Cuffs - Cara Lockwood Page 0,25
Clint’s not beating you right now...and instead is buying you drinks, which, by the way, is something he never does?”
“Turns out, my cousin and he were in the army together,” Gael said. “Same platoon. They had the same drinking salute—to fuckin’ bastards!”
“You got all that in thirty seconds of kicking his ass at the pool table?”
“He has an army tattoo. He served, too, in Afghanistan.”
“He did?” Mags shook his head. She’d slept with the man countless times and hadn’t even known he’d served in Afghanistan. Sure, she knew about the tattoo, but plenty of men had tattoos. She didn’t ask about all of them. She realized she hadn’t really cared enough about Clint to ask those questions. No wonder he’d cuffed himself to Elena. Mags saw Clint grab beer glasses and begin to fill them.
“Is he buying us beers, too?” Mags was going to lose her mind.
“Yep.” Gael grinned.
Mags noticed the fishnet ladies eyeing Gael. Trying to figure out if she and he were together, and in the end, she realized, not caring if they were.
“Does everybody just fall at your feet? Clint and then those skanks down there?” She nodded down.
He shrugged.
“You could fuck one of them if you wanted. Maybe both of them, they way they’re looking at you.”
“I don’t want them.” He glanced at her sideways.
Mags swallowed, hard. She felt the blood rush to her inner thighs. Could the man read her damn mind? Was she such an open book? Her mouth had gone dry as she met his serious gaze. The weight of it, the power. She could feel it in her belly.
“What do you want, then?”
He leaned forward so his lips were against her ear. “You,” he murmured, voice low. “I want you.”
CHAPTER SIX
GAEL LEANED BACK to enjoy the look of complete shock blooming on Mags’s face. He got the feeling she was a woman who wasn’t surprised often, having already figured out all the angles of a situation and the people in it. She was cautious, tactical and guarded. Not an easy woman to surprise. He almost laughed but thought better of it. Laughing would probably just make her mad.
What he really wanted to do was kiss those full lips of hers, taste that hint of something sweet again, feel the power of her tongue. Make her do things for him. She worked so hard to be a rebel punk, a tough girl, but he got the impression what she wanted was to let all that go...for an hour or a night. Let someone else make the decisions for once. She wanted strength. She wanted someone who’d command her. She craved the discipline. That was why she lashed out so hard. She was waiting for someone to lash back.
She blinked fast, thick eyelashes framing those brown eyes. She wasn’t going to make it easy for him. His eyes traveled down to her trim waist and flared hips, clad in skintight leggings. He wanted to put his hands on her hips, show her exactly the position he wanted her in. He had a feeling she’d want that, too. Her small feet wore thick combat boots, and she’d perched one toe territorially on his stool. She could claim all the territory she wanted. He wasn’t going to resist. Hell, he’d throw her a welcome party.
“You want me? You think you can have me?” she managed after a beat. He thought she meant to sound tough, except he heard her breath catch. What was meant to sound like a dare came out like a plea.
Something in him lit up then. Something primal, something predatory. He felt like a wolf watching a rabbit run away from him. There was only one thing to do: pursue.
“I know I can have you.” He caught her stool beneath one foot. He dragged it closer, the legs of the stool scraping against the worn wood of the floor.
Her pink lips parted, eyes widened in surprise. She looked less like a punk chick then and more like a doll. A fragile doll. She was warring with herself—he could see it in her eyes. Trying to decide whether to give in or slap him in the face. He liked the struggle. Because he knew he’d win.
“What if I’m going home with Clint tonight?” She lifted her small chin in challenge.
He felt something dark in his belly then, dark and nasty. He glanced at the bearded bartender, the veteran.
Elena was leaning over the bar, waiting to pick up the beer Clint was pouring for some