Page 4 of Fair Trade (New York Monarchs #2)

two

I need to know her name.

This woman has captivated me since the moment she sat her fine ass down at the bar.

At first, she seemed sad.

Something I could empathize with, given the shitstorm I’ve currently found myself in.

My life may have taken an unexpected turn, but I’m sure it’s nothing compared to living life in the shoes of a young woman sitting alone at a bar.

Unable to just exist without having to put up with overly eager men looking to get their dicks wet.

Yet one by one, she dismissed those pathetic excuses for men while keeping her head held high. To say I was impressed by her finesse would be an understatement.

Something I’ve learned quickly about this spitfire is that she exudes power. She doesn’t shy away from eye contact and she gives as good as she takes.

I wonder if she can take all of me. No, I’m sure she can.

I shake away my dirty thoughts. Although it’s pointless, given that I left her momentarily stunned when I showed my hand and let her know with perfect clarity that I would, in fact, love nothing more than to bring her up to my room and have my depraved way with her.

I’m amused that my admission has surprised her. Beyond enjoying the verbal sparring we’ve easily slipped into, the woman is drop-dead gorgeous.

Small mercies must be the reason I spotted her before she knew of my presence. It allowed me an embarrassing amount of time to wipe the proverbial drool off my face and lift my jaw off the bar top.

Her big brown eyes are feathered by long lashes.

Full lips that send every sinful thought rushing to the forefront of my brain.

Lush brown skin that I’m itching to kiss every delectable inch of and long wavy black hair cascading down her back, stopping right above her ass.

The same ass my eyes locked on to like a heat-seeking missile when she walked past me to take her seat.

She’s dressed modestly, but even the respectable neckline does nothing to hide the full breasts I’m sure would feel heavenly in my calloused hands.

“Are you having dirty thoughts about me right now?” She finally speaks, and from her tone, I can tell she has regained her footing.

“Yes.”

Her jaw drops. “Oh, wow. Not even going to deny it?”

I shake my head. “I don’t lie. It’s a waste of time, and I don’t make a habit of being inefficient.”

She faces me as she crosses her arms over her chest. “The first thing that came out of your mouth was something about not having sex with me. Have I already caught you in a lie?” She clicks her tongue.

My lips twitch. “Actually, the first thing I said was ‘You don’t have to show me your tits.’” She raises an unamused brow and I chuckle.

“When I said I wasn’t fucking you, that was to ease the sting of having to deal with so many incompetent men in one night.

I thought I was being a good Samaritan by taking myself off the table. For your sake, of course.”

“Oh, so is this some charity dick you’re offering? Can you claim it as a tax write-off or…”

The laugh that bursts out of me is so unexpected, I have to place a hand over my chest to make sure it’s real.

I didn’t know I was capable of it, given the wringer I’ve been put through, but it seems this woman might be exactly what I need tonight.

I regain my composure and lower my voice. “Give me your name.”

She smiles as she takes a sip of water. “No.”

“No?”

“No names,” she confirms.

Apprehension begins to build within my mind. This woman must be too good to be true. And it wouldn’t be the first time I’ve been targeted because of who I am. “What game are you playing at?”

She doesn’t miss a beat. “No game,” she assures. Then she raises her index finger and points at me. “But I do feel like it’s my responsibility to ask whether you’re a serial killer.”

I give her a flat look. “I sincerely hope that asking straight-up isn’t your complete vetting process.”

“Oh, of course not. I seamlessly weave questions about any childhood fascination with fire or harming small animals into the conversation. Usually before appetizers arrive. Gives me a good idea of whether I should stick around for dessert.” She winks, and I roll my eyes at the absurdity of this conversation.

And the absurdity of how much fun I’m having.

So much fun, in fact, that I almost forget that I’m in a constant state of arousal being this close to her.

“Quite the exciting dating life. Never know if you’re going to meet Mr. Right, or Mr. I-just-landed-my-own-dateline-episode,” I deadpan.

