“Name?” she asks, staring into her martini glass. I chuckle.
“What do you want it to be?” If looks could kill, I’d be doubling over in pain.
“I don’t want it to be anything. It is rude not to introduce yourself. After all, you’ve already offered the rental of your mouth and/or dick for the night without even telling me your name,” she says, grimacing. Damn. She reads between the lines better than I thought.
“I don’t rent out my body parts, Windsor. I loan my services. My name is Maverick and I do not want to loan to you. I don’t think you have a large enough down payment. Too much liability,” I tease. Her face drops. She looks surprised by my cavalier sex talk. So, she’s guarded and innocent. “So what does Windsor, who does not like to be objectified, do for a living?” I ask.
She runs her forefinger around the rim of her glass. I shift in my seat. She notices. A smile crosses her lips. “I balance risks and liabilities,” she says, tilting her head to the side. Her brown hair swings around her shoulder. I smile so she’ll continue and so I can hide the God damned lust I feel. “I’m an accountant, Maverick. A CPA. I deal with other people’s money for a living. What about you?” she asks.
Cock Polishing Assistant. The abbreviation wiggles in my mind, but the second she says what she does I’m already trying to think of what I can do to force her to see me again. The ideas are endless now that I know her profession.
She raises her eyebrows as she waits for me to tell her what I do. I think she already knows. She saw the guys I arrived with. It’s not really a secret. Just in case she really is clueless, I play the subtle card. “Oh, you know. I’m Navy,” I say, sipping on water.
She nods, smiles, and brings her lips to her glass, draining it in one large gulp. “I knew it,” she says, after taking a large breath. I raise my eyebrows. She glances over at Stone and his wife Morganna, lifting her small hand to wave in their direction.
I follow her gaze and see a stony-faced Morg. She knows I’m a womanizer. She knows my game. Windsor must be her friend. Shit. Shit. Shit. Bad news. Stone smiles and then forces Morg to kiss him, all tongue and groping hands. Only Stone has that kind of control over that wild card. I’ll have to ask him to smooth my way with Windsor. I want this and I want her more than anything I’ve wanted in a while. It confuses me and excites me at the same fucking time. A new, shiny toy.
Windsor clears her throat. “Well, I think I’ve had enough fixing for tonight.” She stands to go and I grab her wrist. She’s warm and soft against my huge calloused hand. Delicate. Fragile. Perfect for fucking. I stand in front of her, towering over her slight frame. I know the masses of easy fucks are just behind me, but I want this one. I want Windsor. I study her profile as she looks out the dancing bodies, searching for someone. Her friend? A man? The questions are endless and I feel helpless. I need to talk to her more. Her glossy lips shine in the dim lights. I want to know exactly how she can use them. On every square inch of my body.
“Number?” I ask in the same manner she asked for my name. I never get phone numbers. There’s no need. I fuck em’ and forget em’. I can’t even believe the word just came out of my mouth. I hope I don’t sound desperate. Actually, maybe it will work to my benefit if I do. This is a game, after all.
“I don’t do dates. I don’t give numbers. I work with them. Let’s not pretend this is going anywhere.” She motions between us with a swift flick of her hand. “I know what you’re after and, frankly, I’m not giving it up. Not to anyone and especially not to a Navy SEAL who shoots just as precisely with his gun as he does his dick,” she says.
I can’t help the chuckle that escapes. Humor, innocence, and guarded like Ft. Knox. She smiles over her shoulder as she walks away, her perfect ass moving in the wrong direction.
I only know a few things about this woman, but I’m left with one damn thought: Windsor wins this match, hands down. I rearrange my hard-on for the millionth time in one night. Mother fucker.
CHAPTER FOUR
Windsor
I SPENT SUNDAY sulking because I didn’t pull the damn trigger on the guy at the bar. I had him. I saw it in his eyes. He isn’t my type at all. He’s dangerous. Breaking hearts is probably one of his perfected skill sets. I should have just taken him home and beaten him at his own game. Sex and skedaddle. Hormones have completely taken over my body since coming in contact with Maverick. Horny doesn’t even begin to describe what the mere thought of him does to me. And I didn’t even see him with his shirt off!
I can’t concentrate on my computer screen in front of me because of the color of the damn numbers in my program. They are like this bluish black color, and I wonder if it’s the exact color of his tattoos. I’m sick. I don’t even think banging Garrett, the hot CPA in the office next to mine, all lunch hour would work. No. Only a Maverick or someone similar would do for my wanton needs. This is what I get for going years without sex. One sexual laced conversation with a sex God, because I know he is a sex God, and I’m a panting dog. I bet he even knows his effect on women, which makes this all the more horrible. A maybe-solution pops into my mind as I hit speed dial number four.
“Hey, Phillipe. Is Morganna super swamped? I need to talk to her,” I say. I hear the hiss of an iron and cover my giggle. He’s doing her ironing.
“Of course she’s busy, Windsor, but I’ll ask if she wants to talk to you if she isn’t screaming on her head set.” I laugh again. He remains quiet. He isn’t joking.
She picks up almost immediately. “Morganna Sterns,” she breathes in a huge rush of air. I get up to close my office door as tightly as it will go.
“I need that date you were talking about.” I cut right to the chase. No need to mince words or beat around the damn bush. That ship sailed the second Maverick asked for my phone number. “Who were you going to set me up with last night?” Please be Maverick, please be Maverick. My silent pleas are freaking pathetic and I inwardly chastise myself.
“Happy Monday to you too, Winnie. Hard up are you?” I hear the smile in her voice. I suddenly know exactly why Morganna is wrapped around Stone’s finger if she deals with this insane sex drive just from looking at him.
“Hard up doesn’t even begin to cover the bases. Date. Phone number, e-mail address – whatever you have. Now!” The phone line she has on hold chirps. I hear papers shuffling.
“Mav Hart is bad news. Stay away from him. I wouldn’t fix you up with him unless you were my mortal enemy. He has a really twisted back story. It’s not my business to discuss this with you. Just please, accept this warning, Winnie.”
My heart sinks and a pit forms in my stomach. It’s not like I didn’t already know it; it just sucks to hear someone else say it.
“I was going to set you up with Steve. He’s a good guy. Maybe a little more tame than some of the others in the rat pack.”
Tame. Ugh. I don’t want tame. That definitely won’t do for what I have in mind: amazing barbarian sex that makes me forget I ever preferred missionary sex with the Nashhole. Who wants eye contact anyway?
“Okay. I’ll e-mail him.” I scribble down Steve’s phone number and e-mail address with half effort, still undecided if I want to date him. Morganna’s warning about Maverick was like dumping a huge bucket of ice water on my libido.