Corbin and I stood back to back, all three of the men out cold around us. He wiped the blood from his fist off on his pants.
“Baby, you okay?” I asked.
“It’s not my blood,” Corbin answered. “It’s that dumbass’s. I think.” He raised his chin toward the guy whose head was in the toilet.
There was a loud bang on the bathroom door, and Ned entered with his gun drawn, followed by a S.W.A.T. team of ten men.
“Shit, looks like you guys took care of em’ already. They dead?”
Ned ambled over to the man and took his pulse.
“Nah,” Corbin answered. “Alive. I didn’t hit him too hard. You might want to get him to a hospital, though.”
Ned shook his head. “I gotta hand it to you, I never thought you two would play such a convincing couple. The bad boy and the good girl.”
I rolled my eyes. “The good girl?”
“Yeah, of course,” Ned responded. “You’ve always been the too nice girl, Eva.”
I really needed to think of a way to tell Ned that what Corbin and I were doing wasn’t an act anymore. I mean, it had been ten months since Corbin and I had started ‘playing’ work partner to take down a record number of criminals. I was surprised Ned hadn’t figured it out yet himself, but he had the ability to be quite dense at times.
“Ned, I know when we were dating I was a good girl. You know, sex only missionary style in the dark and all that, but…”
Corbin scrunched his face and gave me a confused look, knowing I wasn’t a big one for confessionals. After all the time we’d spent hanging out the past few months, I knew it took a lot to catch him off guard. And I loved doing it.
I continued. “Ned, there is something you need to know about me. All of that ‘acting’ I was doing with Corbin? Well…”
I walked over to Corbin with an authoritative strut.
No more little Miss Nice girl.
I pushed him into the wall, wrapped my leg around his waist and pulled his head down to mine for a wet, sloppy kiss. I grabbed his hand and placed it directly on the fabric of my dress that was barely covering my ass.
During our make out, I opened the corner of my eye and I could see Ned’s mouth completely agape.
I released Corbin and turned to Ned.
“You’re just gonna have to get used to the new me, Ned. And I’m not really a nice girl. I’m sorry. No actually, I’m sorry I’m not sorry.”
Ned came down off his shock cloud and managed to say a few words.
“I thought I noticed something in your attitude, and well I guess…”
Corbin had his arm on my back, and it was slipping downward toward that spot just below the small of my back he always liked to grab. In the past four months I hadn’t gone two days without having his big hands all over me.
“Well…?” I said, tapping my toe once.
“And whatever you’re doing, you’re catching the shit out of these criminals. We’ve busted more with you two undercover in the past eight months than in the past four years. Shit, who am I to judge. Perez, Gatsburg, let’s get these guys on cots and get them out of here.” Ned signaled to his S.W.A.T. officers and they carried the criminals out. Corbin and I lingered.
“Alright,” Ned said, “Good work here. As a reward, we’re giving you a month off. Take a vacation. Do something that doesn’t involve taking down drug dealers for a change. For the love of God, lay low. I need to give you two a break.”
I nodded. Ned exited the bathroom, leaving Corbin and I alone.
“Damn, what are we gonna do for a month?” I said as the door clicked shut. I moved to follow Ned out, but Corbin grabbed my wrist and twirled me back toward him like I was doing a spin move on the dance floor. I hit his chest and he wrapped me up with his arms.
“I can think of a couple of things,” he said with the trademark sparkle in his eye. He clicked the lock on the bathroom door shut. I smiled and gripped his shirt, tugging it upward in a not so subtle ‘take it off’ signal. He unbuttoned it and I ran my hands over his chest.
Nothing is hotter than a man with scars that he got saving your life.
I thought back to the pep talk I gave myself that changed it all, and I smiled.
No more Miss Nice girl.
Now it was more like Miss Bad girl. And I couldn’t be happier. I ran my hand along his muscular leg, and accidentally scraped the outline of his jean's pocket and felt something hard and tiny inside.
