Ryan tilted his head. “What is it you’re looking for, detective? It would help me if I knew what sort of info you think would be useful.”
“Honestly, anything,” he said, emphasizing the last word with a touch of desperation. “Even if it seems like nothing—even if it seems like the smallest piece of evidence,” he said as he opened the door to his office and escorted Ryan through the main office, which reeked of the late afternoon scent of TGIF even though it was Thursday, as weary cops and detectives finished phone calls, shuffled papers, and glanced at the clock as if they were all counting down the minutes ’til quitting time.
Ryan couldn’t blame them. He was eager to end this workday and get on his phone to sort out his new evening plans at Aria. He said goodbye to the detective and left, returning to the blanket of heat outside, where he dropped his shades over his blue eyes and scanned for the Aston Martin. The car was still there, but the blonde was gone.
Damn. He wouldn’t have minded another chance to drink her in. She would be a balm after that conversation with the detective, which had stirred up too many memories and far too many buried emotions. The past was such a thorny son-of-a-bitch. Diving back to his younger years was not a favorite hobby of his. Those days were messy and dangerous, and he wished he could leave them behind him.
He’d never been able to, though. They had dug claws into him. Grown knotty roots inside his head and his heart.
All the more reason to focus on the things that would take his mind off his obsession with the past.
Like tonight, and the chance to see the sexy blonde again. As he walked down the steps, he wondered briefly what kind of business she had at the municipal offices. One thing he was fairly certain about—she probably wasn’t talking to homicide detectives about an eighteen-year-old case.
A case he’d love to know more about. What he wouldn’t give to know what was inside John Winston’s head.
Chapter Two
Sophie knocked twice on the glass window. John looked up and flashed her a brief smile. Such a hard worker. Always had been. Always would be. He’d be burning the midnight oil tonight, either here at the station or at home.
Her brother, at thirty-three, was two years older than her, and she hadn’t been surprised to find him bent over his desk, one hand pushed through his dark blond hair, the other flipping through some papers. Probably some case he was hell-bent on solving, since that pretty much described her brother’s single-minded mission in life.
He came to the door and let her in. She’d just finished her phone call with her friend Jenna. Well, that call had then morphed into another one with her ex-husband Holden, but she always loved chatting with him, so the pair of them had kept her occupied as she’d strolled outside, gabbing with some of her favorite people.
“Hey you,” John said, and dropped a quick kiss on her cheek.
“Hey you to you,” she said, her voice bright and bubbly because she was still in a fantastic mood thanks to Mr. Green Tie. She was hoping that handsome man—wait, make that devilishly handsome, because he’d had a wicked glint in those dark blue eyes—would pick up the trail of breadcrumbs she’d left behind. The way Mr. Green Tie had looked at her on the street…she’d never felt so deliciously naked while wearing clothes. A man like that, bold enough to walk right up and talk to her…he was exactly the kind of man who would show up tonight at Aria.
The kind of man she’d never experienced.
But wanted to.
Oh, how she wanted to know what a direct, confident, and forward man was like.
Anticipation knitted a path up her spine. She barely knew the guy, had uttered all of ten words to him, but Sophie thrived on moments like this. Moments that could unspool into decadent possibility. She had a feeling about him. A good feeling. A sexy feeling.
Okay, fine. She supposed it was entirely possible he could be a serial killer or an axe murderer.
But that was highly unlikely.
And it wasn’t as if she’d stupidly invited him to a deserted house at the end of an isolated road. She’d invited him to a ballroom event at Aria that cost a pretty penny for a ticket, where security would be top-notch because the attendee list had the sort of net worth that required it. Not that money was indicative of a man’s character or date-ability, but she’d been able to tell by the cut of his pants and the silk of his tie that he would be able to afford the ticket.
The ticket was a pre-screening. A show of faith in his interest. A sign that he’d jump through the first hoop to see her.
She crossed her fingers that he’d show.
