I wouldn’t. She would just be something pretty in my space that I would ignore.
Easy.
Unless she kept shaking that thick ass.
CHAPTER NINE
STRIPPER-GRAMS: NOW WITH BUTTERSCOTCH HARD CANDIES
RHYS
Iopened the door suddenly,and the detective’s movements cut off. She startled, her wide eyes shooting to me as pink spread across her cheeks.
This shit is never gonna work.
My brain thought that.
My dick disagreed.
It liked the way she gasped and how sexy she looked when she arched her neck to look up at me with a small, embarrassed smile curving her fuckable mouth.
It wanted to see her looking up at me like that while she kneeled at my feet.
“What’re you wearing?” I blurted before I could suggest she drop to her knees so I could see if the actual version lived up to the fantasy that dominated my headspace.
Her smile dropped to a glare at my insulting tone and question. “Hi to you, too.”
I stepped aside so she could enter. Her sharp focus scanned the room. I was betting there weren’t a lot of details she missed.
All the more reason to get her out of here sooner rather than later.
My business might’ve been on the legal side of things, but I couldn’t say the same for some of my customers—including the three bikers working in the bar. They were always the good guys, but that didn’t mean they were always law-abiding.
Sometimes, justice wasn’t rotting in a cell.
Sometimes, it was ridding the world of a monster.
Permanently.
What they did was a service to the world, and the last thing I wanted was to put a target on their backs.
To bring another snake into their lives.
“And to answer your oh-so-polite question, I’m wearing interview clothes,” she said. “Because this is an interview.”
“You look like a cop,” I said.
Her dark brown eyes darted to Glitch—who seemed to be settled in to enjoy the show.
“He knows who you are, darlin’.”
I didn’t know someone could double down on a glare, but she did it. “Sharing that with everyone kind of defeats the purpose of me being undercover.”
“So does dressing like a cop.”
“I’m not.”
She’d skipped the suit jacket, but the blouse and dark pants were still more formal than anyone wore to an interview at Rye. Her dark hair was pulled back in the same bun she’d worn all three times I saw her, which just added to the uptight vibe. At the very least, she looked like a good girl who wanted to inch onto the wild side.