Bound to the Bounty Hunter (14 page)

He threw his phone on the bed and rubbed at the throbbing spot on the back of his neck that was getting harder to erase. After pulling off his clothes, he dropped onto the bed.

Tomorrow night he’d be meeting Diaz at Hostage with Arabella. The timing wasn’t ideal, but too much rode on a positive outcome to postpone the meet. Diaz wanted out of a drug syndicate and, in return for safe passage for him and his family, he would deliver the key players in the cartel. If anyone caught a whiff that the man wanted out with a clean ticket, he and his family would be landfill.

Exhausted but wired, Harlan let his mind wander. And it went straight to its favorite subject. Sophie’s creamy thighs filled his vision, along with the white boy-cut underwear that hugged her soft stomach. He’d never known white cotton underwear to be so fucking hot. He’d always craved a
CrossFit
toned body—hard abs, lean muscles—until Sophie with her curves came into his life.

Oh yeah, when this assignment was over, he’d be having her for one long night. His mind flicked between a hotel with a Jacuzzi and twenty-four-hour room service or a secluded cabin in the woods with Sophie naked on a rug in front of a fire.

Fuck it. They’d have both.

An image of Sophie’s hair fanned across his stomach landed in his mind.

Yeah.

Sophie sitting on his face, his name tumbling from her mouth, her sweet juices on his tongue.

Yeah
.

Sophie on all fours, silk scarves securing her to the bedposts.

Hell, yeah
.

His hand dropped under the waistband of his boxers to his twitching cock, and he started stroking.

A low, deep, terror-filled moan filled the air.

Adrenaline fired throughout his body.

Sophie
.

He threw back the covers, grabbed his phone and the gun from the bedside table, and crept to his door. He opened the door, gun drawn, twisting left and right. Cold sweat cloaked his body. With no obvious threat, he worked his way down the corridor toward Sophie’s room. Another moan assaulted his ears.

Fuck
.

A wet nose butting against his ankle, along with a string of farts, announced Pongo on the scene. He rested his hand on the dog’s head for a beat then opened Sophie’s door. He slid in and silently closed the door, the Ruger trained on the bed.

A full moon splashed silver into the room. Sophie thrashed in the bed, fighting an invisible demon.

“Sophie.”

Nothing.

He advanced, setting the safety on the gun and placing it on the bedside table. He then caught Sophie’s right wrist. Her body came off the bed, her foot connected with his thigh. He grunted, absorbing the pain. He leaned forward and took a hook to the head, followed by blinding pain in his temple.

“Sophie.”

“Daddy.” She thrashed on the bed. A moan like that of a wounded animal chilled his blood.

He knelt by the bed, gripping her hands. “Sophie, wake up.”

“Daddy,” she moaned, tears streaming down her pale face, her mouth open, hands punching, narrowly missing the wall, legs and feet kicking out.

Instinct kicked in. He slid into her bed and pulled her into his arms, her back to his chest. She stiffened, her body locking straight, then she fought him.

“You’re safe.”

He grunted when her heel caught his shin.

He burrowed his face into her hair, swallowing a snarl. “You’re safe.”

The tension started to bleed from her body.

He wrapped his arms around her, nestled his face in her hair, and breathed deeply. Shit, she felt good in his arms. He kissed the back of her head and stared into the darkness.

…

A weak dawn light brushed the curtains. Harlan stirred, pulling Sophie’s thick hair off his chest. Sometime in the night she’d lost the hair band, and her hair lay like a blanket. She lay on her side, her head on his shoulder, her arm slung around his stomach.

Ah, the reason he’d woken up.

Sophie had straddled his thigh. Her nipples pushed through her bra, hard against his chest, her breath coming in short pants. Her eyes closed, her face flushed..

A dream into which he wished he could insert himself.

She whimpered, arched her hips, and angled herself higher on his thigh.

He nuzzled her hair and licked her neck. “Do it. Rub harder, baby. Make yourself come. That’s my cock between your legs.”

She moaned deep and low.

His cock begged to replace his moisture-slicked thigh, straining against his stomach. If she didn’t come soon, he’d blow, scenting her.

“Tip over the edge. I’m jacking off watching you.”

His hand found his dick, and he started pumping. He ignored the deep pinch in his balls. Her spine arched, and she clamped around his leg, her body in a long spasm, before she went limp. He arched into his hand, past the point of sanity, and pumped his load between them.

Her body relaxed. Sleepy eyes opened, she stretched, pushing her chest against his, and wiggled.

