A Little Something Extra: Short Stories from the Invertary and Benson Security World

by Janet Elizabeth Henderson

  “Fine.” He sighed. “Get ready and we’ll leave.”

  “Yay!” Standing on tiptoe, she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him hard. “Don’t worry. If you hate anything, we can come back here.” And with that, she darted to the bathroom.

  Matt watched her cute ass sway in sexy white lingerie, the long golden curls of her hair skimming her hips. Man, she was gorgeous. A slow smile curved his lips. She was also his. As she disappeared into the bathroom to spend about four years on her makeup, Matt looked down at his brand-new wedding ring. He’d put aside his discomfort and make their trip one to remember. It was the least he could do.

  For his wife.

  Hours later, Matt gritted his teeth as Jena murdered Adele’s ‘Hello’ on the stage of a karaoke bar on the Strip. They’d been walking through one of the casinos, surrounded by slot machines with their flashing lights and ringing bells, when Jena had pointed to a dark corner of the vast room and squealed. The next thing he knew, he was being dragged into a seedy bar so she could sing on stage. Or, try to sing.

  There was no denying, his wife was made for the spotlight. From her voluptuous curves to her long legs—made even longer by her mile-high sparkly stripper shoes—she oozed sex appeal. Add in her stunning face, those big eyes of hers, and all that long, wavy hair, and every man in the place was drooling. Which pissed him off big time.

  Fortunately, Jena’s singing went a long way toward killing any fantasies the audience might have.

  “I can’t take anymore,” someone called out. “Get her off the stage!”

  The crowd was turning as Jena wailed to the backing music. People mumbled. One or two heckled. It was only a matter of time before Jena noticed and then she’d be all sad eyes and pouting lips. There was only one way to prevent that from happening. With a sigh, he climbed onto the stage beside her.

  She beamed at him but appeared confused when he took the mic from her hand. When a cheer went up, Jena frowned at the audience.

  “What’s going on?” she whispered at him.

  “Excuse us,” he said into the mic. “We’re changing things up a little. I’m going to sing, and my lovely wife is going to dance.”

  There was a mixed reaction from the crowd. Cheers. Boos. Mainly indifference.

  Jena covered the mic with her hand. “Why are you stopping my song? I was doing great.”

  “I want to show off your dancing,” he half lied. She was a killer dancer. “And I want to do this with you.” That was a full lie. He’d rather have his nails removed with pliers than sing in front of a crowd.

  She gave him a look filled with such love that he felt ten foot tall. “Can you sing, though? This crowd’s tough. I don’t want them to turn on you. Maybe I should keep singing, and you should dance.”

  Man, he loved his clueless woman. He squeezed her shoulder. “Princess, you’ve seen my dancing. Trust me when I say, my singing is better. Anyway, they won’t be listening to me; they’ll be too busy watching you dance.”

  She bit her lower lip and glanced at the restless crowd. “Okay. If you’re sure.”

  “I’m sure.” He cued up their song. “We’re doing one of Josh’s numbers. If you tell him about this, I’m divorcing you.”

  With a giggle, Jena faced the crowd. “Let’s knock them dead.”

  The crowd groaned when the music started. Matt ignored them and kept his eyes on Jena. She’d already started dancing, and it was mesmerizing. Sexy, fluid perfection. It made him want to take her back to the hotel and make use of the Californian king size in their suite. He was so focused on watching her that he almost missed his cue, which earned him another heckle.

  Then he started singing, and it was Jena’s turn to stumble. She stared at him wide-eyed as he put the years of singing lessons his mother had forced him to take as a kid to good use. The same singing lessons he’d had to pay his sisters never to mention to a soul—especially Josh McInnes.

  When their song ended, the crowd cheered and whistled. Some of them even got to their feet.

  Jena threw herself into his arms. “We need to go on America’s Got Talent,” she shouted over the noise.

  And Matt burst out laughing.

