Bound to the Bounty Hunter

by Hayson Manning

“Don’t stop,” he growled, and the tiny smile morphed into a grin but melted from her face when his thumb worked her clit. Her dark eyes grew hazy. He angled his hips off the bed and hit higher. Her eyes widened, and her breathing quickened. Sweat beaded her forehead. He thrust high again. She whimpered, her core coiling.

  His stomach muscles quivered when her hands landed on his abdomen. Her body strained upward then stiffened, her face red, before she convulsed around him, her body shaking. He thrust out his orgasm, coming seconds later.

  She collapsed, the side of her face landed on his chest, her hair a smooth blanket around them.

  With both hands at her waist, he sat up, breaking their connection, pulled off the condom, and kissed her shoulder, then flipped her back onto the bed.

  “Hook your knees over my shoulders… I’m hungry.”

  She blinked up at him, her eyes widening, then growing dark. Soon her calves were resting on his back.

  He stared down at her beautiful body.

  The scent of her musk and raspberries made him dizzy. He reached forward, his tongue finding her clit then circling her hot flesh.

  She moaned and pushed herself against his mouth.

  He thrust his tongue into her sweetness, alternating fucking her with his tongue and flicking her clit, feeling her build, her muscles starting to tighten.

  “You taste better than I imagined.” He kissed her thighs and smiled at her moan of protest. Without warning, he sucked her clit hard into his mouth. Her body bucked off the bed, her thighs a vise around his head.

  “Are you going to do what I say?” he asked.

  Her orgasm shook her body. He dragged his mouth up her body, kissed her, then grabbed a condom from the drawer and sheathed himself.

  “No.” Her eyes were unfocused, her body still pulsing.

  He grinned. He’d never admit it, but her challenging him had his dick throbbing for her.

  He thrust into her, deep and hard.

  Her legs wrapped around his hips, her arms around his neck. She raised her hips to meet his, her heels digging in to his back. A silent current coursed between them. He felt it and knew she felt it too.

  He pulled out, grabbed her hips, and flipped her over. She widened her legs to accommodate him. Her butt tilted, and in one thrust he entered her.

  “Oh,” she moaned.

  The lines of who was in control blurred after he’d taken her from behind. She straddled his face. After she’d come, she licked her way down his body, paying attention to his nipple rings, and smiled when she took him deep into her mouth. Her lips locked around him, her tongue flicking his piercing, which took him to the brink and tipped him over.

  They wrung each other dry, and he knew he wasn’t anywhere near finished.

  He hadn’t even made it to the toy cupboard. Sometime later, she curled beside him, her head on his shoulder, her arm slung around his waist. He leaned down and kissed her forehead, tucking blankets around her and pulling her tight into him, knowing full well that one night with Sophie wouldn’t be enough.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The sound of laughter infiltrated Sophie’s exhausted brain. She opened her eyes. Milky light from the bathroom tinged the room. Her head lay on Harlan’s shoulder, her legs entwined with his. Her arm around his waist. A thin sheet covered them, the blankets long gone. Not that it mattered—the heat their bodies generated could power Colorado and neighboring New Mexico, Utah, and Kansas.

  Night’s over, Cinderella.

  A horrible sinking feeling settled in her stomach.

  She untangled her legs from his and held her breath.

  Nothing.

  She stilled, stared at Harlan, and her heart did a weird hitch. Dark hair flopped on his forehead, his lips parted, his face soft in sleep.

  One night, now we’re done.

  Unexpected tears filled her eyes. She moved to the edge of the bed, her feet hit the ground. Two strong, warm hands grabbed her hips and, before she could stop him, she lay plastered against his warm bulk.

  “Where are you going?” he asked, his voice gravelly.

  “Home,” she said, holding her body still, hating the kick of emotion in her voice.

  He kissed her neck, his lips soft against her skin.

  “I’ll take you.”

  Too many hot, sticky emotions were twisting her heart.

  Distance. She needed distance.

