Page 9 of Betting on the Bad Boy
I studied the gorgeous bartender. What did he have against cats? Jess could be right, he might be kind of a player, but still... Dante... that would make a good name for the bad boy in my next novel.
I could probably just base the whole character on him. Thick, dark hair, nice build. He’d have to lose the glasses, though. The bad-ass biker I’d planned for my next steamy romance definitely wouldn’t wear glasses.
The eyes could stay. It was too dark to see them in the storeroom, but I’d noticed them right away earlier. Somewhere between blue and green. An interesting match with the scruffy, dark stubble covering his face.
I filled out a character sketch in my head. Yeah, Dante it would have to be. He might have to be beefed up a little bit. Although, peeking over at him from under the fringe of hair that had fallen across my face, I reconsidered.
Underneath the unbuttoned flannel shirt, his tight white undershirt hinted at a rock-hard chest. He pushed his sleeves up, and the muscles of his forearms flexed. If he lost the tad too baggy jeans, that bod would probably be pretty close to perfect.
How hard would his biceps feel under my hand? How dark might his happy trail be? I pondered the answers—all for character research, of course.
He paced the small room like a caged tiger, then walked back over to where I hadn’t moved on the floor. “Are you sure you don’t want something to drink? We may be here a while.”
I shook my head while my stomach twisted into knots. “No thanks. I’ve got to get out of here. I told the girls I could only stay an hour.” Surely, they were getting worried about me by now.
“Well, I could use a drink.” He walked around the room, shifting stacks of boxes to see behind them. “Nothing’s cold. I guess that means the hard stuff.”
Hard stuff. That’s right, where had I been in my mental inventory? I shook my head, sending all thoughts of Dante’s potential hard assets scattering.Focus.If I was going to get any work done tonight, I needed to figure a way out and pronto.
I stood up and walked over to the door. Raising my fists, I pummeled the metal. “Hey! Anybody out there?”
Dante came up behind me and put his hand on my arm, sending a course of goosebumps down to my wrist. “Unfortunately, I don’t think anyone can hear us. Why don’t you come sit down?”
I shook him off. “You don’t understand. I have a ton of stuff to do and need to get home. Isn’t there something we can use to pry the door open?”
“Gotta get back to your books? That self-study project, huh?” He eyed me over the rim of his glasses.
I put a hand on my hip and backed away. “Do you have something against women’s studies?”
He moved close, crowding into my personal space. Close enough for me to smell the mix of fabric softener and male muskiness hovering around him. “Quite the opposite, Faith.” His voice dropped a notch, and he lowered his gaze to my mouth. “I’m a big fan of studying women.”
Oh. My. God. He was making a play. My hoo-ha tingled, gearing up for some long overdue attention. I squelched thesensation and put my hands on his chest—his granite hard, chiseled chest—and pushed him away. “It’s creeps like you that give good guys a bad name.”
“Ha! You’re the one reading about getting it on. By the way, was that a BDSM book I saw you holding earlier? Your girlfriends know you’re into kinky shit?”
My hands went to my hips, and I glared at him.
“Easy there, Ginger. I won’t blow your cover. To each her own.”
I sighed. “Can we just work on getting out of here? I’ve got a lot to do... reading... writing an article...”
He rolled his eyes. “I think someone’s taking her work a little too seriously. It’s only Friday. You’ve got all weekend.”
“Yeah, and all weekend won’t be long enough.”
Dante scanned the room. His eyes stopped on the window. “Well, if you’re really desperate...”
CHAPTER 6
Faith
I lookedup at the small rectangular hole in the wall. I could probably fit through there. Hell, I’d suck it all in and squeeze myself through if it meant getting away from the distraction with the cut pecs and amazing blue-green eyes.
“Fine. But you’re going to have to give me a boost. I’ll never be able to reach it on my own.”
Dante made a basket out of his hands. “Come on, let’s give it a shot.”
I put a hand on his shoulder. His muscles tensed under my touch. I could feel him flex, and my thoughts shot forward to consider what might happen if we didn’t get out of the storeroom. At the rate I was going, I might jump him if I couldn’t force myself through the window.