“You’re in a good mood,” John said then grabbed her arm protectively. He tipped his head to the chatter and hum of the men at the desks behind her. “And get in here. Everyone is staring at you. Don’t you own a jacket?”
She laughed with her red-lipsticked mouth wide open, and shook her head. “It’s July. It’s close to a hundred degrees outside. Why on earth would I wear a jacket?”
“Why on earth do you insist on wearing a dress everywhere you go? It doesn’t even have sleeves,” he countered as he tugged her into his office and shut the door behind him.
“Thank heavens for the lack of sleeves.” Sophie raised her chin up high. “And you never know who you might meet. I certainly don’t want to be wearing a sweat suit when I meet the future love of my life.”
“Perish the thought,” he muttered.
Her eyes widened. “I might bump into Mr. Right anywhere.”
He scoffed and waved broadly at the offices and desks behind her. “You better hope you’re not meeting the love of your life here.”
But really, you never knew. Her mother had run into her father at a fruit stand in a farmer’s market on the outskirts of town when she was buying a pineapple from him. They’d known each other in high school when both were involved with other people, and then they’d bumped into each other again twenty years later. They’d locked eyes across the citrus, and the rest was history—thirty-five years of an insanely happy marriage and two kids. Sophie could recall many nights when she’d sneak out of bed as a kid and find them slow dancing in the living room to Ella Fitzgerald as a breeze blew through the gauzy curtains, looking so in love.
A love launched by a pineapple.
“In any case, Captain John Buzzkill Winston,” she said, fishing around in her cherry-red purse to find what she’d come for, “here is the transponder to get into my building.” She pressed the flat white object into his palm. “Just wave it at the gate, and you can get into the garage. I have two spots. Use 121 or 122.”
“Thank you,” he said, tapping the device. “Fucking termites. I really appreciate you letting me stay with you. I’d stay with one of the guys…”
She cut him off. “You’ll do no such thing. Men who live alone live like pigs. Think of it as a vacation at the Ritz. Or really, the Veer,” she said, since Sophie lived in a penthouse condo at that luxurious building on the Strip, and it was as close to the Ritz as one could get. “I’ll be leaving at six-thirty sharp for the benefit. You sure you can’t come?”
“No time for a benefit.”
She pouted. “But you look so cute when you clean up,” she said then squeezed his cheek.
He hissed.
“Oh, you don’t scare me with your hisses. You might scare all those poor little suspects you question, but I know you’re just a hushpuppy underneath.”
He rolled his eyes. “You’re killing me.”
“I know. It’s so much fun to embarrass you. I think when I leave, I’m gonna shake my rear a little bit. Would that make you crazy? If all your fellas stared at your little sister?”
He held up a finger warning her not to. “You know they all lust after you. Don’t, Soph. Please.”
Oh, but it was too fun to needle him like this. “Don’t try on my shoes tonight while I’m out. Just promise me that,” she said as she opened the door, then pressed her fingers to her mouth in an “oops” gesture. He huffed, and she walked out, winking a
t the mustached man at the desk a few feet away. “Hi Gavin. Don’t you work too hard.”
“I promise I won’t, Sophie,” he said, then followed her with his puppy dog eyes. “That is, if you’ll finally go out with me.”
She clasped her hand on her heart. “Oh, Gavin. You know I want to. But John just won’t let his little sister date one of the guys he works with.”
Gavin frowned, as he always did when she playfully said no, since he always asked.
Sophie said hello to another guy she knew. “Hey there, Jason. You look handsome today. Say hello to Evie and the boys from me.”
Jason gave a quick salute. “I will. She said to tell you she loved your peach pie recipe.”
“I am so pleased to hear that. My sweet mother left that one for me. It’s divine,” Sophie said, then blew a big communal kiss off her palm for the whole lot of them. As she pictured the red lips floating through the air, she caught one last look at her brother. He scowled from behind the glass in his office.
