Bad Boys Southern Style. JoAnn Ross

wrong men.”

      “That’s been true enough. On occasion.”

      God, could she screw things up any more? She’d come here tonight prepared to go to bed with him. There was nothing wrong, to her mind, about wanting to scratch an itch without having to deal with the time and energy of a committed relationship. So why in hell was she insisting on talking it to death when what they should be doing was fucking each other’s brains out?

      “But it wouldn’t matter if you were Prince Charming in the flesh and the sex between us was gold medal, world class—”

      “Which it’s going to be,” he promised with sublime self-confidence.

      She couldn’t argue that. The sexual vibrations between them were so strong she was surprised this entire building wasn’t in meltdown.

      “All the more reason to agree to call a halt afterwards. Before we get to that pissed-off point.”

      “So, are you saying you’re only into one-night stands?”

      “Of course not. I mean, I’ve nothing against them, and they can certainly be pleasant—”

      “If we end tonight with you even thinking the word pleasant, I sure as hell won’t have done my job.”

      She felt herself shudder. Knew he’d seen the involuntary response by the satisfied gleam in his gaze.

      “What I meant,” she said, as his hands cupped her breasts and began plumping her nipples, “was I believe they can be…very…oh God…empowering.”

      “You know, I’d applaud that idea.” He tugged the dress down, exposing the black lace bustier she’d bought this morning with him in mind. “But my hands just happen to be a little busy at the moment.”

      As if to back up his words, he caught one erect nipple between his thumb and index finger and squeezed. Hard. She gasped at the stab of pain/pleasure, but rather than back away from the stinging touch, she arched her back, inviting more.

      Much, much more.

      “The waiter,” she remembered reluctantly.

      “Isn’t going to come down here unless I call him.” He bent his head and soothed the tingling flesh with his tongue.

      Her hands felt inordinately heavy as they lifted to comb through his hair. “You planned this.” Her head fell back. “All along.”

      Roxi wondered if Emma had known about Sloan’s intentions.

      “Let’s just say I was hopeful.” He drew the nipple into his mouth with a deep, wet suction that caused her pulse to beat painfully in that hot and liquid place between her thighs. “I’m also going to tell you, darlin’, that female empowerment aside, one night with your sweet body isn’t going to be nearly enough.”

      She had the same feeling. “That’s why I have my three-date rule,” she gasped as his teeth closed down on the flesh his tongue had tormented.

      His breath was a hot breeze against her breast as he sighed. And drew his head back.

      “I’m getting the feeling this isn’t about that witchy Rule of Three that states three times what thou givest returns to thee.”

      She was surprised he knew about that, then remembered she was here tonight because he really had read the Morganna books. “No, not that one.” Though she not only believed it, but practiced it.

      “Nor the usual female one about putting off sex until the third date.”

      He was now openly frustrated. Roxi suspected he wasn’t accustomed to a woman setting the rules. Especially when it came to sex.

      “Actually, it’s just the opposite. I never go out with a man after the third date.”

      “Seems that would be a bit limiting.”

      “Perhaps.” And one problem she was just discovering was that she couldn’t imagine wanting any limits where Sloan Hawthorne was concerned. “But the problem is that after three dates it’s possible that someone’s going to start feeling something—”

      “I’m feeling something already.” He leaned back in the wooden chair and spread his legs, revealing the thick weight of his erection thrusting against the zippered placket of his slacks.

      “Come here.” His patted his knee, his green eyes glittering with a masculine sexual challenge.

      Nine

      Roxi lifted her chin. “I’m not a dog you can call whenever you want attention.”

      A rough, harsh laugh burst out of him. “Sweetheart, that’s one word that no one would ever use to describe you. But, you know, now that you mention it, tonight you’re going to play my sweet, obedient pet.”

      “You make it sound as if I have nothing to say about it.”

      “So far, you’ve been setting all the rules,” he reminded her mildly. “But here’s one from my side of the negotiating table. If we’re only going to have three fuck dates, tonight’s will be on my terms.” His penetrating gaze narrowed, burning into hers. “My rules.”

      She’d never been into submission. Which was, she admitted, why she’d also chosen men who were more willing to be led. Men who were, well, malleable. Controllable.

      There was nothing the least bit malleable about Sloan Hawthorne. On the contrary, he was suddenly revealing a dark and dangerous side Roxi reluctantly found wickedly exciting.

      “So much for Southern charm,” she murmured.

      He rubbed his jaw. “Now see, it’s the accent that throws people off. Some people hear my Georgia drawl and mistakenly believe I’m a pushover.

      “If you’re looking to hook up with some mealymouthed, sweet-talkin’, roll over and pee on himself Ashley Wilkes type, you’ve got the wrong fucking man.”

      The drawl hardened, like steel wrapped in black velvet. “But if you’re lookin’ to explore the dark side of your dreams, well, I’m your man.”

      Her body responded to that suggestion, becoming more aroused, even as she struggled to maintain some vestige of control.

      “What makes you think I’ve been even having that sort of dream?”

      “Of course you have,” he said with an arrogance that would have annoyed her had it been any other man. “Same as I have.”

      “Emma didn’t mention you were psychic.”

      “I’ve never claimed to be. But something happened when you got out of that car tonight. I recognized you, same as you recognized me. We’ve already done it in our sleep. Lots of times and lots of ways. Seems we may as well see what it feels like with our eyes wide open…

      “I’m going to take you, sugar. I’m going to make you beg. And then I’m going to make you scream. And you’re going to love it.

      “Now.” He patted his thighs again. “Come here.”

      His words—his dark and erotic threats—had her drenched. Telling herself that she really wasn’t giving in, that it wasn’t really surrender if she ended up getting what she wanted—a mind-blowing orgasm—she stood up and started to straddle his thighs.

      He shifted her so she was sitting sideways on his lap, her legs dangling over his. “You put that sweet hot pussy against my groin right now and there’s no way I’m going to be able to control myself.”

      He cradled her head against his shoulder and slid his hand beneath her skirt. Since he’d been gentle with her so far, she sucked in a harsh breath as his short square nails scraped a stinging path up the inside of her thighs.

      “You like that?”

      “Yes.” It was half sigh, half moan.

      “It’s