Sleight of Hand (Blackbridge Security #7) Read Online Marie James

Categories Genre: Contemporary, Romance, Suspense Tags Authors: Series: Blackbridge Security Series by Marie James

Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 84627 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 423(@200wpm)___ 339(@250wpm)___ 282(@300wpm)

Read Online Books/Novels:

Sleight of Hand (Blackbridge Security #7)

Author/Writer of Book/Novel:

Marie James

Book Information:

Gaige Ward, acquisition expert for Blackbridge Security, obtains things for the team.
As far as your mind can take you is how far he can go. If it exists, he can get his hands on it. If he can’t, he’ll find someone who can. He never fails.
As with all things when growing in popularity, Blackbridge is also taking on scrutiny.
His boss, in an attempt to counter being called misogynistic and discriminatory against women, needs a female with the ability to handle the same tasks his guys can.
Leighton Redmond fits the bill perfectly. Only, according to her she isn’t for sale, for employment or otherwise.
Gaige loves a challenge but has NEVER had to fight so hard to procure something for his boss.
Maybe next time he’ll think twice before having a one-night stand the day before a very important business meeting…
Books in Series:

Blackbridge Security Series by Marie James

Books by Author:

Marie James

Chapter 1


“Business is good?” Sherman asks as I lift my glass of whiskey to my lips.

“Business is always good.” I give him a sly grin as I look around the packed bar.

I wouldn’t call us friends, but we’re both two like-minded men who run into each other in this hotel bar often.

We’re busy, as are the women we meet here, and that’s exactly why we choose this place. We aren’t looking for love or a long-term connection. We want fun, a single night of great sex, no connection or need for excuses once the sun comes up. Hell, most of the time we’re back in our own beds long before that happens. The women we meet here expect nothing less.

The bar, the closest one to the airport with a five-star rating, hosts mostly business professionals just as busy as we are. If they’re interested in letting their hair down for a few hours, that’s as far as they want things to go. It’s the perfect situation, and the fact that they’re going to be on the next flight out of town makes it all the more ideal. It’s less likely for them to get clingy or expect more.

“I love convention weeks,” Sherman says, his eyes wandering around the room. The selection varied tonight.

Most people privileged to our conversation would think we were complete assholes, men who think they could bag any woman in the place, but experience is what makes us cocky. We strike out. Of course we do. Occasionally, we approach a woman who happens to be here just to unwind, wanting to sip a glass of wine in peace before heading up to bed alone, but it’s a rare occurrence. More often than not, we don’t approach those women. They send off an unapproachable vibe, and working for it really isn’t my thing, unless I’m up for a challenge. After a long day’s work of acquiring things for Blackbridge Security, I tend to lean more toward a sure thing.

“What happened with that new girl at work?” I ask, remembering that Sherman was complaining about someone last week.

He mutters something about the new woman being the bane of his existence when I notice a woman down the bar. Waves of dark brown hair along her bare back and a sinful red dress. She showed up tonight to be noticed, and I’m not the first tonight to set eyes on her.

Several men in the bar are looking her way, building their courage to approach her. I get the bartender’s attention. Being a regular and a very good tipper has a fresh glass of white wine in front of her within seconds. The bartender dips his head in my direction. She smiles at me, her teeth sinking into the flesh of her daring red lips right before the wine glass meets her lips. She doesn’t break eye contact as she sips, her tongue dashing away a rogue drop as she lowers the glass.

“See you later, man,” I tell Sherman as I clap him on the back.

“Lucky fuck,” he mutters at my back, but I’m already walking toward the goddess in red.

My approach could be smoother, but because of the convention Sherman mentioned, the bar is overly crowded tonight. I have to turn sideways more than once to get through the throng of people. I manage to make my way to her without spilling my drink, and I like how she keeps her eyes on me the entire time. It increases the chance of getting what I’m after tonight. Many women will play coy, keeping me in their periphery, darting their eyes away as if they’re shy. This woman locks her eyes on me, shifting them up my body as I walk closer. I don’t hide the sweep of my own, starting at her crossed legs and working my way up her exposed thighs to the swell of her breasts in that sinful dress.

The second I reach her, I lean against the bar and place my hand on the exposed skin of her back. She’s warm to the touch, and much to my liking, she doesn’t flinch away.

“Hi.” I trace her spine with the tip of one finger.

“Hey.” Smoky, sultry, full of promises. She takes another sip of her wine. “Thanks for the drink.”

“John,” I tell her, not offering her my hand because I’m already touching her. We’re a few steps past formalities already, and I like where this is heading.

“Ginger,” she returns, the tip of her red fingernail tracing the rim of her wine glass.

She’s full of shit with her name, just like I am with mine. We both know it, and it doesn’t matter. This woman knows the game, and she came here to play. If I believed in love, I’d be halfway there already. She’s utter perfection.

I tip my drink up, draining the remaining whiskey. She mimics the action, placing her empty wine glass next to my tumbler, offering me her hand as she stands, and releasing it the second she’s on her feet.