She winked then walked out.
Sophie Winston was a certified flirt. She hadn’t always been one. Growing up, she was one hundred percent geek. But those days were gone, and now she could be this woman. The one who finally flirted. Flirting was like champagne to her—it gave her a rush, and she loved it. Besides, it let her bide her time. Until it could be more than flirting. Until it could become the real thing.
Maybe someday she’d meet someone who she’d want to do more than flirt with, who’d want her in the same way. She wasn’t entirely sure what that would feel like, but she knew she craved that kind of connection. She wanted it all the way…but she’d also happily take the physical side of the equation for now, if the opportunity arose.
She’d had a mere two lovers in her life, but she knew what she wanted.
She knew what turned her on.
As she returned to her car and started the engine, an image of that man in the green tie slipped into her mind. Of the way she’d felt when he’d stared at her—as if she were being hunted. How she loved that kind of hungry gaze. How she longed to be the prey.
A man who stared at her that way was enough to make her get down on her knees, and that was exactly where she wanted to be.
* * *
As Johnny Cash leapt high to catch a Frisbee in midair in his backyard, Ryan scrolled through the search results. The sun inched closer to the horizon, pelting bolts of pure summer swelter from the sky. He’d already taken a dip in his pool to cool off when he’d arrived home a few minutes ago, and the blue water had done the trick…momentarily.
After quickly tracking down the gala details on his phone in the parking lot, and snagging a pricy ticket for a benefit to raise money for a new children’s wing at a local hospital, Ryan had headed to the gym for a quick workout. With five miles on the treadmill as he answered emails from clients, and several rounds of weights under the belt, he had some time now to dig deeper about his possible date tonight.
To learn more than simply the name of the event.
His black and white Border Collie mix raced to his side, nudging Ryan’s bare leg with the purple Frisbee, which was etched with teeth marks around the rim. Johnny Cash was addicted to this Frisbee. Ryan understood deeply the dog’s single-minded focus. His intensity. His drive.
“Ready for another?”
The dog thumped his tail on the emerald-green grass. From under the relative cool of the big yellow umbrella on the deck of the pool, Ryan cocked his arm and Johnny Cash took off racing, barreling to the far corner of the yard, around the water, and past a cluster of palm trees that shaded the edge of his property. Ryan tossed the Frisbee then glanced down at the iPad again, hunting for any clue that might yield a name for the bombshell.
She’d said something on the phone about raising money, so perhaps she worked for the hospital, heading up its fundraising, maybe. He scanned the event page more closely. Tonight’s fete was a silent auction with drinks and hors d’oeuvres, as well as a performance by a well-known Vegas torch singer. All the town’s glitterati would be there. Probably even some of Ryan’s clients, since the security firm he and his brother ran had contracts with many of the city’s top spenders.
Those were the only details he found.
He shrugged as he reached the bottom of the page and came up empty-handed in the information department. But he didn’t need her name to know he wanted to see her again. He’d already plunked down his cash for the entrance fee in the hope he’d spend time with her tonight. He was rolling the dice big time, but he had a feeling, just from those fifteen seconds on the street that the—
Wait.
There it was. In small print. On the bottom of the page.
The gala had been organized by…noted Vegas philanthropist Sophie Winston.
His dog returned to his side, depositing the Frisbee demandingly at Ryan’s feet, but he couldn’t pull his eyes off that name, wildly rolling and rattling around in his brain like pinballs bouncing off flippers.
Could she really be related?
Nah.
He was getting ahead of himself.
“It’s just a common last name, right?” he said to the dog. Johnny Cash panted, then eyed the Frisbee. A reminder. Didn’t matter to the dog what the woman’s name was. Throw the damn Frisbee.
He picked up the purple disc, chucked it across the yard once more, and peered again at the screen through his shades. His fingers tingled, itching with possibility.
Winston.
Sophie Winston.
