“I’ll call the cab.” Annie reached into her bag for her phone.
Ten minutes later, Sophie walked outside with Annie and Gemma, waved at Thor, and stumbled to the cab, ignoring Thor’s string of swear words. She fell into the cab and gave the driver her address. Back at her house, she paid the man and stumbled to her front door.
“Where’d I put the keys?” She blinked at the beam of neon white that flooded the front door when she approached. “Oh, here they are.” She grabbed her key ring and tried to insert a key into the lock. The door opened as she leaned forward. She stumbled, falling into a solid chest.
Sophie grabbed a fistful of T-shirt. “I’m going to miss how you smell.”
“You caught a cab? Jesus, Sophie, I should put you over my knee.” Harlan slung an arm across her shoulder and pulled her into her house. “You’re drunk.”
She ignored his statement about putting her over his knee, because she kind of did want that, but not to be spanked. “No I’m not. I’m margarita’d. First time ever.” She tried to focus. “Why are you still here?”
“I’ll get you a glass of water.” Harlan’s amused voice infiltrated the margarita crowding her brain.
“I think I’ll go to bed.” She leaned her cheek against his chest. Warm, hard and soft, it ticked all the boxes. “Here’s good.”
The next minute he cradled her to his chest, she felt the floor move, then she was lying on something soft.
“No.” She clawed her way out of the bed, her knees hitting the floor.
“What are you doing?”
“Prayers. I can’t go to bed without saying my prayers. I’ll say one for you.”
She clasped her hands, dropped her head, and said her prayers, ending with hoping Harlan found peace.
“Thanks for praying for my immortal soul and all, but I’m good with where I am.” Harlan’s amused voice permeated her haze.
She frowned.
“I think only the Dalai Lama and the Pope have that sewn up. The rest of us struggle.”
He paused before answering, “You don’t have peace?”
She shook her head.
Not until every single person had been paid back, which now included Vladimir Petrov.
She sank into the mattress and closed her eyes, halfway to dreamland. Her boots were pulled off, then her socks. When a hand reached for her jeans zipper, she batted it away.
“No.” She forced her eyes open to find Harlan staring down at her.
“You can’t sleep in jeans.”
“Oh, it’s you. That’s okay. I’m not a woman to you.” She lifted her butt slightly, giving him access to her jeans.
She thought she witnessed a white-lipped mouth, but keeping her eyes open had become an industrial problem. Even stranger, she thought she heard her boots being thrown against the wall.
…
Harlan sat on the bed in Sophie’s spare room. Petrov had called and was now in a better spot for communication—just—although the line was prone to be filled with static at random times. He gave Petrov a quick update with minimal facts over an unsecured line. A detailed written report would follow, encrypted and sent electronically. He didn’t mention the meeting with Babic, preferring to do that in person. In the meantime, his people had been turning over every rock they could looking for Mick, but, so far, they had nothing.
He threw his phone on the bed and rubbed at the throbbing spot on the back of his neck that was getting harder to erase. After pulling off his clothes, he dropped onto the bed.
Tomorrow night he’d be meeting Diaz at Hostage with Arabella. The timing wasn’t ideal, but too much rode on a positive outcome to postpone the meet. Diaz wanted out of a drug syndicate and, in return for safe passage for him and his family, he would deliver the key players in the cartel. If anyone caught a whiff that the man wanted out with a clean ticket, he and his family would be landfill.
Exhausted but wired, Harlan let his mind wander. And it went straight to its favorite subject. Sophie’s creamy thighs filled his vision, along with the white boy-cut underwear that hugged her soft stomach. He’d never known white cotton underwear to be so fucking hot. He’d always craved a CrossFit toned body—hard abs, lean muscles—until Sophie with her curves came into his life.
Oh yeah, when this assignment was over, he’d be having her for one long night. His mind flicked between a hotel with a Jacuzzi and twenty-four-hour room service or a secluded cabin in the woods with Sophie naked on a rug in front of a fire.
Fuck it. They’d have both.
