Sin on the Strip

by Lucy Farago

  In a vain attempt to shrug off the past, Christian watched for any parked vehicle as he pulled into Shannon’s complex. He was relieved not to see one. He flashed his pass to the guard and drove into the parking lot. A quick glance at his watch told him it was ten past ten. For Vegas, this was an early evening. He opened her door and held her hand while she got out of the car and was disappointed to see those legs disappear behind a curtain of fabric.

  In the lobby, they smiled at the security guards and headed for the elevator, his hand at the small of her back. She made no attempt to pull away and no mention of his staying the night. He’d spotted the bodyguard he’d hired at the restaurant and knew her parents were safe, but he was taking no chances with Maggie. He was staying.

  At one point, she’d just been another piece to the puzzle. Now things had changed. And not for the better. The idea of this killer going after Maggie riled the angry kid he’d tried so hard to control. Only on search and rescues had Christian unleashed the ugly resentment caused by his mother’s betrayal and his stupidity. Ryan was right. Christian always kept his missions at arm’s length. He’d crossed the line with Maggie. When this was over, he’d have to find a way to uncross it. When this was over.

  As the elevator doors opened, she said, “I want you to understand where I’m coming from with my father. He was, is, very protective. He not only wanted to choose my school, but my everything, including my friends. He and Shannon never got along.”

  Inside, they stood side by side when what he wanted to do would shock the guard watching the security camera. “Yeah, that I could understand.”

  She eyeballed him. “She’s my best friend.”

  “And a very nice woman,” he said “when she’s not threatening to stomp your balls.”

  Maggie nudged him playfully. “Lawyers. Go figure. She’s always understood what it was like for me, having a father famous for preaching the gospel. His climb to fame didn’t just happen in the last ten years. When his popularity grew, so did the number of eyes on me. I was under a microscope. Being a teenager is hard enough. Try a role model.”

  “You blamed your father.” The elevator door opened and they stepped out.

  “I was a kid who wanted her father to love her the way she was.”

  “So you ran.”

  “I ran, Shannon by my side. Everyone knew about the scholarship. My disappearance was easily explained. He never forgave me. When I started at the club, our relationship was already tenuous. He didn’t like me working on the streets.”

  “Can’t blame a father for worrying.”

  “It went beyond that,” she said. “Now can we change the subject? I’ve had enough of my father for one night.”

  “Okay, but let say me this. If the press printed the real reason you run the clubs, the publicity wouldn’t be bad.”

  “That wouldn’t sell papers, would it? Besides, now is not the time and you and I know the reason.”

  The hallway was eerily silent as they made their way to the loft. Inside, she flicked on a row of pin spotlights in the entry. The white walls acted as a mirror, illuminating the entire first floor in a muted glow. The lights from the showy Vegas strip a few miles away glittered like colored stars through the window panes.

  Christian locked the door behind them. The soft click catching Maggie’s attention, she turned. He’d told himself he wouldn’t push, would let her come to him. So he made the token offer. “I could plant myself outside the apartment door, if that makes you more comfortable?”

  What he really wanted was to be pressed up against her warm, sweet skin, listening to the sounds she made when he made love to her. He wanted to see her lips full and wet from his kisses, her skin flushed from his touch. He ached to bury himself inside her and forget the ugly business that had brought them together, if only for tonight. Tomorrow morning they’d wake up in each other’s arms. She, alive and safe, he, determined to keep her that way.

  She laughed. “I’m fine with you sleeping in the guest room.” Her voice lacked conviction and he took it as a good sign.

  He removed his jacket, tossing it over the couch and stepped toward her. Startled, the keys in her hand fell to the floor in a clatter. He knelt on one knee to retrieve them, taking an appreciative inventory of the long legs inches from his face. Wrap dresses were a great invention, he thought, easily parted, easily disposed of. Taking his time to stand, his eyes lingering on her flat stomach and the breasts he longed to kiss, would kiss. With her keys in hand, one shoulder pressed to hers, he asked. “Do you really want me to sleep in the guest room?”

