Bound to the Bounty Hunter

by Hayson Manning

  Tempting.

  Very tempting.

  Her gaze slid around the high-end club. In the corner, Babic pounded into Barbie number two while Barbie number one whipped his butt. Angry red welts crisscrossed his skin.

  Sophie stared, perplexed. How can he be so comfortable naked in a room full of people, having sex while getting flogged?

  Someone bumped into her from behind. She pitched forward. Harlan’s arm curled around her waist. Her fingers clutched impossibly hard biceps, and her body heated to the point she could toast her breakfast cinnamon rolls on bases one and two.

  He released her as if she were diseased.

  Yet again the sting of humiliation slithered across her skin. She pulled the band holding her hair tighter.

  If he were here following a jumper, she’d get the reward and the satisfaction of beating Harlan. Oh yeah, she’d so take his jumper.

  “Okay, I’ll show you how I got Lopez to follow me, and then I’ll be finding Mr. Big, Bad Dom for the night, so let’s get this show on the road. I’ll need a new margarita with a cherry.”

  By a miracle of intervention, a black-suited waiter materialized. Before she could pass the waiter money, Harlan lay bills on the tray, murmured something in his ear and, in record time, the man appeared with a frosty glass.

  She tried to hand Harlan a twenty.

  He ignored it.

  Her head snapped back. “I don’t take drinks from strangers, and I always pay my own way.”

  “I don’t think we’re strangers, Sophie.”

  They entered a stare-off. Blue clashed with brown. When her eyes started smarting, she pressed the bill into his hand.

  “Yeah, we’re strangers,” she replied.

  He blinked, his eyes narrowed, but he took the twenty.

  She breathed deep and ran through the routine in her mind.

  The last time she’d attempted this she’d waited in the dark pool hall until Harlan headed to the bathroom, then she’d sidled up to Jermaine Lopez—nursing a beer at eight in the morning, the breakfast of champions—and produced her one and only party trick. The man followed her, his tongue practically hanging out. She’d had him cuffed and in her car when Harlan’s expletive-fueled rant hit her ears.

  The smooth cherry was cool against her lips. She took her time nibbling the sweet flesh from the stem.

  Without looking up, she could feel Harlan’s stare. The room melted away.

  “Hold out your hand,” she murmured.

  He held his steady palm between them.

  She closed her eyes, bending the stem a few times with her tongue, softening it. She took a couple of deep breaths, opened her eyes, and looked up at him.

  It looked like he was fighting a yawn.

  She pushed down on the stem with the tip of her tongue until it formed a U. She crossed one stem over the other, using the back of her front teeth to keep the stem stable. A drop of sweat slid between her breasts. His eyes flared but stayed locked on her mouth.

  Now came the tricky part.

  She used her front teeth to hold the X while she maneuvered the stem, her tongue performing Olympic-style gymnastics. Leaning forward, she dropped the knot into his palm, resisting the urge to grin.

  “So, where’s Mr. or Mrs. Jumper you’re tailing?” She gazed around the club. “Is that him?” She pointed to a group of men flexing whips at the flogging station. Her eyes were drawn to movement to her left. “Wait. Is that her?” She pointed to a woman on a sex swing, her legs open, heading toward a man ready to receive.

  Harlan leaned in closer, his mouth brushing her ear. “Tell me, Sophie, where’s the wire?”

  She kept her face set and met his gaze. “Why would I be wearing a wire? I told you, I’m here for a big strong man to tell me what to do.” She took a slug of her drink. “I love being a good girl.” She forced the liquid down her throat and somehow managed not to choke on the words.

  His eyes and nostrils flared.

  She couldn’t make out a band on his wrist. “No pink band tonight?”

  He chuckled unexpectedly, his eyes sparkling. “I’m not a slave.”

  She stared at him for a second, mesmerized, before she kicked herself. “Shame, I think it might suit you. You never know, you might like getting flogged into submission.” She shrugged tight shoulders. “So where’s the jumper?”

