Three Hours (Seven Series Book 5)

by Dannika Dark

  “Won’t even notice since I’ll be watching the crowd,” he said indifferently, rising to his feet. “How about you finish up in here while I wait in the hall? Someone might be on the other side of the door, and I don’t like surprises, so hurry up.”

  After Wheeler slipped into the hallway, I finished searching the room. The contact book seemed to be the only thing of value, but what if I got caught stealing it? My paranoia was quashed by the fact that Delgado barely visited the club. Once a month—tops. He wouldn’t miss this little book for a day or two, and Wheeler could get me back inside to return it. I tucked the book in my purse and flipped off the light.

  But my breath caught when I heard talking just outside the door.

  “Shit, shit, shit,” I whispered. “Fawn, get your little tushy back to work.”

  Her manner of speech was like a sixteen-year-old California rich girl. She played up that role, always smacking on gum and sometimes dressing too young for her age. I didn’t like that type of behavior; men shouldn’t be conditioned to find adolescents attractive.

  Carefully, I cracked open the door and peered out. She was smiling up at Wheeler, fanning her one-inch false lashes and drawing attention to the three pounds of glitter spattered all over her eyelids. The next thing I knew, Wheeler backed her into the wall and pressed his entire body against her.

  I’m not sure why, but that made my insides crawl. It made me want to grab that stupid elephant off the desk and knock him in the head with it. But since she was buried beneath six feet of man, I slipped out the door and slinked in front of the bathroom across the hall.

  That’s when I got a clear view. He had his face buried in her neck, her hand clawed at his black jeans, the hem of her plaid skirt riding up…

  “Ahem!” I said, clearing my throat. “Sugar, I’m done powdering my nose.”

  When he didn’t stop, I slung my purse in the air and whacked him in the back of the head. He tensed and then glared at me over his shoulder.

  “Sorry to interrupt,” I said unapologetically. “I have to go do that thing.”

  Fawn flipped her long hair back to make sure her tresses weren’t shielding her breasts, which were small, round, and aiming bullets at Wheeler through the sheer fabric posing as a shirt. “Sorry, Naya. Didn’t realize you had claim on him.”

  Wheeler looked between us as if caught in the crossfire.

  I straightened the strap of my purse over my shoulder. “Sweetie, any man I have claim over wouldn’t need another woman to fool around with. I’m all the woman he’d need,” I said in a silken voice.

  Wheeler’s right eyebrow arched in slow motion.

  Fawn stroked his arm with the tips of her fingernails. “Another time, daddy.” She strutted off, swinging her hips like a pendulum.

  Wheeler pivoted around and we headed toward the back door. “What’s with that daddy shit?”

  “Maybe you should tell me, papa. You’re the one with his hands up her skirt.”

  His arm flew out and pushed open the door to the back of the club. I winced at the bright light, and Wheeler’s boots crunched on the gravel as we headed toward his car.

  “My hand wasn’t up her skirt. And for your information, I did that so you could get out.”

  “Such self-sacrifice,” I said over the hood of the car as he unlocked the door. “Some men throw themselves on grenades, but you chose the nearest half-naked woman.”

  He cut me a sharp glare and got in the car. The heat swelled inside and I rolled down my window while he turned the engine over.

  “I could have attempted an intellectual conversation to distract her, but she didn’t look like the girl most likely to talk about the influential works of Jackson Pollock.”

  “You like his paintings?”

  Wheeler slipped on his sunglasses. “He’s a fucking genius.”

  “He splattered paint on canvas. An elephant can do that.” I waved at a gnat and adjusted the air as we pulled out of the parking lot.

  “Explosive creativity. Not everything can be outlined in pencil beforehand. That’s a man who thought outside the conventional box. Sometimes things that make the least sense are the most interesting. People don’t give enough credit to abstract artists.”

  “Perhaps you should have let him paint your arms.”

  A laugh burst out of Wheeler—rich and bold—the first I think I’d ever heard. It sent goose pimples up my arms and made me smile along with him. When he didn’t say anything back, I lingered on that infectious laugh a little longer. The warm texture of it, how alive he sounded, and I suddenly got a glimpse of the passion beneath his dark, brooding exterior.

