Ryan nodded.
I sighed wistfully. “Mine too. Both my parents died two years ago.”
He squeezed my arm affectionately. “Sorry to hear that.”
“Actually, they were both older. Not terribly old, but late seventies. They met in their late thirties and had us in their early forties. They died within three months of each other. They were ridiculously in love even at the end.”
“I can’t imagine,” he said, his voice hollow. The empty sound made me want to ask why he couldn’t imagine loving someone until the end of your life. But it was too soon to press. Besides, I wasn’t even sure I wanted to know his answer. Better not to go there. I danced away from the topic, returning to more comfortable second-date terrain as I pointed at the pair of flying monkeys that had landed alongside a shiny red apple in the last spin.
“So, Ryan Sloan, former Army captain, now head of Sloan Protection Resources . . . Flying monkeys.” I tapped the screen. “Your verdict—are they fearsome or comical?”
He laughed, and in that sound, the tension deflated. “Absolutely fucking terrifying. When I was a kid, I ran from the room every time the flying monkeys came on.” Then he squeezed the side of my rear lightly. “We should head to the High Roller.”
I stood up from my seat on his lap and held up a finger. “Give me two minutes.”
With my purple leather purse on my shoulder, I popped into the ladies’ room at the other end of the slots, shimmied out of my jeans, and slid into a short, flowy pink skirt that hit me just above the knees and offered a perfect amount of lift if I twirled. I folded my jeans in half, then tightly rolled them and stuffed them into a side compartment of my purse.
I returned to Ryan.
And twirled once.
His jaw dropped when he saw the changeup.
“See? I’m not all naughty. I can be a good listener,” I said with a flirty tilt of my head, as I jutted my hip out and ran my hands along the outside of the pink skirt with the white polka dots.
“You’re the perfect amount of naughty,” he said, his voice smoky as he drank me in from head to toe, from my black patent leather heels with the strap across the instep, to my bare legs, to my revealing blouse. “You’re going to be rewarded so well for doing as you were told.”
11
Ryan
With a hand on her lower back, I guided her past the lines at the High Roller Ferris wheel and straight to the head of the VIP queue. One of the highest Ferris wheels in the world, the ride circled to more than five hundred feet in the air and offered a majestic view of the skyline and bright neon lights of the city.
The attendant opened the door to one of the space-agey, glass-encased pods. Sophie and I weren’t alone in the spacious capsule with the panoramic view, but it wasn’t crowded either. We staked a claim at one end of the oval, and I leaned my hip against the railing, facing my date.
My stunning, gorgeous, sexy, naughty, and sweet date.
Soon, the observation wheel began to move, slowly rising higher as each capsule filled with passengers on the first revolution. “Hope you didn’t mind too much that I sent you the link to my bio. That, coupled with my dog’s name, means you know everything there is to know about me,” I joked.
“Absolutely. I can’t think of a single other thing that I’d be curious about.”
I wiped a hand across my brow as if to say whew. “Okay, so we’re done with the résumé basics and we can move on to favorite TV shows and movies, then?”
She laughed, a bright and pretty sound that seemed to match her personality and her bold sense of style. Not that I was well versed in women’s fashion, but the way this woman dressed caught my eye and sparked my imagination. She had a va-va-voom look to her that was my kryptonite. She was all gorgeous, sexy, voluptuous woman, and she knew how to show off her assets.
I couldn’t look away from her if I tried.
“Actually, I think someone’s favorite show can be quite telling. I wouldn’t mind knowing yours,” she said, then did that utterly sexy thing she’d done at the slot machine, where she ran her hand along my arm. Okay, it wasn’t, like, some signature move or anything. But the combination of her long nails, the glint in her blue eyes, and the wild flirtatiousness in her tone turned me on something fierce.
As she had from the second I met her.
“Top Gear,” I answered easily.
“You like fast cars.”
I nodded. “I do. And it’s just a kick-ass show.”
“I bet you’d like to drive my Aston Martin someday,” she said, brushing her fingertips over my bicep now.
