Bound to the Bounty Hunter (17 page)

Two older women plunked their butts down beside her. According to their conversation, they were leaving their menfolk behind to see
Thunder From Down Under
and live it up a little. They’d saved their bingo money and, apparently,
Thunder From Down Under
was in for a treat.

“Delores. Check out that honey walking toward us. I hope he’s in the show’s lineup. There’ll be some five dollar bills in his Calvin Kleins.”

“Lordy be, Phyllis. That’s a fine-looking man. Now, if I were ten years younger.”

“Twenty, Delores.”

A barrage of cackles followed.

“Morning ladies.” A deep, throaty, and familiar voice replied.

Sophie’s heart missed a painful beat. “What are you doing here?”

Harlan nodded to a man leaning against a column, a newspaper tucked under his arm, who nodded then walked away. “Going to have some fun in Vegas. There’s hours left on the clock.” He trailed his knuckle down her cheek, leaving a trail of fire.

Her spine snapped straight. She stood, hands on her hips, her throat tight. “No you’re not.”

Chapter Fourteen

“Yeah. I. Am.” Harlan grinned down at a pissed off Sophie with flashing dark eyes, her kissable mouth in a thin line, color on her cheeks.

Her dark eyes narrowed. “No, you’re
not
.”

“Yeah, I am.” He sat beside her and pulled her close, her soft curves molding against him, then tucked her hair behind her ears. “I’m not leaving you unprotected.”

“Well, ain’t she the lucky one,” one of the older women sitting next to Sophie said. “If I was her, I’d be heading to Victoria’s Secret.”

Her companion elbowed her in the ribs. “Delores, I wouldn’t be packing any of Victoria’s Secrets.”

Harlan grinned at the older women then bent his head. “
We
could go shopping. I hope you brought that little black thong. Seeing you in your Pipe’s uniform, gotta say, I’m glad we’re hitting the City of Sin.” He ran his finger along her jaw. His voice still soft, he said, “Don’t wear underwear tomorrow.”

Her head snapped back, her face red. “I am
so
wearing underwear.”

He nuzzled her ear. “When I walk up behind you, I’ll flick up your short, short skirt and in one thrust be inside you.”

She shivered under his touch.

“I didn’t bring a skirt, so that isn’t happening,
and
I’ve got a spare set of underwear,” she said from the corner of her mouth.

No mention of the thong. He had plans of removing the thong with his teeth.

“Did you bring your uniform?” He kissed her collarbone, dragging his lips up her neck.

She stilled at his touch.

“Stop it. We’re in public,” she whispered, her head whipping left, then right, as if she’d been caught stealing from a collection plate. “And yes,” she said in a quiet voice, shooting him a look from under her lashes then looking away. Her bottom lip snagged between her teeth.

“Yes what?”

So caught up in the image of removing the thong from her body, he’d lost the thread of the conversation.

“Yes, I have my uniform.” The image of Sophie walking next to him in Vegas had his cock appreciating the picture.

Wait.

Sophie in that skirt in Vegas.

He hadn’t thought this through.

Sophie walking around Vegas in sheer black stockings with her long legs on display and silver studs across her breasts spelling out “Pipe’s” would have more men wanting Sophie than he could handle.

He grabbed her hand, sat, and pulled her down beside him. “I’ve changed my mind. Don’t wear it. I don’t want to be dropping dudes who want their dick in you.”

“That’s funny.” She swatted his shoulder. “Men don’t notice me, and they
certainly
don’t want their dick in me.”

He stilled. “What?”

Here was the paradox he couldn’t get his head around. Sophie was stunning.

“Yeah, Sophie, they do.”

“No, they don’t,” she said, sounding like his words hurt.

He turned his head. Her face was tight.

“Sophie, why don’t you think you’re beautiful?” he asked quietly.

“Because I’m not. My father told me all my life that it was better to go through life ‘natural’ like me than to get unwanted attention, so don’t say things like that, because they hurt,” she snapped.

Another reason to hate Josiah O’Connor.

She had no idea of the number of men and women who turned when she walked past. He’d had to make that clear to Dug, who had told him he wasn’t backing off. He’d watched the clientele at Pipe’s tonight drool over her, and it wasn’t just her stunning looks. She talked and joked with men and women, asking about their day, if they needed a refill of bar nuts, how their kid was doing in college. She had a natural warmth when she wasn’t hiding it.

“Sophie, you are beautiful.” He kissed the hinge of her tight jaw.

She turned her head, but not before he caught a tremble in her mouth. He gripped her hand tighter, giving her the time he sensed she needed. Right there he’d gained another inch. Getting closer to the real Sophie.

