmured. ‘Touch me again and your balls will be in your throat.”
One second flat and he was gone.
I enjoyed being a petite package that most people underestimated. I’d taken down men as big as Donovan, as well as big flabby SOBs with guts the size of Rhode Island. Papa had put me in jujitsu classes after Rick Larson knocked out my front tooth when I was eight. Let’s just say that, after a few lessons, Rick never came near me again. At least not until we dated our senior year in high school. He grew up to be hot.
I never stopped my training, so under my belt was around twenty-three years of jujitsu, as well as experience with all the forms of weaponry I’d excelled with in Special Forces. Not only did I work out with weights, but my routine included boxing, sparring, and jogging when I wasn’t deep undercover. I could do a hell of a job of protecting myself and kicking ass.
But tonight I would be playing the part of a submissive and I kept my expression sultry as I turned away from him.
My lips wanted to twist into a scowl at the thought of being submissive to anyone.
And that “anyone” was going to be Nick Donovan if everything went as planned.
The strange tingling in by belly caught me off guard. A flash of Donovan and me naked, with him sliding inside me almost made me falter in my three-inch heels. A shiver strobed through me, as intense as the lights flashing over the dance floor. I responded by straightening my spine as I moved toward the bar.
I walked like a woman who knew what she wanted and how to get it. I made a discreet sweep of the room with my gaze. With my countless years of training and instinct, I knew approximately how many people were in the bar; the number of bouncers—and had a good idea how many of them were armed; the best route to the front and back exits; common items that would make good weapons in a down-and-dirty fight; and which men were likely to come on to me before I located my prey. Lots of other little things I also filed away in my memory.
I eased onto the soft calfskin-leather bar seat and crossed my leg with the cuff clearly visible. My legs felt silky and soft from the wax job I’d had earlier today. The short skirt hiked up just enough that air cooled the skin where the movement revealed the bottom curve of one bare cheek. “Lemon drop.” I leaned forward and smiled at the bartender, exposing more cleavage. “Sugar on the rim.” “You’ve got it, babe.” In a few moments, the bartender set the martini on a cocktail napkin. ‘Tab?”
The sugar around the rim was tart and sweet as I raised it to my mouth, took a sip, then smiled at him. “Please.” My manicured fingernails grazed the rich wood of the mahogany-and-granite bar as I pushed away just enough to turn slightly and survey the room beneath my lashes. I wondered how long it would take Lucca Tarantino to find me and escort me back to the Inner Circle. And I wondered how many men would approach me before Tarantino did.
Music pounded loud enough to vibrate the stool where I perched. The lemon scent of the martini as I sipped blocked out some of the smells that had hit me when I walked into the place.
After each tiny sip I slowly licked the sugar off my lower lip. It wasn’t long before the first sucker approached me and I quickly dispatched him and the two who came after him. I knew who I was waiting for.
I sat there for another fifteen minutes before a tickle along my spine told me someone was approaching from behind. Finally.
This one flashed a too-white movie-star grin, and no doubt that was Versace he was wearing. He carried the light scent of a French spa cologne. Hey, I
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