Her jaw unhinges.
“It’s another reason we’re going to Inverness first. My sources say he’s having a pint in town, and I’d like a word before we go to Ireland.”
“Jaysus.”
“He knew exactly what he was doing.”
“Then he… used me?”
“Aye.”
“But whatever for?” She gets the cutest little pucker between her eyebrows as she thinks about this. “I’m not rich. I don’t have anything to offer him…”
“Don’t you, though?”
No answer at first as she mulls this over, then she groans. “My contacts. He wanted access to my contacts?”
“Maybe.”
“Or maybe he thought I’d strike it rich and he could be my bloody lap dog.”
Possessive heat curls around my gut. I grunt in reply.
“Why, Tate,” she says, her hand resting teasingly on my bicep. “Are you… jealous?”
I grunt again.
“You are! You’re bloody jealous!”
“Course I bloody am,” I mutter. “Fuckin’ wanker didn’t deserve a crumb from your table, much less what he had.”
“Well, if it makes you feel any better, he was bloody awful in bed.”
That actually does make me feel better. “Aye?”
“Och, aye. The bugger couldn’t last for longer than thirty bloody seconds. Couldn’t find a G-spot if it had a spotlight. Even when he went down?—”
“Yeah, we can change the fuckin’ conversation right about now.”
She grins. “He just did this weird thing with his tongue like he was?—”
“Swear to God, Fran, you push this subject, I’ll bloody pull this car over, whip your arse until you scream for mercy, then show you exactly what a real man does with his tongue.”
She pauses a beat, and when she speaks, her voice is all husky. “That’s supposed to… stop me?”
“Yes, it’s supposed to bloody stop you.”
But I’m already hard, already imagining the wicked things I could do to her right here, right now.
“Might need to try harder than that,” she mutters. Then she grows contemplative. “Do they have a bed on that plane?”
I fucking love this woman.
“Aye, of course, but the flight’s like seventy-two minutes long.”
“Oh, we don’t need longer than that.”
Of course I need bloody more than that. I need all damn night.
