Royal gives me another once-over, like he's not quite sure what to make of me. This time, I feel his gaze diving deeper, trying to get under my skin and understand what I'm all about, what makes me tick. I wouldn't be surprised to learn that Mr. McBride reads minds.
“Well, well, well,” he says, his voice dropping a little lower as he goes in for yet another head to toe look. This time around, something in his expression shifts and I feel a little chill travel up my spine, dragging goose bumps down my arms. “Lyric … Rentz,” he says, my first name a verbal caress passing between his lips. My last name though … he says that like a curse. I know what he's thinking: Philip Rentz … Lyric Rentz. I have the same last name as the mayor.
Royal glances down at my fingers, searching, I think, for a ring. When he doesn't find it, he comes to some other conclusion and reaches up to take my still extended hand.
When our fingers slide together … oh God. His hand is rough and calloused, grazing the smooth skin of my own with an almost tangible spark that makes me jerk back like I've been burned. The guys around Royal chuckle and I jump; I almost forgot they were there.
“You're the mayor's … sister?” Royal asks casually, lifting his chin and tucking his fingers into the front pockets on his jeans.
“Daughter,” I correct, hating that that's the truth, knowing what people think when I say it. She got that job because her dad's the mayor. If they only knew … I got the job in spite of that. “Youngest of three.”
“Shame,” Royal says with another wicked little smile. “I guess you're off-limits then?”
“Off … limits?” I ask as the boys behind him laugh again, all of their eyes on me, amusement apparent in their gazes.
“Yeah, I mean, how would the mayor feel if I took his pint-size prodigy daughter to the bedroom and tore off that bloody awful little skirt of hers?” I knew it! British accent. It's faint, but it's there.
Heat rushes to my cheeks, and I stand there dumbfounded for a second. I'm not stupid, okay, but I work in a mayor's office. Talk about prim, proper, and politically correct. This man's like a shock to the system.
“No offense, Mr. McBride, but this bloody awful skirt belonged to Toni Gladstone, the previous deputy mayor. I might have inherited her position and her suit, but I'll be damned if I inherit her mistakes.” Royal stares at me for a moment, his brown eyes dark and deep and soulful, then throws back his head and laughs, like I'm the most ridiculous thing he's ever seen.
“Oh sweetheart, I promise not to do a bodge job on you. We'll take it nice and slow and easy, alright?”
“The only thing you'll be taking, Mr. McBride, is a few hours of my time and a look at the papers I've brought you. I think you'll find that a healthy relationship with the mayor's office and the people of Trinidad will be beneficial for all of us.”
“Oh, I don't mind getting into bed with the mayor's office,” Royal says, eyes twinkling, mouth twisted to the side in a wolfish smirk as he takes a step closer to me. “Only I'd rather get into bed with you.”
“That rat bastard,” I snarl, slamming my car door and glaring out the window at Royal's retreating back. “Sorry to say, I'm too busy for that today, love,” I mimic, hating that man with every fiber of my being. Maybe it's some sort of defense mechanism against the overwhelming attraction I feel for him. Never in my life have I had this sort of reaction to anyone before. I'm generally a pleasant person. But Royal McBride? Ugh.
So I rescheduled with the club secretary and climbed back into my car, watching in the rearview mirror as customers pull their bikes into the shop—the shop whose books are good, so good that the forensic accountant my father hired to go over them couldn't find a single discrepancy. Thing is, we all know that the club is up to no good. And they know we know. But any efforts to actually catch them doing wrong have gone badly—for us. This … business arrangement we're considering, it won't stop them from doing what they do, but it will help my father's chances at re-election, show the city that he's 'cleaning up the riffraff'.
I sigh and turn the ignition, well aware that the club's on their best behavior right now. It's not like I'm going to see them trafficking illegal weapons or making drug deals in the bright light of day.
“Screw you, Royal,” I murmur, pulling out of my parking space and heading towards the front gates. It's not until I hit the highway that it starts to really pour, drops splattering against the roof of my car. I could go back to the office, but my dad's going to want to hear all about my meeting, and I have even less to report back on than Toni Gladstone did. She got laid by the president; I got dismissed like a stray dog.
