Deadly Games

by Karen Rock

  She stopped fiddling with the loose knob on the desk drawer and stared at him. “And what would that be?” Despite her best attempt, her voice came out hushed, a slight quiver on the end. If he didn’t want information, it’d be something much more dangerous.

  His tense expression grew uneasy, shamefaced. What appeared to be embarrassment softened his brutish face.

  “I need a job.”

  * * * *

  “Come again?”

  The gorgeous brunette blinked up at Blake, surprise—or dismay—widening her large eyes.

  He dropped his foot. “As a bartender. Bouncer…. Doesn’t matter as long as I’m here every night,” he clarified, his voice clipped. He didn’t want the damn job any more than she wanted to offer it. But he’d get her to agree. He had to. Getting the DPS promotion, making his adoptive father proud, finally belonging after a lifetime spent feeling uncertain of his place in the world, depended on it.

  Pete, the club’s owner, shouldn’t have been shot on his department’s watch. Only an inside job made sense. Someone Pete trusted, which meant Reese could be in serious danger, too. Determination burned in his gut. He needed to stay close to gather information and ensure another Landon didn’t wind up in the hospital, or worse.

  A short laugh escaped Reese’s lush mouth, snagging his stare again. Damn. He should be focusing on the job, not parting those sexy lips.

  “Thought your line of work was nabbing criminals, not tips.” Her short, straight nose lifted, its classic lines giving her an air of untouchability. The way she’d bristled, ready to scrap before, however, spoke a different story.

  “It’s undercover work. Something only you and I can know. Otherwise, it’d compromise the case.”

  Her long eyelashes swept down and rested on her high cheekbones. “You think someone in the club shot my dad?”

  He ignored the shake in her voice and the impulse to touch her hand. “Possibly. But I’ll be checking out other aspects of the investigation, too. Things your father would have been helping with.”

  When Reese’s lids lifted, he found it hard to tear his gaze away. Those expressive eyes…their unusual color mix of gold-flecked green. It reminded him of a rich man’s pool. The kind he’d only ever seen from afar but never swam in. He gave himself a shake and caught his runaway thoughts before they dragged him off track.

  Work. Not play. Work.

  “Things you’ll tell me nothing about.” A dark curl sprung from behind her ear and dangled beside her heart-shaped face. He slid his eyes away. It’d been a long time since a woman attracted him like this. Shit-luck that the case demanded all his attention. Not women. Especially not one who appeared on his suspect list.

  Tread carefully. So far, he’d failed to turn up anything on her or her father, but experience taught him never to assume anything. No telling what she knew or how deeply she was involved. As a world traveler, she could’ve facilitated the far-reaching steroids ring. He made a mental note to check on any trips she might have made to China, the biggest exporter of raw materials used to make performance-enhancing drugs in U.S. conversion labs.

  “Am I in danger?” She pushed away her buzzing cell and peered behind him. He followed her gaze to the safe. Interesting. What had she hidden in there?

  “Not that I’m aware of, specifically. But if anyone approaches you with unusual requests or a threat, call me. Especially if it’s a stranger.”

  “Like you?”

  Jesus. She didn’t quit. “I’m not the bad guy here, Ms. Landon.” Despite himself, a defensive note entered his voice.

  The medal in his pocket pressed against his thigh, the one his adopted father found pinned to his diaper when he’d rescued a crack-addicted, newborn Blake from a dumpster. It was a tangible reminder of his tainted roots and the lost boy he’d been, the person he could have become…the man he’d never let himself be. He always chose right over wrong, good over bad, to prove to his father he was worth saving that day, to show the world he shouldn’t have been abandoned. Wasn’t disposable.

  Life only held two colors when viewed correctly. Black and white.

  Reese’s hoop earrings swung as she cocked her head. “The jury’s out on that.”

  “Consider me the fucking cavalry. If you call, I’ll come charging. Also, lock all your doors and windows. If your father has a home alarm system, activate it.”

  He threw back the last of his lukewarm coffee and set the mug down on the desk’s corner. The bitter dregs of the last gulp stuck in the back of his throat. Time to wrap this up and pursue a lead he’d gotten on his way over here. “So, when do I start?”

  “No openings managing the door. Any experience tending bar? Mixing drinks?” Her eyes narrowed, a challenge in their depths.

  He rubbed his jaw bristle. “Mostly a beer guy, but I’m a fast learner.”

  She nodded, thoughtful. “Your inexperience would draw too much attention.” Her gaze dropped to a paper stack before her. “But I’ve got a resignation letter here from one of the dancers.”

  He slid to his feet and bit back a grimace. Damn woman. “Do I look like a dancer to you?”

  Her eyes fell to his feet then rose slowly to his face, a slow, sensual perusal. Heat rushed south, along with his blood and his sense. “Your other attributes will compensate,” she said smoothly, fingering a large, heart-shaped locket.

  “Such as?” Jesus. Was he a piece of meat now?

  “Turn around.”

  “What? No. That’s not going to—”

  “Do you want to work here or not? You’re lucky I’m even considering this. The last member of my family to cooperate with you ended up shot and in intensive care.”