“Hey,” Corbin grabbed my wrist before I could wrap my hand around whatever it was. “You really have turned into a bad girl, haven’t you.”
“What is that in your pocket? I must know!” I laughed.
Corbin had a look on his face that I’d literally never seen him have before. He looked…nervous and shaky.
Suddenly I was confused.
“Well, fuck,” Corbin said. “I wanted this to be a surprise, but..fuck it.”
Corbin got down on one knee and pulled a ring out of his pocket.
“Eva Napleton, I love you. I love you as Eva and Alexa. I want all of your craziness for the rest of my life. No, take that back, I don’t want it. I need it. Will you upgrade from being my fake mistress and real girlfriend to my wife?”
I looked down in amazement at the man kneeled in front of me. Old me would be pissed that this moment was so totally imperfect, that it was taking place in a bathroom, and that Corbin basically started this whole proposal with the words fuck it.
But the new me understood that the perfect moment never came, except when you weren’t looking for it. And in a weird way, this imperfect, tattooed, scarred young man was perfect for me.
“Get up here.” I said, needing Corbin to not be kneeling, needing his arms wrapped around me.
Corbin stood up and slipped the ring on my finger. It was huge. He ran a hand through my hair and gave me an especially tender kiss. I made a mental note to figure out how Corbin got the money for this. I was guessing it wasn’t from the meager government salary the DEA paid us. For now, I’d let it go.
The tender kiss led to tonsil hockey, which led our hands all over each other and eventually to my dress coming off over my head.
I sat on the sink and arched my back feeling Corbin’s hard, sweaty body against mine, and a peculiarly naughty thought crossed my mind:
Best one night stand ever. I couldn’t wait to have a one night stand with Corbin every night for the rest of my life.
Also By Mickey Miller:
Blackwell After Dark - Small Town Romances
Sports Romances Series - Ballers
Playing Dirty
The Casanova Experience
Mickey Miller books cowritten with Holly Dodd:
Dirty CEO
Hotblooded Prizefighter
Bonus Novel
And now I would like to gift to you for a limited time this amazing novel, Hot Blooded Prizefighter. It is about a girl who is stranded on an island with a hot-as-hell fighter…oh and they also happen to be forced to be in the same together.
This is a cowritten book I did with Holly Dodd, and I know you’ll enjoy it! It’s quite hot, and quite twisty which will come as no surprise if you’d enjoyed my other books. Happy Reading!
1 - Connor
The vultures wanted a piece of me.
My gaze swept through the people who were piling in for the news conference. I recognized more than a few of them, but there was only one I was looking for and hoping he wouldn’t show up.
Richard “Dick” Morgan. He was the nemesis I didn’t want, but had anyway.
“Connor, stop gawking at them. You still have a few minutes before you need to face the press.” My agent, Jeff Faber, said from behind me.
I turned and met Jeff’s steely eyes. “This is bullshit, Faber, and you know it.”
Jeff shrugged. He’d been a fighter too, back in the day. While age had caught up with him and he couldn’t perform in the ring anymore, he kept his finger on the MMA pulse by grooming new talent. He’d found me w
hen I had been young and raw, and molded me into the household name I was today. I owed another person for my fighting prowess.
“Calm down. You want the big money, this is what you should do. It’s five fucking minutes for Christ sake.”
I grunted and crossed my arms. “I’m not talking about the bloody press conference.” He’d hired a fucking “image consultant” for me. I’d spent the past years being the hot-headed Irish fighter that put asses in the seats, and eyes on the TV during Pay-Per-View matches. But the sponsors who I wanted in my corner thought I was too violent and off kilter.
It was bollocks. But I knew he was right. My last purse had been high, almost two-million dollars. But compared to the advertisement and endorsement revenue I could pull in, it was abysmal and not worth the battle wounds. I was getting older, and my body was letting me know I couldn’t be fighting forever.