  She ducked her head, avoiding him. “It’s okay, I’ll catch a cab.”

  “Sophie, I’ll take you home.” The sleepy voice now gone.

  She figured there was no point standing outside waiting for a cab. She’d be picked up for indecent exposure before one arrived. Harlan would do his he-man stunt while they had a stand-up fight at the taxi, which she didn’t have the energy for.

  She nodded, got out of bed, found the scrap of material that constituted a dress, and pulled it on. After a couple of minutes, she abandoned the search for the thong, grabbed her boots, and sat on the bed.

  Heavy boots were pulled onto his feet. Denim slid up his legs. The sound of a zipper. The scent of sex and him slurred her brain.

  She’d had her fill. He’d had his fill, and now they were done.

  As it had to be.

  Pressure built behind her eyelids.

  She walked to the door, her lips pressed together, holding back the emotion. His jacket landed on her shoulders. He grabbed her hand and tucked her in to his side.

  Exhausted, physically she felt as smooth as a roll of silk. But mentally she clawed the walls. All she wanted to do was go home, curl into a ball in her bed, and forget. As if she could ever erase the night.

  A night where she’d let go and lived with Harlan. One delicious night where she’d woken curled into his body and the words “safe and wanted” had drifted across her mind.

  Out of the passenger window of Harlan’s car, Sophie absently watched two homeless men picking through bins, a black Chihuahua dog following them. The city started to come to life. A street-sweeper truck rumbled by. A couple of people stood blowing into their hands at a bus stop, their heads turned left in anticipation. She stared, turning her head at a man in a bathrobe. Wait, was that the same person she’d seen days ago walking the same ferret?

  The car pulled into her driveway.

  She twisted in her seat. His eyes moved to where her dress had ridden up, offering him a serving of thigh. In most states, the dress wouldn’t pass as clothing.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she caught Titus’s blinds lifting.

  “Right. Well, um, thanks for everything.” Heat crept up her cheeks. How to say, thanks for the most awesome night of sex in my life. Was there a Hallmark card that covered this scenario?

  “Later.”

  He stared straight ahead.

  Right.

  There were those stupid over-tired tears again.

  She exited the car and made it to her door without flashing the world. She unlocked her door, deactivated the alarm, stepped inside, and leaned against the door, giving her heart time to slow down.

  Shower. I need a shower.

  She couldn’t process what had gone down with Harlan without a full load of sleep and some distance. Part of her, and they were the physical parts, were still throwing streamers and popping celebratory champagne corks. Part of her wanted to go to a quiet corner, curl up, and watch The Young and the Restless until she’d had her fill of drama and love.

  I have no one to blame but myself. I pressed my mouth against his.

  Her fingers drifted over her tingling lips.

  He’d fucked her out of his system and was now back to small, blond, and delectable.

  Her heart twisted in a painful mass.

  Pongo stared at her from his mountain of pillows, looking tired from sleeping all night.

  “Hey, baby boy.”

  She paused in front of her snow globe collection; a bubble of overwhelming loneliness pushed aside her heart and slid up her throat.

  “Damn it.” She wip
ed her eyes, shed the dress, dropped it, and headed to the shower.

  Hot water streamed down her body. She’d washed her body, one part of her tender after a long period of inactivity. She now stood with water streaming over her head, letting the hurt, anger at herself for feeling hurt, and exhaustion filter out of her body.

  Her eyes flew open, and adrenaline spiked in her body when the glass shower door opened.

  “Fucking raspberries get me every time,” Harlan said, shutting the door, a grin on his face, one part of his body obviously happy to see her.

  One arm covered her breasts, the other hand shielding between her legs. “What are you doing here?”

  He smiled at her attempt at modesty, stepped forward, and ran his tongue from her neck to her ear.

  Her body shivered in response.

  “Did a calculation.” His hand skimmed the side of her breast, his fingers leaving a trail of fire before branding her hip.

  “And?” She stepped toward him, running her hands up his spine, his muscles quivering under her fingertips.