Realization hit her hazy chocolate eyes, which widened.

“Oh no, no, no. That did not happen.” She blinked rapidly, her face reddening, her voice thick. She ducked her head and winced. “Please tell me that did not happen.” She paused. “I’m sorry for assaulting your leg. All that talk about vibrators must have triggered some sort of erotic dream.”

Vibrators? Watching Sophie getting herself off? Fuck, he’d buy the entire stock of Spanky’s.

She stilled, red creeping up her chest.

“I have to stop talking.”

He propped himself on his elbow. Sophie in the morning with her guard down. He drank her in.

“I know how you feel about me and all, so I apologize for fooling around on your leg.” Her hand waved around her head.

She had no fucking idea that thoughts of her body, her mouth, her tits pushed against his chest, infiltrated his brain at random seconds of every minute.

“You can use my leg anytime.” He pushed her riot of hair behind her ear.

“Why are you in my bed?” She moved backward until she hit the edge of the bed and scrambled out. Her hands on her hips, her guard well and truly up.

Her white cotton underwear accentuated the curve of her hip. Her breasts pushed the confines of a pink bra. Two articles of clothing stood between him and paradise.

He propped himself on an elbow. “Nightmare. Something was dragging your soul out of you. I couldn’t wake you up and, to save you from breaking a hand against the wall, I held you until whatever you were fighting had gone.”

Yeah, keep telling yourself that’s all it was and why you didn’t leave when she settled
.

She slumped on the fluffy, flower-covered comforter. “I remember,” she said in a quiet voice, staring at nothing. “I couldn’t breathe. My head was being held down, then a hand pushed against my mouth. Someone kept whispering it would be all right. I had my Dorothy snow globe in my hand.” She looked puzzled. “I didn’t remember that before.”

Instantly alert, he came up to a sitting position. “Is that a dream or a memory?”

“I don’t know.” She opened her mouth then clamped it closed, shutters moved across her face.

“What?”

Her eyes narrowed. “Why are you here? The bet is over.”

The spot on the back of his neck started to ache.

“I’m not moving out until we’ve got a handle on the militia who want you.”

“Why do you care?” she said in a quiet voice.

Caught off guard, her words threw him.

“Got my night with you to plan,” he answered.

Even if he wasn’t being paid an insane amount of money by Petrov, he’d still be protecting her. It gnawed at him that he couldn’t tell her the real reason he was here.

She blinked, and her mouth tightened. “There is no night. We listened to the recording together. The bet is done, so you’re going to stay away from me. Quid pro quo.”

“So, when you won the bet, your prize was for me to stay away from you?” The words burned his throat.

“Yes,” she answered in an instant.

Not going to happen.

“There’s going to be a night, Sophie,” he said softly.

She studied him.

“Don’t you get it? I’m not going to be used for one night then thrown away like a candy wrapper,” she said in a quiet voice.

He stood and ignored the ache at the back of his skull.

As if suddenly noticing she stood in her underwear, she snatched the comforter from the bed and wrapped it around her body.

“Um, could you leave so I can get dressed?”

He chuckled at her belated show of modesty.

“Is that…” Her eyes widened when he reached for the sheet and wiped cum off his stomach.

“I told you, you were hot; I jacked off while you got off.”

Her mouth dropped open. “Why didn’t you wake me? I would have stopped.”

“And run the risk of you waking up and being all embarrassed and not giving me the satisfaction of watching you come? Fuck no.”

Her face pinked. “Right. I’ve got a lot to do today before I kick back with Jack Abbot and Victor Newman tonight. We’ve got a marathon scheduled.”

He stilled. “You’ve got two men coming here tonight and you’ve got a marathon scheduled?”

“Well, yeah. I hope Nick, Billy, and Sharon make an appearance. I’ve got a soft spot for Sharon, she’s had it tough.” She looked thoughtful. “I’ll need Pringles
.
Lots of Pringles.”

He blinked, not getting why she looked all dreamy.

She shuffled toward her bathroom with the comforter still wrapped around her body.

At his growl she turned and rolled her eyes.

“It’s
The Young and the Restless
night.”

He folded his arms. “I don’t know what that means.”

“Only the best show on TV.”

He shook his head, bewildered. “I don’t know what it is but I’m guessing it’s your shit TV.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Say that again and you lose what’s between your legs.” Her gaze dropped to where his hand curled into a fist. “Are you okay? You’re looking a tad tense.”

“Not as tense as ten minutes ago. After our night I’m going to be so loose I’ll be able to teach yoga.”