An image of Sophie’s hair fanned across his stomach landed in his mind.
Yeah.
Sophie sitting on his face, his name tumbling from her mouth, her sweet juices on his tongue.
Yeah.
Sophie on all fours, silk scarves securing her to the bedposts.
Hell, yeah.
His hand dropped under the waistband of his boxers to his twitching cock, and he started stroking.
A low, deep, terror-filled moan filled the air.
Adrenaline fired throughout his body.
Sophie.
He threw back the covers, grabbed his phone and the gun from the bedside table, and crept to his door. He opened the door, gun drawn, twisting left and right. Cold sweat cloaked his body. With no obvious threat, he worked his way down the corridor toward Sophie’s room. Another moan assaulted his ears.
Fuck.
A wet nose butting against his ankle, along with a string of farts, announced Pongo on the scene. He rested his hand on the dog’s head for a beat then opened Sophie’s door. He slid in and silently closed the door, the Ruger trained on the bed.
A full moon splashed silver into the room. Sophie thrashed in the bed, fighting an invisible demon.
“Sophie.”
Nothing.
He advanced, setting the safety on the gun and placing it on the bedside table. He then caught Sophie’s right wrist. Her body came off the bed, her foot connected with his thigh. He grunted, absorbing the pain. He leaned forward and took a hook to the head, followed by blinding pain in his temple.
“Sophie.”
“Daddy.” She thrashed on the bed. A moan like that of a wounded animal chilled his blood.
He knelt by the bed, gripping her hands. “Sophie, wake up.”
“Daddy,” she moaned, tears streaming down her pale face, her mouth open, hands punching, narrowly missing the wall, legs and feet kicking out.
Instinct kicked in. He slid into her bed and pulled her into his arms, her back to his chest. She stiffened, her body locking straight, then she fought him.
“You’re safe.”
He grunted when her heel caught his shin.
He burrowed his face into her hair, swallowing a snarl. “You’re safe.”
The tension started to bleed from her body.
He wrapped his arms around her, nestled his face in her hair, and breathed deeply. Shit, she felt good in his arms. He kissed the back of her head and stared into the darkness.
…
A weak dawn light brushed the curtains. Harlan stirred, pulling Sophie’s thick hair off his chest. Sometime in the night she’d lost the hair band, and her hair lay like a blanket. She lay on her side, her head on his shoulder, her arm slung around his stomach.
Ah, the reason he’d woken up.
Sophie had straddled his thigh. Her nipples pushed through her bra, hard against his chest, her breath coming in short pants. Her eyes closed, her face flushed..
A dream into which he wished he could insert himself.
She whimpered, arched her hips, and angled herself higher on his thigh.
He nuzzled her hair and licked her neck. “Do it. Rub harder, baby. Make yourself come. That’s my cock between your legs.”
She moaned deep and low.
His cock begged to replace his moisture-slicked thigh, straining against his stomach. If she didn’t come soon, he’d blow, scenting her.
“Tip over the edge. I’m jacking off watchin
g you.”
His hand found his dick, and he started pumping. He ignored the deep pinch in his balls. Her spine arched, and she clamped around his leg, her body in a long spasm, before she went limp. He arched into his hand, past the point of sanity, and pumped his load between them.
Her body relaxed. Sleepy eyes opened, she stretched, pushing her chest against his, and wiggled.
Realization hit her hazy chocolate eyes, which widened.
“Oh no, no, no. That did not happen.” She blinked rapidly, her face reddening, her voice thick. She ducked her head and winced. “Please tell me that did not happen.” She paused. “I’m sorry for assaulting your leg. All that talk about vibrators must have triggered some sort of erotic dream.”
Vibrators? Watching Sophie getting herself off? Fuck, he’d buy the entire stock of Spanky’s.
She stilled, red creeping up her chest.
“I have to stop talking.”
He propped himself on his elbow. Sophie in the morning with her guard down. He drank her in.
“I know how you feel about me and all, so I apologize for fooling around on your leg.” Her hand waved around her head.
