Stirred (7 page)

I relocked the door and let out a deep breath, taking a moment to collect myself and stand down the missile in my pants. Damn, that woman was hot, a MILF, my friends would call her. Obviously older. Maybe fifteen years by the weary look in her eyes.
But who fucking cares?
She was gorgeous and wanted it as much as I did. Probably more considering what she’d told me about her husband and best friend. Shit, I never should’ve let her go. But, as turned on as she appeared, I recognized the signs of wealth and class and didn’t think she’d be into getting bent over the men’s room sink.

Or maybe she would. Who knows?

What I did know was, I was a lucky sonofabitch, because—in her obviously heightened state of arousal—she didn’t notice losing something out of her purse when she’d picked it up off the floor. I didn’t either at the time, but after she slipped away, the door got caught on something small and thin wedged beneath it. I bent down and yanked it clear. It was a leather business card holder. I debated whether I should run after her and return it. In my heart, I knew it was the right thing to do, but after that killer kiss she’d planted on me, I wanted to know more about her. There was little I could do, however, since she hadn’t introduced herself, but her card would rectify that.

With a chuckle at the serendipitous nature of our encounter, I pulled a couple cards out, surprised there were two different types, each with a unique design and occupation. I studied the blue and white one first, thumbing the logo on the cardstock before I turned it over.

“No. Fucking. Way,” I whispered to myself.

Holy shit! What are the chances?
This was just too good to be true. Karma or kismet or whatever the hell they called it. It
had
to be.

“Dude, come on, hurry the fuck up!” yelled the guy pounding on the other side of the bathroom door.

“Keep your pants on,” I threw back before tucking the first card away in my pocket. There was bound to be a perfect time to cash in on that bit of information. I unlocked the door and pulled it wide, mumbling, “Sorry, man,” at the guy as he pushed me out and slammed the door.

With a snicker, I walked back into the vestibule, crowded with bodies waiting for the restroom. They all grumbled at me with angry glares. I offered a community apology and stepped past them as I looked over the second card. It was glossy black and had what looked like a book cover on one side. But the other had personal information, including her name, similar to the last, but different.

“Eden MacLaird,” I said to myself then raised my eyes, scanning the crowd for the woman who had so curiously piqued my interest. “Where’d you run off to, Ms. MacLaird?” I browsed every table as I walked through the bar and into the dining room, but I couldn’t find her anywhere.

“Who ya lookin’ for?” asked my best friend, Trinitee Marsh.

I plopped my ass down next to hers in the booth we were sharing and exhaled a disappointed breath. “Just some chick,” I answered, my attention still on the crowd.

“Wow, you work fast,” she replied as she studied me. “You weren’t even gone that long.”

“Yeah,” I acknowledged absently then pondered the card in my hand.

“Did you do her out back or what?” Trinitee teased.

I turned toward her, a flippant smirk on my face. “Why, you wish it was you?”

She threw her head back in a silent laugh then said, “Been there, done that, dude.”

“Liar,” I argued with a nudge to her arm.

“Well, close enough anyway. Too close, in fact.”

I snorted. “Gimme a break, Trin. You were so into it. Admit it. You would’ve gone all the way if I hadn’t stopped.”

“I was just leading you on, dude. How could you not know that?”

“Gimme a fucking break! You’re such a liar!”

We locked eyes in silence for a single moment before we broke out laughing. To be honest, Trinitee was one of my few female friends I hadn’t screwed. Not that I hadn’t tried, but, at the time, it felt awkward, like I was kissing my sister or something, which was a damn shame, because, God knows, Trinitee was beautiful with her long, shiny, dark hair accented with a single purple streak, pale, porcelain skin, pouty, red lips, and those long-lashed, wide-set eyes that, depending on her mood, seemed to simmer somewhere between lavender and a hard, steel-gray. And, at five-foot-nine and a hundred and thirty pounds, it was an alluring combination that made her appear almost ethereal, above all us lowly, earth-dwelling schmucks who slithered around her feet like Lotharios waiting to be serviced.

