by Tessa Bailey
“You have a point,” Henrik said, eyes narrowed on the group of cops. “I still want to know the catch. If you succeed in getting me served by a bar full of men who want me behind bars, what am I giving up in return?”
“Ah, I think you know.” The atmosphere surrounding the group of four men altered, turned gray. “Us cons deal in information. I’m sure Bowen and Connor have already badgered the captain for access to your rap sheet.”
“Damn straight,” Connor said.
Bowen threw a dart, looking disgusted. “He stonewalled us.”
“It’s not a rap sheet,” Henrik drawled. “That implies there was more than one offense.”
Austin smiled as a little more of the picture became clear. “So it was one major transgression, bad enough to lose your badge. Interesting.”
Henrik’s expression remained impassive. “I don’t like you.”
“Welcome to the club.” Bowen snorted. “It’s a big one.”
“Yes. That is what the ladies say.” Austin stepped back from the group. “Try not to die of boredom while I’m gone, gents.”
The foursome of cops turned at Austin’s approach, as if they could sense him. The leader who had lunged at Austin upon arrival rocked back on his heels with a cocky look on his face. Still, Austin saw his grip tighten on the Coors Light bottle, his face grow splotchy. He was intimidated. Understandable.
“Gentlemen, I do believe we got off on the wrong foot. I’d like to buy you a round of drinks to make up for my insensitive comment.”
One of the background guys sucked his teeth. “You think we’d accept a drink from one of you assholes?”
Austin pretended to consider his question. “No, I suppose not. If we placed a friendly wager, however, and you won the round of drinks, it would ease the sting of accepting beer from an asshole such as myself. Would it not?”
Give him any group of four red-blooded American males in a sports bar, and—at the very least—one of them would find it impossible to turn down a wager. Every single time. As predicted, the leader felt compelled to step forward, although he was clearly wary. “What’s the bet?”
Austin placed the bottle cap on the bar and nodded at the bartender. “A brandy snifter and an ashtray, if you please, good sir.”
The bartender looked to the group for approval, doing what Austin asked only when he got the nod. Once the brandy snifter was set down beside the bottle cap, Austin turned the glass upside down, placing it on top of the bottle cap. To the right of the snifter, he positioned the dented metal ashtray.
“All you need to do is get the bottle cap into the ashtray, using only the snifter.” Austin grinned. “Shouldn’t be difficult for a man of constant action and daring such as yourself.”
“I don’t like this,” one of the cops muttered, but Austin kept his focus on the glass as the cop took hold of the glass stem…and quickly twisted the snifter on it’s side, attempting to scoop the bottle cap up. And failing. They always tried to scoop.
“Almost had it. I’ll give you one more go.” Austin sighed. “But if you fail this time and I succeed, you’ll send my friends and I the round of drinks instead. Sound fair?”
The leader grunted. “That wasn’t part of the deal.”
“No?” Austin sent a perplexed look toward the dart section, where Henrik, Bowen, and Connor watched him with quiet amusement. “I suppose you’re right. I’ll take my bottle cap back, then.” He held out his palm for a shake. “You gave it the college try, old chap.”
“Now, just wait a minute,” the leader said, right on cue. “I can get it in the damn ashtray this time. You’ll be buying the drinks, asshole. Not us.”
“You’re probably right.” Austin nodded toward the snifter. “You just needed a warm-up round. Now you’ve got it.”
He tried to scoop it. Again.
All pretenses dropped, Austin inserted himself between the men and took hold of the glass stem, swirling it faster and faster in a circular motion. Centrifugal force had the bottle cap rising higher and higher in the glass as it spun. When the metal piece reached the highest point inside the snifter, Austin lifted the glass quickly and let the cap drop into the ashtray.
“We’ll have two Budweisers, a Boddingtons…” Austin pointed at Henrik, lifting his voice to be heard above the cops’ irritated grumbling. “Henrik, what’s your poison?”
“Scotch. Top shelf.”