She had no fucking idea that thoughts of her body, her mouth, her tits pushed against his chest, infiltrated his brain at random seconds of every minute.
“You can use my leg anytime.” He pushed her riot of hair behind her ear.
“Why are you in my bed?” She moved backward until she hit the edge of the bed and scrambled out. Her hands on her hips, her guard well and truly up.
Her white cotton underwear accentuated the curve of her hip. Her breasts pushed the confines of a pink bra. Two articles of clothing stood between him and paradise.
He propped himself on an elbow. “Nightmare. Something was dragging your soul out of you. I couldn’t wake you up and, to save you from breaking a hand against the wall, I held you until whatever you were fighting had gone.”
Yeah, keep telling yourself that’s all it was and why you didn’t leave when she settled.
She slumped on the fluffy, flower-covered comforter. “I remember,” she said in a quiet voice, staring at nothing. “I couldn’t breathe. My head was being held down, then a hand pushed against my mouth. Someone kept whispering it would be all right. I had my Dorothy snow globe in my hand.” She looked puzzled. “I didn’t remember that before.”
Instantly alert, he came up to a sitting position. “Is that a dream or a memory?”
“I don’t know.” She opened her mouth then clamped it closed, shutters moved across her face.
“What?”
Her eyes narrowed. “Why are you here? The bet is over.”
The spot on the back of his neck started to ache.
“I’m not moving out until we’ve got a handle on the militia who want you.”
“Why do you care?” she said in a quiet voice.
Caught off guard, her words threw him.
“Got my night with you to plan,” he answered.
Even if he wasn’t being paid an insane amount of money by Petrov, he’d still be protecting her. It gnawed at him that he couldn’t tell her the real reason he was here.
She blinked, and her mouth tightened. “There is no night. We listened to the recording together. The bet is done, so you’re going to stay away from me. Quid pro quo.”
“So, when you won the bet, your prize was for me to stay away from you?” The words burned his throat.
“Yes,” she answered in an instant.
Not going to happen.
“There’s going to be a night, Sophie,” he said softly.
She studied him.
“Don’t you get it? I’m not going to be used for one night then thrown away like a candy wrapper,” she said in a quiet voice.
He stood and ignored the ache at the back of his skull.
As if suddenly noticing she stood in her underwear, she snatched the comforter from the bed and wrapped it around her body.
“Um, could you leave so I can get dressed?”
He chuckled at her belated show of modesty.
“Is that…” Her eyes widened when he reached for the sheet and wiped cum off his stomach.
“I told you, you were hot; I jacked off while you got off.”
Her mouth dropped open. “Why didn’t you wake me? I would have stopped.”
“And run the risk of you waking up and being all embarrassed and not giving me the satisfaction of watching you come? Fuck no.”
Her face pinked. “Right. I’ve got a lot to do today before I kick back with Jack Abbot and Victor Newman tonight. We’ve got a marathon scheduled.”
He stilled. “You’ve got two men coming here tonight and you’ve got a marathon scheduled?”
“Well, yeah. I hope Nick, Billy, and Sharon make an appearance. I’ve got a soft spot for Sharon, she’s had it tough.” She looked thoughtful. “I’ll need Pringles. Lots of Pringles.”
He blinked, not getting why she looked all dreamy.
She shuffled toward her bathroom with the comforter still wrapped around her body.
At his growl she turned and rolled her eyes.
“It’s The Young and the Restless night.”
He folded his arms. “I don’t know what that means.”
“Only the best show on TV.”
He shook his head, bewildered. “I don’t know what it is but I’m guessing it’s your shit TV.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Say that again and you lose what’s between your legs.” Her gaze dropped to where his hand curled into a fist. “Are you okay? You’re looking a tad tense.”
“Not as tense as ten minutes ago. After our night I’m going to be so loose I’ll be able to teach yoga.”
Laughter shot out of her. It sounded great. Deep and throaty, it reverberated around his body. He walked back to the spare room. A sonar ping heralded an incoming text. He swiped his finger across the screen, still smiling.