  Wheeler adjusted his visor. “Find anything back there, Sherlock?”

  “Just the little book of names. We’ll see what that unearths. After I’m done with it, I’ll need you to sneak me back in to return it.”

  “I think we need to pull over and eat.”

  My stomach was growling and I hadn’t noticed. How could he hear it over the engine? “I could use a bite, although if there’s a beef jerky diner in town, I’m going to have to decline your offer.”

  “Just for that, you’re eating by yourself.”

  “Excuse me?”

  The car lurched into a parking space at a burger joint and he shut off the engine. “I’m hungry, and seeing how I’m the one driving the car, that leaves you with little choice in the matter. You obviously have no respect for me, and I’d rather not share a meal with someone who can’t shut off the insults.”

  “You’re one to talk!”

  “Well, I guess that solves our problem. Maybe fire and kerosene don’t go together for a reason. I’ll sit at the bar, you find a table. We’ll eat in peace and then I’ll drive you home… or to your next shave.”

  “Maybe I’m not the only one who needs a shave,” I said matter-of-factly, getting out of the car.

  As he stalked inside, I received a call on my phone. “Hello?”

  “It’s Reno. I have an address for the cousin. Tonight?”

  When I stepped inside the diner, a blast of cold air made me shiver. “Tonight is no good. I have to work, and there’s not enough time right now for me to do all that. Don’t you dare go without me,” I said, sitting at a table with my back to the window.

  He sighed. “It’s your money, but I’m gonna have a real problem if you blow me off tomorrow.”

  “No, tomorrow is good. The sooner the better. Do you want to pick me up or—”

  “Have you ever ridden a bike?”

  Sweet Mary, no! I’d seen Reno’s bike, and after my mother’s car accident years ago, riding a motorcycle would terrify me. Nothing between me and the hard pavement but thin air.

  “Why don’t you stop by, and I’ll drive?”

  “And leave my bike on the human side of town?” he almost growled.

  A man walked in and looked my way before approaching the counter.

  “Do you want me to come pick you up?”

  I knew that wouldn’t go over well. Having a woman in her sporty little Trans Am pick up the big and strong private investigator? I could almost hear male pride crumbling on the other end of the phone.

  “This is problematic,” he murmured. “We don’t have a free car tomorrow. Your swinging by is no good unless you want to get me in deep tar with my Packmaster. I should have thought this out before accepting your offer.”

  “So let’s do this: we meet up at Sweet Treats Bakery. I’ll zip in and say hello, and you show up with bike trouble. I’ll offer to give you a ride, and your bike will be right in front of the shop where Lexi can keep an eye on it.”

  “Damn. You’re good. Let’s do that. Noon okay?”

  “See you there.”

  After the call ended, I looked up and saw Wheeler at the counter eating what looked like a sloppy joe. He sucked sauce off his finger and shoved a few tater tots into his mouth. I was going to have to give him tomorrow afternoon off. Reno would be all the bodyguard I needed, and I didn’t want to ris
k them finding out about each other. Reno might back out completely if he found out too many resources were being extended to me, and I needed him.

  My, this was getting more complicated than I first thought.

  “Why do I feel like I’ve seen you before?”

  I glanced up at the man who had walked in a moment ago. A pair of narrow shades with orange lenses sat low on the bridge of his nose, allowing me to see his eyes. His neck and forearms were red in contrast to the skin just beneath his sleeves. He had a small potbelly and hair on his knuckles. I only noticed that because the fingers on his left hand were splayed on my table.

  “Maybe I look familiar because you were gawking at me when you walked in?” I suggested. I really wasn’t in the mood for this; clearly he had seen me perform. It went with the territory, and while most were gentlemen about it, ten percent of those customers felt like they owned me outside the club.

  “Ah,” he said, as if reaching an epiphany. “Almost didn’t recognize you in a dress. I think you look sexier without it. How come I haven’t seen you at Palazio’s?”