  They’d eaten dinner at the Hard Rock Cafe and stocked up on snacks at Hershey’s Chocolate World. They’d joined the crowds to watch the pirate ship battle outside Treasure Island, the volcano erupt outside The Mirage, and the fountains dance to a Celine Dion song outside the Bellagio. They’d sung in a Karaoke bar, played the slots in Caesar’s Palace, and taken a strange walk among pink flamingoes living in an indoor park in the appropriately named Flamingo casino.

  Now, they were in a nightclub where one of Jena’s friends from Atlantic City worked as a go-go dancer. And Matt was beginning to think he didn’t have the energy to keep up with his wife. Because, although she was still jumping around, all he wanted to do was go to bed and sleep for a week.

  “So, this is what middle age feels like,” he said to a guy standing next to him at the bar.

  “Long night?” the guy said as his large, and clearly armed friend watched them closely.

  The guy’s bespoke suit and the fact that he was traveling with a bodyguard screamed wealth and entitlement, making Matt wonder if he was chatting to a celebrity. Not a famous one, obviously, because Matt didn’t have a clue who he was.

  He mentally shrugged before answering the man, “Aye, long night.” He gestured to one of the massive glowing cubes set up around the darkened room. Jena and her friend were dancing on top of it as it changed colors with the beat. “And it’s going to get longer. My woman doesn’t look anywhere near calling it quits.”

  “Which one’s yours?” The guy turned and leaned back against the bar as he sipped his drink. His bodyguard stepped forward to keep the crowd away from him.

  “The one wearing the sparkly stilts.” He grinned, wondering again how his wife walked in her shoes.

  “You’re a lucky man,” the guy said, with speculation in his voice.

  “Aye,” Matt said, his eyes on Jena.

  A glance around the crowded dance floor told him that his eyes weren’t the only ones on his wife. And he didn’t like the leers some of her admirers were sending her way. It was time to position himself beside her platform.

  “Nice talking to you,” he said as he stepped away from the bar.

  “I’ll give you fifty grand for her,” the guy in the suit said, stopping Matt in his tracks.

  “What the hell?” Matt said.

  The man eyed him with calculation. “Eighty grand.”

  It was as though he’d slipped into an alternate dimension. The dance floor was still crowded, the music still blared, and the lights still flashed in the darkness. He had to be losing his mind. Because this conversation was at odds with everything he knew to be real.

  “Eighty grand,” the man repeated. “All you have to do is walk away right now and let me step in with your woman.”

  “Have you lost your mind? You can’t buy a woman,” Matt said. “And I can’t sell her. I don’t bloody own her.”

  The guy cocked his head. “You said she was your woman.”

  Matt held up his left hand. “My wife,” he snapped.

  The man nodded slowly. “A hundred and twenty.”

  “Are you even listening to me?” he demanded, and the bodyguard took a menacing step closer. “You don’t buy women.”

  The man shrugged like this was a normal occurrence. And maybe it was for him. Who knew? It was bloody surreal for Matt. “Is this one of those prank reality TV shows?” he asked, trying to make sense of the situation.

  “No.” The man gave him a tight-lipped smile. “I just know what I want and how to get it.” His eyes hardened. “I’m used to getting what I want.”

  “Well, you aren’t getting my wife.”

  “Five hundred thousand,” the asshole said.

  “You could offer billions, and I still wouldn’t sell her. A, because she isn’t a possession that I can sell. And
B, because selling people is against the law.” With a disgusted shake of his head, Matt turned to stalk away.

  A meaty hand on his shoulder halted him. “Boss ain’t done,” the bodyguard said.

  “Aye, he is.” Matt shrugged off the guy’s hold and headed for his wife.

  He’d taken no more than three steps before the bodyguard blocked his path and the rich asshole stepped in front of him.

  “One million dollars and you walk away, leaving the blonde with me.” He looked Matt up and down, assessing, quite rightly, that he wasn’t rolling in money. “All you need to do is hand your account details to my associate here.” He motioned to the meathead.

  He was clearly off his head, and Matt had had enough of dealing with him. “Get out of my way. We’re done here.”

  A hand tightened on his upper arm, holding him in place. He glared up at the bodyguard. “Let. Go.”