  His hand curled around her biceps. “So there’s no wire in your thong? Maybe it’s in a lacy black bra. I wouldn’t mind finding it with my tongue.”

  “What?” She struggled to keep her face neutral while her bones dissolved.

  “Do I have to strip-search you? Check to make sure it isn’t hidden?”

  She blinked, her mouth flooding.

  This so isn’t happening again.

  “I told you the only reason I’m here is to find a man who understands my needs.” Her mouth became drier with every word. This man, his words, scrambled her. “See you around, Harlan.”

  He gripped her hand, and she froze.

  Harlan raised his other arm, the cuff on his leather jacket sliding down to reveal a red band.

  Oh no. Oh, hell no.

  “I’m a big, bad dom.” His velvet voice slid across her skin. “Let’s talk about your needs.”

  Her stomach curled into a little ball and played dead.

  Think, Sophie, think.

  She’d have to play along. If she backed away from him, he’d figure out she most definitely was not a submissive, and she was here for an entirely different reason. No one knew the truth about her father. That fun fact would be going to the grave with her.

  The ass thinks I’ll fall for him a second time only to be locked in a back room here?

  Oh yeah, she’d totally play along. Maybe it was time for him to get locked in a bathroom. Yeah, bathroom justice sounded good.

  He leaned in and whispered. “I’m going to sign my name on your body with my tongue. I will have my mouth on you, before I fuck you until you come. Hard.”

  A burn of need hit hard between her legs. She opened her mouth hoping something would emerge from her mush of brain and land witty and smart on her tongue.

  Nothing.

  It would appear her brain had taken a cruise to Guatemala.

  She pulled back when Harlan traced a finger from her hip to her shoulder. Even through denim and thick cotton, his fingers left a trail of fire.

  She clenched her hands, trying and failing to stop her body’s disastrous reaction. “You will be on your knees, calling my name when I take you.”

  “No.” The word came out in a tortured strangle.

  His lips brushed her ear. “I can smell your sex.” He pushed against her and the hard length of him pressed against her thigh.

  “Stop it,” she whispered.

  “I like what you did with that cherry. I’ve had a taste of your mouth, and I plan on finding out what else your talented mouth can do.”

  He pushed farther in to her thigh, and she bit back an ill-concealed moan.

  He stared down at her, his eyes blazing, as if she belonged to him. “Are you ready?” he asked, his knuckles tracing across her jaw, igniting nerve endings.

  “What for?”

  “For what I’m about to do to you.”

  His words were detaching bone from muscle.

  And it was killing her.

  The part of her brain that wasn’t on a Guatemala cruise dumped a bucket of ice water over her head. She stiffened. “No.”

  Harlan turned, one insolent eyebrow cocked.

  “My needs don’t need discussing and especially not with you,” she said.

  A smile that could turn a nun transformed his face. “Oh, we will be talking about your needs.”

  Her heartbeat ramped up to just won Olympic gold. “No we won’t.”

  He crushed the distance between them and kissed her. Hard, hot, and powerful, and her body responded instantly. His tongue touched hers, and she moaned into his mouth.

  He broke the kiss but kept her
an inch from his mouth. “Tell me what I’m going to do to you, Sophie.” His voice was low and strained, his eyes molten.

  She shook her head, clinging to the barest thread of control.

  A sound like a submarine’s ping came from somewhere. In a haze, she watched him frown, grab his phone from his jeans pocket, and swipe his finger across the screen. He turned.

  “Don’t move. I’ve got to take this.” He then jogged toward the back of the club to a private room—the only place you could use your cell.

  She took a shuddering breath.

  Her hand covered her mouth.

  What am I doing?

  She cringed.

  He’s playing me just like in the hotel room, and I’m letting him.

  With her head down, she willed her racing heart to steady, took a couple of long breaths, and made her way to Babic’s table, where a new Barbie was bouncing on his lap. Sophie forced a smile, while her trembling hand skimmed the underside of the table. She plucked out the device, leaving most of the clay behind.

  Babic paused, his gaze roaming over her face. “You want to be next?”

