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Three Little Mistakes (Blindfold Club 3)

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Her jaw tightened. “It does when you’re me.”

“Okay, I’ll bite.” She’d never know the truth there. “Who are you?” I scrutinized her once again. Were they filming some big blockbuster in Chicago right now and she was a rising star? She didn’t look familiar. But the longer I stared at her, the more I began to think she might not be lying about her age. The hardened expression aged her dramatically. Didn’t make her any less sexy, though. Maybe more.

“Don’t worry about who I am. Do you have a back exit I can sneak out of?”

I let the commanding statement go, but countered with my own. “Sure. But I need one thing first.”

She shifted uncomfortably on her heels, her body language hinting at her unease. “Okay, what?”

“Your name,” I said.

She groaned. “You can’t have it.”

Oh, shit, that turned me on. I loved a puzzle, and everything about this girl was a contradiction. A legal drinker using a fake ID. A delicate-looking girl who shrugged off a punch to the face. The fact that my cock was twitching in my pants when she was way off my type, not to mention fifteen years younger than I was.

“Why not? I told you mine.”

“No, forget it.” Her expression was a mixture of annoyance and worry.

“You won’t even tell me your first name? Am I asking something too difficult? Tell me.” And . . . there it was. The edge to my voice that signaled I was about to shift into a more dominant persona. The one which craved absolute control. Demanded total submission. Her mouth dropped open at the order.

“My friends . . . call me M.”

“Em? Short for Emily?”

She shook her head slowly. “No, my name is not Emily. Can you show me the way out?”

A dark voice in my brain whispered, I can show you lots of things, little girl. I wasn’t quite ready to let this conversation be over. “You still haven’t told me your name, though.”

The ice pack came off her eye and slammed down on my desk. “Not going to happen.” Defiant. Hot. I enjoyed her fire. Shit, I wanted another taste. What would she be like in a darkened room, bent over a bed? Would her eyes burn as I sank inside her, one of my hands fisted in her hair?

Why the fuck did I need to know so badly?

“All right, Madison,” I said, assuming it was a name that started with an M. “If you won’t tell me your name, at least let me drive you home.”

“My name’s not Madison.” Her expression went blank. It was unreadable, and I didn’t like that. I was excellent at knowing what went on behind other people’s eyes. “You want to drive me home? You look busy with those P and L statements.”

What the hell was she talking about? I followed her gaze toward my computer, where like an idiot, I’d left Dune’s profits and losses spreadsheet open. I minimized the window as quickly as possible, and when I straightened, I expected to see her halfway out the door.

Instead, she’d taken a step closer. One thin eyebrow arched as she scrutinized, peering at me like I was suddenly intriguing.

“I guess the reports can wait?” Her voice softened. I wouldn’t have thought it was possible, but it sounded sexier like that.

“Yes, Mary.”

“You can keep guessing all night, but you won’t figure out my name.”

I couldn’t choke back the sarcasm. “All night, huh?”

The corner of her mouth twitched up in the faintest of smiles. “You offered to drive me home, didn’t you?”

Just wait a fucking minute here. Was she hitting on me? I ignored the voice in the back of my head that warned no smart girl would get into a car with a stranger. “Is that a yes?”

The faint smile widened into a seductive one. “Sure, why not?

Alarms blared louder in my mind, but I disregarded them. “I’m keeping the ID, Marissa.”

“Good for you, Joe.”



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