back. “If I don’t get out of here immediately, you’re going to get fired. Here, give me your phone.”
Cassandra handed it over, and he plugged in his phone number.
“Here’s the deal,” he said. “If you like what’s in the bag, you’re going to go get a hotel room. One on the Strip, I think. You choose. Then you’re going to text me with where and the number. Nothing more, nothing less.”
Her eyes went dark as her pupils widened. “Yes, sir,” she breathed.
Oh shit, did he like that or what? He was turning out to be more of a sicko than he’d thought. He ignored it in order to steal a last kiss with his hand wrapped around the nape of her neck where her skin was softer than down.
When he got out of the car, he paused in the open door and leaned back in. She looked at him with anticipation, but her hand was already on the gearshift—as if she was ready to zip away. Where she’d go remained a mystery.
“If you don’t like it…” He gripped the edge of the door, letting the warm metal bite into his palm as he attempted to order his words. “If you don’t, just text me that you got home safe, okay?”
She nodded. An indulgent smile curved her mouth. “I will.”
He watched her pull away. At almost the exact moment she turned left out of the lot—in the direction of the Strip—the back door to the restaurant banged open. Cassandra’s ex charged out, head down as if he were going into battle. Ryan didn’t figure the guy would know a war zone if he were dropped in by parachute. Not to mention, it must be freaking boring to head into battle when he was the only one around.
Might as well help him out.
“Evening, sir,” he called.
The other guy drew up short. His eyes narrowed as he scanned Ryan over from head to toe. “What are you doing here?”
Ryan knew how he must appear. He deliberately scratched a hand over his chest, edging under his open collar. His nail grazed against a sore spot, sending a perverted rush of excitement through him. He grinned. “Just had to pick up my ride.”
The ex’s mouth opened and closed. Maybe he wasn’t as dumb as he seemed. On second thought, if the man had chosen someone else over Cassandra, he shouldn’t have been able to manage even simple breathing. He thumbed his key fob. The Beemer’s lights flashed.
“Have a nice night,” Ryan called as the manager got in the car. “I know I have.”
The guy—Tommy, if he remembered right—pulled up even behind Ryan’s Ford. “You better get out of here or I’ll call the cops on you for trespassing.”
As usual, guys with small dicks grew big balls when they were safely ensconced in their expensive cars. However, Cassandra still had to work with her manager. Ryan tipped two fingers to his brow in a mock salute. “I’ll be gone.”
The Beemer’s tires spun up a cloud of desert dust.
Smiling, Ryan jumped into his truck and debated his options. Stay put until he knew for sure? Nah, that wasn’t his style. He keyed the ignition and headed toward the Strip, determined to be optimistic.
About halfway there, he heard his phone chirp. He pulled it out at the next red light. A text message read, The Paris, Room 1419 . He wanted to pump his fist in the air, but that meant she’d looked inside the bag. A niggling worry settled into his stomach, a heady combo of nerves and hot anticipation.
His phone went off again, but this time with a ring. He thumbed the answer button without looking at the display. If Cassandra had changed her mind, he’d…do nothing. Wish her a good night and thank his lucky stars if she agreed—possibly, maybe—to see him again.
“Hello?”
A smash of voices and music came across the line. “Yo, that you, Fang?” Jon was nearly yelling.
Ryan held the phone away from his ear. “Duh. You called me, didn’t you?”
“Smartass.” The background noise faded for a moment. “What are you doing? Or should I ask who ?”
Keeping his gaze firmly on the traffic, he tried
Cassandra handed it over, and he plugged in his phone number.
“Here’s the deal,” he said. “If you like what’s in the bag, you’re going to go get a hotel room. One on the Strip, I think. You choose. Then you’re going to text me with where and the number. Nothing more, nothing less.”
Her eyes went dark as her pupils widened. “Yes, sir,” she breathed.
Oh shit, did he like that or what? He was turning out to be more of a sicko than he’d thought. He ignored it in order to steal a last kiss with his hand wrapped around the nape of her neck where her skin was softer than down.
When he got out of the car, he paused in the open door and leaned back in. She looked at him with anticipation, but her hand was already on the gearshift—as if she was ready to zip away. Where she’d go remained a mystery.
“If you don’t like it…” He gripped the edge of the door, letting the warm metal bite into his palm as he attempted to order his words. “If you don’t, just text me that you got home safe, okay?”
She nodded. An indulgent smile curved her mouth. “I will.”
He watched her pull away. At almost the exact moment she turned left out of the lot—in the direction of the Strip—the back door to the restaurant banged open. Cassandra’s ex charged out, head down as if he were going into battle. Ryan didn’t figure the guy would know a war zone if he were dropped in by parachute. Not to mention, it must be freaking boring to head into battle when he was the only one around.
Might as well help him out.
“Evening, sir,” he called.
The other guy drew up short. His eyes narrowed as he scanned Ryan over from head to toe. “What are you doing here?”
Ryan knew how he must appear. He deliberately scratched a hand over his chest, edging under his open collar. His nail grazed against a sore spot, sending a perverted rush of excitement through him. He grinned. “Just had to pick up my ride.”
The ex’s mouth opened and closed. Maybe he wasn’t as dumb as he seemed. On second thought, if the man had chosen someone else over Cassandra, he shouldn’t have been able to manage even simple breathing. He thumbed his key fob. The Beemer’s lights flashed.
“Have a nice night,” Ryan called as the manager got in the car. “I know I have.”
The guy—Tommy, if he remembered right—pulled up even behind Ryan’s Ford. “You better get out of here or I’ll call the cops on you for trespassing.”
As usual, guys with small dicks grew big balls when they were safely ensconced in their expensive cars. However, Cassandra still had to work with her manager. Ryan tipped two fingers to his brow in a mock salute. “I’ll be gone.”
The Beemer’s tires spun up a cloud of desert dust.
Smiling, Ryan jumped into his truck and debated his options. Stay put until he knew for sure? Nah, that wasn’t his style. He keyed the ignition and headed toward the Strip, determined to be optimistic.
About halfway there, he heard his phone chirp. He pulled it out at the next red light. A text message read, The Paris, Room 1419 . He wanted to pump his fist in the air, but that meant she’d looked inside the bag. A niggling worry settled into his stomach, a heady combo of nerves and hot anticipation.
His phone went off again, but this time with a ring. He thumbed the answer button without looking at the display. If Cassandra had changed her mind, he’d…do nothing. Wish her a good night and thank his lucky stars if she agreed—possibly, maybe—to see him again.
“Hello?”
A smash of voices and music came across the line. “Yo, that you, Fang?” Jon was nearly yelling.
Ryan held the phone away from his ear. “Duh. You called me, didn’t you?”
“Smartass.” The background noise faded for a moment. “What are you doing? Or should I ask who ?”
Keeping his gaze firmly on the traffic, he tried
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