  Chapter Two

  Harlan Franco jogged to where he’d left Sophie and turned a tight circle.

  No dark hair. No curvy, warm body. No cuffs required. Fuck.

  He pulled his hand through his hair.

  A group to his left was working on building a pyramid, naked.

  He scanned the crowd a second time.

  No Sophie.

  He’d been on the phone way longer than he’d intended, but he didn’t miss calls. Especially this call.

  Talking to your client while the asset you’re supposedly guarding with your life has been looking at you with come-fuck-me-now eyes should have deflated his cock in a second.

  What had started as a game had quickly been spiraling out of control, again. Tough as sailors’ balls, Sophie Callaghan was as hard as they come. He’d been intrigued when she’d flashed her sub bracelet, because nothing about her hinted at submission. Part of him, the cock part of him, wanted to spell out how she’d be soft and compliant under him. The gray matter in his head told him he was on a job.

  Cock won.

  Go figure.

  He’d been playing with her tonight, trying to work out why she was here. His job was to learn everything about Sophie and report back to his client. That game had taken a dangerous turn when she’d looked up at him with lust swimming in her eyes, the scent of her slamming into him.

  His mouth still throbbed from her kiss. Her moan had soaked into his blood. Her body melting into his had nearly brought him to his knees.

  He closed his eyes.

  Number one rule of being on a guard and intel job:

  Be detached.

  Rule number two:

  Be professional at all times.

  Rule number three:

  Don’t fuck the asset.

  Frustration and disappointment in himself slithered through his gut like a bad burrito.

  When Sophie had fallen into him at a bar eighteen months ago, his body had reacted like it had tonight, like it had found its mate. Dressed in her uniform of jeans, no makeup, hair back, hiding every feminine trait. With nothing on his mind except telling her to back away from his clients, he’d booked a room to have a private conversation, but her scent, her hair, her everything had wiped logic from his brain. They were going at each other until he’d found just enough strength to pull back, when he’d heard the ping from his phone, alerting him that the jumper they were tailing was on the move.

  He scratched the back of his neck.

  Not my finest hour, leaving her locked in a hotel bathroom.

  Was this payback for that night? Leaving him with blue balls and walking away?

  He deserved it.

  Tonight, like that other twisted night, he couldn’t rip his eyes away from her; his dick had sprung to attention like a teen who’d discovered Porn Hub.

  Everything about her was the opposite of what he wanted in a woman. Small and blond? Nope. She’d have to be about five foot eight or taller. Legs that went on for freaking ever. Her olive skin stretched over angular cheekbones, full lips, almond-shaped dark brown eyes framed by thick inky lashes. Gym-toned and disciplined? Hell no. Sophie came with curves he was desperate to lick. Her butt filled her jeans in all the right places. Her legs he wanted wrapped around his hips twice while she gave in to him totally. A submissive who wanted only a physical relationship? He hoped like fuck she wasn’t playing.

  When Sophie had tied the knot in the cherry stem, the intensity in her face, the way her tongue had worked? He’d fought to not grab her hips and grind into her.

  Apart from the physical attraction, which he could control, Sophie Callaghan had always been a giant pain in his ass, which was going to make guarding his newest assignment interesting.

  His phone pinged with an incoming message from Zeb, his second in command stationed by the front door: Babic was on the move as was Sophie.

  He stilled. Is that why she’d left?

  A blond woman broke away from a group and walked to him flashing her gold wristband. He shook his head and headed to where a waitress cleaned Babic’s table, still littered with whips.

  Babic liked his pain delivered hard.

  He slipped the waitress a sizeable tip and sat in the booth, ignoring the bottle of lube and the leather harness. He made a slow and methodical search of the top of the table.

  Nothing.

  Probing the underside, he paused over something clinging to the smooth surface, then carefully detached it. Modeling clay. He turned it over in his hand. Crude, but effective.

  Shit. Sophie’s here tailing Babic who works for Petrov, and I’m on retainer to Petrov here tailing Sophie.

