Bad Bitch (3 page)

“Hey, Wood, who’s your friend?” I had to pee and it only got worse when I stood, but the tall piece of sex in a suit demanded my attention.

“Oh, no, you don’t.” Wood slapped his glass down. “Stay away from this one, Lincoln. She’s a man-eater.”

A deep laugh rolled from the stranger—Lincoln—and he turned to give me a full lookover. I gave it right back. Tall, long legs, large hands, dark green eyes, chocolate brown hair. He had a sexy smile. His even white teeth would make perfect crescents on my skin. A scar slithered through his right eyebrow, like a parenthesis. It made him look like he had a past. Something dangerous?
Meow, handsome.
He looked about my age, thirty-three or so.

He put out his hand. “Lincoln Granade.” His voice was almost as deep as Wood’s but had none of the rattle. Just pure velvet on my ears.

His grip was warm and firm.

“Evan Pallida.”

“Nice to meet you.”

Southern accent, but not strong enough to be a hick. And it wasn’t the old southern, the kind that seems affected and antique from a KFC commercial. It was the real-deal, panty-dropping, smooth southern twang.

He pondered me with those green eyes, as if memorizing my blue ones. If I’d been able to blush, a trait long since lost to me, I would have done so.

My hand lingered in his for a beat too long. There were scars along his knuckles, more of the past showing up on his skin. Hands as big as his could span my waist with ease. And what could they do to the rest of me?

“Weren’t you going to take a piss, Evan?” Wood leaned back, pushing me away from the tall, dark looker.

“Right. Thanks, Wood.” I smirked.

Lincoln gave me one last up-and-down look, his eyes lingering at the apex of my thighs. If I didn’t have to pee so badly, just that look might have made me wet.

Damn, he was fine. Now, this was more like it. Finally, a hot new piece of ass on the U.S. attorney team. Point for me.

“Ladies and gents.” I tilted my head as I passed the state court trial dogs. They acknowledged me and returned to their conversations.

I did my business and took my seat again next to Jonesy.

“What’s the deal with your new guy?” I asked.

“Nothing special.” Jonesy shrugged.

I returned my heel to his chair, letting my full leg rest against him. Again, he stayed still. Only a little tightening of his back gave away his pleasure at my touch. I nursed my newest drink and waited for Jonesy to spill. He usually did.
Keep drinking,
Jonesy
.

I turned my body to face him better. His blue eyes went straight to my tits. I knew the top swells peeked over my white chemise. I had made sure they were exposed to the max when I checked myself in the bathroom mirror. I wanted more information on Lincoln. This was the way to get it. Jonesy had always enjoyed stealing glances at my tits, so I’d put them in his face and squeeze until the information shot out of him.

He sighed as he perused my smooth skin, defeated already. “Came up from New Orleans. He’s here for a six-month stint, maybe longer. He’s been on a big case. Some prick stealing retirement money from seniors. But more than even seems possible. Millions and millions.”

Thank you,
Jonesy
.

Castille had brought along a tall, sexy gift by laundering his money through New York. Lincoln had chosen to indict here instead of New Orleans, though I was certain both places had jurisdiction.
Interesting.
New Orleans seemed the better venue. The witnesses were there. The real dirt took place there. I needed to know why the switch. Looked like I would need to pump Lincoln for more information.
My pleasure.

Jonesy ran a finger down my jaw. Wood and Lincoln no doubt watched in the mirror behind the lower-shelf shit that we swilled almost every night.

He dropped his voice. “He’s serious, though, Evan. Don’t fuck with him.”

“He didn’t seem so serious to me.” I leaned away from his touch. It felt nice, but it was too intimate for my tastes. Jonesy and I weren’t a thing, would never be a thing.

“He is. You aren’t going to be able to work him like you do me.” He drained his bottle before signaling for another.

“I’m not working you.”

“Evan, you’re always working. Whether it’s me or someone else or an angle. You’re always working.” He sighed before harassing the bartender. “C’mon, Mike, sometime today.”

I didn’t like that he felt worked. I mean, he was right, of course, but still. I liked Jonesy. He was the closest thing I had to a friend. I stopped fucking him after that first time because I wanted to stay friends. He wasn’t bad in bed. He was actually pretty good.

