Maverick (Hell's Handlers MC 2)

“I’ll just run into the bathroom and change. Give me two minutes.” She gathered a pair of jeans and a casual T-shirt and started for the bathroom as Mav’s laughter rang out.

“Babe, last time I saw you, I played with your tight pussy until you came all over my hand. Think you can handle me seeing you in your panties.”

Stephanie stumbled as fire rushed to her face. She wasn’t promiscuous, and she certainly wasn’t a prude, but never had she had a man speak to her like that. She should be horrified. Hell, she should close the gap between them and give him a good crack across his face. Instead, she clenched her thighs together and prayed he wouldn’t notice his effect on her.

It was a wasted prayer.

His gaze traveled straight to the portion of her that remembered precisely how expertly his fingers worked her up. “I’m…just…uh…I’ll be…right back.”

Clothes balled in her fist, she fled to the privacy of the bathroom and flicked the lock closed. Too bad the lock couldn’t keep out Mav’s howl of laughter.

Dirty rotten flirt. He knew he was more than she could handle, and he loved it.

Quick as she could, Steph stripped out of her sweatpants and oversized T-shirt and stuffed her legs into a pair of skinny jeans. She’d actually bought these right before leaving DC, so they fit better than most of her clothes. The downside was that they showed off how bony she had become. A fitted black V-neck and ponytail completed the outfit.

As she was leaving the bathroom, she caught sight of herself in the mirror and realized she had a glowing smile on her face. The first one in months. Probably the first one since Mav gave her that stellar orgasm right before she left.

With a sigh, she gripped the edge of the vanity counter and squeezed her eyes shut so she wouldn’t have to look at the happy woman in the mirror who was only smiling because a criminal, hell, a murderer put the smile there. Maybe executioner was a more fitting word.

But still…

This was bad. The kind of bad that could lead to many nights of too much wine, cartons of ice cream, sappy movies, and buckets of tears…oh yeah, and unemployment and a prison sentence, too.

She could smile at Mav. She could banter with Mav. She could even flirt with Mav. Hell, the bureau wouldn’t object to her sleeping with him either, but it was all supposed to be fake. Everything she did and said while with the Handlers was supposed to be in search of incriminating evidence. The FBI was counting on her to bring down the men who killed Shark and Agent Rey—may his soul be forever tortured. Damn Baccarella. All this because he wanted to run the FBI and needed someone to hang for Shark and Rey’s deaths.

But instead of diving into the investigation, less than twenty-four hours after returning to Tennessee, she was giggling at his sexy banter and as giddy as a school girl at the thought of spending the day with him.

“Damn, girl,” Mav said when she rushed out of the bathroom thirty seconds later. “We need to get some meat back on your bones, but you’re still sexy as fuck.” He made no attempt to hide the hand adjusting his crotch, just gave her a playful wink.

“You sure have a one-track mind, don’t you?” She tossed the rumpled clothes on her temporary bed and stepped through the door he held open.

“Never claimed otherwise.”

“Oh! My car keys are on top of the dresser.” She turned to go back into the room, but Mav blocked her path.

With a snort, he spun her back around. “No way do you drive when we’re together. And no way do I ride in a cage unless I have no other options. I’ve been riding again for about a week, so we take my bike. You ever ridden?”

She had, and she loved it. “Yeah, but it’s been years and years.”

Mav’s face clouded. Gone was his typical mischievous smirk, replaced by a look of genuine displeasure. “You spent time on the back of some asshole’s bike?”

It was like there was some sort of broken connection between Stephanie’s brain and heart. Her intelligent side screamed at her to let the comment go, but her heart and the rest of her insides fluttered with happiness at his jealous tone. Not to mention how fun it was to be able to have a leg up on the guy that loved to tease everyone else. “Sure did. Lots of times. And he wasn’t an asshole.”

His ire grew, and he stopped walking about fifteen feet from the motorcycle. “How long you with this guy?”

“Long time,” she said, her lips curling up. “Seems like my whole life.”

“You love him?”

She bit her lower lip to keep the laughter in. “Sure did. Still do, actually.” Even though she hadn’t seen him in six years. Refused to see him.