In Walked Trouble (Under Covers) Read online

  “So back to the topic at hand,” he said. “Why are you here, Cassandra?”

  “I could ask you the same thing, Luke.” She jutted her chin out. The move was quickly growing on him. “Why are you here? Hard day at the office crunching numbers? Wanted to blow off some steam?”

  Testy, testy. Why the dislike for a white-collar man? “Yeah, something like that.”

  “So, you’re what?” She took in his dress shirt and suit pants, and the corner of her lips tightened. “Accountant? Financial advisor? Stockbroker?”

  Again, he sipped his beer, then nodded.

  He and his DEA team leader, Ash Cooper, had just gotten back from a court hearing in DC. Luke liked to dress up more than his teammates anyway, but today he was more formal than usual. He could see why she’d assume his job matched his current attire.

  A tiny, deep groove formed between her eyebrows. “Well, which one?”

  “Teacher,” he said, fighting like hell to keep a straight face.

  “Teacher?” She barked a laugh. “You, sir, are no teacher. I work with teachers. You’re dressed much too nice to—”

  Cassandra froze, realizing what she’d done, and a wide smile swept across his face. Gotcha.

  Her face turned red. “Damn you. You did that on purpose, didn’t you? How? How did you know?”

  “Know what?” he asked in his best unassuming voice.

  The groove between her eyebrows got deeper and she grunted. “Stop doing that. You know what I mean.”

  “Do I?” He was a guy and therefore an immature ass at times. He found entertainment where he could, and this brunette firecracker was certainly fascinating.

  Her eyes widened and her lips curled inward. Before the vein on her forehead popped, he said, “All right, all right. I made an educated guess. Also…” He reached toward her left hip.

  She froze. “What are you—?”

  “Because of this.” He pulled a card attached to a zip cord on her waistband. Her school ID that she’d obviously forgotten to take off.

  He kept the cord pulled tight so he could read the information listed.

  Cassandra Stone

  School Guidance Counselor

  John C. Carver High School

  With a tug, she pulled the card out of his grip. “How dare you. That’s personal information. I don’t know anything about you and now you know my full name, where I work, and what I do.” She pushed the empty shot glass away and dropped her forehead onto the bar with a thunk. “Oh, no. This is bad. This is really bad. What was I thinking? I can’t do this. How can I do this? I can’t. That’s how. Oh. My. God.”

  He’d had enough experience with women to know now was not the right time to laugh, comment, or make a suggestion, so he swallowed it down and tried to talk her off the ledge.

  “Hey,” he said, “You okay?” When she didn’t lift her head, he said, “Cassandra, look at me.”

  She shook her head and a few loose strands of hair floated freely.

  “Cassandra, come on. It’s not that big of a deal. You can trust me.”

  That did it. She surged upright and turned to him. “Trust you? Trust you? Ha! I don’t even know you. I’ve spent the better—well, actually the worst—part of the last seven years with my ex-almost-fiancé, who looks just like you by the way, only to find out that he was a lying, no good cheat who was banging his coworker because she was more outgoing in the bedroom. Do you know what that’s like?”

  Okay, now we’re getting somewhere.

  Cassandra Stone. School Counselor. Her ex was too much of a douche to propose, but liked it hard core, and an even bigger douchebag because he’d made her feel bad about it. But wait… “Ex-almost-fiancé?”

  “Yes,” she said straight-faced.

  “How can you—?”

  Her eyes narrowed and he could have sworn she was about to summon the power of Thor and shoot lightning bolts right out of them.

  His hands went up in surrender. “So you and your…almost-fiancé got into a fight,” he guessed. “And now you’re here to…” Hell, he had no idea. He knew what women liked in the bedroom, not in a relationship. He was usually long gone by the time the women he’d slept with acted like this. “Help me out here, Cassandra. Did you guys get into a fight?”

  She nodded.

  “Okay,” he said. “What was it over? The other woman?”

  She slanted her head to the side and stared him down. “Are you a tax accountant?”

  “No.”

  “Stockbroker. You gotta be a stockbroker.”

