For the first time all day, he let himself accept that he was going to have some kind of tryst with her. He was going to touch her in all the ways he craved. He could still smell her when he closed his eyes. She didn’t smell like rain today. She’d smelled like longing. Like lust. Like the woman she’d become, not the girl he fell in love with.
The woman was like a sexual jack-in-the-box. Wind her up and she exploded beautifully, like diamonds shattering into brilliant pieces. What would she sound like when he tasted her for the first time? How would she move beneath him?
The water pounded his shoulders as he took his dick in his hand. He stroked, slowly at first, and then as desire started to pulse, he tugged faster, imagining sliding his cock into her wet heat.
He’d jacked off to the vision of Annalise more times than he could count, but never in recent years. He’d denied himself that pleasure. Or really, that pain. He’d successfully shoved her out of his mind the day she unintentionally broke his motherfucking heart in Marseilles. The shield had gone up, the walls had risen, and he’d resisted all thoughts of her.
Not now.
Not when he was seeing her again.
Not when he was sure she wanted the same thing he did. She wanted him, and hell if that wasn’t the hottest thing ever.
As the water poured down his back, his fist curled tighter.
He breathed out hard, a rough, gritty exhale as his hand worked faster and his mind replayed the dressing room. She’d melted into him, but it was more than that. She vibrated—like she was on some other frequency, strung tight, hot, and desperate. The way she’d gripped his hand, rubbing up against him, fucking his fingers, drove him crazy then and consumed him now.
The image stirred up lust all through his body, as carnal pleasure built low in his gut. He groaned as the water pounded mercilessly. His muscles tightened everywhere, his quads tensing as his hand flew up and down his dick. God, he wanted her. Wanted to know how it would feel to strip her to her lacy panties then rip them off. Kiss her, taste her, lick her, fuck her, take her.
His breath raced fast from his lungs, release in reach.
Right now, under the water, in the privacy of his own home, he was free to say her name, to imagine her face, to picture her as he came.
Later, as he lay in bed, he told himself that this reunion was temporary. It was one day, one moment, one chance. Then he’d move on.
He almost believed it.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Eighteen years ago
Something didn’t quite add up. Thomas was no expert, but as he finished writing up his log of rides for the day, he grabbed last week’s list to make sure he had the correct spelling of the client. But the man’s name had been erased, as if the ride Thomas had given him to the airport didn’t exist.
He leaned back at the table in the break room and scratched his chin. Why would a ride suddenly go missing? He opened the binder and thumbed through the last few weeks. Here and there, a few others were missing, too.
Flipping to the red tab, he checked out some of the other drivers’ records. He remembered his buddy Sanders, who was a mechanic for the same company, had been pulled in to handle a few airport rides. None of those were listed, either.
He shook his head as if he could make sense of the missing info that way. Maybe he’d mention it to Paul, who ran the operations and oversaw all the drivers. Bringing attention to a discrepancy would surely put him in a good light, what with the potential for promotion on the horizon. Paul would have the final say in hiring him anyway. The owner lived and worked in another state and so was never on site.
Thomas finished filling out the details, clocked out, then got into his car to head to his daughter’s dance performance. Dora was meeting him there with the boys, except for Michael, who’d been studying at Becky’s house with Annalise. As he arrived at the auditorium, he spotted Becky’s car and saw his oldest son walking into the event center with his arm draped around his girlfriend. Michael leaned in and planted a kiss on her cheek. As they strolled inside, Thomas pictured them like this a year or two from now, in college, going to a play or a concert, happy together.
But something was missing. Something was off. He rubbed the back of his neck, then an idea slammed into him. Something Michael would need. Something besides money. Not wanting to forget, he grabbed the notebook he kept beside him in the center console and wrote down his thoughts. Tomorrow, he’d make some calls, set things up for Michael. For now, he closed the notebook and headed inside to watch his daughter dance.
* * *
The next day when he filled out the log, he noticed more rides had pulled a disappearing act. As he packed up, he rapped on Paul’s door, figuring now would be a good time to let him know. This would show initiative, that he cared, that he had the company’s best interests at heart.
Paul furrowed his black eyebrows when Thomas mentioned the missing rides. “That so?”
“Yes, sir.”
Paul nodded and then smiled, a professional sort of grin. “That’s good to know. Really appreciate you bringing this to our attention. We’ll get it fixed.” Then Paul pointed a finger at him, like a gun. “That kind of attention to detail will get you far.”
Excellent. That was everything he wanted. To go so much further.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Three-fucking-thirty in the morning. Not when he wanted to be awake. Not when he wanted to be dealing with shit. But when the alarm sounded that there was trouble with one of their clients, Michael bolted.
He flew straight out of bed, into his clothes, and to the client’s site. He was closer than Ryan, so he called his brother and said he’d handle the incident. White Box, a gentlemen’s club, was just a few blocks off the Strip, making it just a few blocks from Michael. He pulled into the lot, parked his car, and ran a hand through his messy hair.
His armed guard was outside, lit up by the glow of the purple and white lights streaming from the art deco sign above the club, a sleek, metal structure that oozed sexy class. The guard stood next to a plainclothes cop, along with Curtis, the VP and biz dev guy at White Box, who’d hired Sloan Protection Resources.
