Bound to the Bounty Hunter

by Hayson Manning

  “I know it’s short, but with your legs? Wowza.” Gemma threw the dress at her. “My room’s through there. Try it on. Oh, wait.”

  Gemma handed her a box. Nestled in tissue paper sat a black lace thong.

  “I hope I got your size right.” Gemma gnawed her lip.

  “I don’t understand,” Sophie said

  “It’s for the dress we chose for you tonight. You can’t wear a bra, and you have to wear a thong or go commando.” Annie cocked an eyebrow.

  An unexpected lump formed in Sophie’s throat.

  Her first gift from a girlfriend. Over the years she’d dreamed of gift exchanges with friends and what they’d be, but sexy underwear wasn’t on the list.

  “Thanks,” she whispered, the lump getting bigger.

  Gemma smiled, her eyes glassy. “Go.”

  Sophie shut the door of Gemma’s room and pulled on the black, sparkly jersey fabric shot with turquoise, which clung to every part of her. A thin silver strap over her left shoulder attached the dress to her body. Her legs, excluding two inches at the top, were completely on display. She tugged the hem of the dress, but it was pointless. She didn’t need to turn around to know that a slit in the back of the dress dropped all the way to the base of her spine.

  This is worse than the uniform at Pipe’s.

  She walked out of Gemma’s room, her arms across her braless chest. “I think this classifies as indecent. I’ll be arrested if I step outside.”

  “Gotta say, you in that dress, I’m thinking of jumping camps.” Annie whistled. “You’re hot.”

  “I’m not hot.” Sophie wrapped her arms tighter around her body.

  “Babe, you’re smoking hot.” Gemma grinned. “I’ve got the perfect boots for you, and you are totally gorgeous.” Gemma walked out of the room and came back swinging a pair of boots.

  “Check us out,” Gemma said after she and Annie had changed. “We’re like badass Charlie’s Angels.”

  Annie stood in a blood-red pair of skintight PVC pants; a black lace-up bodice hugged her chest, her breasts spilling over the top. An oversized silver crucifix nestled in her cleavage, thin, red, stilettos on her feet. Her long blond hair a riot of ringlets.

  A black, tight-fitting sheath hugged Gemma’s curves. It fell to the floor and appeared almost demure until she moved and the slit on either side of the dress parted to above her hip bone. Her hair keratin-smooth, face artificially pale, her eyes smoky, lips stained crimson.

  “Say ‘Hello Handsome’.” Gemma angled her phone for a selfie. Standing between her friends, high-end scent clinging to her, Sophie smiled, the feeling of belonging and friendship sweeping through her like a warm summer wave.

  …

  An hour later they found a booth at Hostage. Sophie turned to her friends and pointed to the chart on the table. “Okay, girls. A green wristband means you’re an observer. No one can touch you, but he or she can ask you to join in. Red means they’re a dom, orange is spanking, whips, etcetera, etcetera. Pink shows they’re a slave, gold’s submissive. If they’re wearing a purple band…anything goes.” She indicated with her head. “There are rooms at the back if you want to join in.”

  “I think I’ll stay here,” Gemma said, her eyes wide.

  “Dear God,” Annie whispered, her jaw hanging loose.

  A beautiful African-American woman wearing a silky white thong walked past, her mile-long legs encased in red, thigh-high boots. She led a man in skintight black latex, the top half of his face covered by a leather hood. A metal bit between his teeth, his wristband pink. The scent of talc trailed him.

  Guess she found her My Little Pony.

  A woman wearing a silk dress with matching jade heels approached their booth, her brown eyes zeroed in on Gemma. She flashed a gold wristband.

  “What do I do?” Gemma shifted back in her seat. “She’s beautiful, but I’m into dudes.”

  “Hold up your wristband,” Sophie said out the side of her mouth.

  Gemma flashed her green wristband.

  The woman shrugged and turned away.

  Sophie sipped on her margarita, let her gaze drift around the club, and caught a messy head of dark hair.

  Wait.

  She blinked, her gaze slid back.

  Oh, no. Oh hell no.