  Shaking his head, he said, “Try again.”

  “Some sort of Christian Grey type. Lots of money and power, right?”

  He smirked. “Yeah.” He did like money and power.

  Her eyes lit up. “Yes?”

  “Sure, we’ll go with that.” He didn’t usually get into specifics of his real job when he met women. Their time together was always short-lived, so it didn’t matter much. Plus, he liked the idea of being whoever the woman fantasized about. In this case, Cassandra was so hell-bent on pegging him as some stodgy money guy that he wasn’t going to burst her bubble.

  Her shoulders dropped as she picked up her water, swirling the straw inside the glass. “You’re just like Daniel. I want someone different. Someone dangerous. Someone who appreciates the way I like to have sex. And I do like to have sex. Don’t you doubt that.”

  He was in the process of placing his drink to his lips, but her comment made him choke on his own saliva. He lowered the beer, coughing. Then, of course, because she’d said sex, he started to imagine what she’d be like in bed. What she’d feel like beneath him. The image he conjured of her brunette hair spread across his pillow, looking up at him with those green eyes immediately ignited a flush of heat over him.

  Clearing his throat, he said, “No doubting here.” None whatsoever.

  There was plenty about her that he wanted. Her full lips, her bright green eyes, and that trim physique. Oh, and her smart-mouth. He loved a woman with a smart-mouth. They usually told you exactly what and where they wanted it in the bedroom. And he was real good at following directions.

  “He said I was vanilla.” She lounged an elbow on the bar. “Vanilla. Can you believe that? Me.” Her gaze met his and held. There was a lot of hurt and regret buried deep, but there was determination, too. Good. Her ex hadn’t fully broken her down. No woman deserved to feel unworthy. Especially not in the bedroom.

  “I don’t want to be vanilla,” she went on. “I want to be chocolate. Or even swirl. Or freaking Chunky Monkey. I could totally be Chunky Monkey, don’t you think?”

  The way her expression opened wider with hope made him want to tell her anything she wanted to hear. He was good at that—pleasing women. But this time he actually wanted to mean it.

  “I think you can be anything you want to be,” he said.

  Her face brightened. “Yeah?”

  “Yep.”

  “You’re sweet.” She sucked some water through her straw, then said, “Still doesn’t mean we’re sleeping together.”

  “It doesn’t?” Had he asked? He was pretty sure he hadn’t yet. That was usually something he would remember.

  “Nope.”

  “Why would you think we’re going to sleep together?”

  “We’re not,” she said. “I can’t.”

  “You can’t,” he repeated. But didn’t she just say she wanted to be some sort of crazy food? Luke had tried just about everything in bed, so he’d be up for whatever she had in mind. Hell, he was always up for a woman showing him something new. Chunky Monkey sounded painful, but maybe it was the good kind of pain.

  “Nope. You’re not right. You’re…” she said, gesturing to him, “clean-cut, chiseled, sexy.”

  He blinked a few times. “That’s a problem?” It had never been a problem before. Like, ever.

  “Tonight, it is.” She latched onto the straw again, taking another long pull of water. “I don’t do guys like you anymore. I’m
into hard-core, tattoo-covered, foul-mouthed bikers.”

  He nearly choked again on his beer. He should just put the thing down and stop trying. Letting his eyes do a wide scan of the room, he only spotted regular, everyday people. Guys in suits. Ladies in casual tops and slacks. A family of four at a booth in the corner by the door. No hard-core bikers in sight.

  “So that’s who you’re waiting for?”

  She nodded.

  “Do you…know any hard-core, dangerous bikers?”

  “Nope. That’s why I’m here. I’m sure one’ll be along shortly.”

  Again, he glanced around the bar. When his attention came back to her, he didn’t see any change in her expression to indicate that her plan might be flawed. Instead, there was nothing but the intense haze of the alcohol buzz taking over her brain.

  “Okay, let me get this straight,” he started. “You came here tonight because you and your ex-almost-fiancé, who is a tax accountant, not a biker, had a fight over his sexual needs, so you stormed out still wearing your work clothes and school ID in order to find someone else who is a biker, so you could…do what exactly?” He was starting to get the gist, but he wanted to hear her say it.