I nodded eagerly. “I’d love to get behind the wheel of that baby. What about you?”
“My favorite show?”
I shrugged happily. This was a simple enough topic. “Sure. Tell me.”
“The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel for the fashion,” she said, counting off one finger. “Dancing competition shows because they’re gorgeous to watch. And Orange Is the New Black because it reminds me to always be a good girl.”
I forced a laugh at the last one and decided not to touch it, even though I was tempted to make a dirty comment about being a good girl. But I couldn’t chance any conversation drifting into that territory—the behind-bars territory. I returned to the middle choice. “My sister is a choreographer. She’s done some work on a reality dance show.”
Sophie arched an eyebrow. “Ooh! Which one?”
“Dance All Night,” I said, naming the show that Shannon had worked on.
Her eyes lit up. “Get out of here!” She slugged my arm.
I ran my hand over the spot where she’d hit me, pretending it hurt. “Ouch.”
“I’ll kiss it and make it better,” she said, planting a quick kiss on my arm. Damn, that felt good, even through the fabric of my shirt. She raised her face. “I absolutely adore Dance All Night. There’s a one-night reunion show coming up, and I already have it marked on my calendar to make sure I don’t schedule anything else that night.”
My grin spread, anticipating Sophie’s next reaction. “I know about the reunion. She’s choreographing that too. My sister is Shay Sloan. She runs Shay Productions,” I said, using Shannon’s business name.
Sophie grabbed my arm, wrapping her fingers around it and squeezing hard. “Are you kidding me? I love her shows. I’ve seen the live ones too. I saw her show at the Wynn. Please tell her I’m a huge fangirl.”
“I will,” I said, and the words surprised me. I didn’t usually discuss my romantic life with my sister, or my two brothers either. I didn’t usually date anyone long enough to mention them to the most important people in my life—my siblings. So it was odd that I’d so easily promised to tell Shannon about Sophie’s adoration of her work. Odder still—talking about my family with Sophie didn’t make me want to run for the hills. Even when we’d landed on the topic of my father earlier, I hadn’t shut down as I normally would. Because I didn’t share pieces of myself with women. I didn’t like to get close. I didn’t do relationships.
It was weird not to be breaking out in hives right now.
“I wish I knew how to dance,” Sophie said wistfully. “I have absolutely no skills in that arena whatsoever. I’m pretty sure I can’t even manage a basic fox-trot.”
I leaned in and whispered, “Confession: I don’t even know what a fox-trot is. Besides, I think you danced pretty damn fine with me the other night.”
“Dancing with you was easy. I just aimed to press my body as close to yours as I could.”
“Good rule of thumb. Keep it up, because you feel spectacular pressed up against me,” I said.
“Imagine how spectacular I’d feel . . .” she began, then let her voice trail off as she danced her fingers down the front of my shirt and whispered, “naked.”
I drew in a hiss and narrowed my eyes. “You are too tempting.” It was a warning, even though it was an invitation too.
“I think you like being tempted by me,” she answered, licking her lips.
&nbs
p; I liked it far too much. I was so damn hard there was no breathing room for my dick. Especially when my eyes landed on her pouty red lips, which would look so good wrapped around me. Her red lips meeting my dick . . . I nearly groaned out loud. I wanted that so badly. Wanted it from her. I couldn’t imagine anything hotter than her gorgeous head bobbing up and down between my legs.
I shoved a hand through my hair, as if that would reroute my brain. “Talk about something else,” I instructed with a huff.
She nodded. “So you’ve got one sister, and you have a brother too, your bio said. Three of you?”
Ah, nothing like family to make an erection vanish. I held up four fingers as the pod rose higher into the night, creating the illusion of floating above the brightly lit city and its landmark skyline. “There are four of us. Shay”—I used my sister’s public name—“and Colin are twins. Michael and I run the security firm. Shay is the choreographer, and Colin is a venture capitalist. He lives here too.”