Michael said hello, then gestured to the premises. “So what’s the story?”
Curtis cleared his throat and went first. He was a beefy guy, exactly the type of man physically you’d want fronting a club, if you could choose a manager based on size. His face was like a block of wood and so were his arms. His eyes were brown and warm, though, like a favorite uncle’s. “We got word of some gang activity here on premises,” Curtis said, disgust in his tone as he recounted details of an attempted robbery and then the arrest of a young man with a Protect Our Own Royal Sinners tattoo. Apparently, the guy had tried to steal a watch worth five grand off another patron in the men’s room. He’d brandished a knife, turning his crime into an armed robbery attempt. The cops came quickly, and the guy was in custody.
“Your patron, the guy with the watch—is he okay?” Michael asked.
“He’s fine. Your man stopped things before it turned ugly,” Curtis said, nodding to the armed guard Michael had supplied to the club.
He clapped his guy on the arm. “Good to hear.”
Michael breathed easier knowing the incident was routine enough, and frankly the type of thing that happened now and again at these sorts of establishments. When you trafficked in sex and sin, you could sometimes attract the seedier elements.
After another fifteen minutes, all was well enough, and Curtis strolled with Michael back to his car. “Thanks for coming by in the middle of the night to check it out. Charlie and I appreciate the service,” Curtis said, referring to the owner of White Box. “He wanted me to extend his gratitude, too.”
“It’s the least I can do. I’m sorry this happened, but I’m glad no one was hurt,” Michael said.
“We’re keeping a close watch out for this sort of stuff, and for gang trouble. It’s been heating up lately all over town, so you can’t be too safe.”
“Couldn’t agree more,” Michael said, placing his hand on the hood of his car, sensing an opportunity. He raised his chin. “Hey. Question for you.”
“Shoot.”
“You seen any other gang activity around here?” he asked. This gang was insidious and could sink its claws into businesses like a parasite on an unsuspecting host. Michael didn’t want one of his clients to be that host. Selfishly, he couldn’t help but wonder if the gang activity here could lead him to Luke or T.J. If the Royal Sinners were encroaching on this patch of land, circling it and threatening the innocent, maybe there was a chance to double down—help his clients, and find the men he was looking for.
Curtis shook his head. “Not too much. This is the first I’m aware of. Let’s hope it’s the last,” he said, his voice determined.
“Let me know if you hear anything else.”
Curtis nodded, his face solemn. “We’ve got high-end patrons here, and we don’t want to mess around with that shit, or the Royal Sinners. I’m with you on this.”
“There’s someone from the Sinners we’ve got our eyes on. Guy named T.J. Nelson. He’s wanted for some crimes over the years. Don’t know a ton about him, but he has a gold earring. Scar on his right cheek. Tall, towering frame.” Michael gave the scant details he was aware of. He didn’t share Luke’s name, though. He didn’t want to let on he was looking that high up within the gang. Besides, Luke wasn’t likely to be seen in public as a gang member.
Curtis nodded. “I’ll keep an eye out for him. Let you know if we spot him.”
“Good,” Michael said as he unlocked the car door.
“Get some sleep,” Curtis said with a faint smile.
But sleep was nowhere to be found when he returned home, so Michael settled in to work, plowing through paperwork as dawn spread across the dark sky, casting pale pink morning light over Vegas from twenty stories high. He worked through contract approvals so he was free to get on that plane and focus on the woman. Sure, he had work to do in New York, and meetings to attend that would keep him busy, but he didn’t want to squander an ounce of his time with Annalise.
It was best to be ahead of the game, and he was.
That also meant he had enough time to see Donald before he jetted out of town.
* * *
His dad’s oldest friend shook his head, thumbing through a deck of cards at his table at the Golden Nugget—empty for the moment, since it was early in the morning. “He never mentioned anything about someone named T.J. coming by, not that I can recall,” Donald said.
“Shit,” Michael hissed. “I’ve got to figure this out. You sure? Not a word?”
Donald held up his hands. “We talked about lots of stuff, but I don’t remember him mentioning it. ’Bout the only thing he said was that he was trying to get the new job, and he thought he might have a lead on it when he found something that was missing at the company.”
Something that was missing. If so, was that what T.J. had come to talk to him about at work? Michael narrowed his eyes. “And he never said what that something was?”
Donald shook his head. “Sorry, kid. I barely remember what I had for breakfast some days. I hardly remember the specifics of a conversation that didn’t stand out from two decades ago.”
“Do you think Sanders knows? Since he worked there?”
Donald shrugged. “S’possible.”
“Do you trust Sanders?” Michael asked pointedly, because the question had been gnawing at him.
“With my life.” Donald tilted his head, studying the younger man. “But why would you ask? Is there some reason you think you can’t trust him?”
Yes. Because he’s avoiding me. Because he’s avoiding everyone. Because something is up. “No reason. Except I honestly don’t know who to trust anymore.”
Donald shot him a faint smile and nodded, then stepped around from behind the table and gripped his shoulder. “I hear ya, kid. All I can tell you is this—keep on digging; keep on asking. Your dad was like that, too. He was focused and driven. You got that from him. Stay on it, and you’ll find what you’re looking for.”
