Bad Liar (The Reed Rivers Trilogy 1)

Oh, fuck. I’m on the bitter cusp of throwing my arms around her and kissing the hell out of her sultry mouth. Which I absolutely can’t let myself do, or else I’ll surely cave and give the girl anything she wants.

“Lemme guess,” I say, my chest heaving. “Has a certain hothead spent the entire past week regretting the way she flew off the handle the other night?”

“Maybe I’ve realized bribing you with something I want to give, anyway, would, in fact, be a win-win.”

My cock is straining. Aching. More likely than not, dripping with my need for her. “Would this lap dance be performed in the nude?” I ask.

She looks shocked. “No. I’d perform it in this. Right here and now.” She motions to her outfit—a short skirt and low-cut blouse. “After shaking on the deal, I’d give you a little show... ” She nuzzles her nose against mine. “And then you’d listen to all three songs, right here and now, as well.”

I shake my head. “For a clothed lap dance, I’d be willing to listen to ten seconds of the first song. But that’s it.” My tone is businesslike. Flat. Like we’re two farmers negotiating the price of grain. But, inside, I’m a hurricane of pent-up sexual arousal. On the bitter edge of folding like bad poker hand.

“Ten seconds?” Georgina purrs, skimming her lips across my cheekbone. “That’s an insult to lap dancers everywhere, Mr. Rivers. Or, at least, to this one.”

I can barely breathe. “You saw me listen to Bryce’s sister’s music. Ten seconds is all I need—to assess a demo, to be clear. I need much, much longer than ten seconds to do something else.”

She giggles. “Come on. A sexy lap dance ought to get me at least a full-song listen.”

“Okay, time out for a second.” I put both palms on her gorgeous face and her pouty lips part in surprise, begging me to kiss them. “Think, sweetheart. Why would you even want me to listen to a full song, even if you could get me to agree to that?”

She furrows her brow like she doesn’t follow my logic.

“Imagine you get me to agree to a full-song listen. And then, imagine that, ten seconds in, I have the same reaction I had to Bryce’s sister. Hard pass. If I know I’m not impressed after ten seconds of a song, would it really benefit Alessandra if I’m then obligated by the terms of our agreement to keep listening to the same fucking song that doesn’t impress me for another three minutes?”

A light bulb goes off on Georgie’s beautiful face. She gets it. “Ah.”

I drop my hands and grip the couch cushion again, forcing myself not to interact. Not to grab her ass. Not to give in. Not to cave. “See?” I say. “You gotta think a couple moves ahead. Be careful what you ask for in a negotiation, because you don’t want to screw yourself by unexpectedly getting exactly what you’ve asked for.”

She slides her arms around my neck and my cock jolts. “But what if the song isn’t a hard pass? What if you think an artist has potential? You wouldn’t turn off a song after ten seconds in that case, would you?”

“No,” I concede, barely able to breathe through my arousal.

“You’d continue listening to the entire song, right?”

I take a deep breath and collect myself. “Not necessarily. Sometimes, if I like someone’s voice and style, but hate the song, I’ll listen for about thirty seconds and then flip to another song, hoping the next one will click better for me.”

She processes that. “Okay, so... ” She skims her lips across my jawline. “How about I give you one clothed lap dance in exchange for you listening to the first thirty seconds of each of her three songs.”

Georgina looks proud of herself for that suggestion. Hopeful. Fucking adorable. But I shake my head. “You gotta sweeten the pot more than that, Ricci. A clothed lap dance ain’t nearly enough for three songs. What else you got to offer me?”

She twists her mouth. “Two lap dances? A clothed one... plus, a second one in my bra and undies.”

Now, we’re cooking with gas. “You’re getting warmer.” I can’t help touching my palms to her back, and she shudders exquisitely at my touch. I say, “Would you do both lap dances here, in this room?”

Her breathing is labored. She’s begun grinding herself into my hard-on, causing my cock to throb and strain. “No,” she says. She skims her lips across my jawline. “I think we should do the bra-and-undies lap dance in my hotel room. Don’t you? And I’ll throw in a striptease, down to my bra and undies, too.” She’s panting now. Grinding herself enthusiastically into my cock. Getting herself off. And I’m loving it.

“We’ll do the striptease and lap dances at my house tonight,” I say, skimming my lips across her soft cheek. Inhaling her scent. Craving her like I’ve never craved anyone in my life. “Not your hotel.”