Dirty, Reckless Love (Boys of Jackson Harbor 3)

“I’m new,” she says, “but I like it. Or I did until the jerk who stood me up tonight ruined a perfect start in a perfect city.”

I lift my chin. Now I understand exactly why she started this conversation—she’s looking for me to quiet her insecurities. “So we’ve circled back to him.”

She groans. “Sorry. That was tacky. I hate that I care.”

“Is this jerk a boyfriend or just . . .?”

“Not a boyfriend yet. I don’t know. We’re not so new that it doesn’t sting but new enough that it shouldn’t. Tonight’s important. He was going to introduce me to someone who might be able to give me an amazing job, and . . .” She bites her lip and holds my gaze. “I thought he really liked me.”

“Do you plan to stay and wait for him to show, or are you going to get out of here?” Even as I say it, I’m not sure if it’s an invitation or just a question.

Apparently, neither is she. “I guess that depends on you. Now that you know my type, I’m wondering about yours.”

“I’m not sure I have one.” But I do, and she’s it.

“Everyone has a type.”

“Why don’t you tell me, since you already know me so well.”

She studies me carefully, as if staring at me long enough might reveal the inner workings of my mind, then she snaps her fingers. “Ooh! You’re one of those bad boys who likes good girls.”

I actually laugh. “You think?”

“Oh, yeah. I bet you’re into virgin

s. Preachers’ daughters. You get off on the idea that no one has touched her before you. You love introducing a woman to pleasures she’s never known.”

I smirk. “Trust me, a woman doesn’t need to be a virgin for me to do that.”

“Arrogant, too,” she says, and her gaze lands on my mouth. “I bet you like them quiet. Girls who wait for instructions.”

“Oh, fuck no.” I laugh. I’m too selfish to be with a wilting flower type. I like women who aren’t afraid to speak their minds, who will say it like they see it and call me on my bullshit.

“Then tell me,” she says, sliding closer, “what does a guy like you want?”

You. Against me. Under me. On top of me. I shrug. “A woman who laughs when it’s funny and not when it’s expected, and who doesn’t take life too seriously.” I turn, mimicking her posture with a shoulder on the wall so we’re face to face and closer now, only inches between our bodies instead of the feet between us at the start of this conversation. I dip my head and put my mouth next to her ear. “Beautiful women who prefer fucking over making love, and know exactly what they want in and out of bed.”

She pulls back to meet my eyes and drags her lip between her teeth.

“You know anyone like that?”

“I might. Tell me more, Mr. Tall, Dark, and Bad for Me.”

“You know all you need to.” I bring my mouth back to her ear. “The only question now is: do you know what you want? Are you the kind of woman who’s going to stand here eye-fucking me all night and then go home alone? Or are you the kind who’s going to meet me in the hallway behind the kitchen and let me show you just how dirty I like my women?” I step back so I can see her face—her wide eyes and parted lips—and suddenly, instead of counting down the minutes until I can leave, I’m praying she wants to stay and keep me occupied long after I intended to end this night.

“You’ve met!”

I tear my eyes off the girl and turn to Colton. Great timing, cock blocker. “Nice of you to finally show, asshole.” I look at my watch. “You’re forty-five minutes late.”

Colton gives me a hard look. “I had to take care of some shit.” His expression softens as he turns to her. “Sorry I’m late.”

“Really late.” She folds her arms. “You promised you’d be here.”

He smirks. “And I am.”

Is Colton the guy who stood her up?

“Late,” she says.