  He lowered his head and pulled her begging nipple into his mouth.

  She moaned. His tongue hot and demanding. He then paid attention to the other breast. She melted into him, his arm propping her up. He smiled against her skin.

  “In Easter Island it’s one a.m.”

  “Where’s that?” she murmured, electricity spiking her nerve endings.

  “Don’t care.” His mouth blazed a trail of tender but sharp nips down her neck until she moaned. He grabbed her hand, releasing her hold on him, then spun her around. Her hands braced on the glass.

  His fingers found the hot flesh between her legs. She distantly heard the sound of a wrapper before his hand was back working its magic. One arm around her waist, keeping her upright.

  “We’ve still got all night.” He tilted her hips and powered into her, knowing the angle that made her pant his name.

  And pant his name she did.

  The air left her in a rush. The sensation of his hand between her legs and the length of him filling her—exquisite. Higher and higher he thrust; his hand pushing hard circles on her clit sent liquid fire burning through her veins. Standing on her toes, straining, every muscle in her body wound tight, he stopped, pulled out and, ignoring her protest, lifted her. She gripped his slippery shoulders. His hands cupping her butt, she crossed her ankles behind his hips.

  His eyes locked on hers, feral and possessive, his hungry mouth taking hers. Devouring her. And she gave it back, kissing him, harder and hungrier. Their tongues clashed, their breathing labored. He growled when he thrust deep and hard into her. The tension of release howled inside her. She gripped his shoulder with one hand, the other slammed against the glass of the cubicle. She screamed as her body pulsed around his. His tempo increased until, after a long shudder, he stilled.

  The water abruptly stopped.

  He eased himself out of her. Pushing the glass door open, he grabbed a towel from the rack and wrapped it around her shoulders. “I’m stopping the clock in Easter Island. It’s one a.m. We still have twenty-three hours.”

  He picked her up as if she weighed nothing and walked into her room. Throwing back the fluffy quilt, he deposited her on the bed.

  Exhausted and unable to form a word, she shivered when cool air smacked her body. He slid behind her, one arm around her waist, pulling her into his warmth, as her eyes drifted closed. His lips brushed the back of her neck.

  “I want this,” he murmured.

  Sophie’s eyes flew open.

  …

  That afternoon, Sophie set another cup of coffee on her desk and pulled open Beth’s case file, desperate to find an answer for Beth and in need of a major distraction.

  Earlier she’d woken in a tangle of limbs. When she slept she’d moved away from Harlan, but as soon as she was out of some kind of “Harlan” radar, he became agitated, hauled her against him, and his body then relaxed.

  She’d slipped out of bed to find Harlan’s smoky gaze on her, his face unreadable.

  Wired, in need of caffeine and time away, she’d headed to the kitchen.

  She turned when Harlan entered the room. He leaned against the doorframe, hair wet from a shower. Her mouth watered at the denim plastered to his thighs, the tight black T-shirt stretched across his chest. With effort, she turned her head back to the computer screen and felt his stare searing her skin.

  He pushed off the wall and came to stand in front of her, his arms crossed against his impressive chest, his nipple rings visible through the cotton.

  Feeling nervous and unsure, a hesitant smile played at her lips.

  “How’d you ditch the security?”

  Pain sliced low and hard in her heart. She fought the need to press her fingers to her chest to put pressure on the internal wound.

  Wow.

  Just wow.

  She took a long gulp of coffee, holding it in her mouth, preferring the pain of the scalding liquid over the steady thump of hurt in her chest, buying time. She swallowed and set the cup on the counter, pleased it didn’t rattle. “I wanted a girls’ night out,” she said, meeting his gaze, “without you or any of your people trailing me.”

  His gorgeous blue eyes flashed and, before she could react, his mouth landed on hers, and he kissed her hard.

  She tensed and resisted.

  He pulled on her ponytail until she had no choice but to angle her head back.

  She shook her head.

  Her back arched, her hands moved to the artery in his neck, and her fingers kneaded.