Petrov’s face surfaced in his brain. Yeah, this was about the assignment, but it was also about a desire to know her that had nothing to do with the case.

Her warmth pressed against the length of him, making him totally aware of every inch of her long, firm thigh against his.

She turned to him, her face serious. “So while we’re in Vegas you won’t interfere with my case?”

His hand tightened in hers. “No, I won’t interfere with your case. Take one of my jumpers again and I’ll make you pay. Do your party trick on anyone other than me, you’ll pay a lot.”

She grinned, making her eyes all sparkly.

Damn.

“Oh, I’m never giving up my party trick. I could have put a collar on Lopez, and he’d have followed me out like a puppy.”

His fingers flexed around hers. He didn’t like the stab of jealousy straight to his heart picturing Sophie performing her party trick on another man. “Yeah, we’ve got to have a chat about your party trick.” He leaned in closer. “I’m hoping you brought the Silver Bullet.”

She sucked in a breath. “Stop it,” she whispered, averting her red face, but not before desire flashed in her eyes.

Yeah, he intended to have fun in Vegas. A lot of fun.

Finally, he could relax. The assignment with Diaz had been finalized by Zeb, who’d collected the chip smoothly. The man and his family were on a plane over the Pacific. Zeb was monitoring their other cases. He wouldn’t admit it to Zeb, but it felt kind of good to back away from always being in control and let Zeb run the caseload.

Since he and Sophie had checked in early, they were boarding group A and were soon buckled in. Sophie had read and reread the safety procedures. When the plane had moved off its blocks she’d clutched his hand like she was going to meet her maker. During takeoff she’d all but climbed onto his lap.

“I’m not a frequent flier,” she said a short time later when the seatbelt sign flicked off.

“I guessed that.” He chuckled.

“First time on a plane,” she confessed.

He banked the information.

Did he always have to be on a case? Couldn’t it just be him and his girl hanging?

But Sophie was more than a girl—she was a paid assignment. It was getting harder and harder to remind himself of the fact.

She went to pull away her hand, but he held on, liking the feel of it in his.

“Been to the City of Sin?” he asked.

“No.”

That surprised him. He’d have thought with its jackpot of sinners the man could fleece, O’Connor would have been all over it.

She leaned in and whispered, “Do you think they sell silver bullets there?”

He blinked slowly. Again when he thought she couldn’t surprise him, she did. He kissed her slow and long until she melted into him and they were in danger of dissolving the seats. “We’ll find one.”

If they weren’t circling the airport they’d be making an entry into the mile-high club.

The plane landed without fanfare in Vegas.

He grabbed their bags from the overhead locker, held her hand, and exited the plane, scanning the area ahead as he went.

“Wow. Are we in a casino already?” Sophie asked.

Harlan breathed in stale tobacco and warm beer and looked down at her, not understanding. “We’re in the airport.”

Her hand landed on his arm. “How many slot machines are there?” She turned a circle, her eyes wide. “They’re everywhere, and people are playing them at eight in the morning?”

He shrugged. “Last minute roll of the dice hoping lady luck will smile down on them.”

He turned a professional eye on the crowd. Men in the uniform of Texas—jeans, boots, and Stetsons planted on their heads—sat beside California surfers, all plying machines with coins. A group of students wearing UNLV sweatshirts walked past wheeling bags. A group of businessmen sat at a bar knocking back Bud before rejoining their lives, their Vegas vacation now consigned to poker nights, the odd elbow in the rib, and a secret smile at a Fourth of July barbecue. A group of women all wearing name tags and dressed in pink scuttled past, the leader, Robin from Boise, Idaho, proclaiming that this weekend would be the best meeting of minds and cosmetics on the planet.

“If we keep this up, we’ll never get out of the airport,” Harlan said twenty minutes later, blowing out an exasperated breath.

Every few steps, Sophie had to stop and stare at the people.

He loved it when her cheeks got all pink. “This place is mesmerizing.” She pulled a map from her bag with one hand. “Right. We’ve got to get moving. I’ve got to get a cab to the rental company, then we can swing by the hotel, drop our bags, and meet with Danielle at eleven.” A cloud drifted across her face. “I hope this isn’t a bust and she turns up.”

Harlan didn’t answer, knowing her meet would be a fifty-fifty call. In their line of work, the chance of someone turning up to offer information without a cash incentive was fairly low, unless emotions came into play.

They made it to the line of cabs. She gave the driver the address and they headed north. Waves of heat rose from the desert in a shimmer. Dark clouds stewed on the horizon. “I wish I’d worn different clothes.” Sophie fanned herself with a tourist book she’d grabbed from a rack in the back of the cab.

