Dangerous Flirt (9 page)

Hank twisted to face her senior partner, and heat climbed up Beth's cheeks as she faced the superior smirks on three of the firm's junior partners. Phil Harris, Mason Carter and Charles McMillian chuckled and sipped their bourbon.

“Nice one,” Mason said.

Phil slapped Mason
on the back. “Yeah, where's your posse, Sheriff?”

“Cut it out, you two.” Concern wrinkled Ed’s brow. “Do you need some help?”

Ed was the last person Beth wanted to witness her humiliation. Well, make that second-to-last.

Hank effortlessly turned Beth toward the door, moved a hand to the small of her back and guided her forward. “See ya later, Ed.”

They wove their way through the throng of
people. Hank's large hand pressed firmly against her lower back, bedeviling her nerves and making her knees quake for reasons that had nothing to do with champagne and everything to do with lust.

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.”

T
he 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.”

Beth sighed, the dazed look in her eyes obliterating the inquisitive look he normally saw there. “I just want a bed.”

The cab driver laughed.
“Mazel tov.”

He flung the car door shut and tugged Beth into the chapel. The sight that greeted them stopped them in their tracks. Standing side by side, holding hands, they gaped at the shrine they'd entered.

Inside, the lobby was a temple to the king. Huge glossy photos featuring everything from young Elvis wearing a black leather jacket with his hair slicked back to fat Elvis in his white
jumpsuit plastered the gold walls. There was just one glaring error in the photographic shrine to the hunka-hunka burning love. The Elvis smiling out from each of the poster-sized pictures couldn't have been more than four feet tall.

“That would explain the ‘little’ in the Little Elvis Chapel,” Hank muttered.

Beth's hand cupped his cock through his pants. “Doesn't feel small.” She nipped at
his earlobe. “Mmmm, I've been thinking ’bout what it would be like since that summer. You won't stop this time, right?”

That night was never far from his thoughts. He'd done the right thing and still regretted it to this day.

Light streamed in the windows as a car slammed to a stop in front of the chapel. Looks like it hadn't been only in his head.

Checking the area for exits, he saw only one
door. The chapel. He strode over, Beth following along, and pressed his ear to the thin hollow wood.

Hearing muffled laughter, Hank cracked the door open and peeked in. Little Elvis stood at the velvet altar in a spangled jumpsuit officiating the nuptials of a couple, each of whom carried a beer bottle. The exit sign flickered behind Elvis. A way out.

Glancing out the window behind him, he spied
two men getting out of a late-model sedan and looking around. No time to wait.

“Come on, we have to go into the wedding chapel.” He opened the door wider and pulled her inside.

“Oh, I thought you'd never ask. Did you ask? I don't remember you getting down on one knee.” Six feet tall in heels, Beth almost looked him straight in the eye.

“Come on, we've got to get out that door behind Elvis.”

The diminutive minister sent a dirty look their way as they snuck up the side of the aisle, but continued with the ceremony.

The bride and groom had eyes only for each other.

He and Beth were a few steps away from the exit when the real Elvis' voice blared through hidden speakers.

“I can't help falling in love with you…”

Little Elvis lowered the music's volume with a remote. “You may now kiss
the bride.”

Beth stopped moving and jerked Hank to a stop. Stretching, she wound her arms around his neck.

Before he even processed what was about to happen, her lips were on his and his body overruled his better judgment. As soon as her soft, full lips grazed his, Hank forgot who he was. Forgot where he was. Forgot the people who were chasing them. Forgot why Beth was off limits.

Lightning
bolts shot through his body when her tongue snuck between his lips and tangled with his. Everything from the neck down turned into heavy, molten want. Her body pressed into him, the thin material of her blue dress taunting him and emphasizing his inability to touch her smooth skin.

Too soon Beth pulled away, grinning vacantly as only the drunk can do. “Let's go have a honeymoon.” She led the
way out the exit.

Stunned and iron hard, Hank followed her into the grungy hallway, thankful she had the wherewithal to stop. The door clicked shut behind them as they made good on their escape.