  After another long suck on the straw, then the nasty gurgling sound at the bottom of the cup because it was empty, she said, “To sleep with him. Don’t you see? I’m vanilla. I need to prove that I’ve got Cinnamon Buns or Cherry Garcia in me.”

  Who? And what?

  “Okay,” he said, drawing the syllables out. “But it has to be a biker.”

  “Yes. Well, no. But he has to be big, mean, and dangerous. I can handle it. I’m ready to rock his world. I can be adventurous in bed.”

  Luke bit down on his lower lip to keep his smile in check. “I’m sure you can.” He believed her. The woman had a lot of fight in her. Besides, it was always the conservative ones who torched the bed sheets.

  “So, you see,” she went on, “that’s why I need you to leave. I need this seat open for when he shows up.” She glanced at her watch. “And Outlander comes on at nine. I’m kinda pressed for time, so it would be great if you could get a move on.”

  He wasn’t going anywhere.

  “How dangerous does this guy need to be?”

  She lowered her chin so she could look at him directly and deepened her voice. “Very.”

  “Does he have to own a bike?”

  She looked up at the ceiling, thinking. “I guess not. Leather would be nice though.”

  Leather. Really?

  “Well, I guess not the leather. But definitely big, mean, and hairy.”

  It took all he had not to snort.

  “This is a lot harder than I thought it’d be,” she said with her bottom lip popped. “I figured it would be like the movies—a girl goes to a bar and then she’s swarmed with men wanting to take her home. This is nothing like that.” Spearing him with her direct gaze, she said, “Where are all the hot, eligible men who want to have sex with me?”

  Navy Suit at the table a few feet away perked up and turned her way. He fixed his loosened tie and wagged his eyebrows in her direction. Grinning, he started to stand, but Luke shot him a don’t even think about it glare. Navy Suit dropped the smile and slinked back down into his chair.

  Not only was she acting out of hurt and embarrassment because of her ex, but now she had the liquor in her system to compete with, too. Luke wasn’t letting any of the a-holes in this place take advantage of her.

  Luke turned to Cassandra, who seemed to have wilted in her own seat. “There are plenty of men who would go home with you tonight.”

  Leaning over the bar, still propping her chin on her fist, she said, “Meh.” Then she yawned and blinked her watery eyes. “Sure wish they’d come forward soon then. It’s getting late.”

  He snuck a peek at his Rolex. Seven fifteen. Real late. Party animal, this one.

  Luke waved an arm in the air, signaling for the bartender. Once he appeared in front of them, Luke gestured with a tilt of his head toward Cassandra. “Do you have the number for a taxi company?”

  Cassandra sat up straighter. “Wait, what?” Through another huge, open-mouthed yawn, she said, “I don’t need a taxi. I’m good.” Then she fell forward, dropping her forehead on the smooth mahogany bar.

  Good. Right.

  After about a minute of no movement, Luke tapped Cassandra on the shoulder. “Hey, wake up.”

  She mumbled something incoherent and flicked a hand out to shoo him away.

  “No, seriously,” he said, poking her again. “Are you sleeping?”

  “Yes.”

  Laughter bubbled up from his chest. “Your taxi will be here soon. We should get you up and moving so you don’t miss it.”

  “You go ahead,” she said, face still buried. “I’m just gonna wallow in my defeat here with all the men who don’t want to have sex with me tonight.”

  “What will it take? A viable offer?”

  Still hunched over, her body tensed and she craned her neck to look at him. “A what?”

  “A viable offer,” he repeated. “Is that what you need? So tonight doesn’t feel like it was in vain?”

  Her expression was blank, but it seemed like a few wheels were spinning. Very slowly, because the hamster was drunk, but spinning nonetheless.

  He zeroed in on her lips, which he noticed were pink, plush, and totally kissable. An image of the two of them back at her place filled his vision. He liked what his mind conjured up. They’d do it once when he carried her into the entryway, again on the kitchen counter, and a third time in her bedroom for good measure.