  The crowd danced around them, the deafening music and flashing lights making it hard to focus. A staff member appeared at their sides, as though he’d materialized out of thin air.

  “Is everything okay, Mr. Shepherd?” he asked the asshole trying to buy Matt’s wife.

  “It will be,” Shepherd said, his eyes still on Matt.

  “What the hell?” Matt said as the hold tightened on his left arm. “Everything isn’t okay. This guy is trying to buy my wife from me like we’re in some crap Hollywood movie.” He glared at Shepherd. “Let me tell you, you’re no Redford.”

  The staff member paled, obviously unsure of what to do next.

  Matt relieved him of his indecision. “Call the cops,” he ordered. “Get them here fast. Because things are about to get out of control.” With that, he pulled back his arm and punched Shepherd in the face.

  He was right. Pandemonium ensued. The bodyguard grabbed him from behind. The club staffer ran for the bar. Women screamed. Shepherd aimed a punch at Matt, but he ducked, and it hit the bodyguard. An alarm sounded. People ran for the exits. Matt ignored it all as he broke the bodyguard’s hold, turned, and kicked the asshole in the balls. When he doubled over, Matt snatched the gun from his shoulder holster and aimed it at Shepherd, who stopped dead in his tracks and raised his hands.

  “I think we’ll wait for the cops,” Matt said as Jena screeched his name.

  “I don’t understand how you police this city,” Matt told the cop taking his statement. “I’ve been here less than forty-eight hours and have seen more laws broken in that time than I did in two years policing Glasgow.”

  “It helps when the tourists don’t pull guns on the local mob.” The cop grinned at him.

  “To be fair”—Matt reached for one of the donuts in the box on the detective’s desk—“it wasn’t my gun.”

  “Don’t touch the donuts,” Jena ordered from beside him. “I bought them for the police officers.”

  “I am a police officer,” Matt pointed out.

  “Not in this country.” Jena frowned at him. “I can’t believe you started a fight in the nightclub. And aimed a gun at someone. This is our honeymoon.”

  “Princess, he was trying to buy you.”

  She rolled her eyes at him. “Like I would have gone with him even if you did sell me.”

  “What are you talking about? Do you honestly think I’d try to sell you?”

  “Of course not. I was just pointing out that it wouldn’t be a legal sale if I didn’t agree to it. Which means I wouldn’t have gone with him.”

  Matt shook his head to clear it. “Princess, it wouldn’t have been a legal sale whether you’d gone along with it or not. And I seriously hope you wouldn’t even consider being sold. You wouldn’t, right?” He paused, waiting for her reaction.

  She just rolled her eyes at him, like he was asking something stupid. Yet again, things had been lost in translation with his wife.

  Matt carried on talking, hoping to make his point clear. “I took his bodyguard’s gun to stop him using it against us. His boss wouldn’t take no for an answer. I was worried they’d take you at gunpoint.”

  She put a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t be silly; you wouldn’t have let them do that.”

  “Exactly. That’s what I was doing. Stopping them from taking you.”

  “Oh,” Jena said.

  Matt pinched the bridge of his nose while the detective grinned at them.

  “Do you see what I’m dealing with here?” Matt asked.

  “What?” Jena demanded.

  “Okay,” the detective said. “I think we’ve got everything we need. You two can go back to your hotel.” She gave them a rueful smile. “You might want to avoid the clubs for the rest of your stay.”

  “Three more days,” Matt said as he looked at his wife. “I’m thinking hotel room and room service for the duration.”

  She leaned into his side, resting her head on his shoulder. “That sounds perfect. Although, maybe we could take a gondola trip around the shops, seeing as we’re staying in the Venetian.”

  Matt stroked her back while he looked at the detective. “What are the chances of someone trying to buy her in the Venetian shopping mall?”

  “Slim,” she said with a smile.

  “Then we can have a gondola ride,” Matt said as he kissed his wife’s head.

  “I can’t believe that creep’s top offer for me was only a million dollars,” Jena said. “I’m worth way more than that. Hell, Robert Redford paid a million for Demi Moore in the nineties. Even with inflation, we’d be looking at two million today. Right?” She looked up at Matt.

