Curves Just Wanna Have Fun - a BBW romance bundle

Excerpt - Sweet Ride

Cindy

“Want to grab some dinner? We can talk caseloads,” Evan
asks, poking his head inside my door.

I look up from my computer screen then survey the mess on my
desk before I let out a sigh. “Sure, why not. I need a break or my head is
going to explode from all this paperwork. I don’t know whether we should just
try to strongarm the woman or try our luck and rush this through the courts.”

“You’ve heard the rumors about Valor and missing bodies,
Cindy. No matter what you do, just be careful. I’m worried about you here.”

“I’ll be fine,” I say, sighing as I power down my computer.
“You know me, I always land on my feet.”

“Yeah, and so do people with cement boots.” He’s not joking.
His dark eyes meet mine with concern.

“It’s not like I have a choice here, Evan.”

“I know. But there're smart choices, and there’re stupid
choices. Don’t make any stupid choices.”

“I assume you’re talking about getting involved on a
personal level with a client.”

“I’m talking about the risks of being in bed with an MC club
versus actually getting into bed with the vice president of that club. I
could see the way he was looking at you, Cindy. And we both know he’s bad
news.”

“I’m a big girl, Evan. I can handle myself. I can even
resist a beautiful man.”

“I hope so, Cindy. I really fucking do.”

Standing, I collect my bag and offer him a hug. “Thank you
for caring,” I whisper. “But I promise you. I’ll be fine. Now, let’s eat. I’m
starving.”

“OK. My shout. Shirley’s doing a chicken pot pie tonight
with mashed potatoes. Said she’ll save us some.”

“Oh, she’s better to me than my own mother,” I say, smiling
away the stress that’s niggling at my insides as Evan and I lock up and head
over to the pub. There’s only one in town, and the food is a set menu based on
whatever Shirley, the owner, feels like cooking that day. She has a pretty set
rotation, but her chicken pot pie is definitely one of my favorites. And since I'm
not much of a cook, Shirley's cooking saves me from eating TV dinners warmed up
in my temperamental microwave every night. I could buy a new one, but being a
small-town lawyer means small-town fees. I’m not exactly rolling in it.

When we get across the street, I take a seat while Evan
heads up to the bar for a pitcher of beer and to order our food. Just as I pull
my cell out of my bag, I feel my stomach rumble insistently, and realize that
because of JP ‘Doc’ Stone’s insistence that I drop everything and focus on him,
I neglected to eat lunch.

“Fucking bikers,” I mutter as my thumb swipes through my
appointments for tomorrow. I’ll need to get our part-time receptionist, Nola,
to cancel them all first thing. “They think they own the goddam world.”

“Not yet, but hopefully soon,” a deep voice that promises
sex and a good time murmurs in my ear. It sends delicious shivers rolling down
my spine, and I instantly recognize it as belonging to Doc.

I can't help myself, and I smile. I have to admit that I caught
glimpses of the man beneath the mean biker persona during our meeting. I saw a
man who cares so much about his kid that he’s willing to do whatever it takes
to keep him safe and give him a good life. I have to admire that about him. It
doesn’t change that he’s a biker and an outlaw, but it does make him more human
to me. “God help us all.”

“Nah. He’s not gonna save you. Gotta save yourself in this
world.” He pulls a chair from the table he was sharing with Blade and two
others, setting it beside me and straddling it backward, his forearms leaning
over the back of the chair displaying some impressive tattoos of skulls and
busty women on bikes or holding guns. Classy.

“So I hear.”

He reaches behind him and holds a hand out. One of his men fills
a glass from the pitcher of beer on their table and hands it to him.

“I said no to a drink.”

He grins, his blue eyes crinkling at the sides and sparkling
in the dull light of the smoky bar. He takes a sip from his beer, then smiles
at me as he licks the foam off his lips. I’ve gotta admit it’s kinda hot. “I
didn't ask you this time.”

“Because you don't ask, do you? You tell and you take.”

“That's about how it works. Nice to see you're catching on.”
He gives me a wink, and as Evan returns to the table, he says a brief hello,
then spins back around to sit with his men, leaving Evan and I on our own to
talk about our upcoming schedules and how he’s going to take on my caseload
while I work out this custody issue. My focus isn’t the best. I'm acutely aware
of the tall, muscular biker sitting near me and sneaking glances my way.

Doc oozes sex appeal. Even in a crowded and noisy bar, I can
feel him. I feel him when he moves. I'm aware of him when he speaks. I wonder
if I threw caution to the wind and broke the rules just once, would it be
everything the tension between us promises? Or is he just playing with me?