  Even saying that sentence hurt his head.

  He walked into an empty room at the back of the club. A cream comforter covered an enormous bed. Leather, chains, and hard-plastic ties dangled from the padded black headboard. Shelves were lined with sex toys of every description. He sent a text and waited.

  “What up?” Zeb Carmichael sauntered in, nodding. “Pain and Gain room, brother, I approve.”

  The pounding of the music dulled to a throb when Zeb closed the door.

  “We could have a problem.”

  “A chat about the birds and bees?” Zeb indicated toward the toy cabinet, grinning.

  He held out his hand and dropped the clay into Zeb’s palm. “I think Sophie left this under Babic’s table.”

  Wide eyes hit him. “I saw her at Babic’s table for a beat before she shot out the door. Babic left a few minutes after her with a couple of blondes. She’s here following him? What’s the deal?”

  Harlan sucked air through his teeth. “I didn’t know Babic would be here tonight, but I think she did, and I’m interested in why she’s trailing him and what went down with him and his meet.”

  Zeb’s penetrating gaze hit him. “Do you have reason to be concerned?”

  “Not that I know of.” But Harlan had seen Babic’s startled face. It had been fleeting, but it had been there. Babic had spotted Harlan and been surprised by his presence.

  There were too many scenarios playing out in Harlan’s head. None of them came with a happy ever after. If Petrov was right, and he and Sophie shared a connection and any of Petrov’s rivals and restless business associates found out, Sophie could be used in ways that chilled Harlan’s marrow.

  Zeb blew out a long breath, which pulled Harlan back into the room. “If she and Petrov are related, why doesn’t Petrov take a meet? Clear it all up. Why all this cloak-and-dagger shit?”

  Harlan shrugged, trying to loosen the tension in his shoulders. “Petrov lost his daughter, Seraphina, twenty-two years ago. His wife was at a religious retreat in Southern California when the kid was snatched—the child was around two at the time. She wasn’t his biological daughter, but the way he tells it, he loved her like she was his own. His wife killed herself two years later, blaming Petrov�
�s business for their daughter going missing. That’s when he started to go legit. Now, he wants to leave his empire to his daughter, but he wants to be sure. There’ve been times over the years he was sure he’d found her, only to find out he’d been played.” Harlan pushed his hands deep into his pockets. “He’s had a likeness of her drawn every year. Babic saw her and thought there was enough of a similarity to mention it. Petrov wants us to watch her and report back. Make sure she’s the real deal before he gets any closer, which is where I come in.”

  Zeb’s shrewd eyes took in the room and came back to rest on Harlan. “So this is a bodyguard and intel job, right?”

  “Yep and the reason we’re guarding her is on a need-to-know basis. At the moment we’re the only ones who have the intel.” He pushed his hands into his pockets. “I’ll be reporting back to Petrov until he’s ready to make his move either way.”

  Zeb crossed his arms, his gaze penetrating. “You want me to take this? Give up your need to control every case, brother?”

  Harlan hired the best people around, but his name was on the door, and he had to have his finger on the pulse at all times. “Next time.”

  Zeb stared at him hard. “Looks like you lost focus tonight. If there’s anything between you and Sophie it has to end now. You know the rules.”

  Yeah, he did. They were chiseled in stone with his chisel.

  He nodded. “Yeah, I’m good.”

  Harlan rubbed the back of his neck. The need to drive Sophie from his brain was paramount. “Can you speed up the report on everything there is to know about Sophie Callaghan? I’ll stay close and work my angle.”

  “I’ll get back to you.” Zeb headed out the door where he stopped and turned. “You got this?”

  A slow, steady pounding started at the back of Harlan’s skull, in time to his sluggish heartbeat. “Yeah, I got this.”

  The door closed with a click.

  Tonight he’d started to lose control, and he never lost control.

  He’d kept people at a distance his whole life. After his mom’s death and a quick detour to an aunt who’d decided she couldn’t cope with a grieving, angry seven-year-old, he’d been delivered to the system.

  He’d learned how to survive fast.