Focused and driven. His dad had used those words, too, to describe him—only his father had been talking about Michael’s quest to keep Annalise in his life. They were also fitting adjectives for how determined Michael had been to follow his dad’s wishes about her. Those words were spelled out in the note he’d found from his dad’s wallet, scattered across the driveway with credit cards and photos the night he’d died.
Annalise was his dream, his one-time reality, and his end game.
Then she was gone, reduced to a memory that haunted him. Now, she’d become real again, and he needed to go meet her at the airport.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
“We will begin boarding Flight Twenty-Three to New York shortly.”
Annalise turned in the direction of the gate agent, checking her watch as she talked to her sister in Paris, nine hours ahead of her.
“How is Mom doing today? How was the doctor’s appointment?” She paced the boarding area, scanning it for Michael, nerves skating across her skin. It was so weird to be traveling with him. This was what they had dreamed about when they were younger—this sort of freedom, including the freedom to change her flight. She’d been slated for a later one to New York, but had pushed earlier so they could fly together.
She stopped in her tracks, wondering what sort of traveling companion he was, like whether he slept on planes, his head bobbing up and down then crashing on her shoulder? It was an odd image—Michael Sloan dozing on a flight. Did he prefer the window or the aisle? Would he be chatty, or want to watch TV, or work the whole time? Would she want to do the things she normally did on planes—devour magazines like Discovery, National Geographic, and Vanity Fair, which were stashed in the outside pocket of her carry-on—or would they watch some lame straight-to-video release together on the mini-screen? All these details were unknown to her, even though many years ago she’d often imagined traveling with him.
“Her day was all right, but not great, to be honest,” Noelle said on the other end of the line, rooting Annalise to the present. Their father had passed on a few years ago, and their mother was alone in a small flat in Paris. That wouldn’t be a problem ordinarily, except she’d had a bad fall a year ago, and her hip hadn’t been the same since, so she relied on her two daughters. Noelle and Annalise did their best to stay near, check in on her daily, and help with whatever she needed. These efforts were complicated by Annalise’s travel for work, but she picked up the slack when she was in town. “Her doctors are switching her to a new medication,” Noelle added.
“What kind are they giving her?” Annalise asked, since she’d become far too familiar with drugs and dosages while married to Julien. He took several kinds each day to try to stave off the inevitable, and so when her mother had fallen ill, she’d poured her newly acquired knowledge into researching her mom’s meds. As she and her sister discussed side effects and dosage, Annalise wandered through the noisy crowds in the boarding area, weaving through teens slouched on blue upholstered seats, businessmen in rumpled suits hunched over laptops, pecking away at keys, and vacationers playing a final round of airport slots, hunting for that last-chance payout.
Somewhere by the Aladdin one-armed bandit, she spotted him.
Her stone-cold heart thawed again. It shed its jacket like a girl in spring, twirling in the sunshine.
A grin tugged at her lips as Michael walked toward her, dressed in crisp black slacks and a light green shirt with slim white stripes, the top button undone. The man was muscled and sturdy, his chest broad, his arms way beyond toned, his legs strong. Her eyes raked over him, snapshotting every detail, from his trim, tight waist, to his deliciously messy black hair, to the hint of stubble on his face. His jaw was square, his cheekbones strong, his lips so fucking kissable. His ice-blue eyes lit up when their gazes met, a match setting her ablaze with his heat.
As if a tropical sun caressed her, she warmed all o
ver. A slow and sexy smile spread across his handsome face. That was when her focus on the call was officially shot to hell. Butterflies took flight inside her belly, surprising her. She’d expected lust, raging hormones, or the mad desire that Michael had unleashed in her the other night, but this was out of left field, this strange and new stomach flipping. It caught her off-guard, especially when the butterflies soared to the stratosphere as he stopped less than a foot away from her, said nothing at all, and instead just dropped a kiss on her cheek.
Oh God, how she wanted to cup her hand on that cheek, like a young girl capturing a first kiss.
Noelle said something about medicine, but Annalise was simply lost in this moment, her face lingering near his lips, as if all the travelers, all the noise, all the sounds of the world had blurred. These few seconds next to him were bright, crisp, and achingly real, turning everything else mute.
When Michael stepped away from her, she completely lost her train of thought, as well as the words she’d meant to say to Noelle. Her sister rattled off details about milligrams and twice a day. The sound of her voice jarred Annalise back into the reality of the phone call.
She blinked and refocused, but she was still lightheaded, just from the brush of his lips and the sight of his face. “Take care of Mom. I’ll be back soon to help out. Just a few days in New York for the shoot,” she said.
“Fly safely, mon petite papillon,” her older sister said. “Keep me posted on everything. Love you. Miss you. See you soon.”
Annalise ended the call, slipping the phone into her back pocket.
“Hi.”
“Hi.”
Silly grins and knowing looks passed between them.
“Fancy meeting you here.” Her voice was laced with flirtation, and she loved the way it sounded as she talked to him. She thrilled at the way it felt to slide into this kind of woozy chemistry.
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