CHAPTER FIVE

The light was playing tricks on him.

The golden haze of the late afternoon sun, and its halo glow, was some kind of illusion. No way, no how, was it possible for anyone to be so gorgeous that she actually shimmered.

Mirage was the more plausible explanation for the platinum blonde stepping out of the Aston Martin at three o’clock in the afternoon on a Thursday in July, looking as if she belonged in a gangster movie. She was the woman they all fought over. The woman who brought the men to their knees.

From the pinup dress, to the pouty lips, to the gleaming car that stretched a city block—or so it seemed—she was…

Glamorous. Sultry. Voluptuous.

Ryan’s fantasy woman.

This was lust at first sight. Pure, unadulterated lust knocking around in his chest and threatening to make matters in his slacks harder than he needed them to be right now.

But he was willing to deal with that problem because the woman could not be ignored. A groan rolled around in his throat as he stared shamelessly over the top of his shades. He walked along the palm-tree lined sidewalk that framed police headquarters, cycling through his best opening lines, even though he had a hunch a woman like that—a woman who wore a black dress with a cherry pattern and bright white sunglasses—had heard them all. Busty and bold enough to pull up to Vegas’s municipal building at midday looking like sin come to life, this woman wasn’t going to be wooed by lines or a standard come-here often?

With one hand on the car door, she glanced to the left, away from him, and pushed her sunglasses on top of her hair. In her other hand, she held a phone, a notepad, and a pen. She bumped her rear against the car door, shutting it with her ass.

What a lucky car door.

He half wished she’d drop the pen, just so he could swoop in and pick it up. Bend down, grab it before it rattled to the street, and gallantly present it.

Then he’d get her number with that pen. She’d be the type to push up the cuff of his shirtsleeve and write it on his arm.

He scoffed at himself. As if that would work. But something had to, because the clock was ticking and he had two minutes to spare.

The sun pelted its hot desert rays at him, radiating off the sidewalks, as he ran a hand along his tie and cleared his throat. She looked up from her phone, and instantly they locked eyes. Hers were blue like the sea. As she caught his gaze, she arched an eyebrow.

This was it. No time for lines. Just fucking talk to the gorgeous creature. “Seems I’ve been caught staring,” he said as he reached her, claiming a patch of concrete real estate a foot away.

“I’m afraid I’m guilty on that count, too,” she fired back, her voice laced with a torch-singer sultriness, her words telling him to keep going.

She had the pen in her hand and she twirled it once absently.

He tipped his forehead toward it. “Incidentally, I’m astonishingly good at picking up pens that beautiful women drop outside our fine city’s government buildings.”

Her lips twitched. Red. Cherry red and full. He wanted to know what they tasted like. How they felt. What she liked to do with them.

She brought the pen to her lips, danced it between them, raised her eyebrows in an invitation, and then let it drop. It clattered to the sidewalk. “Is that so?”

The pen was like a promise. Of something more. Of flirting, and then flirting back. Of phone numbers to follow. And then some. Oh yeah, so much and then some.

“That is so,” he said in a firm voice, bending down to pick up the writing implement, just as Sinatra’s ‘Fly Me to the Moon’ crooned from her phone. He rose, and she was tapping her screen, sliding her thumb across it.

“Must answer this. But thank you so much for the pen. By the way, I like your tie.” She reached out to trail a finger down the silky fabric, her hand terribly close to his chest. Then she held up that finger, asking him to wait.

“So good to hear from you,” she said into the phone, keeping her eyes on him the whole time. “I can’t wait to see you tonight at the gala at Aria,” she said, arching an eyebrow at Ryan as she emphasized that last word. “It’s going to be a fabulous event and we’ll raise so much money. My only hope is there will be some gorgeous man there in a green tie who can afford a last-minute ticket.”

He shot her a grin—a lopsided smile that said yes, the man in the green tie could absolutely afford a ticket.

He nodded his RSVP to the gala. She waved goodbye and walked down the street.

Suddenly, Ryan had plans that night.

Good thing he’d worn that lucky green tie.

THE END

Did you enjoy this brief glimpse of Ryan and Sophie’s sweet desires? If you want to read more about what happens next with this kind of chemistry, check out the full-length novel, , available everywhere!

For a taste of Ryan and Sophie’s sexy times,
here’s a teaser of the night at the gala…..

“From the moment I met you, I knew I’d have my hands on you. You knew it, too. Felt it, too.”

She nodded as she trembled from the trace of his finger. “I did feel it.”

He brought his mouth to her ear and spoke softly. “If I ever do or say something you don’t like, tell me. Or smack me. I only want to bring you pleasure.” His words were both sexy and earnest. The combination sent flutters through her belly. “Immense pleasure.”

“You already are. So tell me something else that’s true. Something else you know,” she said, loving the hot, dirty way he talked to her as he touched her.

“I’m going to look into your eyes like I want to take you,” he said, his eyes blazing with desire. “That look will drive you wild. And you’ll swallow nervously because you don’t know me, and it’s odd wanting a stranger as much as you do.” He was reading her like a teenage diary. On the one hand, she was nervous. She didn’t know him at all. But she was also aroused beyond words. Beyond reason. Beyond any normal limits.

For that same reason—because she didn’t know him.

