Controlled Burn (Blackbridge Security 8)

A tingle of awareness runs the length of me.

“If I knew you a little better, I’d take you over my knee.”

She doesn’t back away like some women would with the threat, and although I’m not really an ass smacker, I like that she isn’t growing scared of me.

“I didn’t really take you for the type of guy who is into that sort of thing.”

“What sort of thing?” I ask, because although it’s not really my thing, I still want to hear her say it.

“A guy who likes to smack asses.”

“I’m an ass man,” I tell her, giving her backside a quick glance in the mirror behind her. The woman has an ass for days, and despite her being insanely gorgeous, it’s the first thing I noticed about her.

Kendall may think that the first time I had lain eyes on her was when I chose that exercise bike beside her, but I clocked this beauty the second she walked into the gym that day. I haven’t really been able to take my eyes off of her since.

“But you’re right. I’d never abuse one the way you’re thinking. I’m more likely to worship it, than hurt it.”

She bites her lip again, her eyes darting away from me.

“Where do you work?” I ask, steering the conversation away from anything that will make me have to explain the issue beginning in my sweats.

“Excuse me?”

“Sorry. Abrupt subject change.”

“I work in the service industry.”

God, words like service aren’t doing anything to help me right now.

“Yeah? And what exactly does that mean?”

“Just what I said.”

I grin wider. “The service industry? I bet you make a lot of tips.”

“Because I have a great ass?”

Laughter bubbles out of my throat before I can stop it. “And you’re sweet.”

“I do okay. There are others that do better. Where do you work?”

“I work for Blackbridge Security.”

She gives me a little head nod in acknowledgment, but she doesn’t seem to recognize the name.

“I’m a mechanic,” I clarify.

“For a security firm, or is it a play on words that’s not translating?”

What a breath of fresh air. This woman isn’t one of the ones that got wind of the organization and is salivating for what has been termed the #BlackbridgeSpecial.

“I’m also a safe cracker,” I tell her, smiling when she does the same.

“Like Mystery Man Medano?”

“Who?”

“The viral safecracker guy. My s—I have a friend that’s a little obsessed with him.”

“I’ve never heard of him.”

“He’s not actually a safe cracker. His latest thing is trying to get into an old safe he found in the basement of a house he just bought. Several of the videos have gone viral.”

“I’m not one to spend a lot of time on social media,” I say, but I’m sure Wren, our IT specialist at Blackbridge Security, would have heard of the guy.

“Me either, but my… friend is a little obsessed.”

Instead of worrying about whatever friend she can’t seem to stop mentioning, I focus on other things.

“Where do you work?”

“You already asked me that.”

“And you answered with what you do, not where.”

“Why do you want to know?”

I bite my lower lip in an effort not to smile, but I fail miserably.

“I work weekends in the service industry.”

“I’m a big guy who likes to eat. Maybe you can be my waitress someday.”

“Why do you automatically think I’m a waitress?”

“Do you work in a hotel? Which one? I might need to stay there sometime.”

“I don’t work in a hotel.”

“Which bank? You can help me switch my account over.”

“Not a bank,” she says, taking a step back. Until she moves, I don’t realize just how close we’ve been gravitating to each other.

“A retail store?”

“You going to tell me you need lingerie next?”

I lean in close, swallowing hard before I can speak. “Do you really work in a lingerie store?”

Her cheeks turn pink. “And if I said I do, are you going to tell me you need something for a friend?”

I shake my head. “I don’t have any friends that I’d buy lingerie for.”

“Is that so?” Her eyes drop to my mouth once again.

“It is,” I tell her, my accent somehow deepening. “Do you try the items on?”

“I don’t work in a lingerie store.”

“You’re a dream crusher,” I tease, drawing a small laugh out of her.

“I work at a truck stop diner out on the highway.” She begins to frown as if she’s disappointed in herself.

“The Lucky Diamond? They have the best chicken fried steak.”

She shakes her head, her eyes darting away. “I don’t work at that one.”

She suddenly seems uneasy with our banter, and since I’m not a creep, I take a step back.

“Were you still wanting me to spot you?”

“What?”

“The bar.” I point to the rack behind her, making her turn back around to face the bar.

“Oh right. We got a little off track. Just pull them off me if I go down,” she says.