Dangerous Flirt(Laytons Book 2)(23)

Dry desert air enveloped Beth after the club's automatic doors swished closed behind them. She staggered to the line for a cab and stumbled into Hank's arms. Her breasts pressed against his wide chest, her head on his shoulder. The woodsy amber scent of his cologne took her back to that summer night before her junior year in college.

His hands had skimmed over her bare skin above her jeans. His kiss had consumed her, a dream come true for the geek who'd worshiped him since she was twelve years old. She'd never forget the pop, pop, pop of her button-fly jeans being pulled open. When only one button remained, she’d told him she was a virgin. He’d stopped, telling her that he couldn’t do it and adding some bullshit about it being the right thing to do.

Hank pushed her upright. “Just how much did you drink tonight?”

Seeing three of him, she focused on the one in the middle. “Jusss one.”

The raised eyebrows on the three Hanks said plainly he didn't believe her.

Beth stomped her foot, the action making her list to one side. “Is true you jig berk.” That didn't come out right. “I mean big jerk.”

“Uh-huh. Whatever you say.” Hank glanced over her shoulder. “OK, here's the cab. Which hotel are you at?”

She blanked out on the hotel's name. Fumbling for a way to describe it, she leaned forward and played with his shirt collar. “Has a fountain and a big, soft bed.”





Chapter Ten




The arrival of the yellow cab saved Hank from the mental image of a naked Beth lain out on silk sheets in a huge bed. He poured her lithe frame into the back of the cab and slid in beside her.

Only one hotel on the Las Vegas strip fit her description. “Bellagio, please,” he told the driver.

The cabbie winked and pulled out into traffic.

Hank couldn't even hold it against the driver; his mind had fallen into the same gutter. Cars cruised slowly down the street, their shiny exteriors reflecting the neon signs and gigantic billboards featuring the latest shows.

The hotel was at the other end of the strip. Hopefully, that would give them both a few minutes to pull themselves together. And he’d thought it would be a boring night. He'd stopped into the club for a quick beer while Chris and Sam were locked in a high-stakes poker game. When he'd spotted Beth weaving in her seat, he'd been pulled in her direction.

Hank twisted in his seat to face Beth. Normally she never had a hair out of place, but her long brown strands were mussed. He wondered if it felt as soft as it looked. Damn. That was not the road he needed to travel down. “Okay, how many drinks did you really have?”

“Not a liar. Juss one.” She held up a single finger. Her middle finger.

Then, in a blink, the annoyed look on her face melted away and she scooted closer. Beth slapped her hand down on his left thigh.

The action stung, but not enough to overpower the desire hardening his cock. Off limits. She'd had too much to drink. His body refused to listen to reason as her long fingers massaged his inner thigh, sending jolts of electricity right to his eager cock.

“I don't like you.” Her words came out slow and deliberate. “Jus' because you're all muscled and cute does mean I want you… Wait… Don't want you.” Her eyes met his and she sucked on her bottom lip for a moment. “Not much.”

Her soft words and deft fingers were undoing him. In a last-ditch effort to distract himself from Beth's fingers and the heat threatening to devour him, he looked up into the cab's rearview mirror.

A set of headlights gleamed in the mirror. The cabbie switched lanes. The pair of headlights did the same. When the cab driver moved back into the center lane, so did the car behind them.

Sure, it could be the natural flow of traffic down the strip, but Hank's cop sense went on high alert. He'd only been Dry Creek County Sheriff for six months, but he'd been in law enforcement, military and civilian, since shortly after he blew out his knee playing football his senior year in college. He had almost fifteen years under his belt and he knew to listen to that sixth sense warning him something was wrong.

Leaning forward in his seat, he scanned the glittering surroundings. The blazing lights of the Little Elvis Wedding Chapel loomed up ahead on a side street. “Can you pull over here?”

The cabbie nodded and swung the car across two lanes of traffic, rounded the corner and came to a stop in front of the chapel.

The chapel stood separated from the street by a wide sidewalk littered with broken bottles and trash but no people. Monday night must not be the day for quickie marriages. A neon profile of Elvis flickered in the window above an open sign. It would do. They'd wait in the lobby to see if anyone stopped.

Hank handed the driver a wad of bills and helped Beth slide out of the car. “Slight detour, then we'll get you to your hotel.”