Showing up at the same building where John Winston worked.
The same John Winston who knew why his father’s murder investigation had been reopened but wouldn’t pony up the details.
Winston. Winston. Winston.
Take a deep breath. Maybe the detective just happened to have the same last name as the woman Ryan wanted to get his hands on.
He popped open another browser window, plugged in her name and John’s together, and soon the all-knowing Google revealed that the woman who’d invited him to the fete was the detective’s sister.
“Huh,” he said, staring at the screen in a sort of awed silence. As his dog scurried back to him, Ryan kneeled down and patted his head. “What kind of lucky son-of-a-bitch am I?”
The dog panted and Ryan imagined he was saying, “The luckiest.”
He scratched the dog’s chin. “I can’t be that much of an asshole to hope she might know something, can I?
The dog had no answers. Instead, he nosed the Frisbee.
Not wanting to deny his best friend and confidant, Ryan pointed to the pool, then threw the Frisbee into the glistening crystal-blue oval in his yard. The dog splashed loudly, then paddled to the shallow end in hot pursuit of his favorite thing.
As Ryan returned his focus to the screen, he told himself to slow it down. Just because Sophie-come-hither-to-my-party-tonight-Winston was the detective’s sister didn’t mean she was going to serve up details of the case to him. Hell, she probably didn’t know anything. He didn’t share the details of his job with his sister, so it was foolish to think John had told her the things Ryan was desperate to know.
Besides, he was interested in the woman because there’d been some kind of fuse lit between the two of them this afternoon, and far be it from him to deny that kind of heat. He wasn’t some fool who believed in love at first sight. He had no interest in love, nor any faith that it existed. He did, however, believe in the almighty power of lust.
Ryan had been invited to spin into Sophie’s orbit, and that was precisely where he intended to be tonight. But he didn’t like to be unprepared. He vastly preferred arming himself with data and details, so he spent a little more time with Google and Sophie, learning she possessed a hell of a lot more than a beautiful body.
Apparently, she had quite a large brain, too.
She wasn’t simply “noted Vegas philanthropist Sophie Winston.”
Several business news articles told him what else she was, and it shocked th
e hell out of him.
Never ever would he have pegged her as a goddamn tech millionaire.
He zeroed in on a well-known tech blog and read its coverage of the sale of an Internet start-up to an online search giant several years ago.
Stanford graduate Sophie Winston sold the encoding compression start-up InCode in a deal rumored to be valued at $100 million. She launched the company while finishing her computer science degree at Stanford, and oversaw two rounds of venture capital funding for the technology, which has been used by networks and broadcasters, and in enterprise applications. Her brother was the original investor, having provided the initial seed funding from his savings, she has said. Winston tells us she is “delighted” with the acquisition, and plans to step down as CEO, return to her hometown of Las Vegas, and begin charitable work. “I’m thrilled that InCode will be in good hands, and am eager to return home to be with my family.”
Ryan whistled in admiration. The sound caught the attention of his sopping wet dog, who cocked his ears as he trotted to Ryan.
“Guess what, Johnny Cash?” he said, as the dog shook the chlorinated water from his fur at Mach speed. Ryan stepped away, making sure the tablet screen wasn’t in the line of fire. “Seems I was wrong when I thought she was a movie star. The woman’s a retired Mark Zuckerberg.”
He chucked the disc into the pool, and his dog raced after it, launching into the deep end.
But maybe that wasn’t the best comparison, because there was nothing unfeminine about Sophie. She was all woman, and all sex appeal, and he intended to find out tonight what made her tick.
Because his desire for the beautiful—and evidently brainy—blonde had nothing to do with the fact that she might be privy to things he wanted to know. Nothing at all. It had everything to do with how she looked in that dress, and how insatiably curious Ryan was to learn how she looked out of it.
He was living for that moment, and that moment only.
Chapter Three
Sophie was late.
Sinful Desire Page 2