  “Princess”—he shook his head at her—“you’re priceless.”

  “I know, right?” She buried her face in his chest as Matt tried not to chuckle.

  “You want a ride back to the hotel?” the cop asked.

  “Thanks,” Matt said. “I think that would be safest.”

  “No kidding,” the woman muttered as she reached for her phone.

  “Do you know the worst part?” Jena said, sounding sleepy.

  “What’s the worst part?” He pulled her closer.

  “I left my bag of Hershey’s goodies at the nightclub.”

  All Matt could do was grin and hold his wife tight. But Jena wasn’t done. She angled her face up at him.

  “Still the best honeymoon ever, right?”

  “Absolutely,” he said.

  And then he kissed his wife.

  Andrew McInnes’ Book Club

  This story takes place just after Here Comes the Rainne Again

  Helen McInnes, Caroline McInnes, Jena Donaldson, and Abby Boyle tiptoed up to the conservatory at the back of Caroline’s castle.

  “They’re going to see us,” Helen, Caroline’s mother-in-law, hissed.

  “No, they won’t.” Caroline pointed to the group of large ceramic pots with ornamental trees. “I had the gardeners group all of the pots in the darkest part of the patio. Then I opened the little window behind the blinds so we can hear them better.”

  “Didn’t Josh wonder why all the plants were suddenly in one spot?” Helen asked.

  “I told him it made it easier to trim the trees to match,” Caroline said.

  “He believed that?”

  Caroline just patted her hand and gave her a pitying look. Her son wasn’t known for thinking things through, but Caroline didn’t want to shatter his mother’s delusions.

  There was a scrape and thump from behind them.

  “Will you try to walk quieter?” she told Abby. “They’re going to hear us.”

  “I’m four thousand months pregnant with twins,” Abby said with a glare. “You try being quiet when your center of gravity shifts two feet in front of you. I can’t even see my feet. I have no idea where I’m stepping. This is as quiet as it’s going to get.”

  “I’m pregnant too, and I can lift my feet when I walk.”

  “You’re six months pregnant with one tiny baby. You barely have a bump. I’m having two freaking elephants, and they’re due any minute. It’s a miracle I can stand up without topp
ling over.”

  “Maybe we should carry her?” Caroline said to her mother-in-law.

  They stopped at the edge of the patio and the three women eyed the very pregnant brunette.

  “I’m not sure we can lift her,” Jena said.

  “I hate every single of one of you,” Abby said.

  “Would it make you feel better if you knew I also had the gardeners move the bench behind the plants so we can sit down?” Caroline said.

  “Marginally.” Abby waddled up the steps and onto the patio. “Come on. If we don’t hurry, the men will come into the conservatory and see us. Then they’ll know we aren’t on a girls’ night out.” And then she moved slower than a snail. “Although, as girls’ nights out go, this one sucks.”

  “Trust me,” Caroline told her. “It will get better.”

  Abby just muttered something under her breath about making everyone suffer if it didn’t.

  “How can you walk so silently in those shoes?” Helen eyed Jena’s ten-inch platform sandals. This pair was sparkly pink with diamanté detailing on the ankle straps.

  “I could run up a mountain in these,” Jena whispered. “Sometimes I wear them to work. If I’m plastering a wall or something that makes being taller handy, the height really comes in useful. I just cover them with plastic wrap to them to stop them getting dirty.”

  Helen stumbled, and Caroline shot out a hand to steady her. “You do construction work in those shoes?”

  Jena tossed her long honey-colored hair over her shoulder and nodded. “I like wearing them with my Daisy Dukes and a tartan shirt tied tight under my boobs. It’s comfortable and practical.”

  “And looks like some guy’s idea of a porn plot—stripper does DIY,” Abby grumbled.

  Jena patted her best friend’s back and gave her a compassionate smile. “Pregnancy really brings out your evil side, doesn’t it?”

  “I know!” Abby’s eyes filled with tears. “I feel like I’m possessed by the spirit of Betty.”

  “I think she’d have to die first for that to happen,” Jena said.