Excerpt of Bang by Avery Flynn

If someone had told Tamara Post a month ago that she’d be in one of Ft. Worth's most exclusive members-only clubs sipping champagne at her ex-husband’s Taz's engagement party, she would have laughed in that person’s face. If they’d have said she’d be working as the office manager at B-Squad Security and Investigations, which her ex-husband’s fiancé, Bianca Sutherland, owned—and loving it, she would have punched them square in the nose. Ex-beauty queens and former soon-to-be trophy wives didn’t roll that way.

It was funny how life turned out.

Settling in on the velvet-covered settee in the Corsair Club’s private party room, she contemplated getting another glass of wine from the open bar.

“Looking for one of these?” The man belonging to the deep bass voice held out a glass of her favorite chardonnay.

Whereas everyone else in the room was dressed in designer suits and glittering cocktail dresses, the tall, dark and handsome man in front of her was in pressed Wranglers, cowboy boots and a crisp white dress shirt. If he’d had a tie or a sports coat on at one time, he’d ditched them a while ago, judging by how his shirtsleeves were rolled halfway up his corded forearms. Not that she noticed that, or had scoped out the way his broad shoulders filled the shirt to perfection, or was tempted to ask him to turn around so she could confirm that his ass looked as good in those jeans as she imagined.

Men were no longer on her to-do list. But wine? Yeah, that she could do.

“Thank you.” She took the glass and drank a sip.

The man sat down beside her, his brawny frame taking up most of the settee she wasn’t already parked on. One of his jean-clad legs brushed against her bare knee and for the first time in months a wave of warm desire had her clenching her thighs together.

Unable to figure out how to inch away to allow for space between them without being obvious about it, she crossed her legs. The move made her emerald-green skirt slide up her thigh a bit more than she was comfortable with under the circumstances. Still, giving him a glimpse of skin was less...unsettling...than actually touching him.

“I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced.” He held out his hand. “I’m Isaac Camacho.”

She knew that name, and now she’d have a face to go with it every time she entered in expense reports. “You work with B-Squad.”

He nodded. “On a come-and-go basis as a freelancer.”

“Why’s that?” From the number of B-Squad clients she’d had to turn away in the past month, Tamara knew the team could use another member.

“I’ve been told I don’t play well with others.”

His grin did something funny to her stomach.

“Now that really is too bad. It’s important to play nice—mostly.” It came out before she could stop it. Damn it. She didn’t flirt. Not anymore. Men had been her drug of choice for too long and she’d sworn off.

He leaned in close. “Look, I don’t want to make a scene but we need to get out of here. Now.”

Her heart fluttered. She mentally rolled her eyes at herself. What could she say? Old habits die hard—even when they were oh so bad for her. “Why’s that?”

His full lips flattened into a grim line. “There’s a bounty hunter making his way through the front of the restaurant now. He’s got papers on you.”