“---coming!” I heard a voice say, not mine. I opened my eyes, and turned behind me, expecting to see Jake’s lips moving, but they weren’t. “Coming in a minute,” the voice said again, and my eyes went wide when I realized the voice wasn’t his, but the secretary’s speaking over the intercom.
Jake noticed at the same time I did, and we made eye contact.
In a flash, I saw my entire career pass before my eyes. A surge of adrenaline ran through me. Even worse, I had to admit, I thought, what would my mother think if she knew this was why I lost my job?
In the next moment, I clenched around Jake and I forgot all about anything and everything besides the pleasure.
I felt Jake shoot rope after rope of come inside me, his hand clenching just under my neck and biting my shoulder as he did. I closed my eyes and enjoyed it let myself bask in the moment of euphoric pleasure. Shoot, if I was going to be fired for colluding with a client, this would be a hell of a way to go out: caught by the man who had hired me while my client’s cock was buried deep inside me.
Whatever. Jake had turned me a little naughty, and there wasn’t any going back now.
When he finished, the sweat on his abs brushed against my back, and we stared at our reflection in the big window while our chests heaved.
“Jake,” I whispered, “Did you hear that?”
“Yeah,” he grunted as he slipped his cock out of me. “You’re not usually that loud. What got into you?”
“No, the fucking intercom! Mr. Yerac’s coming in.”
“Shit, Tennessee. I’ve never heard you swear before. And I have to say I kind of like it,” he smriked.
“Dammit, Jake, this isn’t funny for once.” I turned toward him and pushed him away, covering my breast back up, then sliding the bottom of my dress down over my hips as low as it could go. I heard the low rumble of a voice right outside the door, which I recognized as Mr. Yerac’s. I went into panic mode and looked at myself in the window, attempting to fix my hair and any makeup smudges.
For his part, Jake went into game time mode and put his pants and shirt on faster than I’d ever seen a man do so. He gestured for me to sit on the couch, and went around to sit at Mr. Yerac’s desk.
“What are you doing at his desk!?” I angry-whispered, my blood boiling. As if fucking in his office wasn’t bad enough, now he was going to piss off the billionaire more by sitting in his chair?
My anger dropped when Jake quickly rearranged the three things on the desk that he had moved. I didn’t doubt that Mr. Yerac was a meticulous man, who would notice anything ‘off’ in his own office of all places.
The doorknob turned, and I leaned back on the couch, crossed my legs, and put a business smile on my face in spite of the fact that I was pretty sure I could still feel Jake’s juices running down my leg.
Mr. Yerac walked in and immediately facepalmed when he saw Jake behind his desk, tossing up a baseball.
“Dammit, Napleton,” he groaned. “Behind my desk again, really?”
He walked in with an air of authority, the soles of his shoes clicking on the floor. He shook his head and sighed.
“Harry, I brought you a present,” Jake said. “A signed ball from the little league team I’ve started coaching.”
Jake tossed the ball toward Harry, and he caught it. Mr. Yerac examined the baseball like an archaeologist examining a new species of dinosaur they’d just found at a dig site, his eyes wide with curiosity. From my seat in the couch, the signatures all looked legit. I thought I’d even recognized it as little Tate’s home run ball that Jake’s entire South Side team had signed a few days earlier. I was a little shocked an eight year old would give up something like that, but the way the boy idolized Jake was beyond my comprehension.
Mr. Yerac looked up, his jaw open. “You coach a little league team?”
“Yeah,” Jake said, getting up from Mr. Yerac’s chair. “All Andrea’s idea.”
Mr. Yerac looked at me, then back at Jake. I saw the first smile I’d ever seen spread across the serious man’s face. “Andrea, I don’t know how you do it, but you’re a goddamn genius.” The sense of pride I felt was short lived, though. His eyes drifted to the window, and my heart dropped to my stomach when I saw him focusing on my own sweaty palm prints. It was everything I could do not to panic.
Mr. Yerac ambled slowly toward the window, raking his hand through his hair as he tossed the ball up in the air.
“Huh. This is weird,” he said.
Jake and I made eye contact for a moment, both swallowing our anxiety.
“I really need to get the morning cleaning service to do a better job.” He shook his head. “I don’t know who the prankster is that’s making these handprints, but I like a clean organization, and I like a clean office.” He placed his hand over the palm print, and I realized our hands were about the same size.
“I don’t even remember making these,” he grumbled, turning back to us. “I’ve just been too busy lately.”
I held my snicker to myself, relieved that he somehow didn’t see or realize that the outline of my tits were just below his hands, smudged into the window.
Afterword
The next book in this series, The Casanova Experience, was the author’s choice for his favorite book of 2017!
It is a seriously hot second chance bad boy romance about a basketball player and the girl from college he could never get out of his mind.
Five years later Amy (Andrea’s friend) runs into him on a plane…and Chandler, a known lady killer, vows to give Amy the real Casanova Experience.