My hands tighten around the wheel and my eyes wander to my cell phone, plugged in and laying across the passenger seat.
I press the dial button on my steering wheel, connecting with the Bluetooth in my phone.
“Call Royal McBride,” I say and listen as the phone rings over the speakers in my car.
“Wolf Cycle Service and Repair, this is Janae, how can I help you?” The sugary sweet voice of Janae, the club secretary, fills the quiet car and forces me to take a breath to clamp down on my anger. It isn't directed at her, isn't her fault that her boss is a dick. I think—though I'm not certain—that she's an … an old lady or something. Isn't that what bikers call their wives? A small shudder goes through me, but I make myself smile. People can hear it in your voice, you know.
“Hi Janae, this is Lyric from the mayor's office, I was wondering if you could get ahold of Royal for me?” There's a small pause as she considers my request. “I know he said he's busy today, but—”
“Busy?” Janae repeats with a small laugh. “Is that what he told you? Oh, bless his heart. Did he dodge out on your meeting?” My smile fades from my face. “There's a party tonight at the clubhouse. The boys are swearing in a new VP tomorrow.” I don't bother to ask what happened to the old vice president—I know she won't tell me. Club business stays club business. “He's probably just flirting with groupies and hauling in kegs.”
“Uh huh.” I can feel my mouth twitching with frustration. “Is that so?”
“That's so,” Janae says with a small laugh. “But I can try to wrangle him up for you if you want.”
“No, that won't be necessary. What time is the party tonight?”
There's a pause on Janae's end of the line.
“Could you hold a moment for me?” she asks.
“Sure thing.”
I'm already at my exit by the time she comes back.
“The party starts at six here at the clubhouse,” Janae begins, her voice holding a strange sort of hesitancy. “Although I'm not sure that this is the sort of party that you'd be interested in.”
I narrow my eyes, even though I know she can't see me, my gaze focused out the windshield on the wet pavement and the green of the trees flickering by on either side of the car. It's easy to see why they call this the Lost Coast; even with the fairly recent population boom, the area's still wild enough that I feel like it wouldn't be too far of a stretch to catch sight of some sort of Jurassic period monster—like Royal McBride.
“Six at the clubhouse,” I say, just to reconfirm. Not the kind of party that I'd be interested in. Please. If Royal thinks he can use his secretary to scare me away, he's dead wrong. “I'll be there.”
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About the Author
C.M. Stunich is a self-admitted bibliophile with a love for exotic teas and a whole host of characters who live full time inside the strange, swirling vortex of her thoughts. Some folks might call this crazy, but Caitlin Morgan doesn't mind - especially considering she has to write biographies in the third person. Oh, and half the host of characters in her head are searing hot bad boys with dirty mouths and skillful hands (among other things). If being crazy means hanging out with them everyday, C.M. has decided to have herself committed.
She hates tapioca pudding, loves to binge on cheesy horror movies, and is a slave to many cats. When she's not vacuuming fur off of her couch, C.M. can be found with her nose buried in a book or her eyes glued to a computer screen. She's the author of over thirty novels - romance, new adult, fantasy, and young adult included. Please, come and join her inside her crazy. There's a heck of a lot to do there.
Oh, and Caitlin loves to chat (incessantly), so feel free to e-mail her, send her a Facebook message, or put up smoke signals. She's already looking forward to it.
Table of Contents
Table of Contents
Front Matter Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Signup for my Newsletter
Author's Note
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Back Matter Great Husband Cover
Beautiful Survivors Cover
Football Dick Cover
Football Dick Description
Football Dick Excerpt
Raw and Dirty Cover
Raw and Dirty Description
Raw and Dirty Excerpt
Keep Up With The Fun
More Books By C.M. Stunich
About the Author
Good Boyfriend: A Love Story (The Bad Nanny Trilogy Book 2) Page 11