“Cindy?” Evan's voice interrupts my thoughts, startling me
to attention. I shake it off, almost laughing at myself for even entertaining
the idea. Getting intimate with a client is crazy, and in this case,
it’s also dangerous. No matter how beautifully manly Doc is, I need to remember
what happens to people who don’t come through for MCs. And at thirty-four, I’m
not ready to meet my maker. I need to keep my focus, get him his kid and walk
the fuck away.

“Yes?” I ask, clearing my head and focusing on the
conversation at hand.

“Eleven tomorrow? You were supposed to be at court for a divorce
settlement? I need to know if there are any special circumstances.”

“Oh, it’s all written out in my notes in the files. He
cheated on her, hid money away so she couldn’t afford to live when she kicked
him out, and now he’s trying to stiff her on alimony and child support too. His
lawyer is a snake, so you can’t budge on the details. We’ve been over it a
thousand times, but he’ll still try to sneak something through last minute.
Make sure to dot all the i's and cross the t’s.”

“OK. Got it. I’ll look over the file tonight, anyway. It’s
all on the server?”

“Yeah. I’ll transfer everything over to you as soon as I get
home.”

“Looks like I’m in for a loooong night.”

“Sorry,” I say, giving his hand a squeeze in sympathy.

“It’s fine. Just get this done as quick as you can.” He
leans in and whispers that last part so listening ears can’t hear.

I nod, and our food arrives, smelling divine as it’s placed
in front of us. I inhale deeply, allowing the scent of the creamy chicken and
vegetables with flakey pastry to travel through me. My stomach groans, and I
voraciously dig in, wondering if I’ve mistaken my hunger for food as a hunger
for a man.

“Jesus. You just inhaled that,” Evan baulks, as I wipe the
paper napkin over my mouth. I see a smear of red lipstick and figure I should
go to the ladies and freshen up.

“So? I was starving.”

“Withering away to nothing,” he mumbles under his breath as I
stand to visit the ladies.

“What did you just say?”

“Nothing.” He looks up at me, feigning innocence as he
shrugs. This is exactly why he and I have never dated. He’s fine as a friend,
but his preference for the skinny girls has him turning into an ass occasionally.
And after the stressful day I’ve just had, I’m not in the mood to find him
funny or laugh it off.

“I happen to like my curves, Evan. Just because you like
stick figures doesn't mean you can comment on what and how I eat.”

“Whoa.” He holds up his hands in acquiescence. “I was making
a joke.”

“A decidedly unfunny one,” I state, picking up my bag and
heading to the ladies, shaking my head. This is exactly why I don’t date. I'm
not planning to quit eating for him or anyone else on this planet. It took me a
long time to learn to love my curves, and a judgmental ass like my law partner
isn't going to take that away from me.

“I think your curves are sinful,” my favorite sexy voice
says in my ear, stopping me before I make it to the bathroom.

“I know you do,” I reply, looking over my shoulder with a smirk,
before I begin walk again.

He catches my hand, stopping me, a spark of energy flying up
my arm at his touch. OK, I wasn’t hungry for food.

“If you’re so sure, I might just take that drink with you sometime soon.”

“Good luck with that. I don’t think I’ll be letting you take
anything from me.”

“You don’t think I can?”

“No man can take anything he wants to keep.”

He chuckles again. “Sweets, you have some big tickets on
yourself.”

I shrug. “They go with my hips.”

With that, I tilt my hip to the side, placing my hand at the
curve and turn away. He grabs my arm again and leans in.

“Sweets, I’m gonna make it so you want me so bad you’ll be
begging me to take you.” His voice growls against my ear, low, soft and sexy. I
feel an urge to press myself up against him, and for a brief moment, I allow my
mind to really imagine what it would be like to be with him. But I shake it off.
He’s a client and bikers are notorious for the number of women they screw. I’m
not interested in being a notch on this man’s belt. I have standards.

“Good luck with
that,” I return, smiling defiantly as he pulls back and releases my arm.

“Keep talkin’ like that, sweets, and I may leave you wanting.”

“It’s the twenty-first century, JP. A woman doesn’t need a
man when she’s wanting. She can take care of…business…all on her own.”

One side of his mouth kicks up in amusement as he withdraws
his body’s closeness from mine. “Now that is something I might beg to
see,” he says before turning away and leaving me to use the ladies in peace.

Looking in the mirror when I’m done, I notice a slight pink
tone coloring my cheeks. I laugh inwardly because flirting with a beautiful
biker obviously agrees with me. Pity our worlds are so drastically different. If
he was anyone else, maybe we could have had fun. Guess we’ll both be left
wanting.