Page 9 of Lawless in Leather

The audience protested some more and she wagged a finger. “You’ll be happy to know that the bar is open for another hour. So you have time for a little more booze. But you’ll have to entertain yourselves.” She laughed that wicked laugh again. “I have faith that you’ll all be up to the task. You never know what little secrets the person next to you might be harboring.” She leaned over and whispered mock-conspiratorially, “If you ask very nicely, they just might tell you.”

God, he really wanted to know what little secrets she might be harboring.

The interesting kind, he thought. Possibly the very interesting kind.

He turned away as she bowed, needing to gain some distance. A beer. He needed a beer.

Actually he wanted something stronger but he wasn’t going to indulge when he was riding home.

He made his way over to the bar. The bartender, thank God, proved to be speedy. The beer was cold and crisp and the glass was chilled, the moisture cooling his hand at least. Hopefully the rest of him would cool down, too.

This had definitely been a bad idea.

So he would drink his beer and disappear before he could get himself into any more trouble.

He took another mouthful.

“Well, well, well,” a voice said from beside him. Raina’s voice.

Hell.

“I wasn’t expecting to see you here tonight, Mr. Coulter,” she continued.

He turned on the bar stool.

She stood there in that goddamned ridiculous dress, sparkling gently in the flickering light of the candles in the lamps over his head.

“It’s Mal, not Mr. Coulter,” he said.

Red lips pursed. “I think I’ll stick to Mr. Coulter for now,” she said. “What brings you to my humble establishment? Did you manage to convince Alex that cheerleaders are a bad idea after all?” There were nerves in the big eyes despite her bravado.

Damn. He hadn’t thought about what she might make of him coming to see her.

“No,” he said. “Your cheerleaders are safe.” He left off for now. Then he tipped his glass toward the room. “And if this is what you call humble, I’m not sure I want to see what you think fancy is.”

One side of her mouth lifted. “Fancy involves me wearing far more comfortable shoes. Surrounded by servants fulfilling my every whim. And far less dealing with drunks.”

“You seemed to have them under control.” She did indeed. He’d worked a bar or two in his youth and when he’d first been kicking off his security firm. Raina obviously knew what she was doing handling an audience.

He scanned the room again. Actually, for midnight on a weekday—which meant those who were here were probably serious about enjoying the evening and consuming booze to match that aim—the room seemed well controlled. No one was obviously plastered that he could spot, and the vibe was cheerful, not dangerous.

She wrinkled her nose. “Lots of practice.” She gazed up at him and muttered something that he thought might have been “Damn, he’s big,” then she hitched herself up onto the bar stool next to him, crossing her legs. Which gave him an eyeful of what was a very, very nice thigh encased in fishnets as she leaned over to the bartender and asked for mineral water.

Danger zone.

He looked back up at her face. That was somewhat safer. Only somewhat, but looking at her face, if he tried hard enough, he could pretend that she was wearing something that more closely resembled clothing from the neck down.

At least the dress—skimpy as it was—wasn’t a corset. He was pretty sure if he saw her in a corset he would be in a world of trouble.

Raina took her glass from the bartender and took a long sip. “So how long have you been here, Mr. Coulter?”

“Not long,” he said. “I was riding home and passed the sign. I remembered the name of the club from your CV.”

“That’s an interesting route home,” she said, tilting her head at him. “Don’t you live in Park Slope?”

She knew where he lived? He frowned.

Raina waved a hand. “Don’t worry, I’m not stalking you. It was in the papers when you bought the Saints. You live in Brooklyn and Alex and Lucas live in Manhattan. I thought you’d live on Staten Island.”

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