“Then, you’ll run a hand down my tie,” he told her, and she reached out instantly, doing exactly as he said, loving the directions he gave. Sophie craved this kind of interaction. She wanted a man to command her. So much time was spent deciding, and doing, and planning. It drove her brain batty, and she longed for this kind of release from her days.

“Do you know why you’re so fascinated with my tie?” he asked huskily, his eyes pinned on her. He practically fucked her with his gaze. It was so intense. His confidence set her on fire. It torched a path across her body, sizzling her skin.

“Tell me,” she said, eager for more of his words. “Since you seem to know me so well. Tell me.”

He brushed the backs of his fingers against her cheek. Oh God, she was dying for him to kiss her. She was so eager to feel those lips. To taste him.

He grasped a wrist with one hand, yanking it up his chest and loosely wrapping the end of his tie around her hand. “You want me to tie you up.”

“How do you know that?” she asked, her voice stripped to the bones. He knew her. He read her. He could sense everything she wanted. He crowded her against the wall. Heaven Leigh belted out her song on stage. The inky black of the backstage cloaked them.

“Am I wrong?” he asked, arching an eyebrow. “If I’m wrong, tell me and I’ll walk away.”

She shook her head. “Are you going to take it off? Tie me up?” she asked in a voice that hardly sounded like hers. It belonged to the part of her that had been untended for years.

He grinned wickedly. “No. I have other ways to tie you up,” he said, and in a flash, he gripped her wrists in his big strong hands, wrapping his fingers around her, binding her as he yanked her hands behind her back. Heat flared in her body, spinning through her, settling between her legs. Her gorgeous, sexy panties were so damp right now they were useless.

She ached for his touch. And she could do nothing but wait for it since she was his hostage.

He was so strong she couldn’t wriggle away if she wanted to. His thumbs dug into her wrist bones, pinning her hands above her ass, rendering her helpless. The pressure from the twist in her arms bordered on pain, and felt oh so good.

There was no space between the two of them. Only breath. Only words and his bare, husky voice. “Do you know what else I’ve been thinking about all day?”

She shook her head.

He inched closer, his mouth mere centimeters from hers. Her lips parted, so ready for him. God, she needed him to kiss her. Needed it badly. He was making her wait for it. Making her nearly ask for it. His mouth hovered so close she wanted to dart out her tongue and lick him. Draw him to her. His forehead brushed hers, and her breath fluttered.

Somehow, she managed a please.

“Please kiss you?” he asked. “Is that what you want me to do?”

She nodded, too turned on to form another word, even a yes.

“That’s exactly what I’ve been thinking about all day,” he whispered.

Then he kissed her, and he wasn’t gentle. He wasn’t sweet. He was rough as he claimed her mouth, kissing hard. She moaned as he drew her bottom lip between his teeth then fused his mouth to hers.

His stubble rubbed against her chin. She’d have whisker burn later. She longed for the redness, the proof, the evidence of a bruising kiss.

The kiss lit her up. She felt it everywhere—in her toes, in her hair, in her belly.

And, deliciously, between her legs.

She ached for him there. She angled her hips closer as they kissed, desperately seeking contact from him. God, how she wanted him. And she didn’t even know his name.

But he knew her body.

He knew her desires.

He held her hands so tightly they might as well be cuffed. In a flash, he changed his grip, wrapping both her wrists in one hand, keeping them pinned behind her back. He moved his free hand to the front of her dress and found his way up her skirt. He broke the kiss as his fingertips brushed above her knee, touching her stockings and her garter. “Are you wet for me, Sophie?”

“Yes,” she said on a pant.

“Are you hot for me?” he asked, racing closer to her heat.

“God, yes.”

“Was I wrong about anything I told you?”

She shook her head. “No.”

“Do you still want to ask me if I’m a good lover?” He flicked his finger against her clit. Ripples of pleasure spread through her body. She inhaled sharply and bit her lip so she wouldn’t cry out loud.

“No. I don’t need to ask you,” she said as he stroked her through her black lace panties.

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure,” she whispered as sparks shot through her bloodstream.

“Why not?” he asked, as if he were truly so damn curious.

“Because you’re showing me.”

His fingers glided across the wet panel of her panties, stroking faster as she rocked into him. He kept a firm grip on her wrists as she greedily sought his friction. “That’s right,” he said roughly. “I’m showing you, Sophie. I’m showing you exactly what I can do to you.”

He stopped momentarily. Her eyes widened. A trace of fear zipped through her. Fear that he might not let her come. “Did you want to question me again?” he asked, taunting her. “I can stop if you have questions.”

“No,” she said, her breath staccato.

“Good. But I want to question you.”

“Anything,” she panted. “Ask me anything.”

He fixed her with a serious stare. “Are you sure you want to go out on stage having just come all over my hand?”

“Yes,” she said, begging.

He leaned in closer to her ear. “I can’t hear you. Say it again.”

“Yes, God yes.”

He ran his fingers across the wet lace. He narrowed in on her where she wanted him. She was so close to the edge, and she needed him to keep touching her. She needed his fingers flying across her clit. Touching her until she fell apart.

“Beg for it,” he commanded.

“Please,” she whispered in his ear, her knees shaking, so desperate was she for release. “Please make me come.”

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