  “I want to sleep with you.” It almost surprised him how quickly the desire hit him. Not because she wasn’t desirable. More because of how fast the feeling came since their very unorthodox conversation.

  She blinked, then sat up straight. “You don’t count. I can’t sleep with you, because you’re—”

  “Nothing like your ex, I assure you.”

  She closed one eye and assessed him through the other. “How?”

  He loved women. All women. But only one at a time, and battle lines were very clearly marked while they were together. No womanizing or cheating. Just a good time and phenomenal sex.

  “Men love sex,” he conceded. “So I won’t deny that Daniel and I have that very much in common. But I enjoy it with only one woman at a time, and I never engage in anything that isn’t open and honest.” Her posture loosened a little, so he continued, “All men have unique sexual needs, but so do women. And it’s a man’s responsibility to see to it the woman he’s with is taken care of. Her needs come first. She should be sated and exhausted every single time. If she’s not…” He let out a quick chuckle. “Well, he’s not doing his job then, is he?”

  Her expression suggested he’d said he was a small furry animal and she wanted to pet him. Wide, open eyes stared back. Mouth slightly open. Head tilted so far that it almost rested on one shoulder. “Would you like to have sex tonight?”

  “Uh,” he said, taken aback.

  “I should tell you in an effort of full disclosure,” she went on, “that I didn’t shave because I ran out of the house so fast. But you can look past that, right? I mean, it’s free sex. Men don’t turn that down, do they?”

  There were so many things he could respond with after such a huge opening. He was definitely interested and he’d be more than happy to show her just how much. But she didn’t need a horndog right now. Or a one-night stand. What she needed was someone to help her home so she could sleep off her condition and regroup about her relationship in the morning.

  Being the good guy really sucked. Or didn’t suck, as it were. Because if she sucked—

  Never mind.

  “Hey.” The bartender appeared in front of them and pointed toward the exit. “Your ride’s here.”

  She snapped out of whatever thoughts she was processing. “Oh, yeah. Thanks.” Then she turned to Luke. “Is that a yes?” Her expression was so hopeful that he almost picked he
r up and carried her out of there. She deserved to feel wanted. No woman should ever doubt her worth in a relationship. And no man should ever give her need to question it. Screw her ex-almost-whatever for making her second-guess herself.

  “It’s a not tonight,” he replied.

  Her lips flattened into a thin line. “Of course it is. I’m like a pariah. Can’t even get a guy I don’t know to sleep with me.” Stretching her arms out wide, she raised her voice. “I’m sex repellent. Nobody wants what I have going on in my pants.” Letting out another big yawn, she reached for her purse hanging on the back of her chair and draped it over her shoulder. “Whatever. Jamie Fraser’s waiting for me at home. He never disappoints. Even likes his women hairy as a beast. Eighteenth century au naturel is where it’s at.” She might’ve tried to wink, but it was more of squeezing both eyes closed and wrinkling her nose.

  Time to go. She was turning into a drunk lunatic.

  He held his jacket open so she could slip her arms in. Wrapping it around herself, she closed the front and inhaled deeply. “Thank you.”

  “For what?” he asked as he unfolded his cuffs to cover his forearms.

  Cassandra gave him a sweet, crooked smile and patted his chest. “Offering your jacket. Listening. Not judging.”

  There was something about her warm hand on his chest that did funny things to his insides. The small, seemingly insignificant gesture of thanking him made his throat constrict.

  Their gazes met and held.

  Okay, she was a cute, drunk lunatic.

  Luke followed Cassandra’s unsteady steps toward the door and out into the freezing night. More than a few times he reached out to steady her balance and worried if she’d even make it to her place in the condition she was in.

  He opened the back door of the idling taxi for her.

  “Thanks again.” Another yawn as she swayed in place.

  “You gonna be okay to get home?”

  Her gaze flitted around not really focusing on one particular thing. “I’m going home?”

  He rolled his eyes and grinned. “Get in.” Sliding in beside her, he closed the door. She wasn’t his responsibility, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to leave the woman in the backseat of a cab in Baltimore.