But, as tempting as Trinitee was, we enjoyed an extraordinary relationship that transcended sex. Truth was, I considered her my intellectual equal, someone engaged enough to discuss everything from the dumbing down of Americans too obsessed with selfies, to federal Internet censorship and the impact of new technologies on civil liberties. The girl was whip-smart. She’d graduated high school at sixteen, college at eighteen, and at twenty, she was nine short months away from earning her Juris Doctorate from the UW School of Law. And, much to my irritation, at number seven, Trinitee ranked three spots higher than I did in our third-year class of seven-hundred-and-fifty students.

I envied not only her acumen, but her intuition, as well, an innate ability to read people on their most basic human level, the good
and
the bad, but
especially
the bad. She could tell if someone was lying just by their body language and facial expressions, a great skill for an attorney on either side of the law. Just hanging out with her was like having a sniffer dog as a companion. There was absolutely no hiding from her whatsoever, so I never even tried. Besides, after two-plus years in law school together, she knew me too damn well. When necessary, Trinitee Marsh was a master at manipulating people, including me,
especially
me, making everyone think whatever it was she was suggesting was all their idea in the first place. 

“So, what happened?” she pestered with a look I’d seen a thousand times, one that told me she wasn’t about to let it drop, so I told her what went down, first in the bar, then the bathroom. “I knew it. I could tell by that stupid look on your face,” Trinitee chided with a roll of her eyes. “So, where is she? Point her out to me.”

I moved my attention around the dining room and adjacent bar one more time. “I don’t know. I couldn’t fi—”

I stopped mid-sentence, my gaze frozen on the stunning copper-haired beauty as she moved through the bar, bestowing farewells to a long line of friends at a table in the center. Hugs were exchanged, as were disappointed looks and what appeared to be words of chastisement that made her apologize again and again. She blew final kisses as one of the women stood and locked arms with her, slowly walking her through the crowded bar, chatting non-stop and oblivious to the turmoil written all over Eden’s face.

“There,” I directed Trinitee with a nod. “Not the chatty, dirty blonde. The one with the dark reddish-brown hair.”

Trinitee surveyed the crowd, her eyes halting on the object of my fascination. She smiled, seemingly satisfied, and, with an oddly deep breath, shook her head.

“
Another
redhead?” she snickered. “Christ, you’re so predictable, Sean. That’s like, what, five in the last two years? Not including Hay—”

“Trin,” I warned, my tone dead serious.

“Sorry,” she said, but kept rolling right along, nodding toward the woman from the restroom. “That one though…she’s a little…old, don’t you think?” She turned and peered at me, and while I kept my attention on the woman, I could feel Trinitiee’s eyes boring into the side of my face. “Oh my God, look at you,” she added before passing a hand in front of my face. “Helloooo? Earth to Sean?” She snapped her fingers.

I chuckled and dropped my gaze, first to the table, then to her. “You’re just jealous. Admit it. You want all this to yourself,” I joked, presenting myself like a gameshow prize.

“Ha!” she chirped with her head thrown back. “I’d rather have the dirty blonde.”

I barked a loud, raucous laugh and clapped my hands as I turned to smile at Trinitee. But my attention was instead captured by the woman, who’d heard me and stopped dead in her tracks near the front entry. Her lips slightly parted, she stared at me while a bright flush crept from her chest to her hairline. My amusement faded as we locked eyes and the crowd seemed to quiet and fade away. With a slight nod, I offered her a knowing smile. I looked her up and down, my attention seizing on her face and those fiercely sharp, green eyes of hers.

Trinitee tried, but she couldn’t break our connection. She was whispering something in my ear, but all I could hear were muted sounds, like adults in a Charlie Brown TV special. Undeterred, Trinitee rested her chin atop my shoulder and wrapped her arms around my neck. The redhead tore her gaze from mine and settled instead on Trinitee, and I could’ve sworn I saw a flash of something, a storm in her eyes, like jealously almost, aggravation, until her friend pulled her along, and, with one last intense glance at me, swept her through the front doors and out onto the street.