  Pain exploded in her chest, making it hard to breathe. The liquid that had been sliding down her throat now threatened to reverse course. “Oh my God,” she choked, unable to rip her gaze away from a booth in the corner.

  “Is that—?” Gemma asked, moving closer.

  “Yes.” Sophie managed, her throat thick.

  In the corner sat Harlan, his arm around a gorgeous blonde who sat snuggled into his side like he was a heat source and she needed thawing. A beautiful smile lit his face.

  Nausea swirled in Sophie’s stomach, and with a shaking hand she wiped her eyes.

  God, I am such a fool.

  Only this morning he said he’d been planning their one night. The look on his face when she’d opened her eyes after coming on his leg had stolen her breath. Hunger and ownership swimming in his eyes—it had scared and excited her.

  And just when she began to think he wasn’t playing her and she started to bank her insecurities, because maybe, just maybe, they could have something together, yet again her world imploded, detonated by a Harlan grenade.

  “I need another drink,” she said, and grabbed her bag. “I’m getting this round. Margaritas?”

  Gemma nodded, her face pale.

  Annie stared at Harlan like she wanted to knife him in the heart with her shoe.

  …

  “This is so uncomfortable. Couldn’t Zeb have been my date for the evening? And I hate that I have to be a blonde.”

  Arabella sat beside Harlan with her head bowed, her hands neatly in her lap, in a floor-length, dark-blue dress that he guessed she hated, since she’d been pulling on the material all night. He’d explained that people were used to seeing him with a blonde submissive and the less attention they drew the better, hence the wig.

  Harlan tilted his head and spoke quietly. “Almost done. We’ve got to hang for a few more minutes, then we can leave.” He brushed a knuckle down her cheek. “Something about you and Carmichael I need to know?”

  Arabella shrugged one shoulder. “I prefer to be out in the field with Zeb.”

  Surprised, Harlan raised an eyebrow. As always, Arabella spoke her mind without filter.

  “What I mean is,” Arabella said, angling her head up to him, “Zeb’s a good teacher.”

  “And I’m not?”

  “Um, no. Tonight you’ll run everything your way, but Zeb lets me take the reins for a bit and listens to my ideas. That never happens with you.”

  Small stab to the gut.

  “A lot is riding on this tonight,” he countered, not liking the tightness in his chest at her words.

  “There are high stakes on every job. Maybe other’s ideas are worth listening to.”

  Bigger stab to the gut.

  “We’ll talk about it later,” he said, not liking the growl in his voice. Arabella’s words had cut closer to the bone than he’d admit.

  “Yeah, I’ve heard those words before so I’m sure we won’t.”

  He blinked down at her in surprise.

  She shrugged a shoulder and continued to keep her head bowed.

  Words to chew over later.

  There was no debate that Arabella was a genius in front of a computer, a total nerd who could hack a feed or infiltrate state-of-the-art security systems. If she couldn’t hack a system, then nobody could. She wanted to work in the field but lacked the physical presence needed for a surveillance job, which is why Harlan was here and not fighting with Sophie.

  Maybe he should have delegated this to Zeb.

  That statement pulsed in his head like a throbbing sore. He struggled to keep his leg from bouncing. Nervous energy zinged around his body with no outlet, but he had to work the job. Another ten minutes of this torture,
then he’d head to the john and Diaz would drop the chip into his hand.

  He leaned down to speak low in Arabella’s ear. “Time to make your move.”

  “Right,” Arabella murmured, keeping her face blank. “FYI, in my head I am currently on my tropical island after I’ve won the Powerball this week.” She hitched her dress and went to straddle him but overcompensated and, before he could grab her, she slid across his lap onto the floor.

  Diaz’s boss turned and stared at Harlan. Surprise, then something cold, flickered across the man’s face. Diaz trailed his boss, his face tight.

  A pit opened up in Harlan’s stomach. “Fuck,” he hissed under his breath.

  “Oh God, I’m so sorry.” Arabella stumbled upright, tugging on her dress, her face crimson. “I thought it was like getting on a horse.”

  Pressure built in Harlan’s head. He couldn’t run this on his own. If he’d been made and Diaz was suspected, he and his family would be fertilizer.