“Where is she?” I finally said.
A woman pulled away from the few ring-bunnies milling around. There was always easy tail at events like this. After my news conference, there’d be a weigh-in and the usual circus bullshit that came with fights for another class. They kept themselves warm and ready in case any fighter came their way wanting to score.
If I hadn’t known she was my new image consultant, I’d have thought she was just a groupie. The girl was fucking stacked. Her honey-blonde hair was pulled back into a sleek ponytail that made her neck look long.
I didn’t even bother disguising that I was checking her out. She was dressed professionally, not showing much skin except for her bare arms. But the sheathe dress she wore, and the black and pink color blocking, accentuated her buxom body.
She would be a distraction.
I turned to Jeff. “No. No fucking way.”
The girl glared at me and crossed her arms. All that did was hike up her amazing tits until my eyes were latched onto them again.
I pointed at the chick. “See that shit? That’s called a distraction. Get me a man, a gay one.”
“There’s no one else. Everyone is booked up, and no one wants to sully their reputation when you go flying off the handle. It’s either her, or no one.”
The girl stayed quiet as we talked about her as if she weren’t there. Color snapped in her cheeks, though, and her bright blue eyes glittered with danger.
Yeah, she wasn’t happy, but she was too professional to tell me off.
I’d turned shit-talking into an art form, and now I had to play nice. This was such bullshit.
Jeff got into my face and pitched his voice low. “You need her right now, Connor. You’re turning over a new leaf. If you want that seven-figure payday, you can’t go off half-cocked anymore.”
I looked over Jeff’s shoulder. She really was a fucking ten. How was I not going to flirt with her? Shit, my cock was already stirring to salute her, and she was glaring at me as if she wanted to geld me.
“What’s your name.”
“Crystal Lawson.”
“Nice to meet you Crystal, you’re fired.”
“You don’t have any say in my employment, Mr. McGrath.” Unphased, she unzipped the Michael Kors tote slung over her shoulder, and pulled out a lint roller. “Turn around.”
I arched a brow and Jeff shrugged. “She’s right. I hired her, you didn’t.”
I grumbled and showed her my back.
I was dressed in a five-figure suit, and she attacked the back of my jacket as if it offended her. It wasn’t the clothing that offended her, but the man in them. If she didn’t like my attitude now, she would hate me when I was preparing for a fight.
Maybe that was a trick, get her to quit. If only I didn’t need her.
She rolled the sticky side up and down my back, and even brushed it over my ass.
“You almost done back there, sweetheart? I know my arse is nice, if you want to touch it you can just ask.”
Crystal let loose with a sexy growl in the back of her throat, but she stepped away. I turned, and she pointed the roller at me and shook it. She reminded me of the nuns back home in Ireland, promising me I’d meet the devil if I kept acting the way I did.
They’d been right. I’d met the devil, and won. But I hadn’t emerged unscathed.
Maybe if she kept shaking the roller at me, I could keep that school-marmish idea in my head. Only she didn’t look like a nun, and that imagery would never stick.
"Mr. McGrath," she began.
“Connor.”
She pinched her lips together and her nostrils flared. "It's unprofessional for me to call you Connor, Mr. McGrath."
"Well, you have to deal with it, lass. Because I ain’t no Mr. McGrath. If you want me to answer, it’s Connor or ‘Oh God.” I flashed her my best panty-melting smile.
Her lashes fluttered as her eyes closed for a brief despite. I had that effect on women. If they didn’t want to fuck me, they wanted to kill me.
I waited until she calmed herself.
"If you work with me," and I stressed IF in a capital letter type of voice. "You will call me Connor."
Her eyes darted towards Jeff who was watching our reaction with an amused smirk. He shook his head. No one could curb my tongue, not even Jeff.
Her nostrils flared again, but then she flashed me a smile full of gritted teeth. “As you wish, Connor," she said with snarky little purr in her voice.