“Huh. I would have said whiskey.” Austin patted the disgruntled leader on the shoulder. “Much obliged, mate. Send them over when they’re ready.” Before the man could respond, Austin took his victory and sauntered back toward Bowen, Connor, and Henrik, who greeted him with a slow clap. “No autographs, please.”
“I can’t believe we’ve been paying for drinks this whole time,” Bowen said, flipping a dart over in his hand.
“Now.” Austin inclined his head. “Aren’t you glad your Erin talked you into inviting me?”
Connor appeared surprised by his astuteness. “She can be persuasive.”
Austin focused his attention on Henrik, who no longer looked quite so at ease as when he’d entered the bar. “Drinks are on the way. Now it’s your turn.”
The ex-cop ran a hand over his shaved head, glancing away. “I never agreed to the catch, if you’ll recall.”
“Ah, Jesus,” Bowen interjected. “That’s a total cop move.”
Austin cursed. “You know you’re married to a cop, don’t you, Driscol?”
“Fuck yeah, I am,” Bowen murmured.
Henrik’s jaw remained tight a moment, before his breath released in a long gust. “Destruction of evidence,” he finally said, voice low, challenging. “And I’d do it again. What do you think of that?”
“Money is a powerful motivator,” Connor spoke up. “Makes men do things they didn’t think they were capable of.”
Henrik shook his head. “I don’t give a fuck about money.”
Austin had the story now, the dips and edges defining themselves. “Ah. A woman. There was a woman involved.”
The ex-cop turned his sharp gaze on Austin. “Keep the drink.”
Henrik didn’t look back as he left the bar.
As the door closed behind their new squad member, Austin picked up a dart and tossed it toward the dartboard, landing a quarter inch south of the bull’s-eye. “That’s how it’s done, chaps.”
Chapter Nine
Polly sat at the polished hotel bar she’d chosen as the meeting spot with Austin, her nerves too jumbled to drink the glass of sauvignon blanc untouched beside her right hand. She’d positioned herself strategically, across from a mirror that gave her an uninterrupted view of the hotel’s revolving door. Any minute now, Austin would walk in, dressed to kill in a dapper business suit. She really should have picked the cop uniform for him to wear. Maybe having him dressed as her least favorite profession would have turned her raging river of lust into a koi pond.
Yeah, right. He could dress as a clown and she’d be itching to get him naked.
On second thought. She picked up the wineglass and drained the contents, giving the bartender a thumbs-up when he lifted the bottle up. More?
Yes. Oh, yes, there was going to be more tonight. With a man she’d despised on sight. After the last forty-eight hours, however, she’d begun to question that dislike, wondering if it stemmed from the stirring he inspired beneath her belly button and between her thighs. The way he challenged her mind at every turn. The way he seemed to crave her challenging him back.
Thinking past tonight wasn’t an option. She’d made that decision on the seemingly endless walk home from Austin’s apartment. Already she was overwhelmed by the role she’d taken on in their relationship. Total control. She felt the power all the way down to her fingertips where they brushed back and forth over the smooth bar. Perhaps it was unwise to approach tonight without an exit strategy. What if she enjoyed what took place between her and Austin so much that she couldn’t stop? They worked together. And as of this morning, he was helpin
g her with Reitman. A sexual relationship could jeopardize both of those situations, and nothing could get in the way of getting justice for Kevin. Justice had driven her since childhood, had dictated every decision that had brought her to the present, and she wouldn’t let the importance of her mission fade one iota.
Polly got lost in the clear liquid sloshing into her wineglass, courtesy of the chatty bartender. She was only half listening, nodding during the brief pauses, as seemed appropriate. But she ceased all movement, inside and out, when Austin walked into the hotel. Sounds grew heavy in the bar, the lights seeming to dim. Immediately, she knew he’d been watching her, maybe from across the street or just outside the window. His gaze was locked on her before he was fully inside the lobby. He wore the suit, but no prosthetics on his face, a fact she found herself relieved about, but didn’t care to explore why. He’d paired the suit with a fedora, pulled low over his forehead. His mannerisms and walk were different. Polly found herself marveling at his skill in becoming an entirely different person, but as he approached, her thoughts fled, replaced with the image of him, hands braced on the doorframe as they’d been that morning. Waiting. Was that an order, sweet?