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
Subscribe here to my email list here so you don’t miss out on any new releases! All of my releases are 99 cents for the first few days: http://eepurl.com/cjHaxD
Coming in February - Dirty Trick
Sneak Preview
Chapter 1
Eva
“What happens in Tijuana stays in Tijuana,” teased Amanda with a cheeky look on her face. She winked, handing the bouncer her passport. I was a little shocked that this shady Tijuana club was actually checking IDs, but I passed mine over, following her lead.
Sweaty bodies pulsed around me and I was pulled through the crowd as Amanda slipped through people ahead of me. A cold, damp, and hairy arm bumped into me, and I assumed it was a man’s. The seedy club was the type of place Amanda and I expected to get a drink spilled on us. Which is why we’d planned ahead and bought inexpensive—but still hot—outfits for the occasion. Mine was a red, tight fitted body-con number I found rummaging in a sale bin. The stunner was Amanda’s black, scoop neck, high-waisted skirt and crop top that complimented her curvy figure.
We were looking for a good time, not for a high-end club serving twenty-dollar cocktails, so this place was perfect. I settled against the sticky bar to scope out the terrain. Over the screaming speakers bleeding Latino salsa, I swear I could hear blaring horns from every taxi waiting outside the club.
“You know Eva, I’m glad you two broke up. Really, I am,” Amanda smiled, tossing her blond locks in an attempt to get the bartender’s attention. “He wasn’t that great anyway. I always thought he was a little shady.”
I turned to look at her, but my dress didn’t turn with me—it was stuck to the bar. Gross.
“Shady is an understatement,” I said. As much as I wanted to, I couldn’t tell Amanda the truth about why I’d broken up with my boyfriend. If I couldn’t handle the truth, why would I expect she’d be able to?
Amanda and I met in college at San Diego State, where we both majored in Psychology. She knew my dating habits better than I did. I’d always heeded my foster mom’s advice, and she’d told me to stay away from the bad guys, the unreli
able guys. The guys who were apt to leave you high and dry.
Guys like my birth father, a man I’d never met.
A warm breeze rolled across my skin, soothing the scorching heat. I glanced across the bar, trying to figure out why we were still without drinks, when I glimpsed an extremely attractive man, young, tall and tattooed.
He looked like the type of criminal I might have chased down at my day job.
My stare lingered on him as he spoke with the bartender. A couple bodies separated us. His broad shoulders and thick biceps were covered with a black V-neck. The tight shirt accentuated each muscle, while tattoos poked out of the neckline. His icy blue irises did things to me, and when he ran a hand over his short brown hair I had to bite my lip.
He leaned on the bar. His gaze shifted, our eyes locked, and he didn’t look away. I didn’t either, frozen by the man’s gorgeous face.
He seemed like a guy who could probably get any girl he wanted, and would leave her high and dry given the chance. Still, a current of electricity ignited in my heart. When he smirked something inside me lit up, and sunk into my gut. He was bad news.
He didn’t stop staring at me until I averted my eyes and looked away, his cocky grin seared into my brain. A faint dizzy flutter started in my chest, spread to my fingertips, and reached my toes. It was like morphine spreading through my limbs.
I stole one more glance at him out of the corner of my eye. Two gorgeous girls were clawing at each other to position themselves closer to him, but he just appeared bored. He nodded at the bartender and eyeballed a bottle of mezcal behind the bar. Almost instantly he had four shots of the liquid in front of him. After he took his shot, he put his shot glass down, looked right at me, and leered with a smirk like he’d thought of some funny joke I hadn’t figured out yet.
“Hey, buddy!” Amanda yelled before turning to me. “The bartender must be talking to his best friend or something. It’s like we’re ghosts. Do I not have the twins out tonight? I’m starting to feel insecure.”
I look down at Amanda’s top. Usually we got quick service. “The twins are definitely ready to play tonight. Maybe the bartender is gay?” I joked.
I sighed and turned away from the bar. In the process, I accidently made eye contact with an out of shape, fortyish man with thinning black hair and a mustache, who smiled back at me. I cringed and tapped Amanda on the shoulder.
“Creepy guy coming, five o’clock. We need to change locations, stat,” I warned.
We spun around to find another opening at the bar, but it was too late. Mr. Mustache was right next to us, boxing us in. Up close, he was even less attractive then he had been standing ten feet away.
“Well hello, amor,” he said. “How about I buy you a drink?”
Amor. Nasty. “I’m not anyone’s amor,” I said, scowling, hoping he’d take the hint.
I glanced over at the tall man with the tattoos again. He was ordering more shots. Lifting his chin, he winked at me as he took them from the bartender.
What the hell?
The mustached man didn’t move. He was not taking the not-so-subtle-hint. Instead of leaving us alone, he moved closer.
“Oops. Looks like my funds are a little low tonight. Do you want to split a beer?” he offered, opening his wallet.
“Split a beer? Is that a thing?” Amanda shot back.
“I’m sorry…I don’t have a lot of money. Don’t you like beer?”
“No, we’re fine,” I responded tersely. I looked back to where the sexy beast with the tattoos had been standing, but he was gone.
“You don’t have drinks yet, though,” he pointed out, refusing to throw in the towel.
I shot Amanda a look. Apparently the twins were working, they just weren’t attracting the kind of guy we wanted.
“Uh, my boyfriend is here,” I blurted out.