  He flinched but pulled back.

  Tension thickened the air until it hurt to breathe.

  “Tell me, Sophie,” he ground out.

  Her spine straightened. “No.”

  He stared down at her, his face unreadable. “You infuriate the crap out of me.”

  Her head snapped back. Well, wasn’t that what every girl wanted to hear after she’d had the best sex in her life and then been held like precious cargo?

  “Then go,” she said, hearing the scrap of hurt in her voice and hating it.

  “Sophie,” he said with a growl.

  She stared him down until he shook his head and rubbed his hand across his creased forehead. “There’s double detail on you today.”

  She stilled.

  Wait.

  Something wasn’t right. Nothing had changed since yesterday.

  Unless.

  Unless, he wasn’t telling her something.

  “Anything changed from yesterday?” She scanned him and could read nothing.

  Without hesitation he shook his head. “Nothing.”

  “Then drop the double detail. Drop all details.”

  “No.” He leaned forward and kissed her forehead, his face hard. “Please don’t ditch anyone, Sophie. I need to know you’re safe.” Something unfamiliar flashed in his eyes. Something that made her breath hitch and her heart pound.

  After he walked out, she heard the front door close with a soft click.

  She stood and made another pot of coffee, her hands shaking.

  At the rate she was downing coffee, she’d soon resemble an extra on her favorite zombie show.

  She wandered her living room, not bothering to crack the blinds to see who was parked across the street or in her driveway.

  There were far too many things on a collision course in her head, starting with Harlan’s whispered words.

  She sat next to her dog on the couch, threw an arm around his warm body, and let herself analyze. She came up with three scenarios.

  Scenario one could mean he wanted this. This being her body that had been tucked against his at the time. That made sense.

  I can run with that.

  Scenario two could mean he wanted one particular part of her body that he’d been occupying exquisitely a few moments earlier. She could definitely run with that.

  What didn’t make sense was if he were referring to him and her. As in a couple. Together. That didn’
t make any sense. He’d been clear from the beginning he wasn’t a relationship guy. She didn’t even know if she wanted a relationship. They spent half their time fighting, which exhausted her, and which at times was exhilarating.

  Physically she wanted him as much as he wanted her.

  She let her mind sift.

  If they were ever at a place where she felt safe enough to tell him the truth about her, her father, everything, with that soft part of her that she kept hidden, exposed…

  If they ever got to the place where they had something, yeah, she’d run with it because she wanted it, too.

  A Pongo special pulled her back into the room. She coughed and patted her dog’s head.

  “Good boy, Pong, you’re like an alarm clock.”

  She concentrated on the computer screen and the case notes in front of her. The mystery of finding Beth’s missing mother was turning out to be harder than she’d anticipated.

  She pulled up a spreadsheet on her computer, scrolled down to the end. She’d phoned, emailed, or spoken to pretty much every person in Colorado who’d known Suzie when she’d been here. She’d contacted the casino she used to work at to see if she’d returned there, but the woman in the department aptly named “Talent Scouts” wouldn’t give out any information. She’d found a telephone number written on the back of a receipt. With nothing else to go on she punched in the cell number. The previous calls had gone to voicemail.

  A woman answered with her name and before Sophie could tell her she wasn’t selling anything, wanting her to convert to her religion, or had any connections to Nigerian princes, she hit dead air.

  She took another gulp of coffee.

  Change of attack.

  Danielle Winters hadn’t been pleased when Sophie phoned back and started talking before she could hang up. Sophie told her she was searching for Suzie West on behalf of her daughter. After a lengthy silence, she’d said she’d talk but not over the phone.

  Danielle had turned into her one and only lead.

  The answer lay in Vegas, which wasn’t in her budget or Beth’s. If Sophie ate only generic-brand peanut butter out of the jar for a week and maybe pulled an extra couple of shifts at Pipe’s, she could hop a plane to the city of sin and be back the next day or the day after. Plus, if she stayed in a hotel way off the strip, she could keep expenses down.