KICK ASS: A Boxed Set by Julie Leto Read Free Book Online Page A

As if he wanted a piece of the sexual action for himself.
    “Sorry,” she answered, ignoring how her mouth suddenly dried. “I ain’t selling.”
    She balanced her hands on the armrests of the chair and pushed to her feet, her shoulders tensed, ready to counter any attack that might keep her here one minute longer. He matched her stance, unrestrained in his desire to meet her point for point. Did he sense how he unnerved her? Did he think pumping up the charm would lure her to play his game, whatever it was?
    She didn’t know his name or where he was from. Or what he really wanted. But she couldn’t forget that he’d been responsible for a scenario that forced her to take a life—and yet, she experienced a familiar tug of attraction nonetheless. With this varón exuding sex from his expertly clipped tawny hair to the dark threads in his silk socks, how could she fight her intrinsic reaction to get busy?
    By reminding herself that this bastard had her parents, that’s how.
    She wanted to go home, make sure her mother didn’t find so much as a crocheted doily out of place, not to mention bloodstains on the new kitchen rugs with the swaying palm tree motif. But most of all, she wanted out of here before her jumbled emotions led her into the exact kind of temptation the nuns at St. Joseph’s had warned about.
    “Don’t you at least want to hear my offer?” He made no move to touch her, but kept her captive with his tone. He had an enticing voice to match his expressive eyes and expensive shoes. If he wasn’t a politician or a gigolo, he was missing his calling. “I’m willing to pay more than you’ve made in your entire lifetime.”
    That stopped her. Currently out of work, Marisela couldn’t ignore a chance at big money. At least, not until she heard exactly what he had in mind.
    “To do what? A makeover?”
    “You’re a bail enforcement agent.”
    She shook her head. “Your intel is old. I was a bail enforcement agent.”
    “Fired, four weeks ago last Thursday, after an unfortunate plea agreement with the prosecutor’s office. You allegedly beat one Rob Dalton within an inch of his life after he jumped bail, abandoning his devoted wife and their four children to skip town with his gay lover. The prosecutor allowed you to trade your license to carry for your freedom and a clean record. You accepted. A smart move.”
    She arched a brow, conceding the accuracy of his information.
    “Sometimes I lose my temper.”
    “Don’t we all?”
    A laugh burst out of her before she could hold it back. “I’m willing to bet you never lose your temper. At least, not when people might see.”
    This time, he arched his brow. “You’re a good judge of character.
    “I try.”
    “You’re also physically adept, formally trained in krav maga at the Twenty-second Street gym by an ex-NYPD sergeant named Whiskey Parker. You also have extensive informal training courtesy of a rather brawl-happy group of women who call themselves las Reinas . You’re mentally quick, a fast draw and an accurate shot. You speak fluent Spanish with a Cuban dialect, and you need money. Other than the little problem with your temper, you’re the perfect candidate for the job I’m offering—especially since without your license, you can’t work in law enforcement in any capacity.”
    He recited the condensed version of her past and the bleak reality of her future with total confidence that he’d missed nothing—which he hadn’t. Nothing of consequence, anyway. And he’d delivered the rundown in a deep throaty voice that evoked thoughts of sweaty sheets and iced champagne rather than skanky jail cells and unemployment.
    She hooked the thumb of her left hand in her waistband, leaving her right hand free, just in case. “I’m a hot tamale, what can I say?”
    “You’re a lethal hot tamale, Ms. Morales. Which is why I’d like you to work for me.”
    Again, acute speculation lit his blue eyes, reminding her of the aquamarine earrings