Taking one last glance out the one-way window that provided a view of the chapel and part of the lobby, he spotted two men. Dressed in baggy jeans, their faces covered by sunglasses and lowered baseball
caps, they didn't look like they were there to get hitched. One looked like a linebacker, tall and square with no discernible neck. The other had an average build, but something about the way he held himself, with a barely reined-in aggression, pegged him as the more dangerous of the two.

The bigger man gestured toward the chapel door and a slow smile spread across his broad face, revealing a
gold front tooth. Alarm bells in Hank's head clanged to life. He had no idea what was going on, but he didn't plan on sticking around to find out. Letting go of the doorknob, he grabbed hold of Beth's hand and hurried her down the hall. Turning left, they followed the exit signs through the dark uncarpeted hallway with scuffed walls to a heavy door that opened into the alley.

Holding tightly
onto Beth's hand, he tugged her toward the street, pausing as they reached the end of the alley. A quick look around the corner of the building revealed a deserted sidewalk in front of the Little Elvis Wedding Chapel. That meant the men were still inside, probably about to emerge from the same exit he and Beth had used. He wasn't about to wait around to confirm his suspicions.

“Stick with me.
We have to get out of here now.”

“Whateva you say, husband.” Beth giggled, oblivious to the threat about to emerge from the chapel.

He hailed a passing cab and climbed inside after Beth, keeping his body between her and the chapel door. “The Palms. We're in a hurry.”

“Yeah, I felt the same way after each one of my weddings.” The female driver chuckled in the front seat and merged with traffic.

For once when he sat next to Beth, tension rather than lust locked his muscles tight. He didn't know why those guys were following them, but something bad was going down.

No way could he leave Beth alone at her hotel. She was coming back with him and he was going to find out what the hell was going on.

W
ho’s following you and why?” Hank watched as Beth tossed her glasses on the nightstand and flopped onto the king-size bed in his hotel room, wishing like hell he could join her.

Her brown hair fanned outward, contrasting with the crisp white of the comforter. It reminded him of a black-and-white cookie, but it wasn't his stomach that was hungry for her. He shifted uncomfortably,
trying to give his hard dick some more room in his black trousers.

“The only man following me is you, all the way from Dry Creek just to marry me. How romantic.” Beth giggled and extended one long leg his way, revealing a mind-boggling amount of upper thigh.

On her foot was some type of impossibly high-heeled shoe. She pointed the opened-toed red shoe at him, revealing glittery, hot-pink-painted
toenails. “A little help pleash, hubby.”

Pulled forward like a deer to a saltlick, he grasped her ankle and went to work on the thin strap of material circling it. “We’re not married.”

“You’re so funny.”

“Answer the question. Who’s following you?”

“Your fingers feel so good.”

Fuck. Staring down at the long leg in his grasp, he accepted that he wasn’t going to get any information out of her
right now. He marveled at the smoothness of her leg and the strong calf muscle hidden underneath her soft skin that flexed as she rotated her foot. His cock twitched in response.

She hiccupped twice before giggling again.

“So how much did you really have to drink tonight?” Fumbling to unhook the strap, he tried to get his body to calm down. Hank gritted his teeth and recited the Miranda Rights
in his head because if anyone needed that warning right now, it was him.

“Only one glash. I don't like to drink.” Laid out on the bed, Beth arched her back and stretched her willowy arms toward the wine-colored fabric headboard. A soft moan escaped as she extended her upper body.

White-hot desire ripped through Hank's body as suddenly as a thunder clap. If there was a reason why he shouldn't
sink down to his knees and run his hands up her supple thighs, he sure as hell didn't remember it. The shoe dropped from her foot. He stared at the high arch curving upward from her sole and fought to remember why this was wrong.

Beth sat up, pulling her foot from his grasp. “Claire and I are sishters now.” She clapped her hands and giggled. “That's awesome!”

Yeah. That's why Beth was off limits.
She was his sister's best friend and she was blasted out of her mind. So while there was nothing more he'd like to do than strip her down and fuck her silly, he couldn't do it.