Joyride

That same sign that someone was handing her now. For a moment, she surveyed the crowd, as though sizing them up. Again, not your typical ring-card girl tactic. These long-legged babes thrived on the thrill, the flash. In all his years in Vegas, he’d never seen one of them sum up a crowd as though trying to figure out if they were friends or foes.

Then those red lips flashed a smile that was more telling than anything he’d seen up to this point. That smile was pure, real. Hell, her whole face smiled, betraying an internal sweetness that struck him harder than a left hook. It was like watching Elizabeth Hurley go Pollyanna.

The girl lifted the number high over her head and began walking across the ring, waving the number as though nobody had ever learned how to count. She seemed a bit stiff-legged, then eased into a long-legged stride that made Leo’s heart pound with every step. Maybe she’d appeared nervous a moment ago, but this lady was getting into it. He could hardly believe her confident strut and the way her tushie swayed. And what was she doing now? Prancing? That little bombshell was prancing around the periphery of the ring, waving the sign, making the number “1” about the sexiest, steamiest number he’d ever seen in his life.

He blew out a puff of air and fumbled in his T-shirt pocket for another toothpick. Damn, he was out. He needed something to chew on. He rubbed his palms briskly together, wishing he could quell this burst of nervous energy, one of the side-effects of post-traumatic stress. If he were at home, he’d go outside and continue some remodeling task on his old Air-stream trailer, his saving-grace hobby this past year. But he wasn’t home, he was stuck here, so he planted his hands on his knees, the act somewhat grounding.

Focus your mind on business. He glanced at her hair, how the lights reflected off its fake blond dye job. She might have a Pollyanna, pure-as-driven-snow smile, but that hair color wasn’t natural—a little secret he now shared with “Red.”

This lady was a con.

Just like she’d changed the color of her hair, she’d change her story if he cornered her. He’d been here before. And Leo could out-con a con anyway. He’d just never dealt with one who made packing a bikini more lethal than packing a weapon.

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.