She took a gulp of her wine, the cool, crisp liquid getting caught in her throat when Austin sat at the opposite end of the bar, hanging his hat on the stool’s wooden back. When he ordered a gin and tonic from the bartender, Polly heard his American accent and narrowed her eyes. Taunting her? But when he thanked the bartender, she heard notes of the South. And even though she knew it wasn’t authentic, the smoky tone of his voice enlivened the desire left over from that morning. No, it had never gone away; it had only quieted in his absence, hadn’t it? Why was he sitting on the other side of the bar?
Austin regarded her steadily, his attention unwavering as his fingers drummed in a hypnotic rhythm on the bar. Drum, drum, drum. Impatience had Polly squirming in her seat, but her attention refused to stray from his compelling masculinity. And after a moment, she realized her heartbeat had begun to match the drumming of his fingers. Her breathing followed shortly after. In, out, in, out. The volume in the bar lifted in pitch…or was that all in her mind? She couldn’t decide. The sounds his fingers made and her body’s corresponding reactions only got louder to compete with the music. The tip of his tongue skated along the inside of his top lip, slowly, so slowly, from one end to the other, and Polly’s thighs shot together.
“The gentleman sends you a drink,” said the bartender, jolting Polly out of her stupor. Look alive, Banks. She hadn’t even heard the girl approach. “Would you like to accept it?”
“Um. Yes,” Polly answered, cupping the back of her neck with a hand, hoping to cool her temperature enough to function like a normal human being. When she glanced back across the bar, Austin had stood, heading toward her with unhurried steps, that golden gaze still fastened on her, far hungrier this time, wreaking the worst kind of destruction on her concentration.
Austin stopped beside her, entirely too close for the stranger he was pretending to be. So close, his slow exhale moved the hair covering her ear. “Beg pardon.” He spoke just above a whisper, but his tone was laced with concrete. “But I’d like to know just what you’re looking at, ma’am.”
His bluntness piqued her temper, somehow elevating her awareness of him right along with it. “Excuse me?”
His hand gripped the chair supporting her back, making it creak. “I came in for a quiet drink and you’re staring. Is there something you want?”
It was a dare. An Austin-style dare. Are you going to back out, Banks? She could practically read his thoughts, knew damn well she was being goaded. And didn’t care. His challenge was working right when she needed to be pushed. Her middle was twisted in knots, had been for six months, and she wouldn’t let this opportunity to lessen her suffering slip away. Nor could she pass up the chance to learn more about herself. “Yes, there is something I want.”
She sensed his relief even though he didn’t move a muscle. “I’m going to need specifics, ma’am. I’m not terribly gifted in mind reading,” he drawled.
“What are you gifted in?”
Polly couldn’t believe the purr that had emerged from her throat, but once it was liberated into the dim bar, the moment changed, became shinier and more manageable. Her nerves calmed little by little, until it felt entirely natural to turn her head and meet Austin’s intensity head-on. It pulled her under like a swirling eddy, but her legs kicked, allowing her to tread water.
“I’m waiting for an answer. What are you gifted in?”
Austin dropped his attention to her lap where Polly knew a healthy amount of her thighs were exposed beneath a short, fitted gray skirt. “I’m gifted in ways that matter,” he murmured, that Southern accent staying perfectly in place. “But we won’t find that out for sure sitting here, will we?” His smooth index finger found the inside of her thigh, traced higher and higher, slipping beneath the hem of her skirt. “I can get you started, though, if you’ve a mind to finish that drink.”
Even as Polly breathed a denial, she struggled not to slide her legs wide on the leather seat. The thudding beat between her thighs hadn’t ceased since this morning, and having his finger there, touching and rubbing, would be divine. Could she allow it? Just for a moment? Before any poor decisions could be made, a loud couple blew into the bar, arms slung around each other’s shoulders, shattering the illusion of privacy within the establishment.