  They didn’t talk, simply stared at each other. He considered answering his own question, considered turning his back on her and going to bed, alone. It might be better for her. She wanted the killer caught, but would she approve of someone wiping the bastard off the face of this earth? She’d already accused him once of being an assassin. How would she react if she knew she wasn’t too far off the mark? You could take the girl out of the faith, but the faith out of the girl?

  That was their dilemma.

  Christian’s faith in anything died with his sister. He had to put his remaining ethics aside to do what he did. He’d been paid to find Samantha Wiseman’s killer and deliver him to her father for some down-home justice. Well, Wiseman would have to get in line.

  Maggie’s differences with her father didn’t change who she was, a street angel who saved the fallen. Could she save him? Did he want salvation? He hadn’t come to Vegas to be saved, but to hunt down a killer.

  Right now, he cared about one answer. He shouldn’t. Sleeping with her again was a bad move. Tough. Lost in sinful blue eyes, he searched her face. Would she share his bed again?

  “We—we have a … you promised we’d, um, talk.” She smiled dreamily. “You have the prettiest brown eyes.”

  “Do I?” he asked, wrapping his arms around her waist.

  She nodded. “Uh-huh.”

  He took her mouth, unable to resist, even knowing no good could come of this. One way or another, the killer would die, and the preacher’s daughter would have no choice but to push him away. Burying those thoughts, he lost himself to the woman in his arms.

  Strong arms held Maggie in place for open-mouthed kisses to the tender flesh of her neck and the ticklish hollow between her jaw and earlobe. Beck tasted her as a demanding hand molded her bottom, pushing her hips into his hard, grinding arousal.

  She should put a stop to this. Soon. Maybe? And why again was that?

  She gave up trying to grasp a coherent thought and gave in to the man liquefying her knees. A pleading moan escaped her as he tortured her aching body with meticulous attention to the skin exposed by the plunging neckline of her dress. Lightheaded with pleasure, she surrendered her weight to him. He obliged her by walking her toward the sofa and tumbling their pressed bodies onto the cushions.

  He’d been right when he’d said the back of a pickup would be more comfortable. But being crushed between the hard cushions and his muscular body drew out a wicked sensation, a shuddering tremor that almost made her teeth chatter. Taking her breath as his own, he kissed her with an intensity she found hard to resist.

  A warm hand touched her neck then slid past her shoulder, down her to rib cage. His thumb continuously swept across her nipple, until the thin fabric of her bra abraded the puckered flesh. He kissed her, tasting of bourbon and chocolate, of desire and sin. Soon, she’d stop him soon. They needed to talk. She needed to know who he was. Tonight she hadn’t been beaten up, didn’t need to know she hadn’t made another mistake.

  The morning after they’d made love hadn’t ended well, having been reminded she didn’t think before leaping into something that might very well lead to her holding the short end of the stick—again. But nothing bad had happened. And while what Beck did for a living was questionable, what did it have to do with her? This gorgeous man had done nothing but protect her, and her parents. Reluctantly, she drew back. His eyelids heavy with desire, he looked confused
.

  “I want to thank you again for the men you brought in. I never want to see another body bag again.”

  He kissed her nose. “I’m just sorry you were there. You, my sweet Maggie, have balls.”

  Balls? She didn’t have balls. What she’d done, she’d done without thinking. That didn’t make her brave. “It was stupid, and I could have contaminated the crime scene had I taken one step further. I’m surprised Horace didn’t—”

  With an all-consuming kiss, he shut her up. This time when her body clenched it was her failing attempt to ride the wave of pleasure that began in her mouth, crested in her stomach, and crashed with a punishing force between her legs, sucking the breath from her lungs.

  Strong, muscular legs slid between hers, pressing her to open. She felt the tug on her dress as he parted the silk, exposing her from the waist down. With her hand on his chest, she felt his heart pound beneath her palm. She was doing this to him. His passion, the hard erection calling out to her with the rocking of his hips, was because of her. Again, he made her blissfully happy to be a woman, to be the cause of a man’s desire—his desire.