Even in the comfort of the air-conditioned cab at nine in the morning, the mercury climbed on its inevitable journey of hitting triple digits by noon.

Harlan had been surprised when they’d headed away from the strip.

Twenty minutes later, he knew why.

Sophie stood in front of a peeling
Rent a Bomb
sign, her hands on her hips, sunglasses protecting her eyes.

“I’m not arguing with you. This is my case, and we’re on a budget. This car is perfectly capable of getting me where I need to go.” She unlocked the door of a dying mustard-colored Corolla. A scented pine tree with curling cardboard edges hung from the rearview mirror. The vinyl seats spilled foam. She threw her bag on the backseat and waved to the attendant who’d helped her sign the paperwork. “Besides, everyone knows that Corollas are safe, reliable, and fuel-efficient.”

At fifteen dollars a day you got what you paid for.

They both went to climb into the driver’s seat.

He cocked an eyebrow. “Do you know your way around Vegas?”

She returned the favor. “No, but I have Never-Stressed Nancy.” At his perplexed expression, she added, “She’s my GPS, so I’m good. I’ve got an hour before I meet with Danielle. I’ll drop my bag at the hotel, then I’ll find my way there in plenty of time.”

He kept his voice low and even. “It’ll be easier if I drive. I know the area, and I can get us around faster.”

Sweat prickled the back of his neck. It was already hot and getting hotter. The sooner they were in air-conditioned comfort with Sophie naked, the better.

He grinned, and she flipped him off.

She jumped into the car after he stabbed the remote four times.

Bent forward, she played with the nonexistent air conditioning. Her shirt rode up, giving him a taste of creamy skin and a sneak peek at a cotton waistband. He’d always been a Victoria’s Secret man until Sophie. Now, plain cotton made him hard. Painfully hard.

She tried the window button, which didn’t work, then gave up and turned to him, handing him an address. “Have you worked in Vegas a lot?”

“Yep. I’ve worked a few big security jobs here.” He scanned the address. “Are you sure this is right?”

She beamed at him. “Yeah, why? It’s cheap and cheerful, according to the internet, so a win-win all round.”

“It’s not a part of Vegas I’d hang around in.”

She turned and her eyes sparkled. “Let’s go and find out.”

He pulled into minimal traffic. At nine in the morning, the majority of Vegas would be stacking z’s. Surprisingly, the car hummed along at a respectable speed.

Sophie found a radio station and sung about being locked out of heaven and sex that would take her to paradise.

Yeah, he had an opinion on that front.

He stopped outside the address, leaving the car running.

Nestled between Bubba’s Bail Bonds and Cash for your Stash pawnshop, the neon sign trying to spell out Rita’s Hotel but only managing “TA’s” sat between them. A group of men stood in front of the doorway to the pawnshop. The grate on the cast-iron door slid across, the door opened, and after a short discussion, one person walked in.

Two tired working girls perked up when he’d stopped the car, but had gone back to chatting when he shook his head. Too young to be hooking, too old and jaded to be high-end escorts, they took what they could get.

Cheap bourbon, cheaper scent, and broken dreams rose from the pavement.

Sophie craned forward, tipping the sunglasses on top of her head. “Maybe it’s better inside,” she said, indecision washing across her face.

“We’re not staying here.”

“I think we should go view the room.” Sophie worried her bottom lip.

He turned in his seat, his hands tightening on the wheel. “It’s a pay by the hour hotel.”

“It’s by the outlet mall,” she said as if trying to sell him on the point that getting a bargain at Gap and American Apparel would solve everything.

“It ain’t happenin’.” He pulled his phone out of his pocket and started hunting through his contacts.

“I can’t afford somewhere on the strip. I’m working with a strict budget, and this place is the only one I could find in my client’s price range.” She waved her hand, her voice rising. “I’m sure it will be fine for one night.”

He lifted sunglasses to the top of his head and turned to face her. He reached forward and tucked that insubordinate curl of hair that wouldn’t be tamed behind her ear. He shouldn’t, but he somehow loved that curl.

“I’m not lying awake all night wondering when a strung-out junkie will break down the door looking for a buck so he can get his next fix. Nor do I want to hear a girl next door, getting paid by the hour, pretending she’s getting off on the twenty-dollar hand job she’s delivering.” At her wide eyes he continued, “I’d rather be in a safe room, fucking you on the bed, in the shower, and on the couch after having watched you get off with a vibrator. I’ll be able to fall asleep with you curled into me, knowing you’re safe.”