THE CRAZY GOOD SERIES - Rachel Robinson Page 0,10

looks out the dancing bodies, searching for someone. Her friend? A man? The questions are endless and I feel helpless. I need to talk to her more. Her glossy lips shine in the dim lights. I want to know exactly how she can use them. On every square inch of my body.

“Number?” I ask in the same manner she asked for my name. I never get phone numbers. There’s no need. I fuck em’ and forget em’. I can’t even believe the word just came out of my mouth. I hope I don’t sound desperate. Actually, maybe it will work to my benefit if I do. This is a game, after all.

“I don’t do dates. I don’t give numbers. I work with them. Let’s not pretend this is going anywhere.” She motions between us with a swift flick of her hand. “I know what you’re after and, frankly, I’m not giving it up. Not to anyone and especially not to a Navy SEAL who shoots just as precisely with his gun as he does his dick,” she says.

I can’t help the chuckle that escapes. Humor, innocence, and guarded like Ft. Knox. She smiles over her shoulder as she walks away, her perfect ass moving in the wrong direction.

I only know a few things about this woman, but I’m left with one damn thought: Windsor wins this match, hands down. I rearrange my hard-on for the millionth time in one night. Mother fucker.

CHAPTER FOUR

Windsor

I SPENT SUNDAY sulking because I didn’t pull the damn trigger on the guy at the bar. I had him. I saw it in his eyes. He isn’t my type at all. He’s dangerous. Breaking hearts is probably one of his perfected skill sets. I should have just taken him home and beaten him at his own game. Sex and skedaddle. Hormones have completely taken over my body since coming in contact with Maverick. Horny doesn’t even begin to describe what the mere thought of him does to me. And I didn’t even see him with his shirt off!

I can’t concentrate on my computer screen in front of me because of the color of the damn numbers in my program. They are like this bluish black color, and I wonder if it’s the exact color of his tattoos. I’m sick. I don’t even think banging Garrett, the hot CPA in the office next to mine, all lunch hour would work. No. Only a Maverick or someone similar would do for my wanton needs. This is what I get for going years without sex. One sexual laced conversation with a sex God, because I know he is a sex God, and I’m a panting dog. I bet he even knows his effect on women, which makes this all the more horrible. A maybe-solution pops into my mind as I hit speed dial number four.

“Hey, Phillipe. Is Morganna super swamped? I need to talk to her,” I say. I hear the hiss of an iron and cover my giggle. He’s doing her ironing.

“Of course she’s busy, Windsor, but I’ll ask if she wants to talk to you if she isn’t screaming on her head set.” I laugh again. He remains quiet. He isn’t joking.

She picks up almost immediately. “Morganna Sterns,” she breathes in a huge rush of air. I get up to close my office door as tightly as it will go.

“I need that date you were talking about.” I cut right to the chase. No need to mince words or beat around the damn bush. That ship sailed the second Maverick asked for my phone number. “Who were you going to set me up with last night?” Please be Maverick, please be Maverick. My silent pleas are freaking pathetic and I inwardly chastise myself.

“Happy Monday to you too, Winnie. Hard up are you?” I hear the smile in her voice. I suddenly know exactly why Morganna is wrapped around Stone’s finger if she deals with this insane sex drive just from looking at him.

“Hard up doesn’t even begin to cover the bases. Date. Phone number, e-mail address – whatever you have. Now!” The phone line she has on hold chirps. I hear papers shuffling.

“Mav Hart is bad news. Stay away from him. I wouldn’t fix you up with him unless you were my mortal enemy. He has a really twisted back story. It’s not my business to discuss this with you. Just please, accept this warning, Winnie.”

My heart sinks and a pit forms in my stomach. It’s not like