I remembered our misadventure fondly. Well, parts of it. Too much alcohol and a too-late night. He’d taken me back to his tiny apartment, about the size of my walk-in closet. We’d stumbled in and fallen into his bed. He’d been gentle, undressing me as if I were a gift to be unwrapped and savored. I ripped through his clothes like a spoiled brat on Christmas morning, pissed off that she hadn’t gotten a pony. I’d dropped to my knees and taken his gorgeous uncut dick in my mouth, tasting him for the first time.

He’d run his hands through my hair and said my name reverently before pulling me up to his lips. He’d kissed me. Really kissed me, as if he were searching for the me who lived deep inside. The woman he was looking for wasn’t there. Hadn’t been for years.

And then he’d laid me down and made love to me. He started slow and maintained his control. He locked eyes with mine, pinning me beneath him and silently telling me things that I’d wished he wouldn’t. I didn’t want to make love. I wanted to fuck. When I’d flipped him over and taken what I wanted, his eyes were bright and full of desire, but there was also a twinge of sadness. Like he’d planned something different, something more real. I didn’t want real. I wanted an escape, a fantasy of no strings attached and no hurt feelings.

Jonesy was what I should have wanted. But for me, it was too sweet. Too tender. I didn’t want tender. I didn’t want him looking at me with googoo eyes while I rode him. So I made sure it never happened again. But if a too-sweet fuck was what was necessary to get good intel, I was up for it, and the rod in his pants told me he was, too.

I put my hand on his back and leaned into him. “Can I make it up to you?”

He tilted his jaw to the side and wetted his lips with his tongue. “Still working me, Evan?”

“I will if you want me to.” I let my breath tickle his ear.

He stilled and tensed under my hand. But then he shook his head, as if clearing cobwebs from his mind. “Those are your two settings, Evan. Fight or fuck.”

The frustration in his words stung me. I was offering something I knew he wanted. What was the problem?

“You know what, Mike? Forget it. I’m headed out. I’ll pay my tab tomorrow night.” He rose from the bar, the warmth from his body no longer against me. Goosebumps spread along my legs as he left in a hurry. He punched through the door and disappeared into the street.

“The fuck you do?” Wood growled.

I shrugged.

Wood drained his glass and motioned to close his tab. “The missus will be all over my ass if I don’t get home. The grandkids are in town. Running around, destroying every goddamn thing they can get their hands on.”

“I thought Leslie and Pete had moved to L.A.,” I said.

“They did, but they like to visit every few months. Total chaos.” Wood paid his tab. “Lincoln, see you in the morning. And you, man-eater, stay away from him.” He gave me a warning look. The deep creases in his brow mimicked his frown until his weathered brown face was nothing more than a wall of disapproval.

“I’m sure Lincoln’s a big boy. He can handle himself against little old me.” I winked. The frowns did not abate. They likely stayed planted on Wood’s face the whole way home and only grew deeper when he walked into whatever mess his grandkids had made.

I slid over the two seats to Lincoln. He watched me with interest in the mirror, his eyes disappearing behind a blue bottle, then showing back up, then gone again behind an extra-cheap tequila. I settled next to him and put my leg on his chair, testing him.

He looked down, giving me a view of his thick dark hair, no grays in sight. Then he held my gaze and moved his leg away.
Denied.

I glanced at myself in the mirror to see if anything was off. No, I looked fine. My auburn hair still curled prettily around my face. My lipstick had faded a bit as I drank, but my lips were still a faint red. Enough to get attention. And I wanted his attention.

He was big next to me. Tall, maybe six foot five, an entire foot taller than I was. Well built. Even through the suit I could tell he had the inverted triangle. Broad back, narrower waist and hips. Perfectly lickable.

“What’s your game?” he asked. His eyes were smiling, a slight twinkle lighting the green.

“No game. I just wanted to say hi since you’re new around here.”

“You already said hi, remember? When you were on your way to the ladies’ room.” The smile moved down to the corners of his full lips, the edges turning up ever so slightly. The smirk was gorgeous somehow, sexual. He wasn’t a “cute” guy, not like Jonesy was. Lincoln was something a bit more primitive, masculine.

Did he just mention me going to pee?
Awkward.
“Well, yes, I did.” Something in my game was off. If I could have gotten away with smelling my breath, I would have. But we were too close now.

