Paula slipped a hand up the inside of his thigh. “I’ve missed you.”

He laughed, sliding farther down in the oversize cushioned chair, spreading his legs farther. “No you didn’t.”

Her pretty lips pouted. “You haven’t come to see me since February. Or anyone, from what I’ve heard.”

A brow rose. He didn’t like the idea of anyone keeping tabs on him.

“You haven’t even been to the club,” she said.

“So?”

“That’s not like you.” She placed her hands on the chair between his legs, drawing his eyes down to her impressive chest. For some reason, he imagined much smaller breasts plumped up over the lacy trim and little bows.

And there were about a million different things wrong with that.

Irritated, he scrubbed the palm of his hand along his jaw. The faint stubble pricked his skin. What the hell was wrong with him? He’d been at Leather and Lace for almost an hour now and by this time he would’ve already been behind a woman, his hands on her hips, sliding in and out.

“Want to talk?” she asked, pushing back from the chair and clasping her hands demurely.

He laughed drily. “No, honey, but thanks.”

One delicate, satiny shoulder rose. “You sure? You’re moody and quiet by nature, babe, but disappearing for months? I was worried.”

Chandler bit back another laugh. That wasn’t likely. Paula was good, great even. And their sexual…tastes matched, but when he wasn’t around, there was always someone else. Like him, she enjoyed sex. Lots, really, except lately, he’d been only getting it on with his hand.

“I don’t want to talk,” he said again.

Thick lashes lowered as she toyed with the knot between her breasts. “No talking? I can do that.”

He watched her rise fluidly. Paula was a tall woman, and in her “come fuck me” heels, she nearly reached his six feet and four inches. She pivoted gracefully, and he got an eyeful of her ass. The scrap of lace between her cheeks revealed more than it hid as she swayed her way over to the chaise longue across from him.

It was a nice view—a beautiful view. Paula’s skin was like smooth coffee, and he knew from personal experience that an hour with that woman could make you forget a year of life, but…

Any other time he’d be as hard as a brick wall and ready to go…and to go again, but the lust stirring in his veins wasn’t anything to write home about. He definitely wasn’t feeling what little Miss Paula was.

She cast a look over her shoulder as she bit down on her lip. Still nothing at all. She placed a shapely knee on the lounge and bent over, planting her hands near the top of the chair, and then brought her other leg up. Nice—very nice.

And yet there was really nothing happening in his jeans.

Bending down, she stuck her ass in the air. “I think I’ve been naughty, Chandler.”

He cocked a brow. “You have?”

She blinked innocently. “I think I need to be punished.”

Fine, barely there tendrils of lust stirred in his gut. Okay. It was official. His cock had taken a vacay into celibacy land. Fuck. Him.

Tipping his head back, he stifled a groan. What in the fuck was he even doing here? It was either this or hang out with his brothers, and who in the hell in their right mind wanted to do that shit? All Chase and Chad talked about were their women. Not that he begrudged them their happiness, but shit, it was like hanging out with two old women. Especially since Chad was knee-deep in wedding plans.

And if he had to hear about the difference between ivory and white one more time, he was going to shoot someone.

Hell, ask him a year ago if he thought the playboy of the three of them would be the one to marry first, and he would’ve laughed straight in your face. But Chase was in love. And so was their pro baseball player brother, Chad. Despite the shit they’d dealt with growing up.

The thing was, and contrary to everyone’s assumption of him—including his brothers— Chandler didn’t have any problems with the idea of settling down. While those who were unaware of the Gamble brothers’ upbringing thought Chandler was the most affected by it due to his…habits and the fact he rarely stayed with one woman, truth was, he had enough common sense to know that not all relationships were like his parents’. Spending time with the Daniels family—Chase’s fiancée’s family—had helped prove that men and women could live happily together and all that shit. In reality, he had always been the least affected by his bastard of a father and train wreck of a mother.

He just hadn’t met the woman he wanted to be with for more than a few hours here and there or involve in any aspect of his life.

Yes, you have, whispered an annoying-as-fuck voice.

Yeah, he was going to push that thought right out of his head.