“Yeah,” Amanda said. “Both of our boyfriends are here.”
The man didn’t budge. “No they aren’t. You’re lying. Please, just drink a beer with me. I’m nicer than you think. Come on, just one.”
I eyed Amanda and tried to move away from the bar. Talking to creepy old men was exactly the opposite of how we wanted to spend my birthday celebration.
“Hey Honey,” a man’s low voice crooned from behind me.
I whipped my body around to see the tattooed hottie right behind us holding three shots in one big hand. He extended his free hand toward my shoulder and gave it a light squeeze. A tingle ran down my spin when our skin touched.
“I finally got those shots. Sorry it took so long,” he said in a deep and scratchy voice. He handed Amanda and I each a shot with a big smile on his face, as if he was doing the most normal thing in the world.
“Thank you, baby,” I smiled, willing to play his game for a moment.
We clinked glasses and each threw back our shot. Still, the annoying man didn’t leave.
“You two aren’t together,” the mustached man said. “I saw you girls walk in alone. And you—you’ve been with them all night.” He pointed to the two girls who were standing a few feet away, eyeballing Amanda and me.
Mr. ‘split a beer’ also had great observational skills. Just brilliant. Meanwhile, the tattooed man’s eyes sparkled beneath his long lashes.
“Honey, let’s make sure this man knows who you belong to.”
Before I could react, he gripped the back of my head and crushed his lips to mine.
Are you fucking kidding me?
My arms shot out away from my body, and I tapped his back like I was a wrestler who wanted to tap out. This wasn’t a middle school first kiss. The man knew what he was doing.
“Ahem,” I heard Amanda say.
I opened my eyes and pulled away from the muscle man, and the mustached man was gone. Amanda was as wide-eyed as a child who’d just discovered pizza. She turned away from us though, and gestured to the bartender, who finally seemed to be paying her heed.
“Listen,” I put my hand on the man’s shoulder and pushed, creating more space between us. He was noticeably taller than me, and even in heels I had to angle my head up to address him. “Thanks for saving me from that creepy guy, but I don’t go around kissing random guys whose names I don’t even know. It’s just not my thing.”
“I’m Corbin,” he stuck out a hand to shake mine. “Now you know me. Problem solved.”
I examined the man. He was even more gorgeous up close. His lips curled up in a smirk that simultaneously scared and attracted me. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up and my fingertips burned as I touched his skin.
“Well, Corbin, I know guys like you. You’re not my type, trust me.”
“What’s the matter? Didn’t you like the way I kissed you?” He made an exaggerated frowny face.
“It was okay, but—”
“Beers! Who wants a Corona?” Amanda said, handing each of us a cold bottle with a lime.
“You finally got through to the bartender,” I rejoiced.
“Bartender told me these are on the house—wouldn’t even accept payment for them. Said my money is no good when we’re hanging out with…you.” Amanda nods at Corbin. “Are you like the Godfather or something?”
Corbin shrugged. “I have friends in low places. Or high ones, depending how you look at it.”
I had no idea what he meant, but from the way he was smirking at me, I got the sense he was some either some covert billionaire or a very, very bad man. Maybe both.
“So you know my name. But what are your names?” Corbin asked. “You never told me.”
“I’m…Alexa,” I said. I cleared my throat and raised my eyebrow toward Amanda. She knew where I was going with this.
“And I’m Bambi,” she smiled without missing a beat.
“Well, nice to meet you two. Listen, you’ve got to be careful in a place like this. You never know who you might meet.” He turned to go.
Corbin should have had a warning sign on him that read: Do not touch: Magnetic. Even though I had just told him he was
n’t my type, now I reached my hand out and placed it on his arm.
“Are you sure you don’t want to hang around for one more drink?” I said. My heart picked up its pace. Amanda shot me a subtle glance that gave me the impression she was wondering the same thing I was: Where was this flirty side of me coming from?
He turned back, looking pleased. “I would love to. Why don’t I invite my brother to hang out with us?”
Corbin made a come-hither hand motion to a tall man standing several feet away. The man’s lean build and bulging arms were bigger than Corbin’s. He had blond hair and one pierced eyebrow. As he strode toward us Amanda blushed and he stopped right in front of her, extending his hand. “I’m Casey. Who might you two lovely ladies be?”
Smart. Corbin brought a wingman. Who was also a very sexy, very possibly shady man. Casey gave the impression that he might be a surfer one day and a Mafioso the next.
Casey swooped Amanda away, and she didn’t protest, giving me a thumbs-up as they went outside for a cigarette. Corbin took a step toward the bar.
“I can get this next round,” I offered.
“Don’t worry about it. I’ve got it.”
Corbin waved his hand and in a few seconds, we had two more Coronas in front of us.
“Here you are Corbin,” the bartender said. “Welcome back.”
“Welcome back? Where have you been?” I asked Corbin as we clinked bottles.
“Can I be honest with you?” he asked, and then took a swig of his beer.
“Of course.”
“I’m a very forward person. And,” he leaned his head down and pushed a lock of my hair behind my ear. “You, Alexa, are fucking gorgeous.”
Ten Night Stand Page 48