Page 112 of The Billion Heirs Boxed Set
Before I became a detective, I went on enough calls involving various kinds of assaults against women. None of them good. Yet I’m still thinking about his words.
Maybe I’m horny.
There’s no maybe about it. I am.
Nothing wrong with that. I’m in a dry spell and not one guy in the county—and I know pretty much all of them—does it for me. It’s not as if hot men grow like alfalfa or wheat around here.
I’m impressed that he asked about how much I had to drink. The bachelorette party is for my friend Tracy, who’s getting married in two weeks. While we’ve been here for an hour, everyone started drinking at Tracy’s house a few hours ago. There’s a limo to take us around, but I might as well be the designated driver. I’ve been sipping wine since I’m on shift tomorrow. With a probable murder added to my usual case load, I can’t be hungover. Not with that stickler Mark as my partner.
Inwardly, I roll my eyes thinking about him in comparison to Miles. The hot guy who I picked to do the stupid dare.
Miles wants me to remember him touching me.
“You do this all the time?” I ask.
“Stop at a bar for a burger and a beer? If I can get on my bike for a ride, yeah.”
I glance at his helmet again. He’s hot and smart, putting a brain bucket on instead of having his head scraped across the pavement for my colleagues to clean up.
“I meant…exchange favors.”
A smile tugs at his lips. Very kissable lips. He’s got whiskers that I bet would feel especially nice on the insides of my thighs.
I squirm a little. The idea makes me wet. The quirk of his mouth turns into a full-on grin. My cheeks heat. The feel of his hands on my waist is non-threatening. Light. But I can feel how big they are, how warm he is. I wouldn’t mind being a little manhandled.
“I can say I’ve never been asked to take a woman’s panties and then return them to her friends.” He lifts his eyebrows. “I’d rather keep them.”
“Got a big collection?” I ask, not sure if I want the answer.
“I don’t kiss and tell. Remember, sweetheart, you approached me.”
Good answer.
I bite my lip and consider. As I do, he pulls me in, and swivels on his stool so he’s facing the bar and I’m between it and his front. I’m trapped with his bent legs on either side of me, but in the middle of a busy bar. We’re not alone. In my periphery, I can see the bartender moving back and forth getting drinks. While the stools on either side of us are empty, there are people at the bar. At the high tops. Everywhere.
He hasn’t looked away from me yet. “You want to give me those panties now?”
I blink and reach into my cross-body purse. They’re stuffed on top, and I pull them out but keep them low between us. I don’t need to flash them to everyone in the bar.
My pussy’s bare beneath my skirt, and every time I move I can’t forget. I’ve never, ever gone commando before.
He takes them, the lavender lace looking delicate in his big hand. Calluses line his palm. Clearly he works hard.
He stares at the panties. “This little scrap’s all that covered you? Not much better than going bare.”
Leaning back a little, he tucks them into the front pocket of his jeans before setting his hands on my thighs over my skirt. “I’ll take these over to your friends.” He tips his head in their direction.
I glance toward our tables, but the girls have moved to the dance floor and are doing a line dance.
“First, how about I make you feel good?”
I shift my gaze back to his. “Here?”
We’re right in the middle of the bar.
He slides his hands down the outside of my legs until he’s touching my bare skin. Then he changes direction and works his way right back up. He doesn’t lift the skirt, but it catches on his hands so it covers them.
“No one can see,” he says. “Even with me sitting, we’re eye level. No one knows I’ve got my fingers a few inches from your pussy.”