He really should get the fuck out of here. The lack of interest was one of the reasons why he hadn’t frequented Leather and Lace lately. And this was the only place he’d do this in. He never brought women back to his home. In fact, Chad’s ex–publicist from hell had been the only woman to ever get a pretty little foot through his front door.

His cell started vibrating again.

Jesus H. Christ.

Leaning back in his chair, he reached into his pocket and pulled out his cell. Curiosity perked when he saw that it was his office number. “Murray?”

“Thanks for answering the phone in a timely manner,” a deep, gravelly voice said.

Chandler’s lips tipped up at the corners. “I’ve been busy.” Which was utter bullshit, since all he’d been doing was sitting here, staring at a half-naked woman, with the limpest dick in town. “What’s up?”

“There was this lady here looking for you.”

He arched a brow as Paula glanced over her bare shoulder again and licked her plump red lips. “Did she say what she needed?”

“I’d assume she was looking to hire us. Actually, you,” he replied, and the sound of fingers tapping along a keyboard echoed in the background. “She asked for you directly.”

Strange. Most people who came looking for his services didn’t ask for him. He owned and ran CCG Security, and on very rare cases, he took the jobs instead of letting his team handle them. Very rare. “What’s her name?”

“She didn’t leave one.”

“And you didn’t ask?” His brows lowered.

Murray snorted. “Of course I did, but she didn’t give it to me. And before you ask, she was out the door and down the street before I could get my gimpy ass out of the chair and follow her to get her tags.”

About three weeks ago, Murray had taken a nasty gunshot to the leg during a security detail in Chicago and was now on desk duty for at least another three weeks. Shit happened. Chandler had a matching bullet wound on his arm and his thigh from an incident a few years back.

Shaking her lace-covered ass at him, Paula purred softly.

All right. That managed to get his attention. His jeans tightened by the slightest measure, but still. He got this hard when he saw a 1969 Dodge Charger in mint condition.

Shit.

Maybe he needed to see his doctor about low testosterone or something.

“What did she look like?” he asked, sliding forward on the chair as he sent Paula an apologetic look.

Murray sighed. “Mean.”

“Mean?”

“Mean as in cup your balls, she’s a scary lady.”

A strange feeling crawled up the back of his neck. “What did she look like, Murray? A bit more descriptive, if you have the time.”

“She had dark hair—dark brown with matching dark eyes. Wore glasses,” he went on, and Chandler’s hand tightened around the slim phone. “Wearing a black pantsuit and black heels. I could tell you that she looked plain, but also like the kind of woman—”

“Did she leave a number or anything?” he interrupted, that strange sensation now crawling over his skull. Muscles clenched in his stomach.

“Nope. She bounced like a ball when I said you weren’t here.”

His mouth opened, but there were no words. The image that came to mind was Miss Gore. Sounded like her, but that made no sense. There was no reason why she would seek him out. Not like she didn’t know where his brother Chad, her former client, lived.

It couldn’t be her.

“Call me immediately if she comes back,” he said.

Murray laughed. “That’s what I’ve been doing. Try answering the phone next time.”

There wasn’t much Chandler could say to that. He hung up, sliding the phone back into his pocket. His mind was still on the conversation, on the bizarre possibility…

“Are you okay?” Paula asked, startling him.

He blinked and nodded.

“Then come join me. I’m getting lonely over here.”

Without thinking about it, he stood and slowly made his way over to the chaise longue. When he looked down at Paula, it wasn’t her he saw. The picture that formed in his mind? Well, he’d like to say it came out of nowhere, but it hadn’t. He’d seen it a time or two since that annoying publicist showed up at his door, looking for Chad.

Kneeling on the longue was Miss Gore. Dressed in that damn black pantsuit. Except her hair was down, falling around her face in dark waves. The glasses were on. He liked the glasses.

And now Chandler was hard as that fucking brick wall he’d been thinking about earlier.

Good news? His dick worked.

Bad news? Shit. There was a lot of bad in this.

Paula’s gaze dipped below his belt, and her eyes lit up. “That for me?”

Uh. No.

He opened his mouth, but the door swung open unexpectedly and his chin jerked up, eyes narrowing. No one in this club would barge into any of these rooms unless they were invited. There were rules, for chrissakes, and…