  Harlan jogged outside, pulling his phone from his jacket. He swiped his finger across the second name in his contacts.

  “Zeb. I’m at Hostage. The meet with Diaz is screwed. Can you take over? The code word is satellite. He’ll know to drop the chip.”

  Zeb confirmed he’d be there in five.

  Harlan pulled his hand through his hair, the ache in his stomach intensifying. He slid his hand across the phone and jogged back into the club to a pale Arabella.

  His head turned in slow motion at a familiar scent.

  A stunning brunette marched across the floor, oblivious to the stares of every male and some of the females she passed. Tall, with a dress that clung to jaw-dropping curves, her dark straight hair tumbled down her back. The dress ended a couple of inches below her curvy butt, leaving a slice of creamy skin exposed. Flat black thigh-hugging boots encased her long, long legs.

  Wait.

  Something about the sway of her hip. If he didn’t know better he’d swear it was Sophie.

  Jesus. Now I’m seeing her everywhere.

  Her dark eyes slid through to where Harlan stood.

  He knew that challenging stare. Fuck.

  A cold knot formed in Harlan’s stomach and grew, pushing against his internal organs until he could barely breathe. Sophie stood before him, unprotected.

  Today’s snow globe delivery confirmed that someone wanted her unguarded and for Harlan to back off. He juggled too many balls, and the pressure to catch them all was intensifying.

  He’d decided not to tell Sophie about the mutilated snow globe delivery. He didn’t know how she’d react. He could control the situation, but controlling Sophie was another matter, as was painfully obvious at the moment.

  He stalked toward her.

  Sophie cocked her head, one hand on her hip.

  If she tried to run off, he’d cuff her. His dick swelled at the thought of Sophie in cuffs, compliant.

  When he curled his fingers around hers, her dark eyes flashed.

  “We’re leaving.”

  “I’m not leaving,” Sophie said. “I’m here for a girls’ night out, so you can back off.”

  Christ, even with Zeb on the way, he did not need to be making a scene and drawing more attention to himself. He leaned in to Sophie. “You want to tell me why you’re here without any security?” he murmured in her ear.

  Sophie shivered.

  There it was. The instant DNA connection that had slammed into him. The connection he fought every fucking day.

  Harlan pulled Sophie to the back of the club. She started to protest, loudly. He stopped and turned to her.

  “I have no problem picking you up and carrying you over my shoulder kicking and screaming. It won’t raise an eyebrow in here.” It wouldn’t, and while he’d prefer not to attract too much attention, she didn’t know that.

  Her eyes flashed, and her mouth tightened.

  They passed the table where her friends sat. A stunning brunette gave them a thumbs-up, a beautiful blonde sent him a death stare.

  He spied a green light above one of the rooms at the back of the club. He threw open the door, pulled her inside, and locked it behind them.

  He held up his hand to silence her when she started to open her mouth, barely holding it together. “What the hell are you doing here without Israel? What the fuck are you wearing? Every guy here wants his dick in you.” He ignored her sharp intake of breath. “Ditching the security detail. You. Here. Unprotected. Fuck me, Sophie. What the fuck are you doing?”

  Her anger, hot and white, spilled out of her and slammed into him. Her voice could snap ice. “For your info, I was heading to the bar to get a round of margaritas for the girls.”

  He ducked, grabbed her waist, threw her over his shoulder, then dropped her on the bed.

  “What the hell are you doing?” She gasped and twisted on the bed, scrambling to the side.

  “I’m doing what I should have done when I first met you.” He leaned and inhaled raspberries, his dick agreeing that particular fruit was awesome.

  She rolled off the bed and faced him; the chain holding her dress had slipped off her shoulder, giving him an eyeful of delicious breast. Her chest heaved, eyes snapping. He had no doubt that if she could, she’d remove his limbs and enjoy doing so.

  She was the most beautiful, mesmerizing, bewitching, pain-in-the-ass woman he’d ever met.

  And he’d never wanted a woman more.