Laughter shot out of her. It sounded great. Deep and throaty, it reverberated around his body. He walked back to the spare room. A sonar ping heralded an incoming text. He swiped his finger across the screen, still smiling.

The smile slid off his face when he read the text from Zeb. A brown box addressed to Franco Security had arrived. Typed address. Generic label. No markings. No return address. He tapped on the image of the contents of the box until it filled the screen.

Fuck
.

No Eiffel Tower. No pyramids of Giza. No cute scene.

A doe and her baby lay dead on an emerald hill.

A knife mark slashed through the thick Lucite snow globe. The words written in dark red turned his blood to ice.

Back off. She is mine
.

Chapter Twelve

“Listen here, Fang, I’ve got a can of dog food or a Taser. Take your pick.”

The mammoth-sized dog who looked like it had eaten its owner, all the neighborhood children, and wanted to floss its teeth with Sophie, growled at her. She dumped the can of dog food on the ground, set her Taser to stun, and backed away.

Twenty minutes earlier, she’d left the living room in shadows, angling the blinds so it looked like she lay sprawled on her couch with a blanket hanging half on the floor next to a pair of boots. “Nadia’s Theme” played in the background. She’d DVR’d her favorite soap, which now played in all its mega drama.

The huge dog sniffed, and Alpo’s Chop House won out. Fang devoured the food, giving her time to climb the neighbor’s fence, hook her leg over the top, and land with a soft grunt on the other side. She made it through another fourteen backyards and four other dogs—three friendly, one not. A ginger cat had opened one eye, appraised her, then ignored her. She pushed down the baseball cap, which shielded her face should anyone happen to glance out their window the moment she scaled their fence. She’d mapped out the maze soon after moving into her house. It had taken months of observation and a few near misses and dead ends, but she’d finally determined a path that was all but undetectable. After she vaulted the last fence, she pulled out her phone and sent a text to Gemma, then jogged across the road to a children’s playground and waited in the shadows.

A car pulled into the lot and flashed its lights twice.

Sophie groaned, then sprinted to the car and jumped in.

“This is fun. Like we’re operatives on a mission.”

Sophie pulled off the cap and pulled the band on her hair tight. “If you call cutting through fourteen backyards past a dog that could rip the heart out of Satan and eat it as an appetizer ‘fun’.”

Half an hour later she sat on Gemma’s couch, eating more devils on horseback.

Delicious.

She looked up to find both Gemma and Annie advancing on her. A flat iron dangled from Gemma’s hand. Annie held a bag filled with enough cosmetics to stock fifty states.

“We’ve had a girl conference without you. Sorry,” Annie said, looking not at all sorry. “I know your look is hot, but we want to play dress-up tonight. Change you up a beat.”

Is this what girlfriends did?

“I…ah…don’t know.” Sophie stumbled, not having a clue what to do.

“Do you trust us?” Annie asked, catching Sophie off guard.

“Yes,” she replied without hesitation.

She did.

Working as a private detective, she’d been deceived by the sweetest, most innocent types, who’d screw their grandmother for a dime. She’d grown to trust her instincts and had only been wrong a handful of times.

Annie and Gemma were good people.

“Ok.” She pulled on her ponytail. “But nothing too drastic.”

“You can’t go back on what we do.”

Nerves detonated in her stomach.

Sophie blinked up at Annie.

Wait.

“Trust us, okay?” Gemma said, stepping forward and squeezing Sophie’s hand.

Hot prickles crept up her neck.

“Okay,” she said, twisting her hands.

Annie grinned, and Gemma whooped.

An hour later, Sophie stood in front of the mirror, frozen. “Who are you?”

Her hair hung in a thick, silky wave over one shoulder. Annie had worked some kind of voodoo magic and had transformed her face. Dark, smoky eyes stared back at her. Ruby lips sparkled. Skin glowed. Long turquoise earrings hung like chandeliers from her ears.

Gemma walked into her family room holding a scrap of material. “You’ll look sensational in this.”

“I can’t wear that.” Sophie backed away. “That’s not a dress.”

“I know it’s short, but with your legs? Wowza.” Gemma threw the dress at her. “My room’s through there. Try it on. Oh, wait.”

Gemma handed her a box. Nestled in tissue paper sat a black lace thong.

“I hope I got your size right.” Gemma gnawed her lip.

“I don’t understand,” Sophie said

“It’s for the dress we chose for you tonight. You can’t wear a bra, and you have to wear a thong or go commando.” Annie cocked an eyebrow.

An unexpected lump formed in Sophie’s throat.

