arts studio off the ground and built up his client base… “I can put in a plug with Josh. Maybe he’ll consider moving Eastman Investigations. The place we’re training in now is a dive.”
Anthony smiled, one of those blinding, white-toothed grins that had been taking her breath away forever. “That’d help. I’m going down to talk to the bank about modifying the mortgage now that the rates have dropped again. Until then, I’m screwed. Next to nobody pays cash and the credit card companies hold up my money for six weeks. But the banks cover the debit transactions every week, so I’ll get your transmission then. Okay?”
She leaned back in her chair with a sigh. “I honestly don’t know what I’d do without you.”
Anthony reached for his coffee, looking satisfied. He always liked when she fed his ego—a full-time job even when he wasn’t saving her ass.
“Well, that’s one problem off my back, thank you very much,” she said. “Now I have to figure out how I’m getting around. What’s your loaner situation?”
“Not good. I’m taking on twice the business with only two spare vehicles.”
“What are my chances of talking you out of the Firebird?”
“How about the chopper? I’m on Mama detail this week. We’ve got a doctor’s appointment this afternoon, a casino cruise Friday night and a wedding on Saturday.”
Harley was genuinely flattered that Anthony trusted her to drive his pride and joy. “Are you sure? Would you rather let Damon borrow the chopper? I’m sure he wouldn’t mind lending me his car. He barely leaves the dojo anyway.”
“Damon is not driving the chopper.” He leaned across the desk to slide open a drawer. “I’ll only trust you, princess.”
“You’ll kill me if I ding the paint.”
He scooped the keys from a drawer and held them out to her, catching her gaze above his hand. “Then don’t ding the paint.”
She plucked the keys from his fingers and smiled.
Looked like her day had finally taken a turn for the better. Now if her luck just held through the afternoon…
3
MAC USUALLY ENJOYED an occasional night gambling at Harrah’s. It was a new pastime in his repertoire, one that Josh had introduced him to. Josh had also been the one to insist they drop by the casino tonight, after returning to the office after-hours to find Mac still working.
While Mac appreciated the attempt to take his mind off the case, he finally left Josh in the Blue Dog Poker Room to walk off his restlessness in the fantasy world that made up Harrah’s. His head was cluttered with questions about how best to recover the stolen items and he was struggling to think clearly while suffering a bad case of Harley on the brain.
So he wandered beneath the starry sky in the jazz court and tried to distract himself when the dueling pianos played music that reminded him of how good she’d felt in his arms when they’d danced at the wedding.
He finally made his way to the VIP lounge to get away from the music. Flashing his ID, he greeted the doorman, then stepped inside to savor the quiet…and find the very woman who’d been haunting his thoughts as if she’d materialized straight from his imagination.
Harley.
She sat alone, contemplating the drink she held with both hands. Gone was her requisite black—she’d dressed in cream leather, a formfitting pantsuit that molded her slim curves.
She presented him an unfamiliar opportunity to observe her without having to think on his feet or dodge physical blows. He simply admired the way the color emphasized her skin, how her delicate profile peeked through the tumble of red hair.
She seemed different tonight. Something more than the wardrobe change. Then he recognized what that difference was. Though Mac hadn’t made the connection before, hadn’t realized she functioned with shields up against the world, he suddenly understood now, when those shields were so noticeably absent.
Something about the slump of her shoulders. And the way she’d hooked her feet around the chair legs to lean forward, as if she needed the table to support her. She seemed somehow unguarded, all alone in the world.
This was Harley uncensored. The Harley he needed to seduce. They were making each other crazy with this unrequited lust and he didn’t understand why she couldn’t see that, why she fought him so hard. All they needed to do was satisfy their hunger and go their separate ways. It was simple. Inevitable.
Mac didn’t hesitate. Covering the distance, he slid into the chair across from her. She snapped her head up and blinked those deep blue eyes.
“You’re not seeing things, Harley. It’s me.”
She brought a shaky hand to her forehead. “I’m in hell.”
“No, you’re in Harrah’s.”
“No, you’re here. I’m in hell.” She dropped her face into her outspread hands and Mac thought he saw her shudder.
That was his second clue that all was not business as usual. The first had been her reaction to him—normally after she’d made the nasty comment, she would have taken off and left him to chase after her.
“Is everything all right?”
“Why are you here?” Her voice was muffled behind her hands.
“I came with Josh.”
That got her attention, and she lifted her head. “Josh is here, in the casino?”
Mac nodded but he didn’t get a chance to gauge her reaction, because she slid the chair back and got to her feet, treating him to a head-to-toe view of slim curves enveloped in leather.
That sensation clenched low in his gut again as he took in those curves, so beautifully shaped and well toned for her obsession with the marital arts. Leather hugged her long legs like a second skin, outlining the length of her thighs and the sweep of her calves. Her shoes were stylish, but the heels low enough to run in. She was ever ready for trouble.
“I am so out of here,” she said, staring down her nose. “Do me a favor and tell Josh you didn’t see me.”
Mac considered the logic of that statement and recognized his next clue that all was not right with Harley.
She was unsteady on her feet. Just the slightest waver, but enough to convince him that the nearly full drink she’d been nursing hadn’t been her first.
“Allow me,” he said, standing.
“I don’t need your help.”
She pulled away and there it was again. She wove a bit to the left like a ship listing in a breeze.
“I’m not offering my help.” Slipping an arm around her shoulders, he steered her away from the table. “I’m trying to cop a feel. I have a hard time getting dates, so I haven’t felt the real thing in a while.”
Miracle of miracles, she didn’t