With a satisfied laugh, Trinitee sat up straight and scooted away, placing more than a foot of personal space between us. “That was fun,” she said with a clap of her hands.

I gave her a shove. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“What? I’m just trying to make you appear more…desirable, get under her skin a little, rile up her possessive side. All women have one, you know,” she said then snatched the glossy black card from my hand. “What’s this?” She paused as she read over it. “
Eden MacLaird, author of dark erotic romance
. Hmm, mommy porn,” she added as she turned the card over and examined the book cover on the opposite side. “Jesus, ever since erotica came into fashion, every other book released has a naked dude on the cover, not to mention content that’s progressively
titillating
,” she said using air quotes. “That’s a euphemism for tawdry, by the way.” She snickered with a shake of her head. “And
Joust
?” she added as her thumb ran over the book title. “Is that some sort of phallic reference? Shit, if sexually frustrated housewives are so hard up for provocative literature, maybe they should try the classics, like
Tropic of Cancer
or
Lolita
. Geez, even
The Perks of Being a Wallflower
is better than this crap.”

I snorted. “How would you know? Have you read her book?” I tried to steal the card away, but Trinitee lifted it from my reach. “Give it back, Trin.”

“Oh, we’re getting defensive, now, are we?”

“
We
aren’t getting anything.
You
, on the other hand, are annoying. Now give it back.” I held out my hand, trying to appear patient, but secretly bristling inside, and pissed-off because I didn’t understand why.

“Just wait a sec. Let’s see what we have here first.” She slapped the card on the table between us, the heel of her hand holding it in place so I couldn’t slide it away. She poked a finger at it. “There’s no phone number here, but... Oooo, look at that. Ms. MacLaird’s on Twitter. Shall we have a looksee? We had fun last time, remember?”

She didn’t bother to wait for my reply before sliding her smartphone over and opening up her Twitter app. A quick tap of her fingers brought up the desired account.

“Here we go.” Trin took a moment to breeze through some of Eden’s tweets and pics. “A lot of self-promotion here, but…some real engagement, too,” she added with a raised brow. “And with a lot of men, it seems.” She peered at me, amused. “Dude, she’s got stalkers. That could be your way in.”

I shook my head as I plucked the card from beneath her hand. “I don’t think so. Not this time.”

“Why not?” she asked. “You obviously like this gir— I mean,
woman
,” she emphasized.

“Because last time we played this game with that guy you liked—the councilman—he threatened to call the cops. Remember?”

She waved a dismissive hand. “He was just spouting off. Though he did send me a shitload of direct messages afterwards. That dude was a very naughty boy, lemme tell ya.”

“Still,” I said with a shrug, “it’s risky, and I don’t wanna piss-off the wrong person. We’re almost finished with school. It’s not worth it. This woman’s got money. I could smell it on her.”

“Maybe, but…I saw her, Sean, and she didn’t look the type to get pissed-off by a little gentlemanly attention. And by the way she looked at you, I’d say she was
very
interested. Maybe all she needs is a nudge in the right direction. If she’s not into you, well, at least you can say you gave it a shot. But you’ll never know unless you try. Even if it’s just a one-nighter like what’s-her-name…” Again, she snapped her fingers.

“Natasha,” I finished.

“Yeah, her. That was fun, right?”

I nodded silently.

“Though she wasn’t a
real
redhead,” Trin added. “You know, the carpet not matching the drapes and all that…”

I raised a single brow and snickered. “You batting for both teams, now, Trin.”

She shrugged and said, “Research,” all business-like, as if it meant nothing at all, which perplexed me and made me realize I still had a lot to learn about her. “So, this new chick, I think you should go for it. This is your chance. Follow her on Twitter, engage her, and voilà, you’re in. She’s yours. Isn’t that what you want?”