Authors: Sydney Logan
Copyright © 2015 Sydney Logan
Published by Mountain Media
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication can be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without permission in writing from the author.
Any book, song, movie, television, or product references included in this book are the property of the respective copyright holders. The publication and use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
Cover design by T.M. Franklin
Cover image by sonia.eps/Shutterstock
Book formatting by Lindsey Gray Formatting Services
To the online community who read a previous version of this story all those years ago.
Thank you for letting me share it with everybody else.
The dealer places another card on the table. My face falls when I see the king.
“The queen of hearts is always your best bet,” a smooth voice whispers in my ear.
Really? Does this millionaire think he’s the first guy to quote The Eagles at a blackjack table?
I smile anyway, because the guy sitting to my right is Bradley Jones. A graduate of Yale, Brad is forty years old and a married father of three. He’s handsome enough—if you’re into tall, dark, and athletic men who just happen to own the most successful and profitable mortgage company in North America.
part that I find most attractive about Bradley Jones.
Smiling, I bat my brown eyes and twirl a strand of my red, curly hair around my finger. Normally, I wouldn’t participate in such theatrics, but I’m bored. My Vegas trip has been a total bummer, thanks to the eye-in-the-sky cams that have been newly installed in my favorite casino. I’d nearly wept when I saw the little blackened globes hanging from the ceiling of the Viper Casino, because I know tucked inside each plastic dome is a camera. Thanks to the Viper’s unfortunate progress in casino security, I’ve been forced to play by the rules.
All weekend long.
Don’t get me wrong. I can hold my own in a casino. I’d just been expecting a more challenging—not to mention profitable—gambling experience, and that’s why I’m now sitting next to one of the richest men in the country, batting my eyelashes and hiking my skirt a little higher.
Modern technology can be
a pain in the ass.
“So,” Bradley says, leaning closer as we finish the hand. “I have a suite. Care to join me for a nightcap?”
“I don’t think so.” I smile shyly and smooth my hand down my thigh. Of course his eyes watch as I tug on the hem of my skirt. “I have an early meeting in the morning.”
“Come on. Just one drink? How else can I apologize for beating you at Blackjack?”
The only reason you won is because I let you.
I pretend to ponder it. “Well . . .”
With a shrug, I climb down from the chair.
“Okay. But only one drink.”
He grins and offers me his arm. “I’m Bradley Jones.”
I hook my arm through his, and he leads me through the crowded casino and toward the elevators. Only when the doors have closed do I offer him my name.
“My name’s Katie.”
Did I mention I’m a thief
I’m also a walking pharmacy, because an hour later, I’m whispering an apology to the sleeping millionaire as I quickly scan his wallet with my handheld credit card reader. The idiot has a few thousand in cash, so I take that, as well.
As I slip quietly out of his suite and rush toward the elevators, I can’t deny I’m feeling a little better about my trip to Vegas.
That is, until the elevator doors open.
Standing there, leaning against the stainless steel wall with a cocky smile on his face, is the one person I
didn’t want to see this weekend.
With a miserable groan, I step inside and furiously stab the button.
“Are you following me, Summers?”
“I’d follow your dimples anywhere, York.”
Ethan Summers is infuriatingly charming and handsome. Both assets have proven to be beneficial to his career and detrimental to mine.
“Well, these dimples just lifted Bradley Jones’ credit card numbers.”
“Impressive. Although, one might argue that a more superior con artist would be capable of accomplishing such a feat without showing a little skin. Really, Jenna, I’m disappointed.”
He rarely calls me by my first name. Last names have always been our thing.
“Were you watching me?”
“Every heterosexual man in the casino was watching your little performance. Nice legs, by the way.”
“Not good,” I mutter.
“No, but I enjoyed it.”
Ethan grins as the elevator doors open. I don’t protest when he grabs me by the elbow and leads me toward the nearest exit. It’s not brightly lit, but there’s a very nice bouncer that Ethan greets by name who allows us to walk right out the door and into the starry Nevada night. He doesn’t let go of my arm as we hurry toward a black SUV.
“Why are you helping me?”
“You drugged a millionaire and stole his credit card info. I think it’s best we get you out of town.”
That doesn’t really answer my question, but I can’t argue with his logic.
Ethan opens the passenger door and helps me inside.
I glare at him, and he shoots me a sexy smile before slamming my door.
It’s really too bad that I hate his guts.
Ethan Summers and I have crossed paths many times throughout the past couple years. It’s unavoidable, considering we’re
two of the finest criminal minds in the world