“So, you’re, um, from New Orleans?” I changed tacks.

“That’s right.” When a man pronounces “right” like “raaaaiihhhttt,” the panties naturally dampen. Mine were no different. Southern charm truly was a thing.

He took a swig of his beer. I watched his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed, so male and mesmerizing. He drained the bottle.

“What’s my tab?” he called to Mike.

“Wood paid for everyone already.” Mike didn’t look up and continued stacking shot glasses.

“Way to go, Wood.” Lincoln dropped a few more dollars before standing with finality.

I was disappointed he was already leaving. Now I knew something was way off. Or maybe he was gay? I hoped not, but so many handsome ones were.

He ran his gaze over my body. Looming above me, he had a good view down my blouse, past the chemise and to the edges of the red lace bra underneath. His skin flushed ever so lightly, a darker bronze spreading over his tan cheeks. Definitely not gay.

“You coming?” he asked.

Coming? Yes
,
please.
“Wait, what?”

“Are you coming back to my place, angel? It’s still covered in boxes, but the bed is ready.” He laughed. I couldn’t tell if it was at me or with me.

Mike chuckled but kept working on his shot glasses, scrubbing them to a shine with his bar cloth.

My mouth hung open. Lincoln stared at my lips, a noticeable look of heat stealing across his angular face. I was unused to this sort of directness. He knew what he wanted and wasn’t afraid to ask for it. He even had the nerve to use a pet name. That was usually my MO. He’d taken my game away from me. I was mortified to feel a blush rising in my cheeks. The impossible made possible by his unexpected sexy swagger.

“Hot?” he asked.

Get your shit together, Evan.
I stood and grabbed my bag from the hook underneath the bar. I tilted my chin up at him, meeting his eyes and trying to regain my composure and the upper hand.

“My place. It doesn’t need any unpacking.”

Lincoln gestured toward the door in the classic “ladies first” move. Mike shook his head slowly, still smirking to himself.

“Shut the fuck up, Mike.” My voice came out even harsher than I’d meant it to, but Mike didn’t seem to care.

Lincoln reached around me and pushed the door open ahead of me. Southern gentleman.

The night was cool, and the city was alive with sounds and light. Spring in Manhattan was beautiful. The park around the nearby city hall was in bloom, and if you were lucky, the faint scent of flowers would float through the buildings and make its way to you on the street. If you weren’t lucky, the scent of rotten Dumpster food from Chinatown would make it to you instead. I inhaled deeply, glad it was a lucky night.

Lincoln stepped onto the curb and hailed a cab. I fidgeted with my skirt, smoothing it out and pulling at the hem before forcing myself to stop. I’d gone from predator to prey in five seconds flat, and now I was acting like a virgin. Nerves were something I didn’t suffer from. Not in the office, not in front of clients, not even in court with a hundred spectators. I loved being the star of the show, the center of attention. The more eyes the better. Now, my hands felt like they were being soaked in ice and the tips of my ears were under a blowtorch.

He dropped his waving arm and took a step away from the curb. He put his hand on the small of my back as we waited for the cab to pull up. It was a soft, steady pressure. The warmth from his palm seeped through my shirt and heated my skin beneath. I tilted my head to look at him, the sharp relief of his angular jaw leading up to his cheekbones and those sinful green eyes. He watched me take him in and pressed his fingertips into my back in response.

I’d thought firing Ivy League Prick was the high point of my day. I was wrong. I was going weak over this guy’s touch, and it was only on my lower back. How would I feel with him inside me? I shivered from the thought. His smile grew, those perfect teeth making another appearance. My panties were clinging to me, evidence of the heat he was creating inside me.

The yellow cab he’d signaled pulled up, and Lincoln opened the door for me. He was still silent, but with the same devilish look on his handsome features. I got in, and he smoothly slid in next to me. He placed his hand on my knee and gave me a direct look. Daring me to move his hand.

Panties
en
fuego
.

“Eleven North Moore, Tribeca,” I told the cabbie. The car pulled away from the bar, joining the evening traffic and circling the block.

Lincoln slowly moved his hand farther up my thigh to the edge of my skirt. I wanted to challenge him, to wipe the smirk off his face. But his hand was warm. He smelled delicious, masculine and clean. His boldness was an aphrodisiac in and of itself.