  “I can’t win physically, so, what is it your ‘yes master’ girls do? Do I lie there and let you do what you want?” Her lips parted, her eyes trained on his mouth. “Because that’s not what I need.”

  “I know exactly what you need,” he ground out.

  “You’ve got a woman out there waiting for you,” she said through clenched teeth. Heat rolled off her body in thick, delicious waves.

  “I’m here working.”

  “Is that what you call it?” She shrugged a shoulder. “Working a case, working a woman. Interesting.”

  He stared down into her flashing eyes. “I’ve been working a case for a year. There’s no way I could shift the date of the meet. I thought you were safe. You should have been home watching shit TV.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “What about last night?”

  “What about it?” It was a struggle to keep the exasperation out of his voice and not trace his fingers along the curve of her waist.

  “You brought a woman into my home. Chanel number whatever clogged the air for hours.” She blinked and turned her head, but not before he caught the glimmer of tears. Anger, frustration, or something else, he didn’t know.

  “I did not bring a woman to your house. I would never disrespect you. I was working with Arabella.” He pressed in close, his hard cock digging in to her stomach. “Fuck, Sophie don’t you get it? All I can think about is you.” His voice hoarse.

  Her eyes widened, and she blinked.

  Sophie, being Sophie, surprised him. She arched up and touched her mouth to his, her sweet lips barely brushing his.

  He didn’t give her a chance to retreat. His mouth slammed down on hers with a growl.

  When his tongue touched hers, a shudder moved the length of his body, then down the length of hers.

  “Fuck, but I want you,” he breathed. “Get your dress off.”

  For once she complied and shimmied out of the dress.

  Her face flushed, she stared up at him.

  He drank her in. Rock-hard nipples that begged for his tongue; smooth, flat stomach; the flair of her hips. He trailed a finger from her ear to her hip, smiling when goose bumps trailed across her skin. His gaze drifted down. A black, sexy thong that he wanted to remove with his teeth separated her from being naked.

  Not for long.

  He drew the scrap of thong down her thighs and flicked it to the corner, then ripped his T-shirt from his body.

  “You’re the most beautiful woman on the planet, and I’m going to fuck you until my name falls from your lips.” He leaned forward and pulled her nipple hard into
his mouth, his tongue trailing over hot flesh. “I’m going to fuck you so well that if you ever fuck another man it is only my face you’ll see, my body you’ll feel, wishing it was my cock inside you.”

  She moaned.

  He lifted his head and stared at her flushed face, her bottom lip snagged.

  “I want to hear you whimper when you come. I want your mouth on me. I’ll fuck you with my tongue, you’ll ride my leg, then I’m going to bend you over and take you from behind. I won’t do anything you don’t want me to do, or you’re uncomfortable with, but I’ve gotta say, we’ve got one night, and I want to do it all.”

  “So do I. Starting with you inside me, now,” she panted. Her voice like gravel shot straight through to his aching cock that twitched for release.

  Insubordination.

  Oh, she’d pay for that.

  He yanked open a bedside drawer and pulled out a condom. “Can I?”

  Her eyes widened.

  He paused for a second.

  The thought of her hands on him, peeling the rubber over him, had his balls twitching and could possibly have him blowing on the spot, but he wanted her hands on him, caressing him, touching him. Without a word he handed her the condom.

  With deliberate slowness he undid his belt and pulled down his zipper, his cock finally free.

  “Oh,” she breathed.

  She ripped open the packet; her fingers moved down his shaft, rolling the rubber to the base. He shuddered, barely holding it together.

  “Need to be inside you, baby.” He gently grabbed her shoulders but, with surprising strength, she flipped him down on his back and straddled him.

  She wiggled herself into position and lowered herself an inch at a time as if testing her limits. He slid into her incredibly tight, wet heat, his hands on her hips, guiding her.

  Her eyes were barely open, her mouth in a barely formed “oh”, her wild hair everywhere.

  He growled, about to make her his.

  He closed his eyes, his fingers digging into her hips, digging for control.

  Being inside Sophie was way better than he’d imagined. And he’d imagined.

  If he wasn’t careful he’d come in two seconds, and he planned on making this as much about her as it was about them.