“Do you live nearby?” the dude asked in his cultured voice. Cultured, hell, that was just a fancy word for snobby and obnoxious.
Come on, there was no way she’d choose this guy for whatever would go down in that hotel room.
“No,” she said. “Just in town for business. I head back home tomorrow morning.” Her voice dropped, taking on a husky quality that left no question as to her desire.
The woman wanted to be fucked and she wanted to be fucked now.
Didn’t. Make. Sense.
The sultry way Chloe spoke did nothing to stem the flow of blood to his cock. Through the mirror along the wall behind the bar, he had a clear view of her body language. Yep, the woman was open and ready for business, at least that’s what her heavy-eyed, pouty-lipped look portrayed. She leaned in, giving the guy an even better show of her stellar cleavage, and her crossed legs brushed against his thigh. On any other woman, this would scream do me big guy. But surely not on Chloe. He just couldn’t let himself believe it. What the fuck was her game?
“That’s too bad,” douche bag replied. “I was hoping to take you out, show you a good time.”
Chloe tilted her head, giving the man an assessing gaze. Then, she tossed back the last of her Cosmopolitan. Shit, even the way her throat worked swallowing down the liquid, had Rocket ready to bust a nut.
“You can take me back to my room and fuck me. That’d be a good time.”
Rocket choked on his whiskey.
Guess that answered that.
No longer caring if he blew his cover, he spun and stared at the back of Chloe’s head. The man she’d propositioned had a deep tan, platinum blond hair that must have come from a bottle, and ten perfectly shaped fingernails. They probably topped off ten very soft fingers. Rocket glanced down at his own chipped nails and callused skin.
A man’s hands.
He sure as fuck could do a lot more with them than this motherfucker.
With a bug-eyed stare, the guy gaped at Chloe. He looked as shocked as Rocket felt. For the life of him, he hadn’t really thought she was fucking the men. Why would she do that? Her bruised and broken body knew firsthand the damage the wrong kind of man could inflict.
“Uh, yeah, uh, fuck yeah. We can go to your hotel room.”
Rocket almost laughed. What happened to the Casanova with the smooth lines?
“Great.” Chloe reached out and put a hand on Mr. Smooth’s chest. “One thing before we go.”
“Sure, anything.”
Yeah, Rocket just bet that guy would agree to anything. He was about to get between those very sexy thighs.
“My room, my show,” she said. Gone was the come-hither tone, replaced by an undercurrent of steel. “Before we go you need to agree to fuck my way. It’s non-negotiable. If you can do that, we’ll head out now. If not, I’ll keep looking for the man I need.”
“No, yeah, that’s good. I’m down for anything.”
“Okay then.” Chloe’s voice brightened. “Let’s go.”
Rocket’s gaze fell to that absolutely bitable ass as Chloe led him to the exit. He rolled his shoulders as he processed the new information.
Chloe was fucking the men. And she was fucking them her way. What did that mean? He turned his gaze away from her, telling himself the unease in his gut was concern for her safety, not envy of the man who was about to spend one hour between the sheets with the only woman Rocket had gotten hard for in months.
If his brothers could see him now.
They’d be in hog heaven watching him act like such a fool. Meanwhile their ol’ ladies would probably castrate him for slobbering after a traumatized woman.
Or was she traumatized? Maybe she’d moved past the assault. Maybe this was how she’d lived her life before Rocket met her. Maybe her coping skills were stellar and the trauma she’d endured was all behind her.
He rejected the idea as quick as it came. Just didn’t sit right.
As soon as they were out the door, he would follow. While he waited for them to navigate their way through the throngs of thirsty patrons, Rocket switched his phone back on. Earlier that morning, he’d received a text that had him powering down and getting his hackles up. Three words, that’s all it had taken to have him looking over his shoulder for the past that might coming back to haunt him.
I need you.
Fuck no, he wasn’t needed.
He was out. Done with his former life as a glorified mercenary and had the walking papers to prove it. Didn’t stop his old employer from seeking him out every so often. Not once had he been remotely tempted to return to that way of life. With each rejection, the requests grew a little more hostile. One of these days, his reprieve would run out and they’d send someone to bring him in. For now, he’d continue to avoid them with radio silence. Hence the turned off phone.