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CHAPTER ONE
Taz Hazard dropped the keys to his classic 1957 Porsche 356 Speedster into the valet's open hand, strutted through the double doors of Bisu Manor, and stopped dead in his tracks.
What in the hell was she doing here?
The sharks in Armani tuxedos circled her like she was a bikini beauty who'd swum too far from shore, which she sure as fuck had. Bianca Sutherland might look the part in her blue silk gown slit to her hip in the front revealing a long, tan leg that went on for miles, but she was way out of her depth in this members-only private affair where the entertainment for the evening would be watching Ft. Worth's richest lose their inhibitions along with their clothing at Texas's most exclusive private sex clubs.
Bianca looked all of twenty, but Taz knew she was twenty-five, plenty old enough to play the games at Bisu Manor, but she didn't belong here. Not where every asshole with an oversized bank account could—and would—push every boundary she had. Not where he'd have to watch others touch what he'd fantasized about since the first time she'd walked into his Devil's Dip Gym popping a wad of gum and declaring she wante
d to make herself bulletproof. Not where he'd have to hear her sweet cries of pleasure that he hadn't caused. Listening to her determined grunts as she landed a solid jab to the hanging bag was torture enough.
Giggling at something one of the sharks said, she looked up. He knew the moment she spotted him because one, his cock woke up and said hello to its favorite wet dream and two, her eyes widened, showing off every one of the fifty shades of brown in her hazel irises. Then, the brat lifted her chin and deliberately looked away, giving her companion a sexy smile that practically had the asswipe coming in his pants.
Taz fisted his hands, the same ones that had gotten him a shot at the light heavyweight belt, and tried to remember why he shouldn't beat the dickhead's face in. He took one step forward, that familiar pre-fight anticipation dipped in adrenaline flowing through him. From the early days on the street to the grand finale in Vegas, his favorite moment of any fight had been the moment between ducking under the ropes and the first punch. Since he'd hung up his gloves, the closest he'd ever felt to that thrill was the no-strings public sex when he plunged deep into a Ft. Worth socialite who wouldn't have given a street kid like him a second look before he'd parlayed his boxing winnings into more millions than he could spend in a lifetime.
Bianca glanced up. The look lasted just for a second but it was more than enough time for him to see the dare she telegraphed to him.
Oh, Kitten, do you really want to play? You are totally out of your league here.
He shouldn't. She was his client. Another rich bitch with a colossal overestimation of just how much she could get away with thanks to Daddy's money and Mommy's social connections. But wouldn't it be fun to show her just how deep the water was that she was in? Really, he'd be doing her a favor. Better he teach her that lesson rather than the sharks looking to take a bite out of Bisu's new meat.
Releasing his fists, he strode toward her, cutting through the people dressed for the opera instead of a sex party at a fifteen million dollar mansion in one of the most exclusive Ft. Worth neighborhoods. He ignored the people who called out to him, women he'd fucked and men who wanted to watch—or more. His focus had pinpointed down to the brunette with the dick-sucking lips, blood-draining curves, and smartass mouth that gave just as good as she got.
Her gaze flickered his way again and she twisted a long dark caramel wave that had slipped from her topknot around her pink-tipped finger as she chewed on that full bottom lip.
That's right, Kitten. I'm coming for you.
The crowd around her parted as he approached. Smart people. He was a dangerous man to anyone who stood between him and what he wanted—and he wanted to teach Bianca Sutherland a lesson.
Wrapping one hand around her narrow waist, he pulled her close so she was molded against his larger frame. "Kitten, are you teasing these nice gentlemen?"
"Excuse me?" she asked in that throaty alto of hers.
Ignoring her, he turned his attention to the nervous sharks already swimming backward. "It seems Kitten didn't tell you gentlemen that she's mine and I'm not sharing." He slid his gaze over to her, noting the blush curving around her heavy tits and the peaks of her nipples pushing against the silk of her dress. "At least not tonight. I may let you watch. Kitten does love to be pet."
With a few skittish chuckles, the sharks swam away, looking for easier prey in the ocean that made up the walnut, marble, and crystal decor of Bisu Manor.
She spun to face him, the move bringing her eye level with his chin even in her four-inch heels. "What in the hell do you think you're doing?"
Feisty, just like he liked his women. "Funny, that was the exact question I was about to ask you, Kitten."
"Stop calling me that." She pressed against his chest. The vein along her neck went into overdrive and she tugged her bottom lip between her teeth.
"I think it fits you—soft, cute, young and yet still with claws."
"You better hope I don't sink them into you after that stunt." Her nails bit into his chest before she pushed off of him, putting an arm's length of space between them.
It felt like miles. He wanted—needed—her against him again. Fuck. This was trouble. She was dangerous. He hadn't been this turned on and focused on one goal since... He cut the thought down to a nub before it had a chance to develop. That was not where he was going tonight.
"Kitten, you should know better than to try to take on the big dogs." He drug the back of his fingers down the front of her dress, over the generous curve and stiff nipple. "You're not wearing anything underneath this silk, are you?"
Her nipple became even more pointed. "That's none of your busin—"
"Is the silk cool against your hot skin?" He pinched the nub, loving how her eyes softened with desire. "Or are you making it as hot as you are?"
An excited buzz in the room partnered with movement at the top of the stairs snagged his attention. Oliver and Amelia Davies-Smythe stood looking down at the goings-on. As always his sixth sense clanged to life, the one that told him a punch was coming before his opponent even lifted a gloved hand. He didn't have a reason, just a gut feeling that had his mental fists up whenever he interacted with the couple.
The English transplants ran Bisu Manor but rarely mixed with the well-heeled company. Tonight seemed to be the exception as the couple descended the stairs and headed straight toward Bianca and him.
"Do you know them?" she asked.
"Yes."
"Introduce me."
"They'll want to play." A warning? A hope? Fuck, Bianca had his thinking so twisted he wasn't sure himself.