  Beck fumbled with the knot at her waist, untied it and finished parting the dress. With nimble fingers, he unclasped the front of her bra, shoving it aside. Then pulling back from their kiss, he propped himself on one elbow.

  “Maggie,” his voice husky with desire, “I love your legs.” He caressed her thigh, sending tiny shock waves to her core. Running his fingers down to her knee, he hooked her calf over his hip, cupped her bottom in his warm hand, and squeezed. “Not to mention your sweet ass. It drove me crazy from the first time I watched you strut off in a huff.”

  That seemed like so long ago. Had it only been a few weeks? She hadn’t wanted to talk to him, and now he was spending the night. She slept with him, and despite everything, she didn’t regret it. That night he’d temporarily stripped her of the cowardly fears threatening to make her no good to anyone and made her feel safe. They’d gone from wary strangers to lovers in such a short time.

  She was falling for him, falling for sinful, decadent Mr. Chocolate.

  Her muscles cinched as he sucked on her lower lip. She swore she tried to push away, but his hair ran through her fingers, his stubbled jaw scraped her thumbs. She hadn’t shoved him away. No, she’d pulled him in, returned his kisses with the same erotic heat they were giving. The pressure from his mouth, the demanding force of his tongue, shut out all reason. Later, when common sense hadn’t vacated her brain for his touch, she’d think about her feelings.

  A memory washed over her—the time she’d gone skydiving. Looking out of the airplane to the beauty of three thousand feet of open sky and knowing it was going to envelope you. Having the courage to jump, feeling only a portion of what it would be like to fly, nothing to hold you back, no fear or responsibilities, no recrimination, only you and the sky. As Beck pushed onto his knees, as his hands clasped her rib cage to suckle each nipple into hard peaks, before he slid down her body and pushed aside her thong, she fell from the sky and plunged into a well of hot pleasure. When his tongue licked her, she flew, all thoughts of stopping him forgotten.

  Maggie dug her fingernails into his broad shoulders as Beck lapped the sharp ache between her legs. She cried out, unable to control her response to the warmth of his lips and sharp flick of his tongue. He lavished her with his attention, but he seemed to enjoy tormenting her. Each time he’d pull away, her body would relax only to arch again when he returned. With each teasing pause, she drew closer to climax. Hearing his soft chuckle, she knew he understood exactly what he was doing.

  A hand on her ankle, Beck forced one knee up, then the other, exposing her to him even more. She felt the pressure of his finger at her opening and the drawn-out torture as it slid inside her, then withdrew, then slid back inside, mimicking sex. Combined with the pressure and friction of his tongue, Maggie spun in a free-fall. Head over feet, round and round, she expected to hit the ground hard, but instead found herself soaring upward into a black sky, into the heavens. Eyes clamped shut, she exploded into the brilliant colors of a thousand fireworks accompanied by the loud sizzle of burning gunpowder. She became every pinpoint of light. As she floated back to earth, he stayed with her, easing her hips down with a soft caress, his mouth still tasting her.

  When she could open her eyes, Beck laid a kiss on her tattoo and crawled up her body. He cradled her in his strong arms, cocooning her in his body heat. Still in a haze, she realized he was dressed. Aching to touch his skin, she slid her hand between them, and grabbing a fist full of fabric, tugged at this shirt. A tight grip held her wrist.

  “Don’t,” he said, his voice strained.

  “Why not?” she answered, wiggling her arm in attempt to free her hand. “I can’t be the only one half naked.”

  “True,” he grinned, sending a shiver up her spine, “let’s get you all naked.” Pressing her closer, he began to slide the dress off her shoulder.

  Maggie clenched her arm to her body. “You can’t take any more of my clothes off, until you remove some of yours.”

  “I can’t,” he said, his gaze locked on her shoulder.

  “Why not?” She never expected to hear that.

  “Because if your hands touch my skin, I won’t be able to stop.”

  Certain he wanted her, evident by the hard erection pressed to her hip, she didn’t understand. “Is it the hard sofa?”

  Beck laughed, the low rumble strangely soothing.

