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She smiles like she knows what I’m thinking, then holds my arm as she dismounts. She’s grace personified, balancing on one heel while she slides her leg over the seat, then gives a little hop as she lands. Her breasts bounce, the cleavage peeking out from behind the straining buttons of her top like it’s shy.
She wiggles her hips as she straightens her skirt, then tugs at the sleeves of her blouse and adjusts the front. “You’re a good ride,” she says with a sultry smile.
Goosebumps race up my arms. “You have no idea, baby.” I grab her by the waist and tuck her into my body. She’s a temptress and I like that she’s teasing me, but I got a feeling that it’s almost a compulsion with her. I can’t tell if she’s playing with me or if she’s genuine.
I decide the conundrum is something I can contemplate later as Blood catches my attention coming out of the clubhouse. “What’s going on?” he asks as he strolls up to us, his hands tucked into the pockets on his jeans. He scans Evanee. “So this is what all the fuss is about.”
“Fuss?” Evanee asks in her smooth sultry voice.
“You got the prospects tied up in knots and Prez is spittin’ fire. It’s a fuss.”
She nods thoughtfully. “But not unsalvageable?”
“Days not over,” he says with a wink and heads towards the Chamber.
Evanee raises her perfect eyebrows. “I like him.”
“He’s taken,” I grumble.
“So are you,” she smirks as she links her arm in mine. “Take me to your leader.”
CHAPTERNINE
Evanee
There are two men in the office when Trigger and I walk in. I assume the president is the one who’s sitting behind the desk.
The other man, who’s tucked into a space between the desk and wall, is tall and swarthy with penetrating eyes that linger on me. He smirks at Trigger. “You’ve outdone yourself this time, bro.”
Trigger scowls. “Mind your fuckin’ manners, Reaper, or we’ll take it outside.”
Reaper raises his brows, but simply nods, then looks at me again, this time with speculation in his eyes.
“Have a seat, sweetheart,” Hangman says in a gruff voice as he gestures to a hardwood kitchen chair. The man behind the desk is larger-than-life and the hard lines on his face tell me he has a personality to match. He’s probably over forty, has long sandy blonde hair that’s braided, and his unkempt beard is sprinkled with strands of gray, but it’s his eyes that give me the most information. They’re flinty grey, magnetic, and intelligent. I understand why he’s the president of Hell’s Jury and under different circumstances, I might consider him a challenge, but I’ve already got my tall, dark, and dangerous next to me, his big hand resting possessively on the small of my back.
I consider the chair as I recover my equilibrium. I’m not about to sit in it. My bottom is so well-defined I could bounce a quarter off it, but even I know that if I sit on that hard seat, I’ll start squirming in less than five minutes. I don’t squirm for any man unless he’s got his head between my thighs.
I glance over my shoulder at Trigger. Yes. He’d make me squirm.
I decide not to tell the president about my antipathy towards squirming. Instead, I improvise. “Can you please have someone wipe it off for me. I don’t want to get anything on my new Valentino skirt.” I glance at Reaper as if he’s Hangman’s bitch and he tries to stare me down. He almost succeeds.
Like Reaper, Hangman isn’t onboard with my request. “Sit the fuck down,” he says with gritted teeth that gets Trigger glaring.
I look at the chair again. “No thank you, sir. The only chair in this office that I would be willing to sit in is the one you’re currently using.”
“You want my fuckin’ chair?” Hangman sputters.
“Well, not for keeps, but yes.” I draw his attention to my studded platform sandals. They were more comfortable when I tried them on at the store and I’m wishing I was wearing my Louboutin’s instead. They’re worked in, know the shape of my feet, and love me in spite of it. But I simply say, “If you don’t mind.”
“I fuckin’ mind.”
I nod. “I understand. As an enlightened, forward-thinking female, I can’t expect you to consider me anything less than your equal, therefore it’s important not to indulge me.”
He scowls at Reaper, throws an if-looks-could-kill glare at Trigger and shoots to his feet. “Sit in the fuckin’ chair!”
I’ve never been the kind of girl who asks ‘are you sure’ or gives someone a chance to rescind their offer. I smile brightly at him as I squeeze between his and Trigger’s bodies, then take a seat in the chair. It’s as comfortable as an office chair can be. “Thank you, sir,” I tell him as I cross my legs and straighten my back.
I glance at Trigger who’s glaring at Hangman who’s staring at my legs, then my guy turns his ire on me. “Quit fuckin’ around, Evanee. You don’t know me well enough to test me.” The threat loses a little of its edge because his eyes are also focused on my legs.