  I hadn’t worked at that human club in over five years, and those were desperate times. “Because I’m working in a prestigious law firm.”

  “Well that’s a travesty,” he said insincerely. “Are you here alone? I’d love to hear all about your new job. Why don’t I buy your lunch?”

  Wow. Way too eager.

  “I’m not interested, and I prefer to eat alone.” I didn’t say it in a rude way, but I’d learned a long time ago not to give a man the idea he could pressure me. Firm and to the point. That lets a girl know who the assholes are right away.

  “That’s not very nice. I remember you being so much nicer,” he said, his eyes traveling across my body as if they had a passport. “If you’re busy now, why don’t I take you somewhere this weekend? There’s a nice steakhouse up the road.” He reached out and brushed his fingers on my arm. “I’m Dave. Is Gypsy your real name, or was that just a stage thing?”

  A teenage girl at a nearby table was watching with interest, and suddenly I felt like I could be her life lesson on how she should allow men to treat her.

  “No, Dave. I’m not interested, and I’d like you to leave my table. I don’t think we’d be having this conversation if you hadn’t recognized me from the club. Be a sweetheart and pay attention when a woman says no.”

  Irritation flashed in his eyes. “A girl who strips for a living isn’t a girl who says no a whole lot.”

  I stood up from my seat and slapped him in the face so hard that his sunglasses hung askew. “Don’t you dare insult me like that again.”

  The girl next to me was suddenly holding up her phone, and I knew this was all going on video.

  This show needed to end quickly. When I reached for my purse, everything happened so fast. One minute Dave was standing in front of me with a stunned expression, and the next, when I looked up, Wheeler had spun him around and shoved him against the wall. So hard that a picture of an employee’s face fell to the floor and smashed into pieces.

  Wheeler threw a series of punches—the third splitting Dave’s cheek and bright blood appearing. Someone in the back shouted to call the police, and that’s when my adrenaline spiked.

  Dave erupted with anger and charged at Wheeler, who suddenly stepped aside like a matador dodging a bull in Spain.

  When Dave stumbled forward, the teenager stuck out her leg and sent him flying. A chair fell over when he hit the ground. I smirked and gave her an approving wink before grabbing Wheeler by the arm.

  Taut arm. His muscles were so tight that he felt like stone beneath my touch. “We have to get out of here, so I hope you filled up on your meat sandwich.”

  Did he hear me? I wasn’t sure. His eyes were locked on the human, and I’d never seen the features of his face so fierce. Moving him seemed impossible, so I slipped four fingers down the front of his pants so I could get a firm grip on his jeans.

  That seemed to snap him out of it. When he lightly gasped and turned to look at me, I gave him a hard tug and pulled him toward the door. “Come on, sugar. We’re late for the parent-teacher conference.”

  Once outside, I realized that Wheeler was compliantly following behind me, allowing me to tug him forward. I glanced over my shoulder and saw why. It almost stole my breath how thick he was—so much so that I snatched my hand back before I felt a surprise. The length and size of him pressed so hard against the fabric of his jeans that it looked painful.

  “Come on, Romeo. Before the cops show up and wonder why sloppy joes give you an erection.”

  Chapter 8

  Wheeler stretched out on Naya’s white sofa after she went to take a nap in her bedroom. He couldn’t stop replaying the events in his head of what had happened earlier at the diner. While sitting at the counter drinking his milkshake, he’d heard Naya’s sultry voice sharpen. When he glanced over his shoulder, a man was facing her with his hand on the table. Because of the distance and the music on the speakers, he couldn’t hear the conversation.

  He’d wanted to turn around and finish his lunch, but something had compelled him to watch—a spark that coiled in his stomach and burned hotter with each passing second. Should he interfere? He was hired to protect her life, not to meddle with her personal business, and a woman like Naya was certainly used to men approaching her all the time. When he saw the man’s fingers slide up her arm, his wolf began to snarl and pace within him.