  “Maggie, darlin’, hard sofa or hard floor, it wouldn’t matter. Hell, standing up or sitting down, I want you. I also don’t want you doing anything you’re not sure of, or ready to repeat. The last time you seemed, well, frazzled.”

  “I was not,” she vehemently denied, knowing she had been.

  “Yes, you were. I felt like a jackass. You were vulnerable, upset, and I took advantage of it. I think you regretted what happened between us.”

  “I don’t regret sleeping with you.” Part of her was telling the truth. That night she’d forgotten her fears and taken refuge in his arms. It had been wonderful, something she could quickly get addicted to. She could feel the pull now, the craving for more, the compulsion to be joined to him, the obsession of never getting enough of him. And like an addiction, some part of her brain knew it was wrong and didn’t care.

  “Then what, Maggie? Tell me, please. Let’s get this out in the open. If it wasn’t the sex, then what? What did I do wrong?”

  “You didn’t do anything wrong,” she assured him. “If it had been any better …” She had no words, so she kissed him. This wasn’t about him and knowing that he blamed himself. That was just wrong. “I hate to say this, but it wasn’t you. It was me.”

  He gave her the look she expected a normal human being to give when fed such a cliché. But in this case it was the truth. Maybe now was the time to admit—not all, but some of it. She let one leg drop to the floor and pushed at him to get up. “We should talk.”

  While looking disappointed, he gave her enough room to fasten her bra as he drew circles over her belly. “God, you’re beautiful.”

  Heat warmed her cheeks at the compliment.

  When she’d finished closing the clasp, he kissed the crevice between her breasts.

  “Why don’t you grab your jacket and we’ll go on the patio. I’ll get us a couple glasses of wine. White good for you?” She stood.

  “Sure, whatever you—”

  As she wrapped her dress around her, his muffled groan made her smile. “I’ll meet you out there.” She didn’t turn around, only snagged a black, woolen sweater out of Shannon’s closet and headed to the kitchen. Not long after, she stepped onto the concrete patio and joined him, two glasses of wine in hand.

  She handed him one. “I guess we both have things to say to each other.” She admitting to more than once letting her heart rule her brain and he, he to being whatever he was.

  “I haven’t forgotten. I simply got distracted.” He drew closer, sliding
an arm around her waist. “You go first, then I promise, my turn.”

  “You’re not trying to avoid having that conversation, are you?”

  “No, Maggie. Honestly, I’ll tell you everything you want to know.”

  She regarded him skeptically, but his expression was so earnest, she had a hard time not believing him. Beck pressed his lips to the side of her brow and tightened his hold. The haven of those strong arms gave her courage.

  “I think everyone tries to figure why they do the things they do and in my case, my friends make a point of asking me often. Right before they proceed to ball me out,” she said, muttering the last sentence.

  “You’re lucky to have them. Women who get mad, who show you how much they really do care.”

  “I am. But I grew up with every eye on me. I have to think part of my problem stems from my childhood. I would have done anything to win my father’s approval. And not just his, anyone’s. He was a leader in our community and the adoration he received when he spoke on Sundays … It made you want to be the same.

  “He was always helping, always on call no matter the hour or the day. He saved not only their souls but on more than one occasion, their lives, once or twice risking his own. He once talked a man out of shooting his wife. Then, when he turned the gun on my father, he talked him out of that. But when he couldn’t talk him out of shooting himself, they fought over the gun. Lucky for my father he had a few pounds on the guy.”

  “So stupid acts of bravery run in the family?”

  She should be mad at him, but the comment rang too close to the truth. Only she’d never thought of herself as brave. “My parents taught me to give. It goes against me not to.”

  “Maggie, there’s giving, and then there’s risking your life.”

  She could hear his frustration and needed him to understand. “I don’t look at it that way. I see someone in trouble and I have to help. In small town New England, you don’t worry about angry pimps or strung-out dealers. I get it. I do. I don’t think ahead. I allow my emotions to blind me to the very real possibility I might get hurt. My adrenaline kicks in and it’s like trying to stop a freight train.” Like she’d done with him. Only that hadn’t turned out so bad. Not yet anyhow, and she saw it the moment it clicked in his brain.