“You all have fascinating jobs. That’s so cool. And sounds like you’re close.”
I nodded. That was the understatement of a lifetime. In spite of my secrets, the four of us were as tight as any set of siblings could ever be. Our history, and our tragedy, had cemented our bond. The four of us had come to rely on each other, as well as the grandparents who had raised us after our father was killed and our mother was sent to prison.
“We’re very close,” I echoed, twisting my index finger around the middle one as if to show the connection between the Sloans.
“I’m close to my brother too. Especially since it’s the two of us now. He’s here in Vegas as well.”
“Oh, is he?” I asked, keeping my voice even and normal, as if I’d just learned this fact for the first time.
“I basically adore him, even though I love to give him a hard time about his job and his coworkers. He’s a detective with Metro so it’s all very macho and guy-centric at his office.”
I put on my best isn’t that interesting face, feeling only the slightest bit weaselly at fishing for information. “That must be an intense job.”
“Intense definitely describes John. He’s a total workaholic. Honestly, he doesn’t have to work as much as he does. He chooses to.”
“What do you mean, doesn’t have to?”
“He was my primary investor. He funded my company with his savings account. Basically everything he’d ever gotten as a kid—from the jobs he worked, his neighborhood lemonade stand, money gifts from relatives on birthdays—everything. He put it into my company when I started it—he was the seed investor. So, when I sold it, he profited too. I joked that he could retire like me, but he said, ‘Never.’ He has too much work to do putting criminals behind bars.”
A tight line of tension coiled through me. I wasn’t a criminal, but I’d been born to a woman branded as one. “He sounds pretty driven,” I said, doing my best to refrain from prying. The less I said, the better off I’d be if Sophie ever found out I’d had business with her brother. Not that she would. I didn’t date anyone long enough to meet their family.
She lowered her voice to the barest thread as we reached the top of the observation wheel. “John had a close friend who was an innocent bystander, shot in a drive-by gang shooting when we were younger.”
“That’s terrible,” I said, a dose of rage coursing through me. He knew far too well, then, what it felt like to lose someone to a bullet. “How old?”
“David was fourteen when it happened. Same as John,” she said, her voice breaking a bit. “He was a good friend of ours.”
I gripped her hand tighter, and then instinct told me to drop a quick, comforting kiss on her forehead. Her skin was so soft. “I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I was fourteen when—”
I cut myself off. Damn near kicked myself too. What the hell? I didn’t go around offering up bits and pieces of my family story. I’d already shared more about my father than I ever had. I couldn’t believe I’d been about to say more.
Something about this woman, maybe her willingness to share little details of her life, was working its way under my skin and tricking me into offering up more than I wanted to.
But closeness led to commitment, and commitment led to resentment, and resentment led to losing your parents when you were fourteen. And that led to your head and heart being fucked forever by not knowing who to trust or who to believe. To your mother telling you over and over she didn’t do it, even as the cops arrested her and the jury sentenced her to life in prison.
And worst of all, it meant your father became faded photographs and memories that blurred around the edges. I was left with only faint reminders of camping trips and time spent traipsing around Vegas with my dad.
“Fourteen when . . .?” she asked leadingly. “Oh, when your dad passed away?”
Sophie was giving me a way out, unknowingly providing a safe landing. Hell, I needed one, given the way my mind had been spiraling, turning my insides into a treacherous knot. I nodded. “And your brother lost his friend too?”
She clasped her hand over her mouth and squeezed her eyes shut. “Oh God. I’m so sorry,” she said when she opened her eyes. “I didn’t mean to imply David was killed. I should have been more clear. David’s paralyzed.”
“Wow. And all because of a drive-by shooting,” I said, shaking my head in disgust. No fake emotion there.
“It was some kind of retaliation shooting over territory. That’s what really drove John to become a detective. Our dad was a fruit salesman, of all things,” she said with a laugh. “Fruit salesmen don’t usually have cops for sons. But then this happened to John’s best friend, and it led him to want to clean up the streets.”
