The Player's Club: Lincoln Read Free Page B

meet me at the dressing room, okay? The salesgirls will tell you where it is.”
    “I know where it is, actually,” he said, and now she laughed. “I think I mentioned that my friend might be a little hesitant about letting you into the club.”
    “That’s why I chose the meeting place,” she said. “Don’t worry, Finn. I know how to persuade men. If your friend’s straight, I’ll have him eating out of my hand in about thirty seconds.”
    “I would pay cash money to see that. We’ll be there in a few minutes,” Finn said, and hung up.
    She tucked her phone back in her purse, and surveyed herself in the mirror. Yes, she knew men…especially the type of men, like George, who would want to be in an extreme, fraternity-style secret society like the Player’s Club. She didn’t judge them, she simply knew which buttons to push.
    She adjusted the demicup of her royal-purple merry widow, did a quick turn. Her hair was up, Brigitte Bardot-style, with a few curls tumbling down along her shoulders. She looked sexy, and dangerous, and a bit naughty. Only her eyes showed the slightest hint of…not nervousness, she realized, checking her makeup. Just weariness, and a bit of calculation. She plumped up her breasts. With her girls on full display, very, very few men actually looked into her eyes.
    “Jules? You there?”
    She smiled, debated pulling on a filmy gray robe. Then shook her head, letting a few more curls escape as her cheeks pinkened to a nice rosy color. She blew herself a kiss in the mirror.
    Then she stepped out of the dressing room. “Right here.”
    She took in the two of them. Finn had filled out a bit, she noticed with appreciation. He’d always been cute, in a gawky boy-next-door sort of way—always the quiet younger cousin to George’s brash, aggressive charm. Finn was wearing a T-shirt and a pair of long shorts with some suede skate shoes. If you didn’t know he was worth a few million, you’d never have guessed it passing him on the street. She liked that about him. It made it easier to just be yourself around him. She gave him a quick kiss on the cheek, with some genuine affection, although she stepped away quick enough so he didn’t get any ideas. Then she turned her attention to the real problem: her opposition, Finn’s buddy. She smiled.
    Then she got a good look at him, and all the rest of her thoughts blanked.
    He was about six-two, with hair the color of walnuts, dark enough to be almost black. His eyes, in contrast, were light…a soft hazel, shades of green and gold and brown, hypnotic in his lean, chiseled face. He wore a suit as though he was born to wear one, and had broad enough shoulders to make her heart beat noticeably faster. He was somber, too, his stern expression a strange counterpoint to Finn’s foolish grin.
    Yum, she thought, forcing herself to focus as she regained her composure. Well, he wasn’t going to be a hardship to charm. She held out a hand. “You must be Lincoln,” she murmured. “Finn’s told me so much about you.” But not that you were tall, fine and seriously hot.
    He held her hand for several seconds, a firm pressure—he was strong, she could tell, not someone whose only exercise was pushing away from his desk or doing an office jog to the copier. For some reason, he reminded her of a medieval knight. Or maybe of someone else—God knew, she’d met so many people in her life that after a certain point they all started bleeding together in her memory.
    “He hasn’t told me anything about you.”
    She quickly pulled her hand away from his and reevaluated the situation. Lincoln openly glared at Finn. “I’m the new pledge,” she said, remembering what Finn had called her. “I’m going to join your Player’s Club.”
    Now Lincoln’s glare shifted over to her. He seemed to be scouting the lingerie store to see if anyone was listening to their conversation. One of the saleswomen was folding tank tops on one of the glossy black tables, another