Bad Behavior(8)

Did he just mention me going to pee? Awkward. "Well, yes, I did." Something in my game was off. If I could have gotten away with smelling my breath, I would have. But we were too close now.

"So, you're, um, from New Orleans?" I changed tacks.

"That's right." When a man pronounces "right" like "raaaaiihhhttt," the panties naturally dampen. Mine were no different. Southern charm truly was a thing.

He took a swig of his beer. I watched his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed, so male and mesmerizing. He drained the bottle.

"What's my tab?" he called to Mike.

"Wood paid for everyone already." Mike didn't look up and continued stacking shot glasses.

"Way to go, Wood." Lincoln dropped a few more dollars before standing with finality.

I was disappointed he was already leaving. Now I knew something was way off. Or maybe he was gay? I hoped not, but so many handsome ones were.

He ran his gaze over my body. Looming above me, he had a good view down my blouse, past the chemise and to the edges of the red lace bra underneath. His skin flushed ever so lightly, a darker bronze spreading over his tan cheeks. Definitely not gay.

"You coming?" he asked.

Coming? Yes, please. "Wait, what?"

"Are you coming back to my place, angel? It's still covered in boxes, but the bed is ready." He laughed. I couldn't tell if it was at me or with me.

Mike chuckled but kept working on his shot glasses, scrubbing them to a shine with his bar cloth.

My mouth hung open. Lincoln stared at my lips, a noticeable look of heat stealing across his angular face. I was unused to this sort of directness. He knew what he wanted and wasn't afraid to ask for it. He even had the nerve to use a pet name. That was usually my MO. He'd taken my game away from me. I was mortified to feel a blush rising in my cheeks. The impossible made possible by his unexpected sexy swagger. 

"Hot?" he asked.

Get your shit together, Evan. I stood and grabbed my bag from the hook underneath the bar. I tilted my chin up at him, meeting his eyes and trying to regain my composure and the upper hand.

"My place. It doesn't need any unpacking."

Lincoln gestured toward the door in the classic "ladies first" move. Mike shook his head slowly, still smirking to himself.

"Shut the fuck up, Mike." My voice came out even harsher than I'd meant it to, but Mike didn't seem to care.

Lincoln reached around me and pushed the door open ahead of me. Southern gentleman.

The night was cool, and the city was alive with sounds and light. Spring in Manhattan was beautiful. The park around the nearby city hall was in bloom, and if you were lucky, the faint scent of flowers would float through the buildings and make its way to you on the street. If you weren't lucky, the scent of rotten Dumpster food from Chinatown would make it to you instead. I inhaled deeply, glad it was a lucky night.

Lincoln stepped onto the curb and hailed a cab. I fidgeted with my skirt, smoothing it out and pulling at the hem before forcing myself to stop. I'd gone from predator to prey in five seconds flat, and now I was acting like a virgin. Nerves were something I didn't suffer from. Not in the office, not in front of clients, not even in court with a hundred spectators. I loved being the star of the show, the center of attention. The more eyes the better. Now, my hands felt like they were being soaked in ice and the tips of my ears were under a blowtorch.

He dropped his waving arm and took a step away from the curb. He put his hand on the small of my back as we waited for the cab to pull up. It was a soft, steady pressure. The warmth from his palm seeped through my shirt and heated my skin beneath. I tilted my head to look at him, the sharp relief of his angular jaw leading up to his cheekbones and those sinful green eyes. He watched me take him in and pressed his fingertips into my back in response.

I'd thought firing Ivy League Prick was the high point of my day. I was wrong. I was going weak over this guy's touch, and it was only on my lower back. How would I feel with him inside me? I shivered from the thought. His smile grew, those perfect teeth making another appearance. My panties were clinging to me, evidence of the heat he was creating inside me.

The yellow cab he'd signaled pulled up, and Lincoln opened the door for me. He was still silent, but with the same devilish look on his handsome features. I got in, and he smoothly slid in next to me. He placed his hand on my knee and gave me a direct look. Daring me to move his hand.

Panties en fuego.

"Eleven North Moore, Tribeca," I told the cabbie. The car pulled away from the bar, joining the evening traffic and circling the block.

Lincoln slowly moved his hand farther up my thigh to the edge of my skirt. I wanted to challenge him, to wipe the smirk off his face. But his hand was warm. He smelled delicious, masculine and clean. His boldness was an aphrodisiac in and of itself.