SINFUL DESIRE

Book 2 in the Sinful Nights series

Chapter One

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—it was not possible for anyone to be so gorgeous that she practically shimmered.

Mirage was the more plausible answer to explain the platinum blonde stepping out of the Aston Martin at three o’clock in the afternoon on a Friday in July, looking like she belonged in a gangster movie. 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 nearly stretched a city block—or so it seemed—she was…

Glamorous. Sultry. Voluptuous.

His fantasy woman.

No question about it.

This was lust at first sight. Pure, unadulterated lust knocking around in his chest and threatening to make matters in his charcoal gray 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 Ryan’s throat as he stared shamelessly over the top of his aviator 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’ municipal building at midday looking like sin come to life, this woman wasn’t going to be wooed by lines.

With one hand on the car door, she glanced to the left, away from him. 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 a 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 get her number with that pen. She’d be the type to push up the cuff of his shirt-sleeve and write it on his arm.

He scoffed to himself. As if that would work. But something had to, because the clock was ticking, and he was ten feet from this heavenly vision. Checking his watch, he saw he had two minutes to spare before he met with the detective. He could do this. He could meet her in 120 seconds.

The sun pelted its hot desert July rays at him, radiating off the sidewalks, as he ran a hand along his green 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 and stopped walking, 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 a pen in her hand and twirled it once absently.

He tipped his forehead to the pen. “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 said, reaching 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.

Oh, he could wait for her. He could definitely wait for her.

“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 the 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.