The smile slid off his face when he read the text from Zeb. A brown box addressed to Franco Security had arrived. Typed address. Generic label. No markings. No return address. He tapped on the image of the contents of the box until it filled the screen.
Fuck.
No Eiffel Tower. No pyramids of Giza. No cute scene.
A doe and her baby lay dead on an emerald hill.
A knife mark slashed through the thick Lucite snow globe. The words written in dark red turned his blood to ice.
Back off. She is mine.
Chapter Twelve
“Listen here, Fang, I’ve got a can of dog food or a Taser. Take your pick.”
The mammoth-sized dog who looked like it had eaten its owner, all the neighborhood children, and wanted to floss its teeth with Sophie, growled at her. She dumped the can of dog food on the ground, set her Taser to stun, and backed away.
Twenty minutes earlier, she’d left the living room in shadows, angling the blinds so it looked like she lay sprawled on her couch with a blanket hanging half on the floor next to a pair of boots. “Nadia’s Theme” played in the background. She’d DVR’d her favorite soap, which now played in all its mega drama.
The huge dog sniffed, and Alpo’s Chop House won out. Fang devoured the food, giving her time to climb the neighbor’s fence, hook her leg over the top, and land with a soft grunt on the other side. She made it through another fourteen backyards and four other dogs—three friendly, one not. A ginger cat had opened one eye, appraised her, then ignored her. She pushed down the baseball cap, which shielded her face should anyone happen to glance out their window the moment she scaled their fence. She’d mapped out the maze soon after moving into her house. It had taken months of observation and a few near misses and dead ends, but she’d finally determined a path that was all but undetectable. After she vaulted the last fence, she pulled out her phone and sent a text to Gemma, then jogged across the road to a children’s playground and waited in the shadows.
A car pulled into the lot and flashed its lights twice.
Sophie g
roaned, then sprinted to the car and jumped in.
“This is fun. Like we’re operatives on a mission.”
Sophie pulled off the cap and pulled the band on her hair tight. “If you call cutting through fourteen backyards past a dog that could rip the heart out of Satan and eat it as an appetizer ‘fun’.”
Half an hour later she sat on Gemma’s couch, eating more devils on horseback.
Delicious.
She looked up to find both Gemma and Annie advancing on her. A flat iron dangled from Gemma’s hand. Annie held a bag filled with enough cosmetics to stock fifty states.
“We’ve had a girl conference without you. Sorry,” Annie said, looking not at all sorry. “I know your look is hot, but we want to play dress-up tonight. Change you up a beat.”
Is this what girlfriends did?
“I…ah…don’t know.” Sophie stumbled, not having a clue what to do.
“Do you trust us?” Annie asked, catching Sophie off guard.
“Yes,” she replied without hesitation.
She did.
Working as a private detective, she’d been deceived by the sweetest, most innocent types, who’d screw their grandmother for a dime. She’d grown to trust her instincts and had only been wrong a handful of times.
Annie and Gemma were good people.
“Ok.” She pulled on her ponytail. “But nothing too drastic.”
“You can’t go back on what we do.”
Nerves detonated in her stomach.
Sophie blinked up at Annie.
Wait.
“Trust us, okay?” Gemma said, stepping forward and squeezing Sophie’s hand.
Hot prickles crept up her neck.
“Okay,” she said, twisting her hands.
Annie grinned, and Gemma whooped.
An hour later, Sophie stood in front of the mirror, frozen. “Who are you?”
Her hair hung in a thick, silky wave over one shoulder. Annie had worked some kind of voodoo magic and had transformed her face. Dark, smoky eyes stared back at her. Ruby lips sparkled. Skin glowed. Long turquoise earrings hung like chandeliers from her ears.
Gemma walked into her family room holding a scrap of material. “You’ll look sensational in this.”
“I can’t wear that.” Sophie backed away. “That’s not a dress.”
Bound to the Bounty Hunter Page 14