She throws her head back in laughter. The sight has my own lips twitching, wanting to join in on her unabashed joy. But my focus is pulled elsewhere when her hand lands on my forearm.

I stiffen momentarily at the electricity that buzzes through our point of contact. How is that even possible when there’s a suit jacket and dress shirt between her skin and mine?

She must notice my change in demeanor and mistake it for discomfort, because she frowns. So I put my free hand on top of hers before she tries to pull away.

And there it is again. That unexplainable jolt that makes my body awaken with painful awareness.

She looks down at our hands, then back up at me before she blurts, “I don’t date.”

“Unless it’s a potential serial killer, I presume?”

She shakes her head. “No, as in I don’t have an exciting dating life… because I don’t date.” She straightens, taking her hand with her, and for a second, I have to bite back an absurd demand for her to give it back. “I don’t have time to date. So I don’t even bother,” she clarifies.

I take a gulp of water. That statement has me needing to cool down. “So that enlightening chat you were having with that loser moments ago… that was you looking to make a new friend?” I eye her skeptically.

She pauses for longer than she has throughout our whole conversation, but I don’t dare make a move to rush her. She leans on the bar, mimicking my stance, not breaking eye contact when she says, “I was considering having sex with him.”

Fucking hell.

I try.

For the love of God, I try to keep my face impassive.

I didn’t get to where I am in business by not having a good poker face. But I’m unable to hold the heavy breath in my chest as her words play on a loop in my mind.

She’s perfect.

She doesn’t date, and she’s only looking for a good time. This is my dream scenario.

Yet why is it that instead of turning up the charm, I find myself irritated that she was actually considering giving that asshat the time of the day?

“You could do better,” I gruff.

“I’m aware,” she shoots back immediately.

Instead of taking offense to my lackluster response, she toys with the rim of her glass as she gives me the look of a predator that likes to play with her food before striking.

“And I don’t owe you an explanation. But that scrunched-up face you’re making is going to give you a few extra wrinkles, and I’ll be damned if I’m the reason you leave tonight looking a little less pretty. ”

“Did you just call me pre—”

“I came here because I was looking for a moment to myself. To decompress. Yet when the opportunity for a different kind of stress reliever presented itself, I took it into consideration.” I go to interrupt, but she lifts a hand, stopping me.

“Again, I don’t owe you this, but in case you were wondering, I am a twenty-nine-year-old woman who can decide to do whatever she wants with her body.

If that means fucking a loser who ordered me a fruity cocktail, then it’s my prerogative.

And if it’s sending him on his way to fuck his fist tonight?

” She shrugs nonchalantly. “Well, that’s my call too.

Are you going to try to judge me for it as if you don’t move the same way? ”

Jesus Christ.

I don’t know whether I’ve just been told off or coddled, and the feeling has me speaking recklessly.

“Judge you? Woman, I’m more likely to declare my undying love for you than cast judgment.

” She eyes me warily, so I continue. “But then I would run into the possibility of being told to fuck my fist tonight, and between you and me—” I lean a little closer.

“I have much more interesting ideas about how to use my hands tonight.”

She studies me fiercely, giving nothing away, and for a moment I fear she’s going to see how desperate I am for her.

My life has been a series of calculated risks. I didn’t get to where I am by playing it safe. And if I spend one more second pussy-footing around this woman, I’m going to live to regret it.

“Name,” I demand, using the authoritative voice I usually reserve for the boardroom.

At my hardened tone, something flips in her. If I weren’t so fixated on her every move, I might have missed the subtle moan she tried to keep from escaping her lips. But it’s too late.

And I’m ready to chase her as far as she wants me to.

If her hardening nipples against her thin dress are any indication, she might want to be caught sooner rather than later.

But instead of giving me the name I’m so desperate to hear, she shakes her head slowly, eyes filled with lustful mischief, making my hands itch to touch her bare skin and teach her a lesson. “Nope.”