Her first gift from a girlfriend. Over the years she’d dreamed of gift exchanges with friends and what they’d be, but sexy underwear wasn’t on the list.

“Thanks,” she whispered, the lump getting bigger.

Gemma smiled, her eyes glassy. “Go.”

Sophie shut the door of Gemma’s room and pulled on the black, sparkly jersey fabric shot with turquoise, which clung to every part of her. A thin silver strap over her left shoulder attached the dress to her body. Her legs, excluding two inches at the top, were completely on display. She tugged the hem of the dress, but it was pointless. She didn’t need to turn around to know that a slit in the back of the dress dropped all the way to the base of her spine.

This is worse than the uniform at Pipe’s
.

She walked out of Gemma’s room, her arms across her braless chest. “I think this classifies as indecent. I’ll be arrested if I step outside.”

“Gotta say, you in that dress, I’m thinking of jumping camps.” Annie whistled. “You’re hot.”

“I’m not hot.” Sophie wrapped her arms tighter around her body.

“Babe, you’re smoking hot.” Gemma grinned. “I’ve got the perfect boots for you, and you are totally gorgeous.” Gemma walked out of the room and came back swinging a pair of boots.

“Check us out,” Gemma said after she and Annie had changed. “We’re like badass Charlie’s Angels.”

Annie stood in a blood-red pair of skintight PVC pants; a black lace-up bodice hugged her chest, her breasts spilling over the top. An oversized silver crucifix nestled in her cleavage, thin, red, stilettos on her feet. Her long blond hair a riot of ringlets.

A black, tight-fitting sheath hugged Gemma’s curves. It fell to the floor and appeared almost demure until she moved and the slit on either side of the dress parted to above her hip bone. Her hair keratin-smooth, face artificially pale, her eyes smoky, lips stained crimson.

“Say ‘Hello Handsome’.” Gemma angled her phone for a selfie. Standing between her friends, high-end scent clinging to her, Sophie smiled, the feeling of belonging and friendship sweeping through her like a warm summer wave.

…

An hour later they found a booth at Hostage. Sophie turned to her friends and pointed to the chart on the table. “Okay, girls. A green wristband means you’re an observer. No one can touch you, but he or she can ask you to join in. Red means they’re a dom, orange is spanking, whips, etcetera, etcetera. Pink shows they’re a slave, gold’s submissive. If they’re wearing a purple band…anything goes.” She indicated with her head. “There are rooms at the back if you want to join in.”

“I think I’ll stay here,” Gemma said, her eyes wide.

“Dear God,” Annie whispered, her jaw hanging loose.

A beautiful African-American woman wearing a silky white thong walked past, her mile-long legs encased in red, thigh-high boots. She led a man in skintight black latex, the top half of his face covered by a leather hood. A metal bit between his teeth, his wristband pink. The scent of talc trailed him.

Guess she found her My Little Pony
.

A woman wearing a silk dress with matching jade heels approached their booth, her brown eyes zeroed in on Gemma. She flashed a gold wristband.

“What do I do?” Gemma shifted back in her seat. “She’s beautiful, but I’m into dudes.”

“Hold up your wristband,” Sophie said out the side of her mouth.

Gemma flashed her green wristband.

The woman shrugged and turned away.

Sophie sipped on her margarita, let her gaze drift around the club, and caught a messy head of dark hair.

Wait
.

She blinked, her gaze slid back.

Oh, no. Oh hell no
.

Pain exploded in her chest, making it hard to breathe. The liquid that had been sliding down her throat now threatened to reverse course. “Oh my God,” she choked, unable to rip her gaze away from a booth in the corner.

“Is that—?” Gemma asked, moving closer.

“Yes.” Sophie managed, her throat thick.

In the corner sat Harlan, his arm around a gorgeous blonde who sat snuggled into his side like he was a heat source and she needed thawing. A beautiful smile lit his face.

Nausea swirled in Sophie’s stomach, and with a shaking hand she wiped her eyes.

God, I am such a fool
.

Only this morning he said he’d been planning their one night. The look on his face when she’d opened her eyes after coming on his leg had stolen her breath. Hunger and ownership swimming in his eyes—it had scared and excited her.

And just when she began to think he wasn’t playing her and she started to bank her insecurities, because maybe, just maybe, they could have something together, yet again her world imploded, detonated by a Harlan grenade.

“I need another drink,” she said, and grabbed her bag. “I’m getting this round. Margaritas?”

Gemma nodded, her face pale.

