Bad Behavior(20)

He whistled. It sounded like a bomb falling in a cartoon. "I can't imagine working for you."

"It's definitely an ordeal. Tough love, you know."

"Do you only give the tough love to your staffers? Or do you share with others?" He moved his hand to my lap, resting it lightly on the exposed skin of my upper thigh.



       
         
       
        

Interesting. Jonesy hadn't tried anything in quite some time. This was forward for him. The liquor had given him a little extra swagger, like booze balls.

"I, um, I'm not known for my tendency to share." I smiled, unsure of whether to swat his hand away or wait and see what he did with it.

"But you could make an exception?" He smoothed his hand along my skin and pushed the hem of my skirt up. His warm palm slid higher along my leg.

This was tricky. I wasn't going to fuck him. I couldn't. He would do the tender thing again, and I wasn't having it. I sipped my whiskey, stalling him. He watched me, waiting for an answer to his loaded question.

I was on the verge of giving the wrong answer when the cavalry showed up. Lincoln burst through the front door and called a greeting to Mike and us. The New Orleans transplant was already at home here in the city, making an entrance as if this were the bar on Cheers and everybody knew his name.

Jonesy didn't move his hand, but he did turn away and say hi to Lincoln.

Lincoln slid into Wood's vacated seat on my right. I was certain he'd glimpsed Jonesy's hand on my thigh, because he gave me a look. Possessive and almost angry. I felt my nipples harden under my shirt. Jonesy rubbed my skin lightly, no doubt thinking my response was for him.

Lincoln ordered a drink. "So, what's doing?" His voice was tight.

"Just talking about our day. What have you been up to?" Despite Jonesy's attempt to claim my attention with his wandering hand, I still hoped to glean some information from Lincoln.

He quirked an eyebrow, the scar scrunching up with the movement. "Just working my favorite case. Castille."

"Anything I should know about?"

Jonesy spread his fingers, spanning my inner thigh. His pinky was perilously close to my panties. I tore my gaze from Lincoln and whipped my head around to Jonesy. But he wasn't even looking at me. The challenge in his eyes was directed over my head at Lincoln. Fucking men. This wasn't about me at all. This was a pissing contest.

I grabbed Jonesy's wrist and wrenched his hand out of my lap. I had decided I was going to be nice and let him cop a feel. But not now. The jerk was just using me to goad Lincoln. The tension between them rose as Lincoln saw me spurn Jonesy's advance. There was a wave of angry male emanating from both sides of me. The testosterone wafted through the bar like an air freshener.

I gulped my whiskey. I was half pissed, half enjoying the thought of the two of them wrestling, naked, for me. Jonesy, the fair-haired fighter with the long, uncut cock; Lincoln, dark and dangerous with a smooth, thick dick. I closed my eyes and pictured it. Very nice. Despite the gorgeous look of them both, I wanted Lincoln to win, to turn his violence into something hotter. 

"You know, Jonesy"-Lincoln took a drink from his longneck-"I can show you the way she likes to be touched. Your technique could use some work."

Jonesy slammed his bottle down and rose, knocking his barstool over in the process. His drunk was showing. "Let's take this outside."

Note to self: Don't taunt trashed Jonesy.

"Good idea." Mike draped his drying cloth over his shoulder. A fight between these two in the bar would result in a ridiculous amount of destruction and cleanup.

The state court scrappers in the back silenced, somehow sensing a challenge in the air. Lincoln drained his bottle and rose to his full height, a few inches taller than Jonesy and all muscle. This was getting out of hand. I liked it.

Jonesy put a hand on my shoulder and squeezed. "This will only take a minute."

"He's right about that." Lincoln popped his scarred knuckles. He seemed calm on the outside. Serene, even. Underneath, I could sense fury roiling inside him. Fucking hell, he was like a loaded gun.

I wanted to see them battle it out. Like two vainglorious idiots fighting over my honor. I really did, but I didn't want them hurt. Or, put more accurately, if they were going to get hurt, I'd rather it be in the naked oil-wrestling scenario I'd already come up with. Fighting out on the street would end up with one of them in jail or in the hospital. I would help with neither scenario, just return to my apartment and masturbate to the thought of them in the oil, their hard bodies shining in a delicious amber glow, Lincoln's tattoos looking extra intense-