Risking it All (Crossing the Line, #1)(85)

“Well.” She sat back in her chair and winked at him. “I guess the nickname Trigger is appropriate in more ways than one.”

Connor sat back down and dug his fingers into his knee, forcing himself to show no outward reaction. He hated the nickname she’d just christened him with, but he’d be damned before he let her know. “Your name, please.”

Her lips twitched. “So formal, aren’t you, baby?” A flicker of calculation entered her eyes before disappearing, but it told him to expect her next move.

She dragged her full lower lip between her teeth and propped both feet up on the table, giving him a view of her thighs that clogged the breath in his throat. She crossed her feet at the ankles, but not before he glimpsed where those legs led.

The tiny patch of denim covering her *. “Call me whatever you want. Just don’t expect me to answer.”

Jesus Christ. If she made him any harder, he’d have to excuse himself. “I wouldn’t say your name unless I had a good reason.”

She swayed her feet back and forth.

“Give me your best one.”

The urge to shift in his seat was strong. “You’ve already looked right at it.”

Her feet stilled. He caught a flash of surprise and uncertainty, confusing the hell out of him. Had he read her signals wrong? One minute she was challenging him, and the next, she looked frozen in the headlights. Or maybe he’d just called her bluff? His ability to read people had been his saving grace more than once since being dishonorably discharged from the SEALs two years ago. Working as a street enforcer in Brooklyn for his cousin’s underground crime ring, the skills he’d honed in the Navy had been utilized on a daily basis. Often in ways he didn’t like to recall, but forced himself to anyway. To remember what he’d been reduced to.

But reading this girl was difficult, even for him. She’d flashed her thighs at him as if wanting a reaction, but when he’d given it to her, she’d clammed up.

Whatever the reason, he refused to show another ounce of interest. He wasn’t interested. This girl couldn’t scream trouble any louder. He was through with trouble. Done.

“So.” She finally recovered her entertained expression. “What kind of piece were you reaching for when I walked in?”

He simply narrowed his eyes at her.

“Hey, you’re preaching to the choir.

They took my favorite Ruger.” She pouted. “Has my initials painted in Wite-Out on the side and everything.”

Oh, I get it now. She’s crazy. “Why are you here?”

His abrupt question didn’t faze her.

“Three o’clock meeting, same as you.

Some

people

just

don’t

value

punctuality.”

The way she smirked when she said it made him think she’d read his mind upon walking into the room. But that was impossible. Who the f*ck was this girl?

A tempting weapons enthusiast who also happened to be perceptive? He needed to know more. Just enough to solve the formula she presented, so he could pack up his curiosity and store it away. “I wasn’t asking why you’re in this room.

What landed you on this squad?”

She inspected her fingernails. “Ah.

The

old what are you in for conversation. I don’t want to play.” Her boots abruptly hit the ground. “Just kidding, I’m in. But you have to go first.”

“Nope.”

“Impasse,” she whispered, walking her fingers across the table. “I could guess why you’re here, but you’d dislike that more than simply telling me.”

Connor said nothing. He would dislike that. Guesswork had always been a source of irritation for him. He dealt only in facts. Again, he got the feeling this girl saw more than most people. The air of mayhem she wore like a second skin

probably

made

people

underestimate her. He wouldn’t be one of them.

“You have a military background. But you’re not there now, are you?” She leaned across the table and he caught a whiff of smoke. Not cigarette smoke.

Like the strike of a match, or the lingering scent of incense. “It isn’t difficult math, soldier.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“You don’t like Trigger, baby, or soldier.” Her tongue lingered against her top lip. “If you don’t like any of my nicknames, better tell me your real one.”

Connor almost laughed. Almost. The nicknames had been her roundabout way of getting him to spill his name first.

He’d nearly walked right into it. Why were they waging a battle over something so minor? When this meeting started, they would find out each other’s names anyway.

It was time to let this girl know he didn’t play games. At least not the kind that took place while fully clothed. As he leaned across the table, he watched her blue eyes widen and knew she had to be a blonde underneath that pink hair.

Her eyelashes and eyebrows were light, her coloring fair. She’d look goddamn perfect against my black sheets…arms stretched over her head, unable to free herself. Not really wanting to get free at all.

“I never said I didn’t like you calling me baby.”

Dammit. Had he said that out loud?

He’d decided not to show her any more interest. Once he made a decision, he stuck to it. Every time. He resented her for being the one to make him deviate. If she weren’t leaning so close, her small tits pressing against the front of her shirt, maybe he’d have kept his resolve. He’d always liked women with bouncy little tits, and he’d lay ten to one odds she wasn’t wearing a bra. “Maybe I just want to hear you call me that under different circumstances.”