Page 7 of Daring the Bad Boy
ainst hers. “You want to grab a cab and finish Valentine’s Day in style? Satisfaction guaranteed?”
“Actually, I think I do.”
He touched his forehead to hers, a smug grin splitting his handsome face. “What’s your name?”
“Rosie,” she supplied, glad when he didn’t ask for a surname. This was strictly a one-night only, dirty, sexy, V-Day curse buster.
No surnames, no keepers and no sharing of anything other than hot sex. She breathed in the scent of leather and man. And rampaging pheromones. “What’s yours?” she asked.
“Cal. Great to meet you, Rosie,” he said, and for the first time she noticed the low drawl of his accent. American, she would guess or Canadian. But she didn’t ask. Because, no sharing.
She dismissed the foolish trickle of regret – that she would never know where the sad look had come from. Or be able to fix it.
Didn’t matter, she told herself staunchly. Because she’d already fixed it by blasting it with her ultra-hot lip action.
Score one, to Rosie the Slut.
“I think you’re about to make my year,” he murmured, the hungry look as much of an aphrodisiac as his kiss. He lifted her fingers, and brushed his lips across her knuckles.
Her heart slam-dunked her throat. She swallowed it back down.
Nuh-uh. Not going there.
The man was too hot not to be an accomplished player. The gallantry was just an act to get into her panties. Which was exactly what she needed tonight.
His gaze flicked to Imo and Tash – who were gaping at Rosie as if she’d just stripped naked on the bar. “You want to square things with your buddies before we head out?”
She considered it for a moment. A very short moment. “No, sod it, let’s leave them hanging.” She might as well go the full slut while she was at it.
His answering chuckle sent conspiratorial glee soaring through her veins.
“I’ll give them all the filthy details tomorrow,” she finished, because she was fairly sure they’d insist.
She sent her friends a jaunty thumbs up and then turned her back on Tash’s hoot of triumph and Imo’s horrified ‘we’ve created a monster’ look.
She had her cash card and her phone in the back pocket of her jeans. And the buzz of anticipation and strawberry daiquiris to keep her warm. Tash would take care of her coat until tomorrow – if for no other reason than she’d then have leverage when it came to prying out the details.
Her inner slut rejoiced as Cal tightened his grip and tugged her through the crowd towards the exit.
This was actually happening.
I am Superslut. Hear me roar.
But as they hit the street, the fug of warm bodies and too much alcohol gave way to the chilly suspicion of rain and the scent of wet pavements. She shivered.
“You cold?” The concerned look cracked open a tiny fissure in her chest. But only for a moment.
Zip it, Rosie. No overthinking.
She shook her head, because she didn’t feel remotely cold. “I left my coat in the bar.”
His lips tilted in a deadly half-smile. Lit by the bar’s neon sign, the wicked twinkle in his eyes was even more irresistible. “You want me to go back and grab it?”
She squeezed his fingers – deciding to use her newfound powers for good. “Just kiss me again, that should take care of it.”
He chuckled again, and she detected the rusty tone this time, as if he hadn’t laughed in a long time. “No way. Not until we’re in a cab. Or we’ll never get anywhere.” He stuck two fingers into his mouth and blew. The shrill whistle made her jump.
She stumbled back as a black cab hurtled down the street and braked a few inches from her toes.