Marek (Cold Fury Hockey #11)(74)
Sawyer likes her Bloody Marys strong, her martinis dirty, and her heroes a combination of the two. When not bringing fictional romance to life, Sawyer is a chauffeur, stylist, chef, maid, and personal assistant to a very active daughter, as well as a full-time servant to her adorably naughty dogs. She believes in the good of others and that a bad day can be cured with a great workout, cake, or even better, both.
Sawyer also writes general and women’s fiction under the pen name S. Bennett and sweet romance under the name Juliette Poe.
sawyerbennett.com
Facebook.com/bennettbooks
Twitter: @BennettBooks
Read on for an excerpt from
Bishop
Arizona Vengeance
by Sawyer Bennett
Available from Loveswept
Chapter 1
Bishop
I see her and it’s all over for me.
At least for tonight, anyway.
“I’ll be back,” I mutter to Dax as I push away from the bar, snagging my beer as a last-second thought.
Shouldering my way through the crowd filled with twenty-something yuppies here to take advantage of the last few minutes of happy hour, I keep my eyes locked on her. How could I not, when those full, wet lips wrap around a straw sticking out of her fruity-looking cocktail, prompting wild images of those same lips wrapping around my cock.
Before I can reach her, another man—who I’m sure is having the same lewd thoughts as I am—steps up to her and blocks my view. An involuntary growl rolls up out of my chest and I grip my beer bottle harder than necessary. More images swamp my brain and I can see myself cracking the bottle over the fucker’s head. I figure at that point, I’ll just drag her off to my lair like a caveman.
“No, thank you,” I hear her say as I pass behind her.
“You’re going to turn up a free drink?” the man asks incredulously.
“I can buy my own drinks,” she purrs at him before taking another long pull from her straw. Her cheeks hollow slightly and my dick twitches.
Stepping to her other side, I set my beer on the bar and lean an elbow right beside it. Her neck twists and her gaze locks with mine. Fuck me but those eyes are incredible—a golden, amber color that I’d noticed earlier from across the bar. Even in the soft light provided mostly by neon beer signs, they almost glowed. Noticed that along with her gloriously long chocolate colored hair flowing down her back that was practically bare given the sexy halter top she’s wearing. Long ass legs and curves everywhere. Tits, hips, ass…all fucking spectacular.
The original plan had been to buy her a drink too, but that’s clearly not the way to this woman’s heart.
“What can I offer you besides a drink that would get you to talk to me?” I ask her.
The man on the other side of her snorts, but apparently my honest question has some merit. She tilts her head, studying me for a moment before she replies, “Read any good books lately?”
Well, fuck. I’m not much of a reader.
I shake my head with an apologetic smile. “Sorry. Not my thing.”
“I just finished a reread of The Count of Monte Crisco,” the other guy says, moving in closer to her. I see the humor flash in her eyes before she twists her neck the other way to give him her attention.
I see an opening and make my move. Staring over the back of her head at him, I correct his slip of words, “It’s The Count of Monte Cristo.”
The gorgeous woman whom I am bound and determined to take home tonight turns right back my way. My eyes drop and I grin at her. “I read it in high school. I have a good memory, so we could talk about that if you want.”
“I meant Monte Cristo,” the man blurts out almost frantically, but she doesn’t look back his way.
Instead, she holds out a perfectly manicured hand to me. “I’m Brooke.”
“Bishop,” I return as I shake her hand. I have an inherent sense that she would not be charmed if I kissed it.
To give the other dude credit, he knows this is defeat and melts away into the crowd.
Motioning to the stool beside her, I ask, “Mind if I join you?”
“Be my guest,” she says sweetly, swiveling slightly to face me. She uncrosses her legs and recrosses them, not even bothering to pull down her scandalously high-riding skirt. It’s black with shiny silver threaded through, and the silvery top she’s wearing displays a set of fantastic tits. I noticed them when I first saw her, but since coming to stand beside her, I’ve kept my eyes meticulously locked on her face. She knows they look phenomenal and that I’ve already noticed.
“Are you here by yourself?” I ask her, because while not totally unusual, most women come out dressed like that in packs for a night of fun on the town.
“I was actually meeting a coworker here tonight, but she texted me just a few moments ago that something came up and she couldn’t make it.”
That works for me.
“Gotcha,” I say as I pick up my beer and hold it up to her. “Then hopefully I can keep you well entertained in her absence. So what did you think about The Count of Monte Cristo?”
Brooke laughs and picks up her drink, tapping it to my bottle. “Actually, I’m not big into the classics. I’m more of a fashion magazine kind of girl.”