Annie stared at Harlan like she wanted to knife him in the heart with her shoe.

…

“This is so uncomfortable. Couldn’t Zeb have been my date for the evening? And I hate that I have to be a blonde.”

Arabella sat beside Harlan with her head bowed, her hands neatly in her lap, in a floor-length, dark-blue dress that he guessed she hated, since she’d been pulling on the material all night. He’d explained that people were used to seeing him with a blonde submissive and the less attention they drew the better, hence the wig.

Harlan tilted his head and spoke quietly. “Almost done. We’ve got to hang for a few more minutes, then we can leave.” He brushed a knuckle down her cheek. “Something about you and Carmichael I need to know?”

Arabella shrugged one shoulder. “I prefer to be out in the field with Zeb.”

Surprised, Harlan raised an eyebrow. As always, Arabella spoke her mind without filter.

“What I mean is,” Arabella said, angling her head up to him, “Zeb’s a good teacher.”

“And I’m not?”

“Um, no. Tonight you’ll run everything your way, but Zeb lets me take the reins for a bit and listens to my ideas. That never happens with you.”

Small stab to the gut.

“A lot is riding on this tonight,” he countered, not liking the tightness in his chest at her words.

“There are high stakes on every job. Maybe other’s ideas are worth listening to.”

Bigger stab to the gut.

“We’ll talk about it later,” he said, not liking the growl in his voice. Arabella’s words had cut closer to the bone than he’d admit.

“Yeah, I’ve heard those words before so I’m sure we won’t.”

He blinked down at her in surprise.

She shrugged a shoulder and continued to keep her head bowed.

Words to chew over later.

There was no debate that Arabella was a genius in front of a computer, a total nerd who could hack a feed or infiltrate state-of-the-art security systems. If she couldn’t hack a system, then nobody could. She wanted to work in the field but lacked the physical presence needed for a surveillance job, which is why Harlan was here and not fighting with Sophie.

Maybe he should have delegated this to Zeb.

That statement pulsed in his head like a throbbing sore. He struggled to keep his leg from bouncing. Nervous energy zinged around his body with no outlet, but he had to work the job. Another ten minutes of this torture, then he’d head to the john and Diaz would drop the chip into his hand.

He leaned down to speak low in Arabella’s ear. “Time to make your move.”

“Right,” Arabella murmured, keeping her face blank. “FYI, in my head I am currently on my tropical island after I’ve won the Powerball this week.” She hitched her dress and went to straddle him but overcompensated and, before he could grab her, she slid across his lap onto the floor.

Diaz’s boss turned and stared at Harlan. Surprise, then something cold, flickered across the man’s face. Diaz trailed his boss, his face tight.

A pit opened up in Harlan’s stomach. “Fuck,” he hissed under his breath.

“Oh God, I’m so sorry.” Arabella stumbled upright, tugging on her dress, her face crimson. “I thought it was like getting on a horse.”

Pressure built in Harlan’s head. He couldn’t run this on his own. If he’d been made and Diaz was suspected, he and his family would be fertilizer.

Harlan jogged outside, pulling his phone from his jacket. He swiped his finger across the second name in his contacts.

“Zeb. I’m at Hostage. The meet with Diaz is screwed. Can you take over? The code word is satellite. He’ll know to drop the chip.”

Zeb confirmed he’d be there in five.

Harlan pulled his hand through his hair, the ache in his stomach intensifying. He slid his hand across the phone and jogged back into the club to a pale Arabella.

His head turned in slow motion at a familiar scent.

A stunning brunette marched across the floor, oblivious to the stares of every male and some of the females she passed. Tall, with a dress that clung to jaw-dropping curves, her dark straight hair tumbled down her back. The dress ended a couple of inches below her curvy butt, leaving a slice of creamy skin exposed. Flat black thigh-hugging boots encased her long, long legs.

Wait.

Something about the sway of her hip. If he didn’t know better he’d swear it was Sophie.

Jesus. Now I’m seeing her everywhere
.

Her dark eyes slid through to where Harlan stood.

He knew that challenging stare. Fuck
.

A cold knot formed in Harlan’s stomach and grew, pushing against his internal organs until he could barely breathe. Sophie stood before him, unprotected.

Today’s snow globe delivery confirmed that someone wanted her unguarded and for Harlan to back off. He juggled too many balls, and the pressure to catch them all was intensifying.

He’d decided not to tell Sophie about the mutilated snow globe delivery. He didn’t know how she’d react. He could control the situation, but controlling Sophie was another matter, as was painfully obvious at the moment.