Austin didn’t pay them the slightest attention, his gaze roaming over her breasts, that maddening finger still stroking the skin of her upper thigh. “Where does that smell of lemonade come from? Lotion or a perfume bottle?”
She rolled her lips inward to moisten them. “Lotion.”
A noise vibrated in his throat. “You’re the kind of lemonade with lots of sugar stirred in, aren’t you?” His single finger traced higher on her thigh, tucking beneath the edge of her panties. He pushed his mouth up against her ear and groaned, his knuckle dipping between the lips of her dampening flesh. “I love sugar. Can’t get enough of the stuff. Why would anyone want to eat anything else?”
“I, um. I don’t know.” Oh Lord, if he touched her clit—so much as grazed it—she would put the orgasm scene from When Harry Met Sally to shame. Not here. Her toes were beginning to curl inside her turquoise pumps, a sure sign she would go off like Mount Saint Helens if he touched the right spot. And all signs pointed to Austin not only finding the right spot, but tenaciously exploiting it, too. Polly saw the bartender approaching in her peripheral vision and grabbed his flexing wrist, drawing it from between her legs. “I have a room upstairs.”
His cocky mouth moved into a smile where it lay buried in her hair. The hand he’d been using to drive her insane disappeared into his pocket, pulling out a stack of bills. He laid two twenty-dollar bills on the bar and eased her off the seat, into the cradle of his hard body. “By all means, lead the way.”
The walk to the elevator and subsequent ride to the twelfth floor would forever be remembered as the longest three minutes in her lifetime. Austin didn’t touch her, but she felt him everywhere. Felt every breath he took, her body heating underneath his rapt regard. He positioned himself in the corner of the elevator, tapping his fingers against the wood-paneled interior, until just like in the bar, her heartbeat started to keep time with his taps. His intensity sucked her in, made her feel naked in the small, moving space. She could hear her own pulse, oxygen sweeping in and out of her lungs…and she didn’t care. The time for hiding her weaknesses from this enigmatic man could resume again tomorrow, when her life didn’t depend on sweet relief.
His body heat was volcanic at Polly’s back as she slid the key card into the door lock and turned the burnished gold handle. Once inside, she didn’t bother flipping on the light. Wouldn’t have been able to find the focus if she wanted to. Because when Austin sauntered toward the king-size bed and climbed onto the firm mattress, removing his jacket and stripping his dress shirt down his arms as he went, Polly
forgot to think, or breathe, or reason. She only recalled his words from that morning. It will be your show to run. At Polly’s sides, her hands twitched. She felt light on the balls of her feet as she circled behind Austin, wanting to see the magnificence of him from all possible angles. Standing on his knees in the bed’s center, bare-chested, his usual arrogance was tempered with vulnerability he couldn’t totally hide. Something was odd about his stillness…was he breathing? No. His tension-filled muscles were strained and unmoving, hands in fists at his sides as he waited. Waited for her to direct him. A tingling began at the top of her scalp and shimmered down, down, to her calves, leaving her aglow on the inside with feverish sense of purpose.
Resolving not to question her inclinations, Polly reached out and smoothed a hand over Austin’s taut backside, watched mesmerized as his erection rose against the fly of his dress pants, his ripped abdomen shuddering above that impressive, lengthening flesh. “No touching yourself,” she said softly, gratified beyond comprehension when he gave a jerky nod in response.
Loath as she was to lose sight of his chiseled-from-granite chest, Polly continued her journey around the bed, dragging her fingertips along his ass as she went, noting the way his breathing grew more labored with each of her measured steps. When she stood directly behind him, her progress halted. Even in the muted light of the hotel room, clusters of red marks were visible on his back, out of place set against his unflawed physique.
Polly’s hand hovered above one group of marks. “What are these from?”
He didn’t answer right away, but finally cast her a wary look over his shoulder. “Fingernails.” He faced forward again with an indifferent shrug he didn’t quite pull off. “Always digging in. You know how it goes.”
Jealousy rocked her, but Polly held fast against its green-eyed potency. She brushed the pad of her right thumb over a trio of angry moon-shaped scars. “All from the same woman?”