I couldn’t help but wonder if John had a personal stake in the investigation of my father’s murder, if the gang connection had caught his eye because of his own goal to rid the town of street gangs. If that was the case, John must be betting on my dad’s murder having deeper ties to the Royal Sinners.
Shit.
My gut churned, my emotions yanked in too many different directions. Desire to know more warred with the need to backpedal from this discussion.
“That is some heavy stuff,” I said, staying vague. Even if I wasn’t poking and prodding, I should know better than to try to glean a little bit of intel about the detective from his sister, who I was more and more drawn to.
But when your mom’s in prison, and your dad’s in the ground, and the men in charge think someone else might be involved, you don’t always do the right thing. Sometimes you poke. “I bet he has some stories about what he’s seen,” I said, immediately wanting to zip my mouth shut for having led the witness.
“He hardly tells me anything. But when he does, it’s usually laced with skepticism,” Sophie said, tucking a strand of hair that had fallen loose behind her ear. So strange to have this conversation up here, surrounded by people chattering and watching the night sky pass through the glass windows.
“Why’s that?”
“Detectives are naturally skeptical. It’s their job.”
“Ah. Of course,” I said, and a bead of guilt gathered in my veins as I let Sophie continue to talk freely.
“Think about it. They spend their days getting lied to. By suspects. By criminals. Even by family members. Almost all of the people they interact with hold back. No one ever offers the full truth to a detective. And if someone rolls over, they only do it for their own best interest, because they have information that might lessen their own crime. Not for altruism.” She pinned me with a sharp gaze as she made her point, and the guilt inside me stirred. “Even witnesses who have some key piece of information will usually only offer it up if it helps them. It happens all the time. Just the other night, John mentioned he’d talked to someone who he was sure knew some key details in a case, but the guy wouldn’t tell him.”
Was John talking about me? Giving Sophie details of the case? The possibility was so damn enticing. I was dying to know. But guilt knocked louder inside me,
telling me to stop hurtling down this path of deception with Sophie. She hadn’t a clue that I was likely one of those witnesses her brother didn’t trust.
I needed to focus just on this woman and forget the tenuous link between sister and brother, woman and cop. Besides, I had friends in the district attorney’s office. My hockey buddy from high school was now an assistant DA, and now that Marshall was back in town from his vacation, I didn’t need to sniff around this gorgeous woman and take advantage of her open heart.
I stared off in the distance, the city turning blurry as my eyes went out of focus, and I shoved off the questions running through my head about Jerry Stefano, the shooter, and the people my mother associated with, and anyone else who might have been involved in the murder. I blinked, refocusing to the here and now. To the best second date I’d had in ages. To the only one in a long time that made me want to have a third date.
“Do you like it up here?” I asked.
“The view is amazing,” she said as she gazed at the endless sea of neon and night.
“I fucking love Vegas,” I said, as I wrapped my arms around her waist and rested my chin on her shoulder, taking in the aerial show.
“You do?”
I nodded. “Yeah. This city will chew you up and spit you out, or it will embrace you and lift you up. Vegas always gives you the choice—to crawl in the gutter or soar in the sky.”
“I choose soaring in the sky,” she said softly.
“Me too.”
So we soared, high above the city we both called home, hovering in the summer night sky as stars winked on and skyscrapers raced to the heavens. I loved this city. I loved my home, with all its troubles and problems and crimes. Maybe I wasn’t that different from Sophie’s brother. I wanted Vegas to be all that it could be.
I did my best to make that happen too.
She craned her neck to look up at me. “Would it be too bold to say I wanted you to kiss me again right now?”
“Kissing you is becoming a favorite habit of mine.”
And so I kissed her. A lingering, luxurious kiss as the capsule swooped down toward the ground. But soon, the kiss climbed the heat scale, and by the time the observation wheel had completed its rotation, lust had camped out in my body and desire was ruling the rest of the night.
My Sinful Desire (Sinful Men Book 2) Page 7