Taking What's His (Shillings Agency 4)

“Awful.” She dropped the side of her head on her hand,

facing him, and smiled. Jesus, she was too gorgeous to be talking to someone like him. “I’ve had a really bad couple of days, to be honest.”

That seemed to be going around. Instead of snarling back at her to scare her away, like he should have, he wanted to…help her. Make her feel better. “What happened?”

“Well…” She stared down at the bar. “My boyfriend of two months slept with my old college roommate the other day, for starters.”

Fucking prick. Anyone who would do that to someone as sweet-faced as her deserved a punch to the nuts. So she was single, then. But she still had a roommate. That screamed of college or some shit like that. How old was she? “Then he’s an asshole.”

“Why do you say that?” she asked, blinking at him.

“You’re stunning. That means he must be a fool—and an asshole.” He shrugged. “Obviously.”

“Aw.” Her smile lit up her face again. “You’re sweet.”

Sweet. That was the last thing he was. He was a fucking hot mess, and he should really let her know that before she got the wrong idea. “No. I’m not. You—”

“If you say so.” She waved a hand as if swatting away a fly. It was adorable. “But, anyway, he was probably upset because I wouldn’t put out.”

That was a hell of a lot of information to give a stranger, but she seemed the open type. And it only made him like her more, which had him saying: “Then he’s a prick, as well as a fool. Are you upset?”

“No, more angry than anything.” She glanced over her shoulder, licked her lips, and turned back to him. “You seem like a really nice guy. So, uh, can I ask you a huge favor that’s highly inappropriate?”

Seeing as he’d barely said two words to her, he had no idea how she’d decided he was a nice guy. If she knew who he was, and what he’d done, she would never have fucking called him that. Or sweet. “Uh…”

“Okay, this is going to sound crazy, but I’m going to go for it.” She leaned in and rested her hand directly next to his. Her cheeks flushed bright red. “Can you kiss me?”

He gripped his drink tighter, because, man, he wanted to. He shouldn’t want to, but damn it, he did. “Jesus. Do you come on to all the men in…in…bars like this?”

“No, but you see, he’s here. My ex. And he’s watching me. Well, us, technically.” She watched him through her long red lashes. “And he looks jealous because I’m with you, which makes me happy.”

He glanced over his shoulder. Sure enough, some blond haired dude stood in the corner, watching them. He looked pissed as hell. He couldn’t be more than twenty-three. Maybe. “That’s him?”

“Yeah.”

The boy in question looked like one of those football quarterbacks who’d owned the high school hallways and everyone in them. A total douche who wouldn’t know where a woman’s G-spot was if you gave him a fucking compass and a map. “You could do better.”

She flushed and bit down on her lower lip. “Thanks. I’m trying right now.”

He wasn’t better, and she was crazy if she thought he was. Crazier than he was. But even so, he wanted to be that guy for her, wanted to be nice. But kissing her wasn’t really what a nice guy would do, was it?

Not when he was as fucked up in the head as Holt was.

He gripped his glass tighter. “You could do better than me, too. Trust me.”

“I disagree.” She eyed him, nibbling on her lower lip. “Please?”

Fuuuck, she had the damsel in distress thing down pat. And she might not know it, but he’d never been good at ignoring a woman in need. All it took was a well placed please and a flutter of the lashes and he crumbled. That, at least, hadn’t changed in the war. And while he might not be good at all the things he used to be good at, there was one thing he still excelled at.

Seducing a woman.

And she’d damn well asked for it. But before he found out if her lips tasted as sweet as they looked, he had a few questions. “How old are you?”

Her cheeks pinked. “Twenty-three. I just finished grad school.” She licked her lips. “You?”

Of-fucking-course. She was practically a baby, damn it. He shouldn’t kiss her. Couldn’t. He needed to send her running for the hills. “Twenty-seven. Too old for a sweet little girl like you. You need to—”

She rolled her eyes. “Hardly. He’s coming. Please.”