Damn, I wondered what she’d be like in bed. Talk about unprofessional. She'd be fucking screaming and running if she knew the thoughts I was having about her.
She threw the lint roller back into her bag. “Do you know what you’re going to say to them?” She nodded towards the reporters. Her ponytail swished, and damn if I didn’t want to give it a tug.
"I do. I'm to talk about my last fight, and suggest that my next one will be even bigger. I’m to be a good fucking boy.”
“Exactly. And you are not going to be calling the press any of those wonderfully colorful names you like to spew at them. Right?"
My upper lip curled in a sneer. I smoothed my hand down the front of my lime green tie. “I promise I won’t call them cock-gobblers tonight, Ms. Lawson. Or fuck-wads, or gobshite.” I winked.
She scrunched her face up a little, but didn’t flinch. Her cheeks caved in as she forced a smile. “Yes. Now go get them.”
She patted my arm, and then stopped. She blinked down at my bicep, and I knew exactly what she’d felt. I flexed for her, and she jumped back as if she got burned. She might pretend that she was unaffected by me, most girls were mostly because I had the type of face only a mother could love. But once they got their hands all over my muscles, their panties came off and their whole mood changed.
Crystal Lawson wasn’t immune.
She swallowed and took a few steps away.
How was I going to be around her without causing a sexual harassment suit? I looked at Jeff, but he was busy talking to another fighter.
Crystal and I were apples and oranges. She looked like some belle of the ball, southern debutante who said please and thank you. I was an Irish brawler who climbed up from the streets and made it big.
Just because I was polished right now, didn’t mean underneath I wasn’t dirty.
I flashed her a smirk, turned on my heel, and went to face the press.
It wasn't a secret that they liked to antagonize me. It was all part of the show. Up until now my motto had been that any press was good press. If my name was in the headlines, people were talking about me, and thinking about the next fight. I’d made MMA a celebrity event, and TMZ loved me.
But if I wanted a bigger piece of the pie, bigger than the cool two-million I had just earned for my last fight against Woodley, I needed to be marketable to Jim and Jane Smith from middle America. Which meant no flying off the handle, no street fighting, and definitely no womanizing.
That last part was a hard one. I liked my women. I’d never met a pair of tits and ass that said no. Except Crystal. On the other hand, I’d only just met her. But with the way she was stroking my muscles earli
er, if I wanted her, I could have her.
I shook my head, and patted down the freshly styled ginger hair on my head. Then I walked onto the stage.
A few fans roared my name, and I waved toward the noise. Even though I was blinded by the lights the cameras focused on me. Flashes popped as the cameramen took their shots, and then settled back for the video to kick in.
I sat down in a cheap black chair, behind a long gray table, and leaned towards the plethora of microphones in front of me. I folded my hands, and radiated self-assurance. They weren’t going to get under my skin today.
"Looking good Connor," a reporter I recognized from a cable sports channel said.
“It will take more than Woodley to mess up my pretty face.” They laughed as if cued.
Truth was, there wasn't a lot to mess up.
I’d broken my nose a dozen times over the years from bareknuckle boxing, and more than a few vicious kicks to my face. The ridge was nearly flush to my face, and flared out at the bottom. My cheekbones were flat, and the last few fights had knocked a few teeth free. Though I had implants, I knew they were there. And I wasn’t going to even mention my ears.
But I dressed impeccably, and sometimes that brash blend of confidence, and obvious wealth, wooed people into a false sense of comfort. I pretended to be something more than I was, even if I was just an Irish born lad who made it big in America.
The journalists peppered me with questions. I managed to keep cool through most of them.
Then I saw him, the asshole that had been the reason Jeff decided to hire an image coach for me. The last time he and I had met, I almost punched him out. Being that he wasn’t a fighter, that was a bad idea. So, Crystal had been brought in to polish the edges off, and clean up any issues that might pop up.
Dirty Trick Page 18