  His shoulders lowered. Fine. She had a point. He spun around.

  “Are we done?” he snapped after a few seconds, then turned, his body rigid.

  Her appreciative eyes met his, tightening his groin. “We’re just getting started.”

  “Look, lady. I’m not one of your pretty boys.”

  He cleared his throat and breathed in a steadying gulp of air. Too bad her scent filtered through as she glided around the desk, seducing his senses with the knowledge of how she smelled.

  Clean. Like soap rather than fragrance. The intimate realization made him want to know what her hair smelled like, too. Hell.

  “No. But variety spices things up, don’t you think?” She leaned against the desk and cocked her head. “Take off your clothes.”

  He stepped back and crossed his arms, shock rippling through him. After a moment, he managed to unclamp his jaw and say, “Not happening.”

  She pouted and made a noise that sounded more amused than sympathetic. “Too bad. I can’t hire you without an audition. So, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got work to do.”

  His feet stuck to the floor as she brushed by him. Her hand landed on the doorknob before the truth hit him. She wanted him out of here and had no intention of hiring him. She’d made it impossible on purpose.

  To hell with that.

  He could impose his will, but then he’d jeopardize any chance at building rapport with her, a critical tool of his undercover work.

  He pulled his gun belt out of the back of his pants, placed it on the chair and whistled, making her head snap around. When her eyes fixed on him, he tugged his T-shirt from his jeans, lifting it slowly, inch by inch, the air conditioning making his abdominal muscles contract. When the tee reached shoulder height, he pulled it off and tossed it at her feet.

  There. She wanted a show, and he’d give her one.

  Reese sucked in her cheeks, her gasp filling him with pleasure, strong and tart. Had she thought he’d back down? She’d learn, soon enough, he didn’t run from challenges…ever.

  At last her mouth closed and she stepped closer, chin raised. “Not bad. Why’d you stop?”

  “Because you can’t handle
seeing the rest. Trust me.”

  One eyebrow arched, and she gave him a speculative stare. “Didn’t peg you for the shy type. Guess a job here won’t work out after all.”

  His head jerked back. She wasn’t letting up on this little game. She believed if she pushed him hard enough, she’d get rid of him completely.

  He set his jaw.

  If she wanted more, he’d sure as hell give it to her.

  His fingers fumbled with his belt before yanking it loose and dropping it to the floor. He hesitated a moment, his hands on his zipper.

  Now or never.

  He slid the iron teeth apart and turned on his heel, dropping his jeans and boxer briefs so they pooled at his feet. The air slid across his bare ass, her sharp intake of air the only sound in the room.

  He planted his feet far apart to give her some bonus footage and peered at her over his shoulder.

  “What’s the verdict?”

  Her mouth worked silently, her eyes saucer-sized.

  “Want me to turn around?” He bit back a chuckle, enjoying this sexy cat-and-mouse game.

  “Hell, yeah,” she breathed.

  “Nope. Not happening. At least not until I’m ‘hired.’” He slid up his jeans, donned his shirt, then faced her again. “When do I start?”

  The heat in her frank stare belied her off-handed shrug. He’d gotten to her, and damn if it didn’t please him a lot more than it should. “I’ll have to get back to you. You know…don’t call me, I’ll call you…”

  He grabbed his gun belt, buckled it on, and slid it out of sight before brushing by her, holding in a laugh. Reese Landon had more swagger than many of the tough guys on the force. And she was whole lot nicer to look at.

  “I’ll start tomorrow.” He pulled open the creaking door and strode down the treads, asserting his authority and putting himself back in charge. Just how it should be.

  Her next words stopped him halfway down the stairs.

  “Dance practice begins at 10 a.m. I’ll let you know when you’re ready to perform. Oh, and uh—Blake?”

  He glanced up and caught her sardonic smile. She sure as hell didn’t stay rattled for long.

  “Yes?” He drummed his fingers on the banister.

  “Bring a G-string next time. We run a legal establishment here. Don’t want any trouble with the law.”

  Her mocking laugh followed him as he clomped the rest of the way out, swearing under his breath. He eyed the purple-lit space packed with screaming women. Confetti cannons boomed, competing with the cash floating through the air. A howling man, clad in an animal-print G-string, swung from a rope and beat his chest. Women grabbed at him as he passed overhead.

  A frustrated breath escaped him as he burst outside. The neon sign behind him blared, “Men! Men! Men!”

  He hopped on his hog, shoved his helmet on, and zoomed out of the parking lot, his mind racing as fast as his ride.

  What the hell had he gotten himself into?

  About the Author

  Credit: Greg Rock

  Multiple award-winning author Karen Rock is both sweet and spicy—at least when it comes to her writing! Karen writes YA and adult contemporary books as well as red-hot suspense novels and small-town romances. A strong believer in Happily-Ever-After, Karen loves creating unforgettable stories that take readers from their everyday lives and leave them with a smile. Learn more at www.karenrock.com or follow Karen on Twitter at www.twitter.com/karenrock5.