She was impressive, driven, brilliant, and assertive. And she was gorgeous. I mean, goddamn stunning. Always dolled up and dressed for the occasion in a way that screamed high maintenance, but so very worth it. Which was why her choice in husband had never made sense.
Point was, this was a quality woman. Don’t misunderstand; there are many types of quality women. It was a spectrum, I reckoned. A recipe. This town had had its fair share, from the low maintenance, sweet natured kind like Bethany Winston and Janet James to the high maintenance, ambitious, cut-throat kind like Dolly Payton and Diane Donner, with the latter being precisely my type. Very, very much my type.
I, being an intelligent man, had learned to avoid my type decades ago.
Rubbing the beard covering my chin, I considered this high-quality woman who checked all my boxes like she’d been custom ordered just for me. This was a respectable woman acting not at all respectable. Again, don’t misunderstand. I liked what she had on tonight. If we’d been alone instead of in this room with my compatriots in crime, I’d have thoroughly enjoyed the moment. But with so many eyes looking their fill (and making plans should she lose interest in my company), I would’ve preferred her in a pantsuit and wool coat.
She also happened to be the mother of our most promising recruit in a decade. Thankfully, he was gone on assignment for a few weeks. I do not want him hearing about this later. Not just that, but her daughter was involved with Cletus Winston; he was not someone I ever looked forward to tangling with, but who would definitely consider any interaction between me and Diane Donner a tangle.
So, what did I want to call her?
“How about . . .”
“What?” she pressed when I didn’t finish the thought, scooting to the edge of her seat.
I poked my tongue at the corner of my mouth, admiring the color on hers. I couldn’t call her Gorgeous, not if I wanted her to leave soon. Which I did.
Her smile widened slowly, showcasing a row of perfect, pretty teeth, and she leaned forward, uncrossing her arms to place a hand on my thigh. “Don’t be shy.”
Despite myself, I chuckled. “I’m not shy.” The heat of her palm was an impossible temptation.
“You’re acting shy.” Her eyes danced.
Is Diane Donner . . . flirting? With me? The thought struck me as absurd, but it still struck me.
Half-lidded, I gazed at her, irritated with myself for grinning, yet unable to stop. She was . . . wish fulfilment. That’s what she was. A fantasy, like she’d stepped out of my dreams. Believe me, over the last twenty years, catching glimpses of Diane Donner from afar, I’d had plenty. But I’d never made the mistake of entertaining any. I knew my place.
Except, here she is. The noise of crude conversation around us faded, as did the smell of beer and smoke and the sight of my brothers.
I also leaned forward, whispering conspiratorially, “I guess I’m a little shy.”
Now she laughed, looking delighted, and her pleasure cast a spell. “Mr. Repo, what can I do to put you at ease? You know, contrary to what people say about me, I don’t bite.”
I clicked my tongue, acting mock disappointed. “That’s too bad.”
She laughed again, her hand moving higher up my leg. I glanced down at her pink fingernails on the black fabric. She had such small hands. They looked soft, delicate. If this had truly been one of my fantasies, we’d be at an expensive restaurant, or a penthouse apartment. Not this shit bar surrounded by lost boys. You used to be a lost boy, not so long ago.
When I looked up, her eyes were on me and she held a drink. A large, sparkling clean glass of clear liquid with two olives on a toothpick. A toothpick was as extravagant as Burro got.
She took a gulp—not a sip, a gulp—watching me over the rim, her eyes warm with interest. “You know—” She licked her lips of the liquor, not wincing at the burn as she swallowed, which made me wonder if Burro had given her water instead of vodka or if she’d already been drinking before walking in. “I’ve always wondered something about you.”
“What’s that?” I leaned my elbow on the bar next to us, drawing my index finger along my bottom lip as I stared at hers, ignoring the voice in the back of my head screaming at me to get her out of the bar. She was already here, a rare opportunity. What could be the harm in another few minutes? Then, I’ll make her leave.
“I know who you are. I’ve seen you around town lots of times,” she said, angling her chin again. “I came in here tonight looking for you.”
“Is that so?” I inclined my head, surprised. Louisa, my daughter’s birth mother, had always said people like me were invisible to people like Diane Donner, and her family, and the society she kept, with their fine manners and big houses and legitimate bank accounts.
“That is so,” she said, parroting my words, her gaze growing intense, determined. “You’re hard to ignore, Mr. Repo, even though you do your best to hide in plain sight. You’re too tall, your features too striking. And, you know, every time I see you, I wonder . . .” After a moment of hesitation, her gaze seemed to firm. Using her grip on my thigh to leverage herself, Diane leaned forward until her lips were against my ear. “I’ve always wondered what it would be like to fuck you.”
The words sent a spike of heat straight down my spine and I needed a moment. Automatically, my hand lifted to the curve of her lower back, keeping her in place. Blood pumped hot and thick as the scent of her expensive perfume mixed with the meaning and implied invitation of her statement. She lifted just her head, her lips maybe two inches away, her eyes coming to mine and holding a prideful dare as she waited for me to respond.
I studied her, smelling no alcohol on her breath. Her eyes were bright and she was steady. She looked sober, she was here for me, this was premeditated, and I’d be lying if I said every instinct didn’t tell me to toss her over my shoulder, take her to one of my rooms, and give her exactly what she was asking for. She was thirsty for my cock? I’d be happy to feed it to her all night.
Except . . .
Despite the thrill of such filthy words coming from her respectable mouth, despite the fact that this was a woman I’d often fantasized about and in this moment was every one of those fantasies come true, better judgement had me pausing. Thinking. Considering. Weighing.
I would have absolutely no regrets in the morning. I’d happily take this one night and I’d make damn sure she had no complaints. She’d roll out of here with a smile on her face.
But after leaving with a smile, I suspected this moment and everything that might come after would be a source of shame for her. Women like Diane weren’t raised to enjoy sex. They were raised feel shame if they did. Fact was, she probably came in the bar hoping for mistreatment, wanting to be used. Otherwise, why would she be here? Why seek out someone like me?
I wouldn’t mistreat her, ever. I’d be a gentle as a saint—a horny saint, yet still a saint—but it wouldn’t matter. I’d be a dark stain on her glowing record of perfect choices. A regret. I’d sworn long ago to never be a regret for another woman ever again.
Tunnel vision receded as I shoved away the intensely carnal, but ultimately futile longing. Our surroundings came into sharp focus once more. Gears still watched me—us. So did Catfish and Drill. In fact, most of my brethren were sneaking glances, some more obvious and bold with their inspections than others. Behind Diane, King and Grizz were checking out her ass, and Chuck seemed like he was working himself up to come over, should the lady shoot me down or vice versa.