I groan as I plead, “Are you going to make me beg?”

Her eyes darken as she leans closer, bravely sliding her hands up my thighs.

I suck in a harsh breath but don’t dare break eye contact until her face stops just a hairsbreadth from my ear.

“Now, now. Don’t start putting any kinky ideas in my head.

Because the thought of you on your knees begging might just be the thing that breaks me. ”

Fuck. Me.

Did I find a woman with a mouth as dirty as mine?

Impossible. But I’ll gladly take whatever she’s got for me.

“Careful. Don’t start something you can’t finish,” I taunt, hoping to spur her on.

Instead, she almost makes me fall flat on my ass when she cocks her head to the side. “And here I thought a man like you would make it your personal mission to make sure I would finish .” She sighs. “How very disappointing to hear.”

I’m crazed.

I keep fisting my hands and releasing them, hoping to keep them to myself while in public. Something that I may not be able to do if she keeps teasing me like this. So I decide to make her aware of the tightrope we’re currently walking.

I pointedly look at where her hands continue to rest on my thighs. She looks down and her grip on my thighs tightens the moment she sees the bulge straining in my pants.

“Keep playing this game, and I’ll have no choice but to bend you over the bar and give you the spanking you’re asking for.”

A whispered “fuck” escapes her lips as her hands squeeze my thighs once more. But I’m not letting up. If she thought she could throw me off with her sexual innuendos before, she’s in for a rude awakening. Or, at the very least, a very sexy one.

“Tell me, love. If I were to slip my hand up your dress right now and slide my fingers over your pussy, how wet would you be, hmm?” Her eyes widen before she bites her bottom lip again.

“Because the way you’re holding yourself back from outright grabbing my cock in public, I’d guess you’re fucking drenched. ”

I place a single finger on her bare knee and trail it up her skin until I reach the hemline of her dress. Her breaths start to come out in short spurts, and I momentarily wonder if I could get away with getting her off right here at the bar.

But that would mean I’d have to share the sounds she makes when she comes with the rest of the bastards here, and for some godforsaken reason, I’m feeling a bit too possessive to allow that to happen.

“Sweetheart, I need you to keep breathing so you can tell me how close I am to the truth.” She shifts oh so subtly, but again I miss nothing when it comes to her. I tsk. “It pains me that you’re trying to find some friction to ease the ache when I’m literally right here .”

She glares at me. “Don’t be so smug about it. It’s a biological reaction.”

“Which part? Your pussy begging to be played with or your hands inching up even closer to my cock.”

She seems shocked to find that her hands have, in fact, traveled higher, and the jolt my cock makes at her nearness has the zipper of my trousers fighting for its life.

“Oh—I…” I place my hand over one of hers and let my other caress her cheek before settling on her chin, angling her face closer to mine.

I speak the words into her lips, featherlight touches too soft to be considered a kiss.

“I’m flattered that you trust me, a perfect stranger, to be this close to you.

I tell no lies when I say I’m honored to be allowed the privilege to taste your sweet breath on my lips.

But please don’t test the final tethers of my restraint, because I promise you, I am no saint. ”

She sucks in a breath, and me along with it. My lips drag across hers for no more than a few seconds. Yet it feels like the most erotic thing I’ve done in ages.

“Give. Me. Your. Name.” I stare at her lust-filled gaze, which I’m sure mirrors my own.

I swear she’s about to give it to me. Victory already tastes as sweet as the brief touch of her lips.

Until she tortures me with “No. Names.” I feel my sanity slipping right as she says, “But there is one thing I need you to tell me.”

“Anything. Name it.” I’ll tell her my fucking bank account number at this rate.

My house in the Hamptons?

My private jet?

Fuck. Anything, and it’s hers at this point.

But what she asks for instead?

Well, that might be the most satisfying request I’ve ever heard.

“Give me your room number.”