  Naya suddenly sprang to her feet and slapped the man in the face. Wheeler had flashbacks of when she’d done the same to him, and a surge of adrenaline poured through his veins like lava. Maybe seeing that should have made him dislike her for being so callous to men, but a smidge of unexpected jealousy bloomed in Wheeler, as if her punishments belonged only to him.

  And wasn’t that a crazy fucking thought?

  Wheeler didn’t even realize he was walking in their direction—it was as if his body and brain had disconnected, replaced by animal instinct. When she turned away and reached for her purse, the man curved his left hand across his right shoulder. Wheeler had seen that gesture before, and it meant the guy was three seconds from backhanding her.

  Wheeler caught the man’s wrist and spun him around. “Thought you were going to do that, didn’t you?” he said through clenched teeth.

  He blacked out for just a few seconds. It always happened during the first moments of a violent outburst. It didn’t matter if humans were watching. In his world, a man didn’t put his hand on a woman.

  Wheeler shifted around on Naya’s sofa and rubbed his eyes. Just thinking about how that scene had played out made his heart thump so forcefully that he could see the rapid pace through the thin fabric of his sleeveless shirt. Then blood rushed to his cock as he remembered the feel of her slender fingers sliding down the front of his pants. That in combination with the way she had forcefully led him out made him ache in a way he hadn’t felt in a long time. Even now the constriction was too much, so he freed the button and unzipped his pants, which only made him harder.

  “Dammit,” he whispered, wanting so badly to stroke himself. Even worse, doing that while thinking of her.

  His breaths became heavy and he shut his eyes, trying to force himself to sleep. What was it about that scene that had incited such anger and arousal all at once? Maybe it was the thought of the way that man had touched her—invading her space. Or how goddamn sexy she looked standing up for herself and giving that asshole every bit of what he deserved.

  Jesus. Wheeler was stroking himself over the fabric. He thought about how ripe she looked in that outfit, how supple her breasts, and even the fact that she had on nude lipstick that matched her dress. Except it had a shimmer that made her lips look wet… as if she had licked them. He imagined her tongue gliding across her upper lip. The next thing he knew, he had pulled his shorts down enough that he could get a firm hold of his cock. He gripped the shaft, rolling his thumb over the tip. Wheeler’s body jerked, and his mind flooded with the mem
ory of how her cheeks flushed the moment she’d caught sight of his erection.

  An ache tightened at the base of his spine as he stroked even faster. The intensity flared, and Wheeler arched his back, feeling as if something was about to spring loose from his mind if he didn’t stop this aching desire. Her brown skin looked the color of cinnamon and honey, and she had exotic eyes that reeled him in with every glance.

  He stroked faster. Then his mind raced, thinking about when she had kissed him. How velvety sweet her tongue was, and the way she’d nibbled on his lip. Christ. He could still remember the way her kiss tasted, like dark cherries.

  Almost there…

  “Misha?”

  Holy shit! Wheeler didn’t have time for buttons and zippers, so he did the only thing that came to mind—he flipped over.

  “Have you seen Misha?” Naya asked with a yawn. “I can’t sleep without my baby.”

  “That what you normally wear during naptime?” he grumbled, trying to restrain his approval when he caught a glimpse of her walking past him in a pair of tight cotton shorts and a white tank top. He could see the cups of her ass below the shorts, tempting him to touch. Wheeler smashed his face into the couch pillow, rubbing it hard and wanting to end this humiliation.

  “Misha,” she sang, peering behind her red chair.

  Wheeler’s eye popped open as she bent over, her shorts riding up. Oh Jesus, he wasn’t going to survive this. Somehow, it was going to kill him.

  “Maybe she got out,” he mumbled, realizing he was still hard and aching for release.

  Naya turned around and folded her arms. “She’s slipped out a few times when I’ve had visitors, which is why I bought that collar. It just seems like I would have noticed. I guess with you around I was too distracted.”

  “She’ll turn up.” But what he really meant to say was, Get the hell out of here and let me zip up my pants.

  Her bottom lip pushed out. “I have to go to work soon. That’s too long for her to be out.”