Good To Be Bad (Good Love #3) - Lili Valente Page 0,4

be when you’re disgustingly happily married.

But that’s all for the best since here I am face-to-face with the most stunning woman I’ve seen in ages. I hope she’s brainy too.

I noticed her the moment she walked in—the way she owned the room, the confidence in her stride, and in her smile too. A woman who’s unafraid to come to a party solo—that’s so damn sexy.

Like the rest of her—her curves, her smooth, creamy skin displayed by that fantastic dress with a bustier that’s doing everything a bustier should do.

Boost the assets.

All the assets. If they aren’t each an overflowing handful, I’ll eat my pocket handkerchief.

Her hair tumbles in soft, auburn waves over her shoulders, and her blue eyes shine with shameless appreciation as she meets my gaze, as if she’s just tasted the most delicious treat.

It’s a damn good look on her.

Especially when the tip of her tongue flicks out to lick the corner of her glossy pink lips, ever so briefly.

Yep, I’m not going anywhere else tonight. She’s where I want to spend the rest of the evening. Especially when I notice her earrings, and just like that, I know we have something in common.

With an elbow against the bar, I lock eyes with her, savoring the twinkle in hers. “I hope I’m not being presumptuous, but if you’re in need of a Rubik’s Cube partner, I can finish in under a minute.”

My opening line is a thrown gauntlet, and her lips curve up into a grin I want to kiss. “Well, what do you know? So can I,” she says. “Though I’m pretty sure that’s the only time when finishing in under a minute is something to boast about.”

“Exactly. I’m all for endurance and stamina in other areas. Like…swimming, for example,” I deadpan.

“Or reading?” she tosses back.

I tap my chin, considering. “Yes. A long read is a lovely thing. Or perhaps a twenty-four-hour ballroom dancing competition?”

She brings her hand to her chest, fingers splayed across the beautiful cleavage I can’t wait to worship with my mouth. “You’re speaking my language, mister. Those are some of my very favorite things. But I do believe you left out one important activity that requires stamina.”

I knock back some of my Scotch. “Ah, but did I? Perhaps I was simply being polite.”

“There’s no need for that. Especially since you say you have,” she waggles her fingers, her nails decorated in a bright ruby red, and whispers, “magic hands.”

Any cuber worth his salt should possess those.

“Oh, I absolutely do.”

The bartender hands her a coffee with a, “Here you go. Black and strong.”

She flashes him a grin. “Thank you. The only way to drink it.”

I beg to differ. The best way to drink coffee is to…not drink it. Ever. It’s a wretched beverage, but now is not the time to say so.

She lifts the mug and takes a swallow, leaving behind an imprint of her gorgeous lips on the white stoneware. When she sets it on the edge of the bar, my eyes stray to the marks. “Lucky mug.”

“I could say the same about your glass of scotch, Mister Magic Hands.”

“I’ll gladly accept that nickname.”

She takes another sip as she looks me over, drinking me in as seductively as she drinks her coffee. I feel like I’m being sized up for possible devouring and, holy hell, I like it.

With a satisfied sigh, she sets down the mug again. “I think our game of choice requires a certain amount of magic, don’t you?”

“Absolutely. Assuming we’re here, then, for the same game? What with your earrings, I assumed…” I gesture in the direction of the little Rubik’s Cubes hanging from her ears.

She reaches for one, running a finger over the miniature cube in her right lobe, as if she just remembered it’s there. “You assume correctly,” she says, then lowers her hand.

I eye her up and down, appreciating her attention to detail. Something about the way she’s put together—the thick curls of hair, the flouncy dress with all those buttons, the heels, and the charm necklace—suggests she likes looking good for herself, not for a man.

Aside from the cleavage, it’s not an outfit designed to attract a man’s attention—it’s a little too fluffy, too girly, too quirky in a way that reminds me of my sister playing dress up in our mother’s closet when we were kids—and that’s precisely why it draws my eye.

It says more than look at me.

It says she’s a woman who knows what she likes, what she wants. Seeing as I’m a